#but i really did want to commit a chunk of days to reading and reflection so. monday and wednesday. pledged

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

If I tell you guys I am keeping Monday and Wednesday next week free of leaving-the-house commitments do you think I'll stick to it

[everamazingfe]

A Close Shave

Fic Summary: After being picked up by the Urania and brought back to the Hephaestus station, Communications Officer Doug Eiffel tries to come to terms with his new look. It doesn’t go well. Luckily, Jacobi comes along to save the day. 

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Words in this fic: 2082 Pairings: Doug Eiffel/Daniel Jacobi Warnings for this fic: Brief mentions of abuse

Notes: I got into Wolf 359 at the start of this year, and after relistening to it recently I decided to start writing some fics. I was pretty nervous about posting this, but I couldn't keep it in my drafts forever, so here it is! There’s also a link to this fic over on A O 3 as the source of this post! Click it to go read it over there, or you can search up the title or ‘everamazingfe’ on the site.

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There was something about him, Eiffel had decided within the first few seconds of seeing him for the first time. His face was mostly blank unless he had some sly comment to say, some sarcastic remark, and then that stony expression was replaced by something cockier, more smug. Sometimes there was a flash of softness to it, usually when Maxwell was speaking. But even when his face was at its blankest, there was a mischievous gleam in those bright green eyes of his.

Eiffel had never really noticed anyone’s eyes before. He didn’t know Minkowski’s eye color, or Lovelace’s for that matter. Hell, Eiffel didn’t even know if he knew his own eye color at this point, he avoided looking in mirrors at all costs. But for some reason, he’d noticed Jacobi’s. Not only had he noticed it, but he had committed it to memory as well. 

For a moment, he was convinced he could picture them clearly as he stared out the window above his comms panel, making eye contact with them in the reflection of the glass. Somehow, he was able to picture his face with perfect clarity too, despite only seeing it a handful of times while he was in sound mind. 

“Feel good to be home?” The Jacobi that Eiffel thought he was picturing in his mind so clearly spoke, startling him out of his trance and making him jump because it wasn’t his imagination, it was the real deal. It made sense, he’d never had a very visual imagination anyway, but there was always hope for a change of mind. “Wow, I didn’t think I was all that scary, Officer Eiffel.”

“You’re not,” he grumbled with a huff of indignation, grabbing the edge of his station and pulling himself back to it, hooking his knees beneath it to keep himself there. “I just… Got lost in thought.”

“You? Capable of thought? Now that’s something that wasn’t included in your file.” There it was, that stupid sly grin that Jacobi always had when he thought he was being oh-so-clever. Usually, he was. But that joke had become played out within the first month on the station.

Eiffel responded with mock laughter, trying to ignore the way that comment made an invisible knife twist in his chest. After all he’d done, no one thought he was good at anything. What a surprise. But he didn’t have time to unpack all of that right then. “Get some new material, I’ve heard it all before,” he drawled, hoping he looked as bored as he sounded. “I’m a slacker, I’m an idiot, I’m a motormouth. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Your shoe’s untied.” 

Maybe there was some truth to one of those three things, because like the idiot he was, Eiffel had that brief moment of panic everyone had when someone told them that their shoe was untied, or their fly was down, or there was something on their shirt. And because of that panic, he looked down. It had completely slipped his mind that he hadn’t even worn shoes in the two (Three? Did those hundred days hurtling through space count? He didn’t know.) years he had been on the Hephaestus. “Oh, goddammit!” He groaned as he stared down at his socked feet in dismay, trying to tune out the cackling laughter Jacobi let out behind him that sent him halfway across the room. 

“You’re also gullible, apparently!” He let himself continue his path across the room so he could push off the back wall, still in a fit of giggles as he sailed back to the console. “You actually fell for it! I can’t believe it! I’ve never gotten anyone with that before.” Jacobi’s grin was bigger than it had ever been, and he wiped the tears from his eyes before they wreaked havoc on the station’s internal systems. Maxwell was too smart to fall for a simple trick like that, and Kepler… Well, Kepler didn’t like being pranked. 

Eiffel grumbled something incoherently, waiting patiently for Jacobi to get over himself before he spoke again. “Was there a real reason you came down here?”

“No, not really. Kepler’s giving Minkowski an orientation for her new role and then he needed to discuss… something with Hilbert, I don’t even wanna know. And Ala- Maxwell’s busy with Hera. So, I was bored.”

“What about Lovelace?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care.”

“Right… So you came to interrupt my very important work?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.” Jacobi made himself comfortable, lounging in the free-floating bliss that was zero-g as Eiffel pretended to look busy, though his eyes were fixed on the reflection of the man in the glass. The bright light of Wolf 359 backlit him beautifully, and the color in the star seemed to desaturate everything else in the reflection, except for those damn eyes. 

Eiffel let out a sigh, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair, his fingers brushing through the empty space where his long curls used to be. He let out a frustrated growl, moving his hand up to his scalp. The little hair that was left was scraggly and damaged as hell. It was coarse and patchy, and it scratched his hand uncomfortably when he ran his hand over it. “Actually. I have an idea of something we can do.” He turned around to look at the real Jacobi, who arched an eyebrow in silent encouragement for him to go on. “Come with me.”

He’d had his head shaved a handful of times, and it was usually under duress. The first time was as a punishment for getting gum stuck in it, even though he hadn’t been the one to put gum there, and it would’ve been much easier to just cut the chunk out rather than shave his whole head. The second time had been when he’d joined the military. This would make number three, but this time it was necessary, despite the fact that his goal had really been to never cut his hair again. All that length had meant a lot to him, it meant that he had control over something in his life, finally, but the cryofreeze had, apparently, had other plans for it.

Additionally, most of the shaving kits, particularly their razors, had been dismantled for Minkowski’s crusade against Blessie. God only knew where all of those had ended up, or if they were still even on the station, but he knew there was one that was still safely tucked away. 

“Wow, Eiffel. I thought you would’ve liked to wine and dine your dates before bringing them home. You always struck me as more of a gentleman than that.”

“Shut up.” He rooted around in his locker, letting various pieces of uniform and whatever else had been shoved in there float freely around them as he did so. Most of it was contraband that he should’ve been more careful about getting seen, but he was too focused. Once he found the kit, he let out a soft, ‘a ha!’ And underhand tossed it to Jacobi. “You’re shaving my head.”

For once, Jacobi didn’t have some sort of sarcastic remark to make in response. He was just confused. “Sorry?”

“I can’t… I can’t stand it being like this. I can’t. And it’ll never grow back right with the ends this damaged, and I don’t really feel like cutting myself a thousand times in the process. So you’re doing it for me.” He tried to make his voice sound commanding, authoritative, but instead he just sounded desperate, irritated, upset. His hair meant so much to him, but he could stand to be without it for a little bit. He’d done it before, he could do it again. What he couldn’t stand was the sorry excuse for hair that he’d been left with. 

“You don’t think I’d use the razor to kill you? It’d be the perfect opportunity.”

“If you wanted to kill me, you could’ve done it back on the Urania when I was half dead.” 

“You hadn’t annoyed me as much back then.”

“I mean, if you really want to, I guess you can, but… I’d really just like my head shaved, please.”

A dramatic sigh filled the silence, and then: “Ugh, fine. But you owe me.”

That was good enough for Eiffel, and he trailed along behind Jacobi to the Hephaestus’ bathroom. Gravity was a little different in there, as in it was actually present in order to make showering and other general acts of hygiene (that Eiffel didn’t really partake in) a little easier. So he was able to sit on the counter and stare their reflections down as Jacobi stood behind him, setting the kit beside him on the counter. 

Jacobi wasn’t a friend, not by a longshot. In Minkowski’s book, he was part of ‘the enemy.’ But they’d spent a decent amount of time together after he’d been picked up by the Urania, and even a little bit of time before that over the comms. Someone had to keep in touch with him and keep up-to-date on his coordinates so the ship could get a lock on his location, and Kepler had felt like that work was beneath the highly intellectual minds of himself and Maxwell, so it had fallen to Jacobi. And Eiffel hadn’t minded, because beneath all the smart remarks, the guy was alright to talk to. A little stilted, maybe, but that wasn’t anything he couldn’t work with. It was better on the Urania. Easier, at least, because Jacobi’s body language did a lot of the talking for him. Once again, helping Eiffel was deemed grunt work, so Jacobi had been the one stuck tending to his wounds, helping him get around when he was too weak to even keep his eyes open, and adjust to eating again after not doing it for a hundred days (though with all of the substitutes for rations Hilbert dared to call food, one could argue it had been even longer since he’d really eaten). 

Long story short, Eiffel liked Jacobi to some degree. The guy was alright in his book, and he was sure the feeling was mutual, because he could’ve easily said no, or done a hackjob of it, or killed him. But instead, he took his time and made sure that he didn’t miss any spots, his other hand resting gently on Eiffel’s head to keep it steady despite all the fidgeting. 

After the first pass, Eiffel moved to get off the counter, to turn around and thank Jacobi, but a firm hand on his shoulder pushed him back down. 

“I gotta go again, make sure I didn’t miss a spot. It looked awful before, but it’ll look even worse if there’s just a tiny patch with a few hairs left.”

Eiffel furrowed his eyebrows together, but nodded and got comfortable again. As comfortable as he could, at least. His ass was already numb and the feeling was starting to spread down to his legs, but hopefully the second pass would go quicker. 

And it did, kind of. Jacobi didn’t need to clean the hair from the razor as often because there was barely any left, but he still took that same slow and gentle care as he had the first time. When he was done, he wiped off the leftover shaving cream with a nearby towel, smiling genuinely as Eiffel lifted a hand to feel over his scalp. “Well? How does it feel?”

“It feels great,” he answered earnestly, laughing in relief. He didn’t hate the way his reflection looked anymore, and now he could actually believe everyone when they told him to pull it together because it would grow back eventually. Hopefully this made the process easier. His eyes drifted to Jacobi’s in the mirror, mirroring that same smile. “Thank you... I really do owe you.”

“Yeah, you do.” The genuine smile faded to his usual cocky grin, and Eiffel threw the towel at him. It hit him square in the face, but it didn’t wipe away that look. “But… You’re welcome.” He offered him a hand to help him off the counter, steadying him with a chuckle when he nearly lost his balance. “Gravity that hard on you, Doug?”

“No! It’s just… That counter was not very comfortable to sit for that long on. And yeah, I guess gravity’s pretty hard to adjust to too.” 

“Well then we’d better get you back to the lazy embrace of zero-g.”

[otonymous]

Kissed By The Baddest CEO (MLQC Victor x KBTBB - NSFW)

Description: Old flames and prospective lovers threaten to derail your budding romance with Victor before it even begins.  How will you extricate yourselves from a web of misunderstandings?

Warnings:

NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Potential Trigger Warnings: profanity, jealousy, angst, exes, mentions of alcohol, bone fetishes, rough sex, 69 sex position (oral sex), mirror sex, vaginal intercourse, swallowing, size kink

Mild spoilers for Victor’s family history (MLQC); slight bending of MLQC & KBTBB canon universes via creation of original side character

Word Count: ~10K words (please set aside a good chunk of time for some fluff, angst and smut 🤣)

Author’s Notes:

First of all, a GIANT thank you to the super gracious @lin-ful​ for commissioning this Victor piece from me.  You are an absolute joy to work with and I really appreciate the fact that you gave me carte blanche to basically do whatever I wanted 🤣  I really hope you enjoy the read!  (P.S. I would never be so sadistic as to ever make you choose between Victor and Eisuke, so please rest easy 😆)

This story is especially significant to me as a writer because it represents the culmination of a number of milestones: the first time I’ve created an original character, my first attempt at writing a crossover story, the first time I’ve written in both first- and second-person perspectives.  It is also the longest single piece I’ve ever written.  That being said, please note the warnings listed above and happy reading! 😊

Nb. This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1: Hello Diana

“Really Vic, I thought you were beyond name calling by now.”  

Her voice is sultry and low, smooth in your ears like the whiskey in her tumbler.  Completely at ease in a couture Givenchy pantsuit that likely cost more than one of your production budgets, she sat with her legs elegantly crossed in a leather armchair, tipping her glass to vermillion lips.  And as the flames danced in the imposing marble fireplace of one of Shanghai’s oldest and most exclusive supper clubs, they reflected off an enormous ruby ring gracing her middle finger.

Victor scoffs, taking a sip of his own whisky and glancing at you as you follow suit with the virgin cocktail he ordered on your behalf while you were in the restroom.

He was so infuriating at times, but at least it wasn’t warmed milk.

“First of all, you weren’t meant to hear that.  Secondly, I hardly consider ‘dummy’ name calling.  Far worse exists when it comes to options, as I'm sure you can attest to, Diana. You’ve used quite a few in your day.”

Amusement spreads across her fine features as she throws her head back in laughter, the sound enticing even as it disrupts the low chatter in the room.  However, none of the men looking her way seemed to mind.  She was brimming with so much joie de vivre that even you weren’t immune to her charms, smiling despite the anxiety that sat heavy in your chest from the very moment Victor introduced you to Diana Shum that evening.

You didn’t quite know why you felt ill at ease, especially towards someone who was doing you a favour by brokering a major deal on behalf of your company.  Well, more like doing Victor a favour, since he was the one who made the request.  Perhaps this was how all men felt in the presence of such a woman: elegantly confident and unapologetically vivacious, drawing attention everywhere she went.

“Are you still dredging up stories from our Oxford days, Victor?  Not very gentlemanly of you.  How do you put up with him?”  Diana turns to wink at you and the spotlight of her attention makes you feel like the only other person in the room.  “Let me assure you those boys deserved every insult in the book; one-track minds and transparent to boot.  They should consider themselves lucky I even acknowledged their sad existence.”  

“Di, you made the Prime Minister’s son cry.  You should’ve seen those puffy eyes the next morning at the swim meet against Cambridge."  

Victor raises his brows, subtle amusement colouring his expression.  And simple though it was, the sight of his handsome face so transformed by the faint smile on his lips made your heart race.  

No, there’s no way.  It’s probably just the fatigue catching up to you.  The flight to Shanghai from Loveland City must’ve been more taxing than you initially thought, even though Victor had graciously offered to let you hitch a ride on his private jet.  You place a hand on your chest, trying to calm the frenzied rhythm of your heart.  The gesture goes unnoticed by Diana but Victor throws a worried glance in your direction.  You smile to ease his concerns.  He furrows his brows.

“Oh please, I should’ve ripped him a new one with the way he tried to get frisky on our date.  He’s lucky I didn’t call Soryu to deal with him and his wandering hands.”

A sudden change seeps into Victor’s eyes, dark irises softening as if focused on something miles away.  “Soryu.  How is your cousin doing, by the way?”

Diana leans back, taking another sip of her drink.  “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.  I take it you are accompanying this lovely producer to Tokyo to meet with Eisuke and wherever the Ichinomiya heir is, Soryu isn’t far behind.  In all honesty though, Vic, surely you would know better than I.  Weren’t the three of you thick as thieves during prep school?”

You perk up at the topic of Victor’s childhood.  It was a rare chance to learn about the formative years of this stone-faced man before he became the slave driver of Loveland Financial Group.  

“I was only there for a year and a half with Soryu and Eisuke before…before my mother passed.  My father sent for me shortly afterwards.  I haven't seen them since.”

Deep voice trailing off, Victor’s gaze shifts to the fireplace where it remains, as if hypnotized by the flicker of orange flames.  And as the silence stretches on, you become disconcerted to see him so uncharacteristically lost in his thoughts.  You reach out to touch him but Diana beats you to it, laying a delicate hand on top of his much larger one as it rests on the leather armrest.

The gesture is ridiculously small for how much it blindsides you — the sight of her hand on Victor’s dazzling like the light reflecting off her ruby ring.

He blinks at the touch, long lashes fluttering in the split-second it takes for him to compose himself and suddenly, the unflappable CEO is back again.  

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and we should probably call it a night.  But you have my thanks, Diana, for setting up this meeting with the Ichinomiya Group.”

It was Diana’s turn to scoff.  “Can we please dispense with the formalities, Victor?  Soryu mentioned Eisuke was having difficulty finding the right people to make this documentary on the anniversary of his Tres Spades Tokyo hotel, so it was serendipity that we bumped into each while on business in London.  It’s a win-win situation.  Meant to be.”

Meant to be.

There is a spark of something in Diana’s eyes when she makes that last statement.  It stays with you long after you part ways with Victor for the night, lying awake in your hotel room as you wondered whether the LFG CEO was already asleep in his.

Chapter 2: SOS

“You’re awfully quiet.  Should I take this to mean that you already know everything about Eisuke Ichinomiya and his chain of luxury hotels?"

Victor speaks without raising his head, leafing through the documents on his lap and stopping periodically to leave his signature with the same gold pen that marked up your reports. Its barrel glowed warm, reflecting the soft lights of the cabin of his private jet, en route to Tokyo from Shanghai.

Letting out a shaky breath, you try to steel yourself despite the rising heat in your cheeks.  Because after a night spent tossing and turning in your hotel room, you arrived at a conclusion so absurd it could only be true:  

You were in love with Victor Li.

Against all odds, the bane of your life had become your biggest ally and mentor.  All the pieces of the square puzzle that was the LFG CEO had fallen into place to form one coherent and beautiful picture:

His exacting demands transformed into standards of excellence, his workaholism a paragon of commitment and dedication.

And though you were loathe to admit it, each soft utterance of “dummy” leaving his lips made the corners of yours turn up in the goofiest of grins.

Oh god, how did it ever come to this?!  Where and when along the rocky path of your working relationship with the slave driver did you fall in love with him?  But that wasn’t even the worst of it.  If your intuition about the previous night’s events served you well, the beautiful Diana Shum was also enamoured of him.

You turn to Victor, meaning to inform him with utmost confidence that you had already conducted extensive research on the Ichinomiya Group’s charismatic CEO and his chain of casino hotels.  You even thought to throw in a snarky reminder that he himself had been marginally impressed with the presentation you gave on the topic back in Loveland City.

“Are you close to Diana Shum?”

Was NOT what had you meant to ask.  Especially in a voice that cracked like a 12 year old pubescent boy’s.  And if there was a way by which you could’ve drowned in a bottle of water, you would’ve gladly done so.  Instead, you settle for gulping it down, trying to keep your stupid mouth from spewing more nonsense in front of the man who was your de facto boss.

“Ahem.”  Victor clears his throat, long legs uncrossing as he shifts in his seat.  Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the muscles of that chiseled jaw settling firm.

“I-I’m so sorry.  It’s none of my business.  You don’t have to answer-"

“I’ve known her for a while, if that’s what you’re asking.  She’s a classmate from university and also a cousin of a friend of mine from prep school, as you’ve probably gathered from yesterday’s conversation.  Since graduation, she’s taken over her father’s role as CEO of Shum Property Developments and we’ve partnered periodically on various business ventures…”

He continues and you nod at the appropriate times, half listening as a million thoughts filtered through your head: your surprise at how unusually verbose Victor was being, the relief you felt to see that he was as determined to avoid your gaze as you were his.  Because the truth was that the longer he went on about Diana — so beautiful, polished and charming that you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her even if you tried — the harder it was to keep the clouds from darkening your face.  And when Victor says,

“Not like it has any bearing on anything now, but we also dated for a short period of time…”

…It hurts to breathe.

Finally turning in your direction, Victor fixes you with a scrutinizing gaze.  “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, um, I just…wanted to know a bit more about the person who helped me and my company.  So I can better thank her later.”

You speak without meeting his eyes, hoping to placate him with a quick smile as you pretend to rummage through your purse.  Thankfully, he drops the topic, returning to his documents.  And though the rest of the plane ride is spent in near silence, the thoughts in your head have never been so loud.

Chapter 3: Sexy Bones [Victor]

She wore that dress today.  The same one she had on when she impudently stormed my office to insist that I give her company a final chance before pulling funding:

Fitted to conform to every curve, yet formal enough to be professional.  Beautifully sensual in her usual understated way.  My favourite shade of red.

“It’s my go-to outfit when I need a confidence boost,” she told me once in between bites of pudding at Souvenir.  “It makes me feel like a queen, like I can do no wrong.  Perfect for business meetings I just have to nail, you know?”

“Dummy,” I had said then, feigning dismissiveness so she wouldn’t pick up on the way my eyes kept drifting towards her lips, so soft and plush I couldn’t help but wonder if her kisses would carry a hint of caramel sweetness.

It was true that the girl could be incredibly dense at times, playing at being queen when she already ruled my heart.  Or how oblivious she was to the fact that the British doctor was completely smitten with her during today’s meeting at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel.

Dr. Luke Foster.

Completely absorbed in reading through what looked to be like a stack of medical journals, Dr. Foster had largely ignored us while Eisuke and Soryu made quick work of introducing the eclectic mix of other associates in the room:

Ota Kisaki, the so-called “Angelic Artist” whose work I was well-acquainted with, having previously spent a small fortune on his painting, Koro of My Kokoro.

Baba Mitsunari, a charming man whose handsome features were made all the more striking by the black fedora and red suit he wore.  The girl pointed out that he bore an uncanny resemblance to the cashier we saw at a convenience store earlier that day and I had to agree.

They glossed over a man named Mamoru Kishi, apparently sound asleep in one corner of the room with his face covered by a newspaper and a full ashtray by his side.

Finally, they came to Luke Foster, a blond-haired man with the air of an English gentleman.  Eisuke explained that Dr. Foster was the hotel’s on-site physician as well as a fellow alumnus of our prep school, apparently having left for reasons no one wanted to articulate the year before I transferred in.

And when the doctor finally looked up at us from his readings, his eyes took on an almost maniacal quality to see the girl standing by my side.

“Those proportions, those angles….perfect…absolutely perfect!”  He exclaimed as if in a daze, standing up suddenly and causing the reading materials to spill from his lap in the process.

He looked completely unhinged, almost like a zombie as he reached out a pale hand towards her collarbones of all places.  I stepped in front of her on reflex, only to have the doctor fix me with a piercing gaze as if he had just become aware of my existence and found it thoroughly offensive.

“Annnnd there he goes again,” Ota’s tone was one of exasperation, but there was no mistaking the amusement in the smirk that spread wide across his face.

“Ooh, Lu’s got a new victim!  Maybe now he can finally stop staring at the Boss’s girl every time she comes in to clean the penthouse!”  Baba chimes in, fingers stroking at his chin as if hatching some mischievous plan.

“Will the lot of ya shaddup!?  I’m tryin’ to sleep over here…zzz…” The man with the papers over his head gave a muffled shout before promptly rolling over onto his side.

Soryu just sighed, running a hand over his face.  And just when I began to worry that the girl was scared out of her wits, having wandered into this strange den of wolves, she surprised me by chuckling under her breath.  

Did the dummy find this funny?

“Tch, ignore them, Victor.  Let’s just get on with the presentation,” Eisuke said as he took his seat at the head of a long table.  The girl straightened up and immediately got to work, transforming into the consummate professional she always was when it came down to business.  I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as I watched her nail her pitch.

Taking a surreptitious glance around at her rapt audience, I stopped at Luke.  The intensity of the doctor's stare made me uneasy, the way those blue-grey eyes hovered above the scooped neckline of her red dress, tracing along her collarbones as if he were caressing them with his gaze alone.  I mentally berated myself for not putting my suit jacket over her shoulders before she got up there.

And though it was spoken under his breath, Dr. Foster’s murmur of “sexy bones” rang loud and clear in my ears.

Chapter 4: In A (Traffic) Jam [Victor]

“Victor, you won’t believe my luck!  Not only did we cinch the Ichinomiya account, I also found the perfect candidate to appear on our Mystery Finder show!”

The girl was practically breathless on the other end of the line, words jumbling together as they came a mile a minute.  And though her enthusiasm is as infectious as it is adorable, I remind myself to play it cool.  “Really.  And who might that be?”

“Dr. Foster!”

HONK!

I swerve back into my lane on reflex, narrowly avoiding an accident as the driver next to me flips me the bird before speeding away.  My heart raced, beating fiercely against the cage of my chest, but it had little to do with my near brush with death.

At this moment, I was more concerned with a man who looked like Death himself.

“Oh my god, Victor, what was that?  Are you okay?”  The concern in her voice is palpable and it makes me think of how kind and tenderhearted she is, of how easily someone could exploit that to their advantage.  “This is a bad time, isn’t it?  I’m so sorry, I’ll call you ba-”

“Don’t worry about it, just some idiot not paying attention on the road.  And what's this about, ahem, Dr. Foster?"  The name itself was unsavoury, sticking in my throat until I spat it out.  I hoped the vitriol escaped her notice.

“Okay Victor, get this: it’s like the man has X-ray vision!”

She whispers for dramatic effect, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel as I picture those slate grey eyes sweeping over the curves of her body, a lewd expression falling over the doctor’s features.  He was a handsome enough man, that much was true; intelligent and a first-rate surgeon according to Eisuke and Soryu.  Goldman confirmed as much when I had him dig up all available information on Luke Foster.  On that basis alone, many women would find him to be an extremely attractive suitor and ludicrous though it is, I can’t help but think the worst.  Luke had been quite open in his admiration of her, especially her collarbones.  What if she returned the sentiment?

In retrospect, it was a horrible idea to leave her to her work (and that wolf) in Tokyo while I returned to mine in Loveland City.  While she had the company of her coworkers, clearly none of them sensed the danger in Luke Foster that I did.  I no longer had the right to call her a dummy when I was obviously the idiot here.

“I’m telling you Victor, he can just look at somebody and tell you everything about their bone structure.  It’s too accurate to just be guesswork!  Apparently, he can remember anyone he's ever laid eyes on based on their bones.  It’s incredible.  I’d love for Professor Lucien to meet him.  If only he had the time to fly out to Tokyo…”

The girl continues and I catch sight of my furrowed brows in the rear-view mirror, deepening the longer she goes on and on about men who weren’t me.

“…He’s already agreed to be a guest on the show!  But…he did make a rather strange request."

For a moment, I can barely breathe.  The skin over my knuckles blanches as it stretches tight, my grip on the wheel growing harder as I brace for unwelcome news.  God knows what she would’ve agreed to in my absence.  Filled with a sense of dread, I had to know all the same.  “Which was?…”

She pauses, the hitch in her breath subtle but speaking volumes nonetheless.

“Just say it, dummy.”  I soften my tone in encouragement though my mind was already racing, thinking of all the ways my legal team could dissolve a contract should the girl have already signed papers.

“Well, he…he asked if he could examine my body in lieu of payment for appearing on the show.  You should’ve seen him!  He was so desperate he was practically begging and I…I just couldn't say no."  

MOTHERFUCK!

Chapter 5: Role Model

“STUPID VICTOR LI!”

You had meant to throw the rolled-up magazine in dramatic rock star fashion, sending it flying across your suite at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel to give at least a resounding smack as it hits the wall.  Instead, it flutters to the carpeted floor, barely a few feet from where you lay sprawled out on a bed much too large for a single person.

And from the surface of that glossy cover, Victor’s handsome face — all sharp eyes and chiseled jaw - staring up at you from beneath a headline that read: "Man On Top: How Victor Li Conquered The Business World.”

Man on top.  What a tease if there ever was one — especially since you’ve developed the recent habit of falling asleep to the fantasy of having the broad expanse of Victor’s muscular chest hovering over you.

“The only thing he should be on top of is ME!”

Your voice echoes in the room, empty save for you.  Even still, your cheeks burned from embarrassment over the absurdity of your current situation.  Victor Li didn’t belong to you.  Not when he had someone like Diana in his life.

Victor and Diana.  Diana and Victor.  A perfect match regardless of how the pieces fit.  And for an instant, your anger flares to remember the nonchalance in Victor’s voice when he told you that their past history as lovers had no bearing on the present, as if they didn’t look like they belonged together when you saw them just now in the lobby of the hotel, moments after you purchased the magazine with Victor’s face gracing the cover from one of the shops.

Practically ecstatic in your surprise to see him there at the Tres Spades, you were just about to call out to him when his name died in your throat, choked by the sight of the woman at his side.  Victor was escorting Diana to a limo waiting just beyond the revolving doors.  And the last thing you saw before the chauffeur pulled away was the two of them slipping into the vehicle together.

He hadn’t even told you he was coming to Tokyo.

It was only after you became aware of the fact that you were blocking the entrance to the shop that you recovered from the shock, murmuring apologies as you pulled yourself together just enough to make your way back to the safety of your hotel room.

Rising up off the bed, your feet sink into the lush carpeting as you pad over to where the magazine lay.  You pick it up and smooth out the crinkles, fingers tracing the outline of Victor’s profile as you do — gentle, as if you were touching the man himself.  And when your nose begins to tingle, you know it won’t be long before you feel the familiar sting of tears behind your eyes.

“Think you could stop being so nice to me, Victor?  You’ll give a girl the wrong impression.”  

Heaving a sigh, you slip the magazine beneath a pillow on the bed.  A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told you it was almost time for your dinner date with Dr. Foster.  Sitting around moping wasn’t an option, at least not tonight.  Lightly slapping your cheeks, you push the image of Victor and Diana out of your head and get ready to step into the shower.

Chapter 6: Hard To Swallow [Victor]

“I’m glad you remembered that you owe me a dinner, Victor Li.  And though I practically had to drag you to this restaurant, I guess the means don’t really matter if the end result is the same.  But still, what a lucky coincidence that we bumped into each other again at the Tres Spades of all places.  Now that’s something to drink to.”

Diana holds up her glass, Cabernet Sauvignon swirling as it meets mine with a delicate clink.  Under the table, the tip of her stiletto pushes against my oxfords before sliding past my ankle, inching its way up my leg.  I pull away, watching those red lips spread into a smile as I do.

“You might be the first man who’s ever been able to resist me.  Has anyone ever told you you’re one stubborn asshole?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She laughs at that, taking another sip of her wine before setting it down.  “So, tell me about her.”

“Her?”  I focus on cutting into my Kobe beef, already aware that Diana will see through my bluff.  She always did.

“Surely there must be another woman if you keep turning me down over and over again, Victor.  A girl has her pride too, you know.”

“We are not getting back together, Diana.”

“Tsk, you’re no fun, Vic.  All work and no play, all the time.  I’ll have to remind myself of that the next time I start entertaining thoughts of calling you up again.”

She pouts, but it isn’t long before her eyes take on that familiar spark of mischief as she continues.  

“But seriously, tell me about your cute little producer.  That is the girl you keep rejecting me for, I presume.  I need to know about the woman who’s finally managed to infiltrate the entirety of Victor Li’s notoriously impenetrable heart.  She must be quite the lover if she’s got you wrapped around her little finger like that, pulling strings with all your friends left, right and centre.”

It annoys me to no end that the mere mention of the girl is enough to reduce me to a swooning idiot.  I fight to keep the smile off my face.

“You’ve got the wrong idea.  She’s not my lover.”  

Diana begins to protest, but her words are lost on me because I’ve stopped listening.  In fact, the only thing I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, propelled by the adrenaline racing through my veins to see him enter the restaurant.

Dr. Luke Foster.  

WITH MY DUMMY, NO LESS.

And my dummy looks…absolutely gorgeous.  Her hair is done up, leaving her graceful neck and collarbones exposed in a little black dress I’ve never seen her wear before, I realize with not an insignificant amount of jealousy.

But wait…collarbones?!

Sure enough, that surgeon is staring at her clavicle like some kind of pervert.  The sight alone incites the beginnings of a dull throbbing in my temples, no doubt exacerbated by the vice-like clench of my jaws.

I follow them with my gaze as they are led to a table for two; fixate on Luke’s face even as the sommelier arrives to make his recommendations to the pair.  The doctor stares at my girl like he couldn’t care less about the meal, as if the only thing he hungered for was precisely what I myself had desired for so long: the woman.  And she—

Just looked my way.

Surprise etches itself onto her beautiful features — the brows I had dreamt of one day lightly running a fingertip over while she sleeps lifting into a delicate arch.  And why shouldn’t she be surprised?  I had given her no indication that I had rushed over to Tokyo from Loveland City as soon as I heard what Luke had requested of her.  

But there is no nod of acknowledgement, no smile in greeting.  Just her, looking away as if she hadn’t seen me at all, her smile apologetic when she retrains her attention on the doctor.  And while it was only for a fraction of a second, I could have sworn her eyes carried a hint of sorrow.

Or perhaps I’m projecting.

Because her obvious avoidance feels like a rebuff, a sucker punch to the gut.  She’s never blatantly ignored me like that, no matter how wound up she was even during those times when I verbally tore her sub-par proposals to shreds.  The feeling of rejection sits heavy on my chest, the tie around my neck much too tight.

“Victor, are you all right?”

Diana’s voice cuts through my thoughts.  She is looking at me curiously.  I reach for my glass of wine, suddenly feeling like I was on the verge of choking.  “Of course, what could possibly be wrong?”

“ ‘What’s wrong’ is the fact that you haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said for the past ten minutes.  Even if there’s no chance we’ll ever get back together again as you so adamantly insist, the least you could do is pay attention to the person you’re sharing a meal with.”

I take a deep breath, more than a little disconcerted by the girl’s ability to affect me.  “Of course.  My apologies, you’re absolutely right.  Please, continue.”

Across the candlelit table, I look Diana in the eye, resolved to keep up at least the pretence of being interested in what she had to say when all I wanted to do was storm the table where Luke sat with my girl.  With each sideways glance in their direction, my grip tightened on my utensils to see them chatting, seemingly engrossed in the world’s most interesting conversation.

And when she hands over a manila envelope to the doctor, my heart skips a beat.

Could it be…marriage documents?!

One tiny corner of my brain berates me for how ridiculous I am being but when it comes to her, I simply can’t help it, and the fantasy in which I casually stroll over, flip the table onto Luke Foster and steal my girl away in a bridal carry becomes so vivid in my mind’s eye, it almost seems like a good idea.

Diana excuses herself to use the restroom and I pounce on the opportunity to send the dummy a text:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR.  DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 7: Choked Up

“Is there something wrong, Dr. Foster?  You haven’t touched your meal.”

You do your best to school your expression into one of polite neutrality as you take in the strange sight of the pale, blond-haired man shaking out an alarming number of pills onto the palm of his hand, tapping loudly on a bottle seemingly produced out of nowhere.  He pops them all into his mouth at once and you pray you won’t have to perform the Heimlich maneuver as he chases them down with a few gulps of water.

A smile spreads across the doctor’s lips as his eyes fall upon your collarbones once more.  You were used to feeling like a third wheel by now, even when alone with Luke Foster, given his penchant for carrying on conversations while staring intently at your bones.  But you took no offence at his behaviour, especially after Baba’s attempts to give you insight into Luke’s peculiar mannerisms:

“Try not to take it personal, Miss.  Lu will look at anyone who’s got beautiful collarbones.  It’s a well-known fact that he’s obsessed with the boss’s - he's even framed the X-ray films of Eisuke’s bones.  He likely just wants yours to add to his collection.”

Strange though it was, the request that Luke be allowed to have X-rays films of your collarbones in exchange for appearing on Miracle Finder was innocent enough.  Certainly nothing that warranted the stony silence you received on the other end of the line when you called Victor the other day to tell him that Dr. Foster wanted to examine you.  After a brusque “I have to go,” he had hung up.  No goodbyes, not even a mutter of “dummy.”  

But Luke Foster had been nothing short of a perfect gentleman, never once laying a hand on you.  Moreover, he even insisted on paying for tonight’s meal despite the fact that you had invited him as thanks for appearing on the show.  

“Please, just call me Luke.  Vitamins and water are all I need to survive.  I only ordered because Eisuke said it might be awkward if you seemed to be the only one dining.”

“I-I see.”  You smile, taking another bite of wagyu.  And for a moment, you are too wrapped up in the blissful way it seemed to melt on your tongue to be disconcerted by the strange events of the evening.

You weren’t, however, too distracted to continue throwing surreptitious glances in Victor’s direction, fighting to keep composed each time Diana’s laughter carried over to your table.  What were the chances that you’d find yourselves at the same restaurant in all of Tokyo?  You know that he knows you are here; even Chik couldn’t put on a performance convincing enough for the LFG CEO to believe for a second that you didn’t see him.

With your dismal acting skills, you definitely didn’t stand a chance.

“You’re in love with him.”

COUGH, COUGH!

You clear the steak lodged in the back of your throat with a few hacking coughs, half of your face hidden behind your napkin as you tried to be as discreet as possible, the words “Death by Wagyu” flashing through your mind.  After soothing your throat with a sip of wine, you ask:

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re in love with that man sitting just over there with the woman dressed in red.  That Victor fellow who accompanied you to that first meeting with Eisuke.”

For someone who seemed to pay very little attention to matters that didn’t concern bones, Luke Foster was surprisingly perceptive.  Or maybe you weren’t as discrete as you thought you were and it was obvious to all but yourself that you were staring at the golden couple.

“I…how did you...what makes you—”

“Please pass this message on to him for me.  If he doesn’t treat your collarbones with the respect they deserve, he can’t blame me for swooping in to take his place.”

Then, for the very first time that night, Luke Foster looks you in the eye, the intensity in blue-grey irises making your breath hitch when he says: “Until then, I hope you find happiness with him, Sexy Bones — especially since he also seems to be exceedingly fond of you.  Quite the annoyance, really.”

And for the very first time that night, you smile freely, naturally, at Luke, blushing hard as you contemplate his words.  Suddenly bashful, you drop your gaze only to catch sight of the manila envelope you brought with you.  You pass it across the table to him.

“Here.  Your payment for agreeing to appear on Miracle Finder.”

The expression on Luke’s face can best be described as euphoric when he takes the films from you, momentarily excusing himself from the table as he murmurs something about requiring brighter lighting to examine them.

That is when you hear the buzz of your phone from inside your purse.  And when you finally fish it out, you see a single text from Victor, commanding as always:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR.  DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 8: Green-Eyed Monsters [Victor]

“Another whiskey on the rocks for you, Sir?”

I nod to the bartender, watching as he chips away at a block of ice to produce a perfect crystalline sphere — still spinning in the glass when he pours the amber spirit over it like a libation.  It almost takes my mind off the fact that the girl is late.  By exactly ten minutes, according to my watch.  And for a moment, I’m gripped by a sense of panic when I consider the possibility that she might not come.

She never did answer my text though I knew she saw it — having witnessed her reaching into her purse to pull out her phone seconds after I sent the message.  And while the logical part of my brain is telling me I’m being an absolute idiot, worst-case scenarios are already running through my head: the girl is side-swiped by a car while crossing the street, or somehow managed to fall into an open manhole and is currently standing knee-deep in sewage.

Or maybe she is pinned to the wall in a dark corner somewhere, hemmed in on either side by the gifted hands of a world-class surgeon by the name of Luke Foster.

I lift the glass to my lips, too impatient to even savour the smooth burn of the drink as I reach for my phone to send her another text.  That is when I see her:

Cheeks flushed and chest gently heaving as if she had rushed to get here.  An errant lock of hair falling from her up-do, framing that beautiful face like I had dreamt so many times of doing with the palm of my hand.

She makes her way towards me in that dimly lit bar, and though I’m aware of the faint ticking of the second hand of my watch, time may as well have stood still.  Because I could have lived in that moment forever, gazing upon the light in her eyes as if they held every last star in the sky, as if those heavenly bodies had fallen just for her in precisely the same way I had: deeply, irrevocably.

And I know there is no turning back.

“Victor, sorry I’m late!  What are you doing here in Tok—”  

“Why did you ignore me?”  My voice comes out stern, even to my ears, and I curse myself for losing my cool around her yet again.  The girl furrows her brows, eyes dropping from my face to the half-empty glass of whiskey sitting on the counter.  And when she looks up again, something in her countenance has changed — soft surprise giving way to a hardened expression.

“If it’s the text you’re referring to, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She looks away, refusing to meet my gaze as she perches on the stool beside me.  “Surely you wouldn’t have wanted me to interrupt your dinner date, especially when you and Ms. Shum seemed so intimate.”

Intimate?

The bartender approaches, interrupting our conversation before I get the chance to formulate a reply.  “What can I get for you, Miss?”

“She’ll have a glass of warmed milk—”

“Whiskey.  On the rocks, please.”

She speaks over me, turning slightly in my direction as she does.  I ignore the murmur of “Ladies’ choice” from the bartender as well as the smirk on his face as he begins preparing her drink.  The thinly veiled challenge in the girl’s expression — elbow propped up on the counter with her chin resting atop a loose fist — only serves to highlight how incredibly alluring it is when she pushes back.

“Hmm.  Bold.  Since when did you start drinking whiskey?  I don’t think you need me to remind you of your non-existent alcohol tolerance.  Besides, didn’t you already have enough to drink at dinner?”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Victor Li,” she says, reaching for the glass the bartender sets down before her.  She takes a moment, staring at the rich, golden hues before finally taking a sip.  I fight to keep the smile off my face when hers pulls into a grimace from the sting of the alcohol she clearly wasn’t familiar with.  Dummy.

“I’m surprised you even noticed me at all, not with the lovely Diana there.  But I guess old wounds really do have difficulty closing, no matter how much we say they’ve healed.”

“You’d have to ask for the expert opinion of your overly friendly doctor about that.”

“Excuse me?”  She sets her drink down a bit harder than likely intended, sending the liquid sloshing about the glass to kiss the pink of her lipstick imprinted on its edge.  

I don’t like where this conversation is going, the ill-disguised barbs only serving to increase the tension between us.  It was foolish to have what should’ve been a very private discussion in a public space but, as always, the thought of her and Luke together is enough to make me forget my place and position, throwing caution to the wind and behaving with reckless abandon.

And still, the heat beneath my collar goads me on.

“Luke Foster.  The one you’re so enthralled with that your manners seem to have been completely swept from memory.  I presume that’s the reason why you didn’t acknowledge my existence when you saw me in the restaurant.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief as she leans in close, voice dripping with sarcasm: “Just like how you didn’t remember to tell me you were coming to Tokyo?  Or maybe you weren’t planning on telling me at all, since it clearly looked like you weren’t here on business.  But then again, I guess your business is none of mine.”

I don’t know whether I want to push back or kiss her senseless.

Instead, I settle for a deep breath, trying to keep my frustration in check.  Having a heated argument with her was not how I had intended my evening to go.  In fact, my entire day had not proceeded as planned, and if I hadn’t been accosted by Diana as soon as I stepped foot in the Tres Spades hotel, I would have been having dinner with the woman who occupied all my thoughts, all the time.  At the very least, I could’ve saved her from the clutches of a pervert doctor.

I glance in her direction, study the beautiful melancholy of her silent profile as she watches the ball of ice slowly melt into her drink.  Then I take another sip of mine, steeling myself for reparations I desperately needed to make.

“I am only going to say this once, so listen closely.  Diana Shum and I dated shortly after graduation for all of two months before we decided to part ways on amicable terms.  We make for much better business partners than we ever did romantically, and while she has expressed occasional interest in rekindling our relationship, I have never been of the same mind.  I can assure you this will never change.

“The reason I came to Tokyo is not because of her — professional or otherwise — but because I was in a rush to prevent a certain dummy from doing anything she’d regret later on.  But…”

I knock back the rest of my whiskey, emptying the glass.

“…I’m afraid I’m too late.”

She looks at me now, eyes wide as if she were still processing the words.  Her next question comes on a whisper: “Why would you be too late?”

And it is my turn to look away.  

“Well, you seemed to be pretty intimate yourself with Dr. Foster during your dinner date.  I can only presume that…”

The girl moves closer and I can’t help the way my eyes are drawn to her mouth — the tremble of her lower lip, full and pink and lush.  Without thought, I allow my gaze to trace along the graceful column of her neck, settling at the delicate notch between her collarbones and in that instant, I come to a visceral understanding of the extent of Luke Foster’s obsession, for mine was magnified a million times over:

I yearned for the entirety of this woman before me — needed her for myself, now and forever.

“Presume what?”  Her voice is low, shaking.

“I can only presume that you’ve already allowed him to…examine your body.”

There is a moment of silence — each torturous second seeming to stretch into eternity to smother the last embers of hope.

“I have…”

Oh god.

“…given him X-ray films of my collarbones as he requested.  That is all.  He’s never touched me, not even once.  I took him out to dinner tonight so I could give them to him as thanks for appearing on the show.”

Petty.  Sheepish.  I felt all these things, but none so powerful as the staggering sense of relief that washes over me to hear her say these words.  Closing my eyes, I let the revelation sink in, finally feeling like I can breathe for the very first time that night.

Chapter 9: The Big Bang

You don’t quite know what made you do it.  

The ambience of the bar, perhaps: sultry jazz and flickering candles purposefully placed to create just enough shadows for a veil of privacy.

Or maybe it was the crestfallen uncertainty that painted the handsome features of Victor Li’s face, his sudden display of vulnerability both novel and endearing.

Most likely however, it was the way in which his downcast expression morphed into one of ecstatic relief when you told him that Luke Foster had not laid a single finger on you.

Because when Victor tilts his head back, eyes closed and sighing deeply as if some unfathomable burden had been lifted, you cannot help but bring your lips to the Adam’s apple bobbing along the length of that strong, thick neck.

Cedar wood and pine.  

The notes of his cologne are so familiar you didn’t realize how much you missed his scent until you literally came face to face with it.  Victor is warm, so very warm beneath the skin of your lips.  And under your touch, you become vaguely aware of the fact that the rise and fall of his chest has stilled.

At any other time, you would’ve questioned your sanity for how boldly you were behaving, especially towards someone who was your boss.  You had never been one to put yourself out there when it came to matters of the heart.  Something about the moment however, about Victor, made you feel like the one thing you could not do was let this chance pass you by.

So when you hear that shuddering breath, feel the faint scratch of his five o’clock shadow when he nuzzles against you in return, you know you’ve made the right gamble.  Being with Victor Li feels right.  And the surreal sense of belonging you find within the embrace of his muscular arms gives you the courage to say, “You must really believe I’m a dummy if you think I’d let any man other than you touch me.”

He slides a finger beneath your chin, gently lifting until all you can see are those jet black eyes, swimming with heat and emotion.  The sudden silence of your surroundings sinks in: no more music, no idle chatter.  Not even the rustle of limbs moving about in the dimly lit bar.  And there, in the strange privacy of suspended time…

...Victor kisses you.

                        *                                     *                                      *

“Are you sure…this is…what you want?”

The deep timbre of Victor’s voice sends a thrill vibrating along the surface of your skin as he questions you between kisses — laid on your mouth, the line of your jaw, the pulse of your neck.  His firm body presses you into a corner of the elevator, empty save for the two of you writhing in unison against a mirrored wall.

Each movement of his soft lips against yours is purposeful, imbued with meaning: longing in the gentle teeth that nibbled on your lower lip before drawing it into his mouth, in the sensual slide of the tongue that sought yours.  Affection obvious in the hands that rose to cup your face, thumbs tracing circles on the apples of reddened cheeks to tell you in no uncertain terms that Victor Li belonged to you as much as you yearned to belong to him.

So you had no qualms about answering in the affirmative, nodding your head because the press of Victor’s muscular thigh between your legs already left you breathless and wondering whether he could feel your wet heat seeping through your panties.

And all he really did was kiss you.

Ding.

The elevator stops at your floor and even before the doors slide open, Victor has hoisted you up, wrapping your legs tightly about his tapered waist and whispering into your ear, “Which room?”

You knew Victor was fit, had seen him move fast and effortlessly through the waters of his Olympic-sized swimming pool that one time he had you deliver a report to his mansion on a Sunday.  And yet, you could not help but admire the sheer perfection of his physique — the bulk of his biceps, flexed beneath strained layers of clothing; the ease with which he carries you all the way to your suite.

And when he sits you down upon the king-sized bed, you wonder if it is, in fact, too small for all the things you cared to do with him.

The LFG CEO shrugs off his suit jacket, loosening his tie just enough to pull it over his head before dropping to kneel at your feet.  You watch him reach for you, shiver when he caresses the sensitive skin behind your knee with a light graze of gentle fingertips.  Large hands trail down your calf — touch barely there and teasing — until his palm finally cups the heel of your stiletto to slide it off your foot.

He looks up at you then, the intensity in ebony irises rendering you still and mute as you patiently await his next move despite the frenzied pounding in your chest.  There is a stroke of something almost feral in the dark depths of the gaze that falls heavy upon you — searching your eyes, lingering on your lips…tracing the neckline of your dress.

“I’ve never seen you wear this dress before.”  Victor says, taking the same amount of care to remove the shoe from your other foot.

And if you were able to think straight under the influence of his touch — the hands that pushed back the hem of your dress as they roamed higher and higher up your thighs towards your heat — you might have found it strange that Victor was choosing now, of all times, to comment on your wardrobe choices.  As it was, you answered without second thought: “It’s new.  I bought it especially for tonight’s dinner.”

Victor stills and when he speaks again, there is a faint tremble in that voice, as if fighting to contain some unfathomable emotion.  

“The doctor couldn’t stop staring at you.  I know because I was the same way.  I couldn’t look away from the moment you stepped foot in that restaurant.”

The revelation leaves you silent, waiting with bated breath for Victor to continue.

“Forgive me…”

Fingers entwine with fabric, gripping tight.

“…but I can’t stand the thought of you looking so beautiful for anyone else.”

RRRIIIIPPPP!

You fall back, wincing at the sound even as you feel your body respond to the sudden shock of having your dress torn right down the middle.  Victor’s display of brute strength was so at odds with the façade of composure he was synonymous with and yet, there was no denying that you were incredibly aroused by this show of power — by the fact that he was now straddling you on all fours like some wild beast, tearing away the rest of your undergarments to leave you completely bare.

You’ve never been so desperate to feel him inside you, deep and rough and untamed.  The thought throws you into a frenzy of lust.

Digging your fingers into the front of his dress shirt, you yank it open to send buttons flying in haphazard directions, but the only thing that concerned you was the sight of that broad chest and muscular torso, so impressive it actually elicits a moan from your lips and a smile from his in return.

Propping yourself up onto your knees, you press against him, flesh to flesh — one hand running over the burning surface of his skin even as the other tugs at the buckle of his leather belt, impatiently moving to palm him when his dress pants fall and gasping to finally see and feel the full extent of the LFG CEO:

Victor Li is rock hard and intimidatingly large.

And the sight makes your mouth water.

Sinking onto your heels, you trail your lips along Victor’s chiseled body, tongue teasing at his nipples as you do and relishing the catch of his breath in his throat.

But just as you begin to lay kisses along the deep V of his abdomen with the intent of tracing lower and lower, Victor stops you, puling you up for a kiss before laying back on the bed and positioning you above him…

…with his face between your legs.

“This way,” he says, voice muffled, and you might have commented on his inability to relinquish control even in the bedroom were it not for the sensation of his flattened tongue sweeping hot and wet along the seam of your already dripping pussy, teasing from end to end.

The sensation is so intense it’s almost unbearable.  You throw your head back, mouth dropping in a silent scream as you sink onto Victor’s face, fighting the instinct to grinder lower onto that talented tongue despite the encouraging grip of Victor’s hands, strong on your hips and thighs.

“I’ve wanted to taste you…for so long,” he murmurs, sucking the swell of your clit into his mouth and humming in approval against moist flesh to hear you moan above him.  “Your flavour is absolutely exquisite.”

Gathering your wits, you fold forward — intent on giving just as much pleasure as you were receiving.  Victor twitches once within your grip, not quite contained by the circumference of your palm and fingers, running up and down the sizeable length of his cock, hot in your hand like his breath on your slit.  And after placing a few wet kisses on the smooth, hard head, you open your mouth to taste him.

The tepid salt of his arousal.  The groans originating from deep within Victor’s chest each time your lip brushed past the tender underside of his cock.  The subtle rhythm of his pelvis, lifting in time to your mouth swallowing more of that solid shaft, quickly becoming slick with your saliva.

And then you catch sight of your reflection in the mirrored closet.  See the bulge of Victor’s bicep as he grips your hip, the flex in the muscles of his neck when he lifts to bury his face deeper into your folds.  See yourself: hair disheveled and eyes half-lidded, drunk on sex.  Observe the messy smear of your lipstick as your mouth stretches to accommodate more and more of your boss’s cock.  And when the tip of Victor’s tongue begins its relentless tease of your clit, you watch as a most debauched expression falls over your features, the tension in your body breaking as you find release on his lips.

You are still shaking when he enters you, sensitized by an orgasm that left tiny sparks of electricity running along every nerve, priming you for second helpings.  A true paragon of patience, Victor Li takes his time, deliberately slow as he pushes — savouring the sensation of drenched, swollen flesh parting just for him.

It was almost unfathomable that you could experience such extreme pleasure, each powerful swing of Victor’s hips driving him deeper into your body — hitting just the right angles until your very senses were extracted along with your second release of the night, running slick between your legs to ease the slippery slide of your bodies.

It draws out Victor’s own, your lover moving to pull out moments before you surprise him by taking him once more into your mouth — gaze locked onto those dark eyes from below as you taste him on your tongue, euphoric to see him bite his lips when your lick yours to swallow every last drop.

Chapter 10: Pillow Talk

Beep Beep Beep Beep.

You roll over, eyes still closed as you reach out to hit the snooze button on the alarm clock.

Except your palm comes down on warm flesh with a resounding smack, echoing throughout your hotel room and accompanied by a deep voice that says, “Are you finally awake, Dummy?”

Your eyes shoot open to see Victor lying naked in bed next to you, a splotch of red blooming on his chest where he had been attacked.  He sets his phone down to hand you a glass of water from the bedside table, and even though memories of the previous night come rushing back to burn your cheeks, you cannot help but notice how glorious he looks bathed in morning light.  You hope he doesn’t see the way your hand shakes when you accept the glass from him with a meek “Thanks.”

Victor clears his throat, waiting for you to finish drinking before he says, “That was the fourth time you slept through the alarm.  I’ve already informed your colleagues you’ll be taking the day off.  We didn’t get much sleep last night and I think you’ll need some time to…recover.”

You bite your lip, turning sideways to feign a sudden interest in the curtains so he wouldn’t see the giant smile spreading onto your face.  It was almost surreal that Victor Li was your lover, and if it weren’t for the exquisite soreness you felt between your legs, you would’ve been hard pressed to believe it for yourself.

The sheets rustle and before you know it, Victor has his chest pressed up against your bare back, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder before he rests his chin on it.

“How are you feeling?”  He asks.

“Okay.  Pretty good, actually.”  It was too early in the game to tell him you were already doing cartwheels in your mind.

“Good.  I’m glad to hear that because I found this under your pillow…”

He places something in your hands.  Your eyes widen when you recognize the magazine with his face on the cover.

“…And this ‘man on top’ wants to know what it feels like to have this woman on top of him for the rest of the day.”

You’ve made it to the end! 🤩 Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚 

[bonktime]

Weather The Storm

Chapter 2: Hand Over Fist

Ezra (Prospect) x f!reader (no y/n) 1861 Lighthouse au 

Rated: E (just the whole story)

Previous // Masterlist // Next

Art by the incredible @honestly-shite​ I’m so blown away 🥰💘

Summary: Ezra settles into life in the north but he can’t seem to wrap his head around the keeper. As they dance around each other a clash with another local brings some truths into the light.

Warnings: Language, violence, a boat load of sexual tension, a bunch of victorian sexism, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort? (smut will come)

Note: Written in the 3rd person so i guess you could read as oc? but I never name or describe her, except being short. I had loads of fun writing this! Loads of descriptions of the weather because that’s who I am and also touching. Next chapter will probably be a little late but please forgive me!

Wordcount: 3630

~~~~~~~~~

The wind was like nothing else. Four days at sea and Ezra was fairly sure it was making him deaf. It roared and screamed through the wood of the boat like he's never heard. Rattling anything loose and merging with the groans of the beams and the waves into a great cacophony of noise.

There was a knack to sailing in winds so strong, one he was very glad he'd got the hang of previously else he would probably have been tossed overboard that first morning. Even so the violent movement of the ship beneath him had been a surprise. Any time he put anything down he had to keep a close eye or it would end up on the other side of the room. It made sleep exceedingly difficult when being tossed out of the hammock was a possibility, so he was lucky to get a couple of hours between shifts.

The work was hard and one particularly malicious seagull had made off with a biscuit he had been about to take a bite out of, combined with the lack of sleep and the rolling waves, it had made him irritable at best down right foul at worst. Still, the rest of the crew were likable and only jibed in a good humoured way at the newcomer. And, whenever the bite of the cold got too much, he had a new memory to warm him up. Even so as they came into port on that forth morning, he was picturing that warm bed and the flickering firelight. 

On the walk back along the sea something caught his eye. He stopped to pick it up.

 ⧫⧫⧫

Ezra arrived just as the keeper was leaving the lighthouse. She saw him crossing the causeway, as the sun peeked over the horizon, turning the sky every colour from deep blue to the brightest pink. He waved at her as she waited for him to approach, unable to help but admire her. Dressed in blue, she contrasted against the sky and its reflection in the water. She positively shone. As he got close, he smiled.

"It would appear I was wilfully incorrect about something"

"About what?" She cocked her head at him

"There is colour here. But to witness it you must have patience. "

He took a step closer. holding out his hand "I discovered this on my meander back to your charming abode, I believe you would appreciate it." In her hand he gently placed a chunk of sea glass, worn soft by the sands but still bright deep blue. He stayed close as she held it up to let the sun shine through. She could smell the sea on him, salty and something else. Looking up at him she wondered why he had been so thoughtful. "It's beautiful, thank you" he smiled at her, eyes creasing warmly.

 ⧫⧫⧫

A week passed and they talked in the mornings but their days never seemed to line up so they could only see each other for meals. Ezra spent his evenings in the living room, reading by the fire whenever he was home, and his mornings wandering the coast to distract himself from the woman in the water. 

Once on his walk he met the other keeper. The man had looked exhausted as if he was carrying a weight on his shoulders. He didn't say much, just to give his thanks to the other keeper and then he'd hurried away.

Further down the shoreline he liked to watch the market get set up. Watch the women waiting for the fishing boats to get in, preparing to gut and fillet and sell. He chatted to them sometimes, offering a hand carrying out the tables if they needed it. One girl always gave him a cup of tea after, laughing at his jokes and smiling. She was pretty and definitely would have caught his eye before. But now? He was friendly enough, and polite, but just couldn't work out why he was so uninterested. It wasn't like him. She made a nice friend though, and it was pleasant to get to know someone apart from the keeper even if he wasn't staying too long. And even if he didn't know the keeper all that well.

Ezra mentioned a woman he met at the fishery to the keeper. As much as she knew and liked her, it stung in a way the keeper couldn't quite identify. She was kind and soft and pretty and just the opposite of her. All of her hard edges and bitterness and isolation. But she didn't have any good cause or right to feel envious. Still, she thanked him for the warning, should she come across them together at least she wouldn’t be surprised.

 ⧫⧫⧫

There was another week of only seeing each other in the wee hours before both Ezra and the keeper had a shared day off.

He offered to come with her into town and help carry things. Mostly he just wanted her to show him around which she knew but she agreed anyway.

The sun showed itself as they walked together warming their skin. He watched the keeper raise her head to bask in it, smiling as she tried to explain what she needed from town with him interrupting after every item to ask questions.

She was glowing and it was starting to affect Ezra. Her skirt was pinned up a little above her ankles so it didn't dip in the sand and she'd forgone her usual headscarf and shawl to enjoy the sun. She had laughed at him as they'd left, at all his layers, called him a southern pansy. He'd grinned "Not everyone is so accustomed to this frigid weather. The cold bites those who it has not made an acquaintance with. Not unlike a wary dog."

"If you stayed a few winters here and swam in the North Sea you'd end up as hardy as any of us I reckon" he'd just smirked.

 ⧫⧫⧫

The keeper decided Ezra spoke just the way he did just to confuse people. Every time she’d asked him what a word meant he had grinned, but he did explain without condescension. He had spent nearly an hour chatting away to the grocer when she’d gone to the butcher and the baker. Upon asking, it turned out he had been trying to find a fruit he was fond of, but all the frills in his speech had led to a debate between the owners about what he had meant which he had then stayed quiet during just for enjoyment. When she had gone back to find him he was grinning ear to ear as the two men bickered. She had suppressed a laugh and sorted it out quickly before they had gotten even more irked by the outsider. Ezra had seen the laugh in her eyes though.

The final stop was the bookshop. A small place, stacked floor to ceiling and owned by the keeper’s oldest friend. She was sitting outside in the sun and jumped up wrapping the keeper in a warm hug. 

"Lass you work too fucking hard. I haven't seen hide nor hair of you in Christ knows how long!" 

She grinned; the first time Ezra had seen it. He should make her grin more.

"Aye I'm starting to agree, how're the bairns at this rate they'll have grown a foot before I can see them again. Oh, shit sorry.” She gestured to him “This is my lodger Ezra, Ezra this is Amelia."

He wonders vaguely if everyone the keeper knows can give looks that pierce the soul. He gives the shopkeeper a nod and her face breaks into a smile. As they headed into the shop, clouds began to gather overhead.

"Come on pet, I've got something new I just know you'll love."

The shop seemed ready to burst at the seams. Ezra paroused but couldn’t stop himself listening into their conversation.

“How have you been, really? I worry about you all alone up there.” Amelia asked her eyes full of concern. Ezra subtly rounded a bookshelf so he wouldn’t seem nosey.

“I… Well I’ve been worse like. Every day is easier and I’m not alone at the moment as you’ve seen.”

“You seem to collect sailors, you.”

The keeper laughed “I just like the company! And I like being alone the rest of the time as you well know.”

“Oh aye the company. Nothing to do with,” Amelia lowered her voice “I divn’t nah… the roguishly good looks? You always loved a bit of trouble, dafty that you are”

“Hey! He just rents the room, we’re… friends I guess.” Ezra wished he could see her to gage how she really felt.

“Sure you pet.”

 ⧫⧫⧫

20 minutes later they left, a copy of Great Expectations wrapped carefully in tissue paper and stowed at the bottom of her bag, surrounded so it would stay dry should it rain. As they stepped out a woman seized the keeper's arm, she was accompanied by the vicar and glaring viciously. The keeper swallowed and introduced Ezra, he saw how uncomfortable she was, how her mood had changed since just minutes before.

"The ever elusive keeper shows herself yet again" the vicar speaks, face impassive, "I thought you might have died since you don't attend church, perhaps you'd met god's reckoning after… being so loose with your commitments." 

Ezra watches her jaw clench "I have told you before, when I work the night, I cannot attend in the morning."

The other women smirked "Work the night is one way of putting it." She eyed Ezra.

The vicar sighed "It is disappointing you disobey god's will. Your father should have married you off while he had the chance. Then your husband would keep you in line. If he could see you now, he'd be so ashamed"

Ezra froze but before he could react, he saw the rage pass over her face, fiery and passionate. She couldn't help it, she saw red, couldn't stop herself. She punched the vicar square on the nose.

The other woman shrieked. "What is wrong with you? You've hurt him!" Indeed, blood did start to drip out of his nose but he straightened himself up and grabbed the keepers arm pulling her close and raising his fist to strike.

"You're nothing but a worthless little whore. It's no wonder your sailor left as soon as you-" he was cut off by Ezra's fist, catching his jaw and sending him sprawling.

"I will not abide you speaking to the lady in this manner." He shook out his hand, and stepped over him, bending to seize his hair and pressing his blade to his neck "And to strike her?" He scowled down at the man who was opening and shutting his mouth like a fish. "What is that mantra you holy men spout? Turn the other cheek." The keeper's jaw dropped, she had known Ezra was rough around the edges but to strike a man of God, to threaten him, for her?

Against the incoming storm, it was as if he'd grown. Become huge and monstrous and brutal in a way she hadn't seen, a glimpse of what lay beneath all his beautiful words and pleasant disposition. It moved something in the keeper, something dangerous. Not many people would far defend her, let alone in such a way. 

Lightning flashed overhead forking down to meet the sea, in the light she could see the hard glint in his eye, the one he'd worn when they'd first met, even as he smiled. This was a man who had done far worse and all she could feel was grateful. It squeezed around her heart.

"I suspected as much. You must have forgotten yourself for a moment." Ezra stood and pulled the vicar to his feet, squeezing his arm harshly still baring that viscous grin as he pulled him close and murmured "I'd truly hate for you to suffer another grievous lapse in judgement, who knows what may become of you."

The keeper looked at the other woman "Judge not lest ye be judged? You had better pray for forgiveness.” She stepped forwards shoulders back as thunder rumbled around them “There's a storm coming and your husband works the water. I'd hate for the lord to compel me to make an error." The woman gasped at her a cold glare. Ezra looked at the keeper as she straightened out her dress. He could have laughed at her nonchalance, it gave him pause, how he saw her quiet power. She would make quite the foe. She gave Ezra a nod and he took her arm as they walked away.

He can feel how tense she was through her arm, despite her calm demeanour panic and anxiety were coming off her in waves. They walked back along the beach in silence as the heavens opened, pouring rain down around them. Ezra frowned to himself, perhaps with all the flitting around he had forgotten how to behave. Had lost some of himself, every old sin chipping away at his humanity was taking its toll. He'd come here for some fucking quiet, why did he always find trouble, or make it? Perhaps those years… he wasn't good. Punching a priest though? The keeper was a menace.

Half way he stopped turning her to look at him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were married?" she looked away from him at the waves. White horses were being blown, throwing spray up into the air.

"I never was. He left before we could."

The rain beating down made it hard to look up at him, it dripped into her eyes and ran down her face like tears. The rain and thunder were near deafening as he looked at her face, saw the pain and the other emotion, the one he can't identify.

"What happened?" He nearly has to shout to be heard over the storm and the waves. Reaching for her, taking her hand and feeling the calluses on her fingers.

"What always happens! I fell in love, and I thought he did too. But after, after we. He did what sailors always do." she threw off his hand and stepped back, the sea lapping at her ankles.

"What is it sailors always do? I do not appreciate you painting us all with such broad strokes." Now he's shouting, a bit out of frustration but mostly to be heard as the wind begins to howl, merging sea spray and rain until the only thing he could see was her.

"He sailed away!" She was suddenly very grateful for the rain; he couldn't see the tears that had rolled down her face. He frowned at her a deep furrow in his brow. "And so, he's right! I am a whore and probably everything else too." She looked wild, wind whipping her skirt to and fro. She glared at him, daring him to judge her. "I was relieved! I didn't want to marry him, he wanted to leave and I didn't. I enjoyed what we did!" She pressed her palm to her forehead. No idea how he would react. "He could’ve said goodbye" she whispered it, let the crash of the waves muffle the sound.

To her surprise he tugged her hand away from her face, looking into her eyes, jaw set, rain plastering his hair to his head.

"Let's go home."

Keeping her hand gently clasped in his he led her along the beach to the island.

 ⧫⧫⧫

Both of them were soaked to the bone by the time they had re-entered the cottage. Ezra could feel the keepers hand trembling in his.

"Go change out of that wet garb, I'll light the blaze in the living room and set the water to boil"

She nodded and entered her room as he did his own. He quickly pulled off his wet clothes and tugged on a fresh shirt surprised to hear her call out to him.

"Ezra, can you help me?"

He entered her room slowly, still only in his long shirt, taking it in. The bed was wide enough for two and had as many blankets as his own, there was a small wardrobe and a chest and a stack of books on a bedside table. On top of which he saw the glass he'd given her, not yet added to the chime in the window.

She was in her corset and chemise, back to him, dripping onto the rag-rug on the floor.

"I can't seem to," she was reaching behind herself. "With it wet and my damn swollen knuckles I can't loosen the tie. Please, can you help?"

He swallowed thickly as she looked back at him then away. Gently he reached for her, big hands and nimble fingers beginning to loosen the knot. "I'll take a look at that hand if you would allow me, check you haven't done any tangible damage." She nodded.

As he finished, he couldn't help brushing his fingers across the bare skin of her shoulder. It was soft and warm under his cold fingers. She stiffened slightly and turned to him, looking up at his face. His frown remained but that steely glint was gone, giving way to wide sad eyes. She looked at his hands, big, strong and bruised. She took one in her own, inspecting the cut across his knuckles.

"You needn't hurt yourself in defence of me, I shouldn't have hit him." She gently rubbed her thumb over the swelling to check her hadn't dislocated anything and tried to ignore how he tensed.

"I could not abide his hurting you, not with his words and certainly not with his fist" he turned her hand mirroring her gesture to feel her knuckles, they were swollen but nothing felt out of place. He kept a hold of her hand as he looked back up at her face.

She looked into his eyes, deep and dark enough to fall into. They stared back into hers without hesitation. She held his hand for just a moment longer before letting go. As she did, he turned and left, closing the door gently behind him.

He didn't give her the chance to thank him.

 ⧫⧫⧫

When she had dressed and headed down stairs, Ezra was pouring tea, he looked up. She was still dishevelled and shivering a little.

"Come on, let's get warmed up"

He led her through to the living room and sat her down on the rug in front of the fire handing her a cup of tea. Sitting down across from her he spoke, his legs brushed hers as he stretched out but he didn’t move away.

"What I cannot apprehend is why you don't want to depart this glacial place. You are not treated compassionately and there are locations all over with preferable climates."

She gave a small smile. "Because I like it here, it isn't perfect but I have my friends and my work and my home and where would I go? How well do you think the world would treat a woman like me?"

He shrugged, "People may surprise you. They have me on many occasions. I even astonish myself sometimes"

"Or they'll behave exactly as they always do. People are predictable like that." She sighed and sipped her tea. The warmth of the fire finally took an effect. "It seems we are at an imbalance. You know plenty about me, although not because I wanted you to. How about you tell me where you got that accent?"

He grinned. "I suppose I can reveal a little information. If only for the sake of equality."

So, he told her. Told her about his home, his mother, about when she passed. How he had to work to survive and found that he didn't get seasick. He picked up words and dialect wherever he went, combining them with his own until he wasn't sure what he used to sound like. She had laughed at him upon learning he wasn't a strong swimmer. 

"I can't believe you haven't been thrown overboard and drowned yet! You're unbelievably lucky!" He'd loved the sound.

He missed out a lot of the more unsavoury details of the work he’d done but the whitewashed version was honest enough. How going back to where he grew up still hurt, he had only visited once. Instead, he travelled, worked, and enjoyed himself.

"I don't know. You said I must be lonely here but you, you travel alone. You can't make good friends, you've no home to return to." She watched his face. "It seems you're far more alone than I am"

His brow furrowed "We can agree to disagree on that."

"And I still don't understand why you're here. Why aren't you somewhere warm?"

He shrugged and avoided the question, "If I wasn't, I would not have had the astounding pleasure of meeting you."

She frowned at how he ignored her question, but brushed it off.

The rain was finally beginning to ease as Ezra dozed off. Sitting on the floor slumped against the chair by the fire. He looked peaceful, no shadows playing behind his eyes, so she didn't wake him. Instead as the sun dipped, she laid a blanket over him and went to light the light.

The winds had made for a tense shift. Always keeping a weather eye on the sea for ships that might have got into trouble but eventually the sun rose and she stopped the clockwork and went back to the cottage.

Ezra had already left to get to The Mistress and she was surprised at the slight sting that they hadn't got to say goodbye. Next time she'll wake him.

She was even more surprised by how much she missed his company.

~~~~~~~~

Glossary

Hand over fist: Going forth rapidly in an endeavour, comes from ‘hand over hand’ when climbing the rigging.

Bairns: Kids, affectionate

Divn’t nah: Don’t know, couldn’t not include this

Dafty: fool, idiot, affectionate

~~~~~~~~

Taglist

Ezra

@fandom-blackhole

WTS

@something-tofightfor

Because I crave validation

@danniburgh

[lastbluetardis]

Chemical Reaction (16/22)

Summary: Though their chemistry class is now over, the chemistry between James and Rose is just getting started. Together, they navigate the highs of new love and the lows of coping with past trauma to forge deep and unbreakable bonds of love and commitment. Part 2 in the Catalysis series. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: ~4500 words, explicit -- this chapter was getting to be 10k words long, so I chunked it into two smaller ones. Hopefully the next one will be up in just a few days since it’s already mostly finished.

If you like my stories, consider leaving me a tip? I know these are trying times, but if you are able, I would really appreciate it xoxo. And as always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated as well.

AO3 | FF | TSP

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 | Ch20 | Ch21 | epilogue

Over the last several months of sleeping—literal sleeping—with James, Rose grew accustomed to being woken earlier than she preferred. At first, it was because the cats, used to their routine, would barge into the bedroom at around seven-thirty and start demanding breakfast. She had nearly shrieked the first time Pippin launched himself onto their bed, yowling right at their heads. James had grunted and shooed him away, but the cat was persistent, and continued pestering them until James crawled out of bed and fed him and his brothers.

Eventually, the cats realized their new housemate wasn’t as much of an early riser as their master; on the nights Rose stayed with James, they would graciously wait until eight to start making a fuss.

James was usually awake by that point, and would slip out of bed, trying not to make noise or shake the bed too much, but invariably, Rose would wake up, too. Not completely, though, and she enjoyed spending the next hour or so drifting between dozing and wakefulness; she especially appreciated it when James would slide back into bed and they would cuddle, or sometimes indulge in lazy morning lovemaking. He only did it around half the time; the other half, he would get started on breakfast or would make himself a cup of coffee and sit quietly reading or studying or watching the television. It made the mornings he returned to bed with her more cherished.

Therefore, Rose wasn’t at all surprised to feel her boyfriend slip out of bed, even though it was dark through the windows. She didn’t have the energy to turn to see the time; plus, the ache between her thighs after three rounds of lovemaking the night before disincentivized her from moving at all. Not that she was complaining. There was something satisfying about the soreness left over from thoroughly having sex, almost like the pleasant burn after a vigorous, refreshing exercise.

Rose absently reached out and rested a hand on the warm imprint of James’s body on the mattress beside her, wishing it was his actual body instead.

The next thing she was aware of was someone picking up her hand and moving it. She cracked open her bleary eyes. James lay on his side, arms outstretched as he wriggled closer until he was pressed to her. Maneuvering until she mirrored his position, she flung a leg over his hips and draped an arm around his ribs. He was naked, same as her, since neither of them had bothered with pajamas the night before. The length of his body molded to hers until there was hardly any space between them at all.

Shivering lightly at the feel of so much skin touching hers, Rose tucked her head into his neck, breathing in the warm, musky scent of him. 

They remained like that for an immeasurable amount of time. Rose would gladly have stayed there for the rest of the day, but alas, she worked the afternoon shift at the grocery store. Speaking of…

“What time issit?” she mumbled.

“Seven,” he answered, his voice a low rumble in his throat.

Excellent. She didn’t have to be at work until ten, and she planned to stay precisely where she was until the last possible moment.

James, however, had different plans.

When it became clear that she wasn’t dozing off any longer, he threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her face up. He was so close that his nose brushed against hers. The warm puffs of his slow breathing tickled her lips, narrowing her focus to nothing except him. She could count the freckles that dotted his nose and cheeks, if she wanted to. Could see the day-old stubble shadowing his cheeks in what would probably be a nice beard, if he ever decided to quit shaving.

Glancing up, she noticed his gaze was as intense as hers, his eyes dark and depthless, twitching ever so slightly as they traced her features. She wondered what he focused on, when they lay like this. Was there anything he particularly liked to admire?

“What are you lookin’ at?” she blurted.

He blinked, his gaze refocusing on hers. His brows knitted together as he replied, “Er… you?”

“No, I mean specifically. Are you looking at anything in particular? Like… up close, I like looking at your freckles.”

“My freckles?” 

“Mhm. You’ve got lots of ‘em, and they’re adorable.”

Rose reached up and brushed her fingertips along the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones, following the trail of freckles up his temple to the ridge of his brow. His eyes fluttered shut, mouth quirking into a smile when she rubbed the pad of her finger through his eyebrow in the wrong direction.

“I like that your eyes are slightly different depending on the lighting.”

It took her a minute, having forgotten her question. “Really?”

He nodded. “Right now, they’re dark. Almost completely brown, like mine. If I were to turn the lamp on, they would go to a more whiskey brown. When you’re in the sun, they go even lighter. Amber colored, like they’re reflecting back the sun’s light. Sometimes they’re hazel brown, sometimes hazel green. And if you’re wearing a lot of eye makeup, they can almost go gray. I love watching them, to see what they’re doing.”

She’d never paid much attention to her eyes before, or even thought about what they looked like, apart from generic brown.

“You’ve got very pretty eyes,” he concluded, bending closer to her. His mouth approached her eyes, and she shut them automatically. A second later his lips fluttered gently across one eyelid, then the other, before he planted a kiss low on her forehead.

She smiled at him when he nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers. He hummed through a grin, eyes slowly closing again as he angled his head to the side and finally pressed his mouth to hers.

Kissing James was always a slightly out-of-body experience. Her head emptied of anything apart from the feel of his lips on hers, of his hands on her body. It was as though the universe melted away, leaving nothing else behind except for them.

The entire length of their bodies was twined together, their front halves in complete contact. Despite all the love they’d made the night before, Rose could feel James’s burgeoning arousal the longer the kiss continued. There was nothing urgent about his movements this morning, not like last night, when he’d been utterly insatiable and almost frantic. Nevertheless, Rose felt her herself beginning to respond to him. Her heart rate increased, pumping blood all throughout her body and sending throbbing, delicious heat to all the right places.

Even in the height of her relationship with Jimmy, when it seemed like all they did was party and shag, Rose didn’t remember it ever being this all-consuming. It was intoxicating, and not even the last four months of being physically intimate with James had cooled her lust for him. She wanted him just as much—if not more—now as she did at the beginning. The deeper in love she fell with him, the stronger her desire to share her body and soul with him. Sex with James was so much more than physical pleasure; it was emotional satisfaction unlike anything she had experience before. Which, of course, made the sex even better, too.

His hands roamed at will across her skin, tracing abstract patterns and shapes into her flesh and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He placed his palm onto her hip and rocked his entire body into hers; his chest pressed to hers, and his hips rubbed deliciously against hers. Pleasure swept through her belly, settling low behind her navel. 

He repeated the motion, and it was only then that she realized he was trying to coax her onto her back. Disentangling her legs from his, she complied, pleased when James followed suit immediately. He hovered above her, propping himself up with his forearms on either side of Rose’s head as he lazily rolled his hips into hers, stimulating both of them as the hard length of him teased at her folds.

“Is this all right?” he murmured, his breath catching in his lungs. “We, er, did it a lot last night…”

“This is perfect,” she interrupted.

“Dunno what’s gotten into me,” he admitted. “Can’t seem to get enough of you.”

“I’m certainly not complaining. Well. At least not ‘til I can’t walk anymore.”

He snorted and puffed up with an insufferable, egotistical pride. She rolled her eyes and flicked his nose before tugging him down for another kiss.

It was one of the slowest build-ups Rose had ever experienced. It was as though she and James were more focused on kissing, caressing, and feeling. They were merely letting things progress without much thought, together in the moment and basking in the emotional and physical love that they shared. Lovemaking in one of its purest forms. 

Rose was hardly aware of the lingering ache between her legs when he slowly slid into her and began to move. They continued to touch and kiss each other, their rhythm unhurried. Gentle sparks of pleasure were fanned into a blazing fire that took them both by surprise when, minutes later, Rose gasped and moaned, clenching around him. It was more intense than she expected, especially considering she’d been perfectly satiated when they’d gone to bed eight hours ago. Instead, it felt as though she hadn’t had sex in months, and her body was overcome with hormones and endorphins, flooding her senses with pleasure and love for the man atop her, inside her.

When she came down from her high, James was getting close to his. His face was tense with concentration, eyes squeezed shut as he was able to selfishly focus on himself. Sweat beaded at his temples as he rocked his body into hers, his tempo quickening as his urgency increased. His breathing became ragged, and the needy little moans he let out squeezed her heart. She loved seeing him like this. She loved watching him lose himself in her. She loved knowing he was finding pleasure and completion with her, just as she’d found it with him.

“James,” she whispered, reaching up to rest her hands on his pectorals. She rubbed her palms through his sparse smattering of chest hair. He forced open his eyes, his rhythm slowing, to blink dazedly down at her. She clamped her thighs tighter around his hips in apology and in encouragement; she hadn’t meant to make him lose his rhythm, but she hadn’t been able to stay silent. “I love you so much.”

His throat bobbed as his breath stuttered. “Love you, too… Oh.”

His hips quickly found their previous rhythm, though with slightly less finesse as his desperation and desire took over. Grunting wordlessly, his back bowed and he arched his hips deeply into hers, finally giving in to his release and his pleasure.

Rose watched him intently, enjoying the pure relief playing across his face, slackening his features. She wanted to kiss him. When it seemed as though he was coming down from the throes of passion, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and guided him down for a kiss.

Breathing harshly through his nose, he reciprocated the kiss feverishly. When they broke apart, he dropped his head into the crook of her neck and slipped his hands under her back, holding her tightly. She returned the hug just as fiercely, never wanting to let him go again. Rose didn’t want to go into work; she wanted to stay in bed with James all day and do nothing more than exist with him, beside him.

“By the way,” he murmured, his voice somewhat slurred. Rose cracked open an eye and saw him smiling sleepily at her. “Happy Birthday.”

The words came out so tenderly, so reverently, so confidently, as though it were her actual date of birth. For an embarrassing second, Rose worried she had somehow lost track of an entire month; she blamed the lingering endorphins for her foggy brain as she blinked wordlessly at him.

He broke into a sheepish, boyish grin. “So, not today then?”

It took her mind a minute to catch up before she realized the date. April had begun, and with it, James’s mission to figure out her birthday.

Snorting, Rose said, “No, not today, you numpty.”

“Though you could be pulling an April Fool’s prank on me,” he mused. “Wouldn’t that be an interesting turn of events?”

“I promise you, on my own life, your life, the life of my mother, and the lives of your cats, today is not my birthday. And for the record, I don’t like April Fool’s Day. Never been a fan. It gives arseholes an excuse to be bigger arseholes.”

James pouted. “Well, is your birthday coming up soon?”

“Sometime this month,” she replied innocently, feeling a wide grin stretch across her lips.

“Ro-oooose! Can’t you give me a hint?” he begged. “A teeny tiny little hint?”

Rose tapped her finger against her chin before she answered, “It’s not the first day of the month, or the last day of the month.”

James groaned and face-planted into her breasts. Giggling, Rose carded her fingers through his hair. “Poor baby.”

“You’re making it very hard to be a prepared boyfriend,” he muttered, his voice muffled.

“Now you know how I felt on your birthday. Besides, spending time with you is all I want for my birthday. And maybe some birthday sex.”

“How am I supposed to have sex with you on your birthday if you won’t tell me when it is?” he challenged, grinning smugly.

“Guess you’ll have to shag me every day, just to be safe.”

“You drive a hard bargain. But I suppose I can rise to the task. All in the name of love.”

Rose pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then nudged for him to get off her. “I should get a shower. I have to be at work at ten.”

“Bugger, I forgot.” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you’re finished.”

With a parting kiss, they rose from the bed and parted ways.

True to his word, James had a stack of waffles and eggs waiting for Rose when she stepped into the kitchen. He was also stirring honey into a mug of tea, which he set at her place at the table. They ate their breakfast and chatted mindlessly about their plans for the day and school assignments: James offered to proofread her essay for her English composition class, while Rose offered to quiz him with flashcards for his upcoming political ideologies exam.

After they’d eaten, they cleaned up from breakfast and dinner the night before. Their bowls were still in the living room, as were piles of their clothes.

“Aha!” Rose had forgotten where she’d left her phone until she spotted it sitting atop her jeans. She picked it up, and saw she had quite a few email and text notifications. Her stomach churned when she saw Jimmy’s name. In the passion from the night before and that morning, she had forgotten about Jimmy and how she had told him she was ready to talk to him. She was beginning to regret that decision.

After taking a deep, calming breath, she unlocked her phone and opened WhatsApp. There were messages from Jimmy, her mum, and a friend back home. She tapped Jimmy’s name to bring up his message thread.

Thanks for hearing me out. I've been spending the past week figuring out exactly what I want to say to you, but it doesn't feel good enough.

I don’t know if I can ever tell you how sorry I am Rosie. I’m sorry for everything, but especially for hurting you, and not pulling my weight in our relationship. I’m sorry for going out all the time, and wasting our money. I’m sorry I left you with the bills and for never paying you back. And I am so sorry for cheating on you. It makes me sick, and I wish I had a good reason for why I did it, but I don’t, except that I’m an awful, terrible person.

“Ready to go?”

Rose jumped and had to fight not to hide her phone from James. Instead, she backed out of Jimmy’s messages and opened her mum’s. They were the usual “good morning” messages, along with some gossip from the estate.

“Yep, just wanted to check my messages. Nothin’ important.”

She slipped her phone into her back pocket and gathered up her clothes from the floor. She dumped them into the laundry basket to do later, then followed James to his car, where he drove her to work.

All morning, Rose thought about Jimmy’s messages, trying to mentally transcribe a reply. For all intents and purposes, his apology seemed genuine—she would have to tell Elsa, who had bet he wouldn’t actually give a real apology.

However, after years of putting up with his apologies only to have her heart broken again, Rose was wary about getting caught up in his honeyed words. She made a pact with herself: she would accept his apology, thank him, and then put him firmly behind herself so that she could look ahead to her future with James.

She didn’t have a chance to respond to Jimmy until the late afternoon, by which point she wasn’t sure if he would be awake or not, what with the five-hour time difference. In any case, she sank onto her sofa, exhausted from her day of running the cash register at the grocery store, and opened up his messages. She read them again, and was no closer to having an answer for him than she did when she first skimmed his words.

Maybe simple was the way to go.

“Thank you for apologizing,” she typed and sent.

A few seconds later, she saw that he was typing. Still awake, then.

I really am sorry, Rosie. If I could turn back time and do it all over again, I would change everything.

Rose snorted to herself; he would have to go back to almost the beginning of their relationship if he wanted to make any real changes. And honestly, if someone appeared in her living room with a time machine and offered to let her go back and change the way her relationship with Jimmy had gone, she would not even be tempted to take the offer. For as painful and traumatic as it was, it had eventually led her to James; he was the one thing in her life she would never regret, the one thing in her life she would never want to change.

Deciding to be perfectly blunt with Jimmy, she said, “I wouldn’t. You broke my heart, but I came out all the better for it. I’m in a good place now. Well. Apart from when you first texted me. But even that was a good thing. It showed me I hadn’t let myself grieve for everything that happened, but I’m fixing that now. I’m happy.”

I heard you went back to school. In America?

“Yeah. Got a full tuition scholarship from…” Rose deleted that last word; she definitely was not going to give him her specific location, thank you very much. “I decided I needed a fresh start.” Best decision I ever made.

Rose would have gladly left the conversation there, but something compelled her—the niceties of polite British conversation, perhaps—to reciprocate the questions back to him. “What have you been doing with yourself? Still making music?”

Nah, the band broke up a year ago. For a while I tried to make it solo. Things didn’t work out.

I’m working in construction now. Hard work, but the pay’s good. I’ve got my own flat and everything. It’s nice.

“Still with… your girlfriend? Can’t remember her name.”

Who, Brenda? No, we split an age back. God, it must've been two or three years since I’ve seen her.

Rose’s chest hollowed out. Not only had Jimmy destroyed their two-and-a-half-year-old relationship without a care in the world, he’d destroyed it with a woman he’d only had a short fling with. She tried not to let it bother her, really, she did; but it was crushing to know she hadn’t been satisfactory enough to keep Jimmy invested. She and their relationship hadn’t been interesting enough, hadn’t been important enough, for him to stay.

This is a Jimmy problem, not a Rose problem. He’s a wanker, and that is not your fault. It’s a reflection on his character, not yours.

The little voice in the back of her mind sounded suspiciously like Elsa, and Rose couldn’t help but smile. She would have to tell her friend that she was invading her inner thoughts. Elsa, her own personal Jiminy Cricket conscience. 

“I hope you find happiness, Jimmy. I really do.” She sent that message, then followed it up with, “I appreciate your apology, and I hope it gives you peace, too.”

I feel I haven’t done enough to atone to you. You were the most important person in my life, Rosie. And I still care a great deal about you.

“There really isn’t much more you can do. You’ve said your piece, and to be honest, I think we both just need to accept that things ended badly, but we’ve moved on. Or at least, we should move on.”

And what if I don’t want to move on? I love you, even after all this time.

The air gusted out of Rose as though she’d been punched, and her ears rang loudly in the silence of her flat. What the bloody hell was he playing at? There was no way—no fucking way—he could be serious. He could not love her. They hadn’t spoken in three and a half years. He hadn’t made any effort to contact her until now. While she was unspeakably grateful for that, that wasn’t the behavior of someone who supposedly loved her.

Take James, for example. On the days they didn’t see each other in person, they exchanged texts daily, even if it was something as small as “I hope you’re having a nice day” or “Thinking of you” or “Love you xoxo”. She couldn’t imagine going even a day without hearing from him in some way, shape, or form. On the days where one of them was in a bad mood, or they had a minor disagreement, they checked in with each other. Because that’s what love is. It’s eternal and enduring, even though the most trying of circumstances.

Shaking herself out of her head, Rose tapped away furiously on her phone.

“The feeling is *not* mutual. I have moved on. I’m in America. I’m studying something I love. I…” She nearly told Jimmy she was in a happy, healthy, loving relationship, but decided he didn’t deserve to share in or know about her joy. James was hers, and she had no intentions of letting Jimmy taint him. “I am happy you’re doing better, but I won’t give you hope of there ever being an ‘us’ again. We were young, we made mistakes, and we’ve learned from them. I have no intention of going backwards.”

Okay. Though I would like to do more for you. I left you with loads of bills to cover. It’s not fair you were out all that money. I would really like to pay you back.

Rose’s lungs seized up. “No. The debt has been paid, and I want to forget about it.” I won’t dare give you a scrap of ammunition… I won’t let you dangle this over my head in the future. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m going to decline. I’m also going to stop the conversation. I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to argue with you about this.”

I’d like to discuss it with you further though. When you have the energy. Just think about it, yeah? You paid six months of rent on your own… that’s a lot of dough. Consider it reparations. Think on it, and we can talk about it later. Good night, Rosie.

Rose rolled her eyes, but closed out of her phone. Wanker. Wanker, wanker, wanker! A wanker who clearly grew and matured over the last three and a half years, but a wanker nevertheless.

She rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes, where a dull ache was forming behind her brow. Wanting to instead chat with someone who most certainly was not a wanker, Rose grabbed her phone, pulled up James’s number, and dialed it. He answered on the third ring.

“Hi!” he said brightly, a grin evident in his voice.

“Hey,” she replied, her body releasing all of its tension as she let his voice wash over her.

“Finished with work? Wanna hang out? Or do a long-distance Netflix and literal chill date night?”

Rose bit her lip around a laugh. “What, too worn out to do a proper Netflix and chill date night?”

He was silent for the span of a few heartbeats before he confessed, “There must seriously be something wrong with me if I would gladly have a real Netflix and chill date with you. We’ve had sex, what, four times in the last twenty-four hours? Not even… more like twenty hours. My bits are gonna fall off. And how are you even walking?”

Giggling, she said, “Quite full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Pfft, well clearly I haven’t done a good enough job, then.” He sniffed. “But seriously… isn’t this weird? I thought we were beyond the horny hump.”

She choked. “The horny hump??”

“Yeah, you know…” With the way he paused, it was not at all difficult for Rose to picture him in her mind’s eye, gesticulating vaguely with his hands. Her chest warmed with affection for him. “…the honeymoon period, I suppose. The time where all we want to do is shag. January. I thought we’d worked it all out of our system in January, but it’s like a second wave has hit, because good God, Rose…” He let out a wistful sigh that clenched her heart. “I want to make love with you over and over again. I want to lie naked with you and hold you and touch you. I want to be with you, exist in the same space as you.”

The yearning in his voice settled heavily in her heart, and all of a sudden, she wanted him in her flat right now so she could hug him. 

“I’ll be at yours as soon as possible,” she promised, standing from her couch and slipping her shoes on.

“No, wait, you don’t have to,” James hurriedly said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“I want to,” she said simply. “I miss you, too. And I… if it’s something you still want, I’m really looking forward to moving in with you when my lease is finally up.”

“Something I still want? Of course I want it. I will never not want it, Rose.”

Even though it felt woefully inadequate to how she felt, all Rose was able to get out was, “Me too. I’m on my way. Love you,” before she ended the call and hailed an Uber ride to take her to James. To take her home.

[davidmann95]

Adam Strange: Murderer or War Criminal? Also what did you think of Strange Adventures #1?

Hm.

Hmmmm.

Mixed feelings. Not just regarding the big aspect everybody’s talking about - which I’m going to skirt past not because it’s not in fact worth talking about, but because I want more context for what this book is ultimately trying to say there before I take any kind of stab at it - but because I feel like I’m waiting for the twist that makes this more than what we immediately pictured as soon as this was announced. Which some might argue is silly to ask of a first issue, but it’s something of a consistent thing with me and King: the initial chunk of a given new story leaves me feeling cold to my surprise until the big reveal that makes it all click for me, and while that almost always means I love his stuff in retrospect, I wish it clicked up front for me a little more often.

As is, it is as noted exactly what we all would have expected: the big superhero stuff juxtaposed against intimate domesticity, jagged staggered dialogue, a couple uses of nine-panel grid. Granted I’m still in the camp that is very much onboard for Tom King doing all that stuff, but where Mister Miracle came out swinging to upend our expectations and deliver something with an immediately different flavor than anything we’d seen before from him even if it followed a similar template, Strange Adventures feels like…a Tom King comic, and an uncommonly straightforward, seemingly predictable one at that.

Of course the big conceit is the narrative division between the Gerads and Shaner sections, which holds the most promise to warp it into something really new and captivating. It’s almost such that it makes me think that maybe the familiarity is deliberate; just as the Shaner chunk can’t simply remain Gardner Fox phantasmagoria forever, I wonder if the Gerads pages will themselves change to something far afield of the sort of material you expect to see him and King handle post-MM. My more immediately pressing concern is that Shaner might at least initially be regarded as the tacked-on backup player to the REAL new attraction of another King/Gerads joint, given both his role in selling the pastiche and that - odd as it may seem given Shaner’s handling the superhero adventure segments - Gerads is playing it way, way flashier. He’s got the filters and motion blurs and big emotional moments and white lines tracking movement clashing with the textures of the surroundings, while the momentum and scale and perspective and facial ‘acting’ in what Doc’s doing (Adam swinging through the monster’s jaws! His and Aleena’s foreheads pressed together as the city burns behind them! The jetpack’s afterburn - Doc colored this himself, right? - and laser glowing neon blue against a field of solid reds and browns!) are paradoxically far more subtle. I have to imagine he’s going to have a lot more heavy lifting to take on going forward, because he’s talked in the past about being annoyed by being pigeonholed as a neo-Silver Age guy and I can’t imagine he’d sign up for twelve high-profile issues entirely spent playing into that image. Oh, and shout-out to Clayton Cowles while we’re on the visuals, the unsung fourth partner here who’s been one of King’s most consistent partners and does just as much heavy lifting here in differentiating the flashbacks from the modern day, with the thin, distinct lines of his Earth-scene lettering being a small but noticeable leap from the more standard-edition flavor we see on Raan.

This really reads like me dithering and refusing to commit to saying “I didn’t like this comic” because Doc’s an online pal and I don’t want to faceplant on King after having continued to cape for him even as the common consensus has solidly started to turn the other way. Which I don’t intend at all! This was an engaging, gorgeous book with all the promise in the world. But stacked against past work by all involved and with the biggest discussion surrounding it ending up being not the quality of the comic storytelling-wise but as a reflection of King’s CIA service, it’s hard not to take a more critical eye to it when it meets all that by evoking a response of “that was pretty good!” But then, I’ve said that with King before and in turn been made a fool of before, so I’m braced to look back on my words here and shake my head. Even if that doesn’t happen though and this stays exactly what it looks to be…end of the day, it does still leave me saying “that was pretty good!”, which is certainly more than I ever would have expected to say about a prestige miniseries on my literal least favorite character in fiction.

[polyamorouspixie]

Do you agree that, when opening a relationship, things should move at the speed of the more uncomfortable/less poly/more insecure partner? I've read that a lot, but also feel like forcing somebody to "take things slow" with another partner can create a lot of strain and tension in the pre-existing relationship? I've seen people on blogs/forums/reddit talk about doing things step-by-step for YEARS and meanwhile my relationship has changed a lot in less than a month... where is the middle ground?

I’ve been thinking this over for a little while. I even made M let me talk it over with him; and he’s not nearly as into relationship theory as I am (he’s found something that works, he’s happy with that. he doesn’t need to dissect it into a million pieces; I feel the same way about his political work). It’s not a thing I’ve ever had to work with consciously in my life, so I didn’t have an immediate answer. 

I think the middle ground involves looking at the circumstances.

My general, one-size-fits-most advice for a couple looking to go from monogamous to poly without anyone in particular in mind, is to spend about three months untangling from each other. Three months isn’t ages to wait but it’s long enough to establish a new normal in which you spend periods of time without your partner. You take it in turns being the one at home with no plans while the other one does something fun. You see your family and friends by yourself. You cultivate a solo or uninteresting-to-your-partner hobby. You spend entire nights without each other (sneaking back in at 5am misses the point). 

If you find it takes longer or less time than three months, absolutely fine. What it does is separate “I’m feeling bad because you’re romantically/sexually involved with someone else” from “I feel bad because you are having fun away from me”--two different problems with different solutions. You know you’ve reached the point where I’d recommend you start creating dating profiles when it’s normal and not a big deal to spend a large chunk of a day without your partner, even when you don’t have to because of work or other unavoidable commitments, and you can go to bed without them there without tossing and turning for hours. 

Once you’ve done that, you can tune back in for my advice for people opening a relationship for a particular person or people, which I’m going to waffle on about below.

I think the thing to remember here is that whether or not this works out for you is not constantly on a hair trigger of going one way or the other. Waiting an extra day or doing things in a different order isn’t the make or break of your relationship. 

I don’t believe in vetos. If you want to have certain boundaries (”I’m sorry, but I would no longer wish to be a part of this relationship if...”) that’s perfectly fine and healthy, but “you can’t do x y or z” is going to cause issues. And I don’t believe it’s a good idea to put restrictions on what your partner can do with their newer partner. I don’t think things like “you can’t have sex on the first date” or “this act is only for us and not for anyone else” or the worst, “you can’t fall in love with anyone else” ever work, because as soon as you’re in a position where the Forbidden Thing is a possibility, then it suddenly seems a very silly and arbitrary rule, and anyway it’s disrespectful to the newer partner, who is a real person too. And a lot of this “going slowly” stuff is just saying “that particular act is off the table... for now”, and falls into exactly the same pitfalls as doing that forever.

So I don’t think you should do that. What I do think you should do is instead of thinking of rules, is think in terms of being considerate. Would it upset my partner if I announce I’m in love with someone I met three weeks ago? Is it inconsiderate to ask my partner to sleep on the couch to make space for someone they don’t know? Chances are you know your partner extremely well, and even more likely, you’re in a position where you can talk to them about it. This kind of advice can’t have a “one size fits all” time frame on it because people are different. Things like “since this is the first date, I’d really prefer it if you did come home tonight afterwards, though once I’m used to the idea I’ll be fine with you staying out” are reasonable requests; “I know you have a date but you have to be in by 10pm on the dot or I will have a breakdown!” is not reasonable. Reasonable means being able to debate “okay, but the only showing of the movie ends after the last bus and she lives much nearer the cinema than we do. What if I call you to say goodnight before bed instead?” and “I’d be much happier if not, if you can reschedule for another day I’d prefer it, but I get that you’re not doing this to hurt me so I’ll be okay if this is the only day you can go”. It’s okay to discuss things so long as you don’t make demands. If you have a healthy relationship, you’ll be able to come to a compromise that reflects the reality of the situation. 

Like most of my advice, I’ve taken far too many words to say “don’t worry about it so much, let it happen organically and look at each scenario that comes up individually while being kind and fair to each other”. 

So the things that might happen here are:

1) you both take each other’s feelings into account. You include each other in decisions, go out of your way to consider each other while accepting that your partner isn’t responsible for all your feelings, and it’s important as an adult to be able to process things without demanding someone else change any time you feel bad. You make healthy decisions with your new partners, e.g. not seeing them every day for a whole week when you started seeing each other a month ago, or deciding you’re in love with someone you’ve known less than six months. Your relationship transitions to an open one over a period of time that works for you. 

2) one or both parties makes unreasonable demands like “I’m poly so I’ll sleep with whoever I like even if it’s your sister/boss/mortal enemy!” “you can have another partner but only if you only see her on Wednesdays between 3pm and 5:05pm when there’s a full moon”. You become angry and resentful, return to monogamy and hate each other. Maybe you get married so you can hate each other with rings on. 

3) one person just so happens to always have a seemingly good reason to stop whatever their partner wants to do. “I’m just having a bad day today, can you cancel your date?” “I’ve always disliked her in particular, anyone but her is fine” “well also not him either, I don’t trust him”. On its own it seems fair but as a pattern you realise they just do not want to be poly, and for whatever reason (usually fear of losing their partner), they don’t want to just say so. A hard decision is going to have to be made. 

But if you want me to put a time on it, less than a month is very rapid (though it is going to change if you open your relationship), but if after years an open relationship the participants are happy with hasn’t occurred, I’m pretty confident saying it never will. 

Feel free to message me if you have more questions about this, whether you’re original anon or someone else.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Winter Wolf: Part 7

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Eventual Natasha x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, death

Word Count: 3,583

Box Filled: Gender Swap

A/N: This series was written for @marvelfluffbingo​ and it took on a life of its own. Enjoy!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This movie is really violent.” You said simply as you sat sideways across the single chair on Bucky’s lap watching some horror movie he wanted you to see. You scrunched your nose and cringed as you watched as the woman in whatever contraption she was in had her skin ripped off her stomach. “Scary violent.”

“Really, babe?” Bucky asked as he absentmindedly played with your hair that he had draped over his shoulder and the back of the chair to keep it out of the way of the pair of socks you were kitting for a local homeless shelter. “You’re an assassin…”

“Yea, I killed people with calculated shots and knives to the jugular. This…” You said as you gestured to the TV with your knitting needle. “…is just gratuitous violence.” You watched for only a moment longer before you shook your head and leaned into Bucky’s chest to pay attention to your knitting.

“Want me to turn it off?” He asked as he glanced down at you.

“No it’s fine.” You said with a shake of your head. “I’m content. I have like four more pairs of socks to do for that box for the shelter anyways.”

“Well if you’re sure.” He said as he kissed your forehead with a smile. “I’m gunna keep watching because I love these movies.”

“That’s because you have severe problems.” You giggled as you tapped his chin with the flat end of your knitting needle. “Serious, probably certifiable problems.”

“You love it.” He sighed as he wrapped his arms around your middle and pulled you impossibly closer. You tucked your forehead against his throat with a smile and continued to work on your socks. You were just finishing up the sock you had started at the beginning of the movie when someone grabbed your metal arm and yanked you off Bucky’s lap.

“Don’t speak.” Nat hissed at Bucky with a glance over her shoulder down her hallway. “You haven’t seen me.”

“You got it.” He said with a wave of his hand as he looked away from Natasha dragging you down to his room.

“Will you be gentle?” You asked as she practically shoved you in the door and ran in after you. 

“Why would you say that?” She asked as she pushed you up against the wall by the door. You searched her tear stained face as she frantically tried to touch every inch of you that she could. “My star…”

“Shhh…” You said softly as you quickly pulled her into your arms. “I’m here, little love…” She sobbed silently against your chest, letting you see a weakness no one else saw, and you ran your fingers through her soft, red hair. “I couldn’t let you lose him, baby girl.” You whispered against her forehead. “Love is way to precious…”

“But what about our love, huh?” She asked harshly in Russian as she pulled back to glare at you. “What does our love mean to you?”

“Talia…” You tried but she shook her head.

“You can’t just throw me away like that. Do I mean nothing to you?”

“Natalia!” You snapped as your face contorted in heartache.

“You replaced me.” She said as a scary calm look flashed across her face almost instantly. “That’s it. You replaced me in your heart…”

“Talia…”

“It’s Natasha.” She said evenly as she stormed out of the room. “Your little love is gone.”

“Natalia!” You hissed as loud as you dared after her as she ran across the living room toward her room. Your whole body started to shake violently as Bucky lurched off the chair to figure out what happened.

“What…?” Was all he got out before you burst into tears and sank down to the floor against the door frame. “Fuck… come here.” He said as he picked you up off the floor and carried you down to your room since all his pillows and blankets were on your bed. His heart felt conflicted as he lowered you down to the mattress that still sat on the floor since he was watching one of his close friends break the woman he loves’ heart for loving him.

“I’m sorry.” You cried as he laid down beside you and wrapped you in his arms. “I shouldn’t…”

“Don’t be sorry, (Y/N). I understand, sweetheart.”

“I don’t.” You sobbed as you wrapped your arms around him as much as you could and held on tight. He sighed and kissed the top of your head with a nod.

“I know, baby. Me neither.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stood in the mirror in your bathroom, staring at your reflection, honestly wondering who you were. Natasha’s words struck deep to your core and after a restless nights sleep, you started to think about what you were doing. Were you replacing Natasha with Bucky out of connivence?

You glanced over at the man sleeping on your bed and a small smile pulled at the corner of your lips. He was sprawled out across your bed like a starfish with your pillow hugged against the side as if you were still there and the blanket was just draped over his boxer clad right thigh only. His long hair, which was his personal screw you to the US government for making him continuously cut it when he joined the Army, was fanned out across the pillow and his soft, almost unheard breaths were guaranteed to help you fall asleep in a matter of minutes.

But he wasn’t just a warm body to you; he was your rock. He could read your emotions like a book and he had already taken it upon himself to make sure that when you were headed down, he was the only one that brought you right back up. He listened when you talked and was actually curious about your life; your whole life. He wanted to know every little detail he could, from what your favorite color was and is; it used to be sunflower yellow but soft, sky blue like the very start of a sunrise won these days. He was trying to learn some basic Russian to try and help out during those now rare nights that you had flashback nightmares. He let you vent to him when Tony pissed you off and helped you pick on Steve when he was being… well, Steve. He made you laugh to the point where you were near tears just to hear the sound. He honestly reminded you so much of John.

You sat down on the floor and tried to picture your life without Bucky in it; even the idea was nauseating. You couldn’t imagine not having him to talk too at three in the morning when a memory popped up in a dream that you just had to share. It broke your heart to picture even knitting without him playing with the ball of yarn like a cat just to get you to smile. It nearly killed you to imagine going through your days without having him in them. And no matter how much you loved her, if you had to choose, you needed Bucky more than you needed Natasha. Because you were not the same person you were back then.

You got to your feet and looked in the mirror once more. You cringed as your eyes dragged down your fresh out of the shower wet body. There were no visible scars left other than your shoulder; your mutation taking care of that for you, but you could still see them in your mind. The gashes, burns, and gouges from horrors too imaginable for words. You looked back up at your face with a sigh and ran your hands through your wet hair.

“Buck.” You called out as you separated the strands and pulled them in front of your chest. When he didn’t say anything, you looked over at him. “Baby?” Your boyfriend sat bolt upright in bed and looked around the room to find you. You stepped into the door way with tears in your eyes and a weak smile. “Can you help me cut my hair?”

“What?” He asked with his brow furrowed as he brushed his hair out of his face. 

“My hair.” You repeated. “I want you…”

“No, I heard you, baby.” He said as he got up out of bed with a groan. “Why are we cutting your hair?”

“It’s not right.” You said as you grabbed a hair tie off the counter and began collecting the long locks in your slightly shaky hands behind your back. “It’s not me anymore.”

“OK. Alright.” He said as he said calmly as he pulled your hair from your hands so it wouldn’t get caught in your metal hand in your haste. “Let’s see what we can do here.” You nodded your head as he started the long process of pulling your knee length hair into a pony tail at the base of your neck. “How long do you want it, sweetheart?” You shook your head and shrugged as he found your tear filled eyes in the mirror. “Are you sure about this?” You nodded again as you grabbed his small beard scissors and held them up toward him.

“Please?” You said as he searched your eyes in the mirror. He nodded and smiled as he took the scissors from your hand.

“Alright, baby girl. Let’s do this. I’m gunna leave a little length, though.” He said as he pulled the elastic through your hair to the middle of the small of your back. He pushed his thumb into your back where he had stopped and looked back up for confirmation. “There OK?” All you could do was nod as tears fell from your eyes. “Stand up straight for me, baby.”  You did as you were told as he made one last adjustment of the hair tie and crouched down behind you. Your eyes closed as he began the process of cutting at least a foot and a half off your hair. 

You didn’t look as you pictured the weight of everything you had gone through in your existence being cut away with the strands. Every ounce of pain and torture; of loss and anger. Every murder committed at your hands and at the hands of the White Wolf, even the Wolf herself; you let them all go. It took nearly an hour with the tiny scissors but when the last strand was cut, you felt more free than you had in more than a century. 

“How’s that feel?” Bucky asked as he set the pony tail aside and ran his fingers through your hair so he could even out the ends.

“Freeing.” You breathed as you wiped your your tears away. You went to look down at the pony tail and Bucky gasped.

“No don’t wiggle!” He laughed as he moved the scissors away so he didn’t cut a big chunk of your hair off accidentally. “Stay straight. I gotta fix this line.”

“Let me see then.” You said as you held your hand out for the hair he cut. You waited a moment as he cut a tiny section and put the pony tail in your hand for you.

“You know what I like about this?” He asked as he evened out another little section. “I get a better view of this cute butt of yours.”

“God, you’re such a man.” You teased as you whacked him with the pony tail in the side before putting it on the counter. 

“I would hope so.” He chuckled as he got the last little area and stood up. “Alright, what do you think?” He asked as he ran his hands through your hair and pulled it forward over your shoulders. 

“Oh, my Lord.” You said as your eyes looked at the shortened locks. “I love it!” You smiled and looked up at him as he moved you a step to the side so he could wash his scissors and hands. “Thank you.”

“Of course, baby.” He chuckled as you kissed his cheek. “Throw my shirt from yesterday on and go grab the dustpan to clean up so we can jump in the shower and get these little hairs off your back. You’ll be itchy all day otherwise.”

“You gunna help me wash my back, Buck?” You asked with a smirk on your way out into the bedroom.

“And I’ll be a perfect gentleman about it, too.” He chuckled as he dried off his hands so he could finally use the bathroom.

“Oh, I bet you will.” You giggled as you pulled your hair from the collar of the shirt and ran your fingers through it a couple times. With a smile, you told yourself that this was the start of something new in your life and you were not going to allow your past to weigh you down any more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So I got a question for you.” Tony said as he flopped down on the couch beside you while you watched ‘Gone With The Wind’ with Wanda and Bucky and pointed out all the historical inaccuracies to them and Steve, who was in the kitchen making dinner for the team. You glanced over at him with your eyebrows raised as Wanda paused the movie. “So on a scale of one to ten, how crazy do you think you are?”

“Really, Tony?” Wanda asked as she leaned around you and Bucky from her chair to glare at him.

“She’s not crazy!” Bucky yelled over her and Steve simply groaned the billionaire’s name.

“About a four.” You said with a shrug at the same time. You glanced over at Steve as he came around the kitchen island to look at you with a scowl. “What?! I have metal claws, I can’t die, and the voice in my head thinks being an Avenger is a good idea. I’m sort of crazy.”

“Perfect. She’s ready for a mission.”

“Sounds good.” You said as the other three Avengers protested loudly.

“Be in the briefing room in ten minutes. I’ll find Banner!” Tony called out as he got up quickly and walked away before anyone could verbally or physically attack him. When he was gone, three pairs of eyes turned on you.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Bucky asked as he rubbed your back. You shrugged as you stopped the movie and looked at the remote to make sure you hit the ‘all off’ button.

“Gotta find out sometime, right?” You asked as you looked over at him and Wanda. The pair of them looked up at Steve for his opinion as he came around the couches to look at you. He searched your eyes for a moment before exhaling through his nose and nodding.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

——

“Alright. What do you see?” Steve asked in the comms in your ear. You looked at the man who was waiting to buy some kind of biological weapon technology from a different man (you were only half paying attention in the briefing because you didn’t really care exactly why bad guys were being bad) and sighed.

“Bucky can’t cut a straight line.” You teased as you ran your fingers through your short hair and pulled the strands in front of you.

“Really?” Bucky asked monotonously as he peeked over the edge of the building above your head at you.

“(Y/N). Pay attention.” Steve scolded as the man you were waiting for rounded a corner three blocks down the road.

“I am.” You said as you picked up your cup of watered down coffee and downed the rest of it. “We’re moving in 17 seconds.”

“Wait, what?” Wanda asked from a few tables back.

“Bucky do you have eyes?” Steve asked as you watched the man that had thought sunglasses, a horribly applied false beard, and a hair piece was an acceptable disguise. 

“Ten seconds.” You said as you reached down with your right hand and slowly pulled a small knife from your hip.

“I’m not seeing this!” Steve said.

“Blue shirt.” Bucky said as he followed your eyes to where you were looking. “I think.”

“What are we doing, Cap?” Tony asked as his red suit caught your eye a few buildings down on the opposite side of the road.

“Five seconds.”

“There’s four people with blue shirts.” Wanda said with a shake of her head as the man approached the buyer with the neurotoxin.

“You’re missing your window.” You said as your hands itched for the action.

“Cap!”

“(Y/N), take ‘em if you have eyes.” Tony said. You lurched to your feet and threw your knife with expert precision and it embedded into the disguised man’s hand as he reached out toward the buyer. A second knife was thrown less than a second later, and trapped the buyer’s hand to the metal table. People screamed around you as you took off a run toward the first man before the rest of your team even caught up to what happened.

“Where ya goin’?” You asked as you lunged and tackled the seller to the ground. You looked up at Tony to see where he was to help when a panicked looking man a block down the road met your eyes and took off at a run in the opposite direction. Without thinking, you broke the man you tackled’s leg and took off at a run after the second man.

“(Y/N)!” Steve shouted in your ear as you launched over a car and turned on a dime to head down the alley the man was trying to get away from your down.

“I got a runner.” You called back as you hurtled over over a trash can he had knocked over and picked up your pace.

“I got her.” Bucky said as Red Wing’s shadow sailed across your head and sputtered a bit to keep up with you. The man you were chasing screamed as he tried to scale a fence but you were too fast. You grabbed the back of his shirt, threw him onto the ground, and quickly stuck your metal finger in his mouth so he couldn’t crush a cyanide pill in his mouth if he had one.

“Where are you going?” You asked as you pinned his hands to his side with your thighs as you held his chin in your hand so he couldn’t struggle..

“He’s got a gun, baby.” Bucky said in your ear as Red Wing hovered over your head.

“I saw it.” You said with a nod as the man tried desperately to bite through your finger. “What are you trying to accomplish here? You’re chewing on metal.”

“Don’t encourage.” Steve said as he came down the alley to assist.

“He’s biting me.” You said as you pulled the cyanide cap off the man’s back tooth and put it in your other hand. “Come on, I know you got one more.”

“How did you even see this guy?” He asked as you found the second cap and put it in your palm with the first. 

“Sixty years of training.” You sighed as you swept through the guys mouth once more just to make sure before pulling your finger free.

“You’ll pay…” The guy shouted before you backhanded him hard with your metal hand and knocked him unconscious.

“Yea yea.” You groaned as you got your feet under you and grabbed his arm. You accidentally broke his arm on purpose as you lifted him up off the ground and passed him to Steve. “Here you go. One bad guy.”

“Damn, baby.” Bucky said as he rounded the corner. “You broke that guys leg good!” You simply shrugged as you dropped the caps from your right hand to the ground and crushed them with your heel.

“Bad guys deserve bad thing happening to them.” He smirked as he stopped in front of you and looked down at you.

“Who knew someone so tiny would be such a little spit fire.”

“Watch it, Barnes.” You laughed as you pushed his shoulder and took a step around him to head back to the rest of the team. 

You all completely missed the sniper across the street in the third floor corner window.

Your body was thrown back at least twenty feet as the thirty caliber bullet slammed into the center of your chest. You felt your lungs collapse and your spleen rupture as you started to convulse on the ground because your body was deprived of air.

“(Y/N)!” Bucky screamed as Tony blasted through the window and tackled the man that shot you to the ground. You sucked in wet breaths as fast as you could as tears welled in your eyes.

“B-b-b…” You tried as you tried to push yourself away from the mouth of the alley only to realize the bullet must have hit your spine because you couldn’t feel your arms or legs. 

“No, it’s OK. It’s OK, baby girl. Don’t talk.” Bucky said with a shake of his head as he tried to wipe the blood pouring from your mouth away. Tears fall from his eyes rapidly as he put his hand on the center of your chest in a vain attempt to keep the blood in.

“I… I love… you…” You gasped as your vision started to tunnel from the blood loss.

“I love you, too baby girl. But you’re gunna be just fine.” You nodded your head subtly and took one final breath as his blue eyes disappeared into the darkness.

Part 8

[maryofone]

The Book

I’ve got one more week of this blog and I figure I should probably say something about the book that started it all.

I guess you’re not allowed to call something a book until it’s actually published, so technically I wrote a manuscript. But that word doesn’t express the weight of the effort quite as well as saying, “I wrote a fucking book.” And that brings me to the first thing I learned about writing a book: writing it is the easy part.

Writing 75,000 words about something was actually easier than I thought. Prior to this effort I never would have thought I had the patience to do such a thing. But I don’t know, something strange happened. It’s like some determination switch got flipped in my head and all that mattered in life was making a first draft happen. And once that switch got flipped it suddenly became super simple to map out the project and make it happen as efficiently as possible. More than efficient, it became therapeutic, writing all that shit out. It wasn’t just easier than I thought to write a book, it was actually super enjoyable.

I wrote about every failed relationship I’d ever had. And I use the term relationship loosely. Every guy who came into my life and left a mark, I wrote a chapter about. And as I wrote out each story, it forced me to think through these experiences, examine them, and articulate what I took from them, sentence by sentence, for months. It’s not like I hadn’t already spent an excessive amount of time reflecting on these failures, but it felt like I was processing them in a whole new way by actually writing them out. It’s like writing out each story forced me to reach a conclusion about it. And then suddenly, that story, that memory that had been clanging around in my mind for so long was now staring back at me; outside of me. My brain felt lighter afterwards. And I really fucking liked that feeling.

So writing a book about my journey as an abject romantic failure was super fun, but I was pretty naïve about the glacier of challenges that lay just beneath the surface of this new author goal I had. The pitch process alone required weeks to wrap my head around; months to actually prepare for. Learning how to write a query letter, and a synopsis, and creating a pitch deck because apparently new non-fiction authors have to submit a formal proposal otherwise no one gives you the time of day. Then researching agents (which is way more challenging than you’d think), then writing pitches specifically tailored for those agents; all while learning the process of hiring an editor and weathering the blows to my ego while she lobs off chunk after chunk of rambling fat from my work. And that’s just the shit you have to learn if you want to pitch a book to an agent, not even a publisher. The road to publishing is loooong and I can see why most people give up after the first few steps.

The real hurdle hit me when I got a rejection letter from the agent of my dreams. Agent to the author who inspired me to write in the first place, he’s a big enough deal that I certainly wasn’t expecting a response from him at all. I was just sending him my first ever pitch letter for the sake of ceremony. I didn’t even expect one of his interns to get back to me. So when HE got back to me, I fucking died. Sparing you the letter in all its glory, there was a nugget of feedback at the centre of this incredibly encouraging note that I was going to have to chew on for a while. And that feedback was – I’m nobody. More specifically he said that these kinds of bad date/bad relationship memoir type books only do well if people know who the author is. I’m not writing some great fiction or well-researched study on something, I’m just a girl talking about the shit she learned from crashing and burning with guys. And if no one knows who I am, no one’s going to give a shit about this book, regardless of whether it’s a good read or not. So basically, his feedback was to build my platform as a writer, then pitch a book. In other words, get famous first. Other than this technically devastating blow to the timeline of my author dream, the rest of the letter got me more inspired than any single piece of communications I’ve ever read. He told me that I had talent and I should keep pushing. He told me he liked the subject line of my query, Tales from my slutty heart. And he ended the email on one single line that may very well have changed my life:

“I hope the fact that you didn’t get a form letter offers some spark.”

Implying that he doesn’t take the time to personally reject just anyone, this was a pretty fucking powerful point of inspiration for me. I’d had people review my work as a copywriter for years, but never my personal writing, and the fact that my DREAM agent was telling me I was talented and should keep pushing, well it gave me some fucking spark alright. Did I immediately buy sluttyheart.com and commit to writing a post every single day for a year? Yes. Was that maybe a ridiculously disproportionate allocation of my efforts that could have been spread across a more varied approach to building a platform? Yes. Have I even built a platform in the last year? Mmmmm not by any actual standards, no. But I’m on my way. Slow and steady, motherfuckers. One year at a time.

[duskrobin]

Only Human (Part 1)

This was my student thesis that I did back in college. It follows Max Malloy who is the only human on a team full of supers. He is struggling to figure out where where he’s supposed to belong when he finds something that complicates the matter. I’ll be posting it in pieces over the next few days.

next

Quick warning: Manipulation, Child Neglect and Abandonment

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Max stood waiting for the light to change, again. It had already turned twice already, but he decided to wait a little bit longer. Across the street, there was a small corner café, snuggled in the bottom floor of one of the many skyscrapers that filled the city. Nothing really special about it. People went into it just as much as they passed it and the streets were crowded enough to never be empty but it still left enough room for outside seating. The café used to be a spot of joy when he was just a child. Now it was just another task to complete. Max looked down at the watch-like device on his wrist and saw that the red neon lights read 12:06. He was now six minutes late. He shifted his weight to his other foot. He would rather be punched through a wall then dealing with this.

The light finally changed and he took in a deep breath before crossing. A waitress stood outside of the café, with that hostess smile plastered across her face. Max wondered if she was really happy. She spotted him almost immediately.

“Oh, Mr. Malloy,” she said.

“Just Max is fine.” He wondered if she had been told to keep an eye out for him.

“Of course,” she replied. “Your brother is right over here.”

She led him to an outside table with a flourish. Sitting at the table was a man dressed in a police uniform. His blond hair was combed and styled neatly. He was staring at a half empty cup sitting in front of him like it had committed a crime within the last few minutes.

“Here you are, Mr. Malloy,” the waitress said.

“It’s Max.” Max sighed.

 “I believe, dear brother, she was talking to me,” the man said. He gave a slight nod to Max. “Maxwell.”

“Michael,” Max said, returning the nod before sitting down.

“Will you want anything?” the waitress asked, pulling out a pad and pencil out from her apron pocket.

“Nope.”

“Come now, brother, this is on me,” Michael said.

“Don’t care.” Max leaned back in the chair.

“Fine then,” Michael replied. He held his cup up to the waitress. “I will get a refill if you do not mind.”

“Of course.” The waitress turned and retreated into the restaurant. Michael took another sip of coffee.

“Still over working you, I see,” Max remarked. “What is that, your tenth cup?”

Michael let the cup hit the saucer with a loud clack, making Max’s hand jolt. “It’s better than not doing anything at all.”

Max could feel his eye twitch. “Not all of us can be a yes man.”

“Being a Lieutenant is nothing to joke about.” He picked up a napkin and started cleaning up the drops of coffee that had spilled.

“Right of course.” He rolled his eyes slightly.

“Besides,” Michael said, folding the napkin and placing it to the side. “I’m not the one pretending to have powers.”

“Oh. My. God.” Max sat forward. “Are you really doing this?”

“I just want to make sure you understand.”

“Understand what? Why shouldn’t I be on it?”

“You are hardly qualified.”

“Excuse me?”

“That team is for people with powers. Last time I checked you do not have any. It is just not safe.”

“I am as safe as everyone else on the team is.” Max pressed his palm into his forehead, hoping to get rid of the headache. Or maybe get one bad enough so he could have an excuse to leave.

“Right, because having powers that make you immune to electricity or dodge bullets with ease, does not change anything.”

“I’m still alive aren’t I?” Max could hardly contain his anger. Sure his brother had implied this before, but he had never been so open about it before.

Michael took in a deep breath. “I am just trying to look out for you.”

“Sure you are.”

“We could use your skill set,” he stated.

Max could feel his anger give way to confusion. Just a bit. “What are you talking about?”

“We have recently started a new division. I would like you to be a part of it.”

“New division? For what?”

“To give us humans a fighting chance.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Max could feel his hand creating a fist under the table, “I would say that you think supers are a threat.”

“You’re acting like they are not,” Michael exclaimed, a scowl flashing across his face.

“I’m not going to leave the Super Squad,” Max said, glaring at his brother.

“And why not? On this division you will be treated as an equal. Instead of some… mascot.”

“I’m hardly a mascot.”

“Please, stop deluding yourself. You are only on it because of our parents.”

“Leave. Them. Out of this.”

Michael looked like he was about to continue, but stopped when he saw the waitress emerge with a pot of coffee.

“Here you are Mr. Malloy.” She poured out some of the coffee into the cup and turned to Max. “Are you sure there is nothing I can get you?”

“I’m just fine,” he replied. His gaze didn’t leave his brother.

“Besides, he was about to leave. Isn’t that right, brother?” He spat the word slightly, making sure Max would notice the disapproval.

“It… looks like it,” Max replied, trying to push down any anger he had towards his brother. He could feel his hands twitch, a sign that they desperately wanted something, anything to do. He stood up abruptly, almost knocking the chair over. “See you around, Michael.”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Michael called out after Max. “It is called Project Prometheus.”

Max paused to stared at his brother and immediately recognized the slight smirk on his face. He used it whenever he was winning at anything.

He raised his coffee cup at Max and took a sip from it. “I hope to see you alive again, Maxwell.”

“Please come again, Mr. Mallory,” the waitress called out.

Max flew down the street, putting as much distance between him and the café as quickly as possible. The city streets were still filled with puddles from the last night’s rain. The air was warmer than it had been in days but the wind still held the cold bite of dying winter.

No matter how far he went, he couldn’t get the words out of his head.

You are only on it because of our parents.

He shook his head to get his mind to think about something else. Anything else. But the idea remained lodged. He stopped and stared at his reflection in a store window. It showed exactly what he was: a man in his early twenty’s with absolutely nothing special about him. His blond hair looked like it had been brushed neatly before the wind had tousled it. His blue eyes looked drained, but he could’ve sworn he saw something else. Just for a second. The only thing that stood out to him was the Super Squad uniform jacket that he wore over his T-shirt. It was the only part of the uniform he wore on a daily basis, partly because it was warm and partly because it made him feel like he was part of the team.

He let out a sigh and started walking again. As he turned the corner, he saw a crowd of people grouped surrounding a super fight between one of his teammates fighting a giant humanoid made out of earth. The teammate summoned a white light around his hands just before he rushed forwards and punched the giant; clumps of earth cracked away as the giant collided with the building behind it, leaving large cracks and an indent. In between the openings in the giant, Max could make out the angry face of a woman breathing heavily. Pieces of broken earth flew up into the air and started flying toward the teammate, who held up his hands to let the white light form a shield blocking most of them.

Max pushed his way up to the front of the crowd where were several floating robotic spheres with lenses pointed toward the crowd.

“Please remain calm,” the spheres said. “The situation is being dealt with.”

When he tried to pass by one of them, its lens turned towards him.

“It is advised that you stay a safe distance away,” it stated. “Please back up.”

Max sighed. He rolled back his sleeves to reveal the device on his wrist and raised it to be level with the lens. The lens spun a bit as it focused on the device.

“Malloy, Maxwell. Recognized,” the sphere stated. “Please continue.”

It turned to face the crowd.

Max turned to face his teammate. The super had managed to peel away a good portion of the earth giant to reach the woman at its core. She still looked very mad and was still swinging her coated arms around, grabbing anything she could reach and hurling it at the super. He ducked behind a car to dodge a chunk of road that nearly took his head off.

Max carefully pulled out one of his pistols and fired three bullets at her: two lodging into the earth protecting her arms and one landing in her shoulder. She screamed out in pain and turned towards Max. The teammate used this opportunity to land a solid hit, knocking her out.

“I see you have everything under control, Josh,” Max said, walking over.

After placing placed the woman into a bubble of white light, the teammate turned towards him and gave a smile. “Just a code yellow. Appreciate the help.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” Max said, looking at the woman who was unconscious and breathing heavily. “She going to be ok?”

“She will,” Josh replied. “Containment will fix her right up again.”

Max was about to say more but Josh’s watch started beeping. Josh pushed a button in response and raised it closed to his ear.

“Yeah, Sam. I’m here,” he said, staring out into space. “There’s a what? Where? Yeah. I just finished. I just need to drop her off. I’ll be right over.”

“Everything ok?” Max asked.

“Yeah… Ally just… needs some help with a fight.” Josh looked over to Max with a pleading look in his eye. “Could you do me a favor?”

“Oh. Come on Josh.” Max recognized this look. He got it every single time someone wanted to shove some kind of paper work onto him. “Not again.”

“You know I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have to. The threat level just increased and there is no way Ally can handle it on her own. And the damage report has to be completed as soon as possible.”

Max took in a deep breath, held it for a bit, and then let it out again. “Fine but you owe me.”

“Thanks man,” Josh said, rushing off to the team car parked nearby.

Max jotted a few more notes down on the holographic screen projected from his watch. Three buildings damaged, several blocks of roads destroyed, and a street light that had been bent. And this was leaving out the damage done to civilian property. He thought about how much worse the damage would have been in the old district. All the old buildings fell like cardboard when compared to the reinforced new ones.

He couldn’t shake the feeling of shame and anger for letting himself get suckered into doing the paperwork. Again. Sure it was easy and safe, but this isn’t really what he signed up for when he joined the team. What if his brother was right? What if he was just being used as someone to push all the unimportant, unexciting tasks onto? He picked up a small chunk of road and threw it down an empty alley way. It hit a wall loudly and echoed softly before returning to silence. He sat down on the edge of the street and held his head in his hands. What was he suppose to do? Quit? He couldn’t quit. Could he? What was he suppose to do?

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a strange noise. It was quiet, like a little hiccup. There a moment and then gone. He lifted his head and listened. Cars passing the streets nearby; the faint sound of crowds obsessed with idle chatter; reporters gathered as close to the barrier of the disaster zone as possible to document the latest fight before deadlines.

No. It was something else. He slowly stood, his hand instinctively placing itself on top of the gun. There it was again. Just down the alley where he threw the road chunk down.

He approached the alley and scanned it for any threats. There was a dumpster leaning against the wall and several boxes left stacked next to it. Some of boxes had been scavenged through and left open revealing broken dishes, bottles, and clothes worn down by the elements. As he made his way down the alley, the noise continued to get louder and louder, until he recognized the sound.

It was the sound of a baby crying.

He froze, not entirely sure what to make of this new information. A baby. Not really a threat. But why were they crying? He walked down to the other side of the dumpster, expecting to find someone, frightened stiff, hiding behind it with a baby held protectively in their arms. But there was no one there. There was no one else in the alley at all.

And the crying continued.

He turned around, trying to figure out where the crying was coming from. It wasn’t from the other side of the alley and it wasn’t from inside one of the buildings. He moved closer to the stack of boxes. The crying was definitely coming from there. He reached the stack that the crying was coming from and opened the top box. Inside was a worn, ugly sweater, still damp from rain. He dug though the box but found only more articles of discarded clothing. He grabbed the box and threw it to the other side of the alley. He grabbed the next one and ripped it open.

Inside was a small baby, probably not even a year old, nestled among crumpled newspaper. Its dark brown skin glistened with the small amount of rain that had managed to get in between the seams. The top of its head was covered in black fuzz. But the part that caught Max’s attention were the light brown ram horns just above the baby’s temple. The baby was corrupted.

Max didn’t realize that he had been holding his breath until he let it go. He reached in slowly, trying not to scare the baby more than he already had. He picked up it and noticed it was shivering. The blanket wrapped around it was thin and soaked. Cradling it in his arms, Max slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around the baby.

He carried the baby out of the alley and sat back down on the curb. Its screams had turned into soft sobs and hiccups. Max gently rocked it trying to remember what else people do to comfort babies.

Ok, Max thought. Now what?

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next

[improvchoreo2019-blog]

Infatuation Turns into Commitments

Keifer Policarpio

Since only a few of my classmates and I decided that we were ok with being silly, it was then down to picking themes. With CJ Bañaga being the only one I really discussed themes with, I knew that he was leaning towards something along the lines of naughty/childish/Magic Mike-esque pieces for his choreography recital. I decided that I’ll also do something similar, but a little toned-down. I thought of the whole process of life and thought I’d focus on adolescence because that period in life has been recalled to be the Golden Ages of life, time and time again. Although I intended to have both my pieces be of the same theme, this is where I came up with my first piece, themed after what I consider to be childish love. In other words, infatuation. Infatuation is the honeymoon phase in a relationship, filled with ‘the chase’, teasing, longing, desire, and lust. After browsing YouTube for a mere few minutes, I decided, what better song to choose for my theme than Livin’ La Vida Loca by Ricky Martin. I listened to it, and thought about how I’d interpret the lyrics or beats into movements that would be cohesive with my theme. I liked what I was imagining, and the song had a few parts repeat, so I thought the song would be fun, whilst not being too daunting. I went with it. On the first day, I was able to come up with about a minute’s worth of choreography for the dance, and already, I was thinking I might’ve bitten much more than I can swallow. Regardless, I told myself I was in too deep to switch to another song. I went ahead and did my best to string together movements that were fun and meaningful towards the lyrics being sung by Ricky Martin. After recruiting Karl Pepanio and CJ Cabral to help me dance my first piece, I shared with them 70% of the dance. I allowed them to tell me what they’d like to dance in the remaining gaps in the song, and together, we came up with little drizzles of Latin dance every now and then. Why we chose to go with bits of Latin dance was because Ricky Martin’s song originally had a Latin background. In addition to this, CJ used to be part of the Ateneo Dancesport Club, while Karl and I both participated in a few Latin Nights in a bar in Mandaluyong. It all made sense to us, and so we spiced the piece up with Latin elements, like the part where CJ and Karl come together to dance in each other’s arms (they froze a bit and forgot to do this in the recital), as well as the end, when they conclude with CJ and Karl in – what they would call – a highlight, where Karl is hanging off with his body slanted, while CJ, being the lead, holds onto Karl preventing him from falling straight to his face.

In completion of my first piece, I realized how alarmingly short I was on time. On top of this, I also found it very difficult to interpret lyrics into movements. I didn’t really like how frustrating the process of choreographing my first piece, so I asked my girlfriend (since she partook in CADS’ RIB competition) how dancers come up with choreographies to songs. Amanda’s initial advice was in line with the assigned reading we had posted in our class’ Facebook Group way back on August 19. What was most helpful was her advice for me to listen to my selected song, and (do my best to) ‘freestyle’ while listening to the song. After doing so, I should note down and remember the moves that I liked from ‘freestyling’ for the bigger chunks of the song, then just fill in the gaps. I followed her advice, but of course, not being a dancer, as well as being new to dancing, the process was prolonged for me. I had to worry about being comfortable in my own skin, learning to ignore cringe-worthy moments in my attempts to dance, as well as scrapping and replacing movements that I thought I liked. Because I realized that there had to be a deeper connection between the song and I, as well as to be able to determine what it is that I want to convey with my choreography, I spent more time looking for a song that resonated with me. I ended up choosing Billie Eilish’s Everything I Wanted, because the lyrics of her song spoke to me and reflected where I myself am standing in my own relationship. With this, I had to bend my theme a bit, from being solely childish to including the maturation of a couple and their love for one another. The process I took for my second piece was a lot smoother than my first, because I found more layers and meaning in the song. The song had nice beats, which I utilized with crisp, abrupt movements, while the rest of the song was my interpretation and translation of the lyrics into movements. Creating these two pieces was quite a journey and a challenge, but I have to admit that I felt better about my second piece as compared to my first piece, only because I felt that I was able to say more about relationships with Everything I Wanted, much more than trying to portray what infatuation looks like with Livin’ La Vida Loca. (920 words)

[ramajmedia]

Harry Potter: 10 Things That Make No Sense About The Philosopher’s Stone

When both the book and film versions of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone were released, no one could have predicted the level of success that they or the rest of the Harry Potter saga would achieve. But it's easy to see why so many children and adults immediately fell in love with the story of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

RELATED: Harry Potter: 10 Hilarious Voldemort Logic Memes That Are Too Funny

The first tale of Harry Potter that J.K. Rowling wove was a story that was thrilling and mysterious, and it revolved around a cast of characters that were very intriguing and relatable. Although the story itself was compelling and an exceptional achievement as a first attempt at writing, there are a few flaws within its creation and execution of said story. The Philosopher's Stone has plot holes like any average book and film does, and here are 10 of the most noticeable reasons why  some parts of The Philosopher's Stone just doesn't make any sense.

10 Clearly Not Every Evil Wizard Comes From Slytherin

Granted, Slytherin does seem to be the house in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry hosts majority of the wizards who go dark, however Hagrid's statement to Harry that "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin" is clearly untrue and Hagrid knows it.

Aside from there being plenty of dark wizards from any house, Hagrid personally knows of wizards who have gone to the dark side who weren't in Slytherin. It's unfortunate that this one statement from Hagrid seems to color how everyone looked at Slytherin from that moment forward.

9 How Does Every House Take An Even Number Of Students?

When a new student starts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, they're subjected to the infamous sorting hat in order to figure out which Hogwarts house is right for them. And there are a lot of different criteria that the hat sifts through in order to choose the right house.

RELATED: Harry Potter: 10 Hilarious Hagrid Logic Memes That Are Too Funny

But miraculously it seems like the students who go to each house are pretty even within each class. If the house that each student goes to is dictated by their personalities, then what is the likelihood that every incoming Hogwarts class is equally split among all of the houses?

8 Why Wasn't Dumbledore Suspicious Of Quirrell?

Voldemort and his agents are undoubtedly very sneaky when it comes to achieving their desires, and I guess Dumbledore does deserve a break since Harry's first year at Hogwarts is also the first time that Voldemort makes himself known once again.

However, it's a little odd that the most brilliant wizard alive today never even had an inkling that Professor Quirrell was up to something. Moves like letting a troll into the school are big moves to be making, and it'd be pretty difficult to do that without making a mistake or drawing attention to yourself.

7 Why Wasn't Anyone Else Suspicious Of Quirrell?

Dumbledore shoulders a chunk of the blame when it comes to not realizing that Professor Quirrell was literally wearing Lord Voldemort on the back of his head, but it's bizarre that no one else picked up on anything strange either. I mean, he literally has another face on the back of his head!

Did his turban never slip in all the time he was at Hogwarts? How in the world was Voldemort even breathing back there? Obviously he was keeping his eye on the prize but even the most dedicated person would have trouble sitting in the dark without making a sound all day, every day.

6 Why Didn't Dumbledore Destroy The Stone?

The Philosopher's Stone was an incredibly powerful and valuable piece of magic, but any reasonable person would realize that the risk posed if Lord Voldemort (or any witch or wizard with ill intentions, really) ever got his hands on it was just too great.

RELATED: Harry Potter: 10 Slytherin Memes That Prove It's The Sneakiest House

Dumbledore is a smart man on his own but learned even more from his experiences with Lord Voldemort. The ability to live forever is an incredibly tempting choice that leads people to commit dangerous and crazy things, so destroying the stone in order to take that option off the table was just the smarter move.

5 Why Didn't Quirrell Get The Stone?

Now this is another plot twist that sounds like Dumbledore outsmarting everyone on the surface, but makes almost no sense the minute you think it through. Dumbledore hid the stone in the Mirror of Erised and enchanted it with the caveat that anyone who saw themselves in the mirror with the philosopher's stone would get it, just as long as they didn't want to use the stone for themselves.

However, Professor Quirrell didn't want to use the stone for himself. He wanted to use it for Voldemort. So by the enchantment's logic, Quirrell should have been able to get it.

4 Harry's Changing Ages

If there is something that was inconsistent in The Philosopher's Stone that continued throughout the course of Harry Potter, that would be the age Harry was when his parents were killed by Voldemort.

At times it looks like Harry is with his parents when he is already a toddler, but when Dumbledore and McGonagall drop Harry off on the doorstep of Privet Drive he is very clearly a young baby. Obviously if he was already being given to the Dursleys his parents would be dead, which is impossible given his age in scenes with his parents later.

3 Ollivander Should Be Out Of Business

According to the math laid out in the Harry Potter books, Ollivander's wand shop should be out of business. This is admittedly the kind of plot hole that only matters to the most pedantic of fans, but it is a plot hole nonetheless.

RELATED: Harry Potter: 12 Ravenclaw Logic Memes That Are Too Hilarious For Words

In the books, a wand from Ollivander costs seven Galleons. But we also learn that a unicorn hair, one of the typical cores of an Ollivander wand, costs ten Galleons. One could theorize that Ollivander gets a bit of a discount because he'll undoubtedly buy in bulk, but clearly his profit margins are razor thin at best.

2 Does Any Education Besides Magic Matter?

When students begin attending Hogwarts they're pretty young. Clearly they're old enough to have learned some basic reading, writing, and math, but their education in standard school subjects is still far from complete. However, it seems that Hogwarts never bothers to educate students in any skills aside from magical ones.

Granted, if you're a witch or wizard then it's not a stretch to say that you won't need a lot of standard educational skills on a day to day basis. However, the ability to read and write are necessary skills even for someone who's life is made easier by magic.

1 Why Couldn't The Professors Outsmart 11 Year Olds?

The main thrust of The Philosopher's Stone is Voldemort's quest to acquire the stone and bring himself back to life, along with the professors at Hogwarts doing whatever they can to foil his plans. However, their plans don't seem very impressive upon closer examination.

Every professor comes up with tricks to protect the Philosopher's Stone, however the work of every single teacher at Hogwarts apparently isn't enough to even foil three freshmen. The golden trio are the heroes  so it's no surprise that they succeed, but it doesn't reflect very well on the teachers at Hogwarts.

NEXT: Harry Potter: 5 Most Powerful Slytherin Wizards (& 5 Worst)

source https://screenrant.com/harry-potter-philosophers-stone-no-sense/

[utopianparadoxist]

Nobility

[Author’s Note: This is a repost of Love, Faith and Fantasy–my piece on Jake and Dirk’s character arcs and the relevance of Knights and Pages in understanding them. I thought breaking it up into chunks would make the content more accessible, and give me room to flesh out each argument. Thus there will be some updates to the content. Hopefully this will mean more people can easily approach it!] [Pt. 1 - Knights/Pages - Service and Ownage] [Pt. 2 - Faith and Fear] [Pt. 3 - Fearful Heart] [Pt. 5 - As You Wish]

So now that we know that Knights are defined by service to others, and now that we have a clear reading of how badly Dirk wanted to be of service to Jake, it’s time to veer off a bit. 

In this section, we’ll take a look at how hard Dirk tries to live up to Dave’s mythological role (while still very much carrying out his own), and see how that affects our reading of his character. We’ll also take a look at how Dirk is treated by--and feels about--the rest of his friends. 

I’ve already laid my case for why Dirk definitely did not set up the events of [S] Unite Synchronize, but with this context it’s worth noting the role Dirk was trying to play while setting up the session--he was trying to live up to Dave’s legacy and mythological role, acting to help all his friends’ to complete session entry. 

Dave is the only character who ends up acting as a server player for more than one person, and Dirk on some level tries to emulate Dave’s effect on the game the first chance he gets. 

He fails at this, Miserably. But Hal, who is also a Dirk trying to emulate Dave, succeeds. By the end, Hal take’s over as EVERYONE’S server player, even Dirk’s. He even takes Dave’s text color during the process AND takes charge of--his words--metatemporal mechanics.

Dirk’s failure--and Hal’s success--in this regard established, let’s refocus a bit and note the nature of Dirk’s relationship with all of his friends by the time they start playing.

We just took stock of how badly Dirk’s last attempt at approaching Jake romantically went, and soon after this the AR is created and begins attempting to intercept, manipulate and solicit Jake on Dirk’s behalf--I already went over how Dirk had no control over this, didn’t want it, and grew to hate Hal for it.  Several times over.

To make matters worse, we learn Jake essentially toyed with Dirk’s heart with jokes he--fitting into Jake’s general pattern of behavior--never confronted Dirk to correct, although he correctly deduces it left lasting damage on Dirk’s feelings.

Partly as a result, he views Jane as a competitor with an unfair advantage. Her complete ignorance about his sexuality doesn’t help matters, so he can’t talk to her.

All the while, Roxy is actively and willingly pressuring him into romantic interest in her and directly comparing him unfavorably to Hal for his lack of romantic reciprocation. And Hal not only harasses Jake and positions himself as a better friend to Jane (this particular act I do not view as malicious), but uses Dirk’s very insecurity about failing Roxy against him.

And while Hal claims to be on Dirk’s side in the Jakestakes, Dirk is pretty much right to be suspicious of his intentions:

So essentially, Dirk has no one to talk to about his sexuality and gets ignorance or cruelty on all sides with regards to it. 

Is it really reasonable to demand of a teenager to come forward to his best friend--who he last heard voice rejection of the very CONCEPT of gayness--not only to admit his sexuality and explain how it factors into his alternate self’s abusive behavior, but also to confess or try to talk around his soul-searing, cosmic romantic love for the guy?

And that is what it is, make no mistake about Hal is either getting carried away with feelings he says are distant and diluted for him, or confessing the full form of those feelings on Dirk’s behalf. But the feelings are there, and they are cosmic in scale. 

Heart is the aspect not just of love, but of any intense attraction between two or more people, and thus shipping. At first, these elements may seem disparate, but they’re more connected than they seem.

After all, what do you do if you ship two characters? If you think they’re in love? Typically. they’re shown as close together as possible, trading attention and feelings. Placing their souls in proximity to one another’s and implying a give and take between them. 

Which is why it’s no surprise that Dirk expresses love by trying to close physical distance, or that when he and Jake hook up in the session, Dirk tries to compensate for his fears that Jake is straight and acting out of obligation by trying to stay as close as possible--thus being clingy and needy but with no real exchange of emotions taking place.

And in [S] Unite, we get shown the degree of Dirk’s feelings. When Jake revives him with the only romantically coded corpsesmooch in the comic, Dirk’s Heart Lights up and takes over the screen before he pulls off amazing feats while racing to Jake’s side. And in the panel just before, the lamp representing Dirk’s literal life Lights up and overflows so brightly that it literally breaks, unable to contain the force of his passion.

Dirk’s Prince of Heart role does reflect how he destroys his relationships, but not the way most people think. It’s not that Dirk is willing to erode the selves of his friends to fit into his molds, but rather that Hal positioning his Self between Dirk and his friends undercuts Dirk’s ability to reach out and trust their perceptions of him, and even stops him from being able to tell where he begins and Hal ends.

At the same time, Dirk’s intense fear of rejection keeps him away from broaching his problems with Jake the same way Jake’s fear of disappointing others stops him from broaching his--Dirk’s Love getting in the way of honesty as much as his constructed Persona.

And yet, despite the unhelpfulness or outright cruelty Dirk’s friends put him through, largely because of his sexuality...

Save for the trickster log--which he recants--Dirk never once even thinks to consider his friends as aggressors towards him. His instinct is to assume he’s somehow failing them instead. Just like with Jake, Dirk sees into the core of all of his friends, and what he really sees at the end of the day is this:

Dirk thinks Roxy is noble. He sees her as she really is--as one of the Nobles of the session, as they ALL are, seeing right past their flaws and mistakes and straight to the shining hearts of their intentions. 

Again, Roxy’s not even the one he wants to be with romantically, and we saw the intensity of how he feels about Jake. He wrote Jane entire books and sent her personal bodyguards crafted out of heirlooms taken from the Bro Dirk essentially shapes himself in the image of. What would he have to say about the two of them, if asked? 

Dirk’s problem is his perception of his friends’ nobility leads him to erasing all their hurtful behavior, and the hurtful behavior he sees Hal commit on his behalf--which Dirk views as being his own actions, despite the fact that he never does anything about it for the exact same reason he stops himself from killing Hal--stops him from seeing any nobility within himself. 

Dirk’s response to all of the complicated ways he’s been hurt in trying to manage the Hal and Jake situation as ethically as possible by all of his friends is to internalize responsibility for absolutely all of it. It never even crosses his mind to hold Jane or Jake or even Roxy accountable. Only his own self, and Hal as an extension of it.

When things finally explode on him, he turns all his pain inwards and projects it both onto Hal and onto himself.  I keep saying this, but...Dirk’s standing at the edge of a rooftop here for a reason. It’s not subtle--Hal isn’t the only one he’s turning his anger towards. Dirk’s Prince of Heart role nearly culminates in his most literal destruction of himself--Dirk being nearly Destroyed by Heart.

It’s some pretty sad shit! Dirk conflates himself with Hal and views all of Hal’s actions as literally his own, despite the fact that they were carried out without Dirk’s agency of desire. And much of the fandom has taken the worst that Dirk has to say about himself at face value, in a way that simply hasn’t happened for...say...what Jake says about himself after the retcon.

So it’s a good thing, then, that Jake ultimately reciprocates Dirk’s feelings...and has a completely different view of Dirk than the one Dirk thinks he has.

How does Jake’s view of Dirk intersect with Dirk’s desire to live up to Dave’s image? And might it help resolve Dirk’s existential crisis of self-loathing?

Next time, we’ll answer those questions.

This series has been a passion project, but also a side project to my youtube series aimed at welcoming and explaining Homestuck to new, incoming Hiveswap fans. If you find yourself trying to make it easier for a Hiveswap fan to understand what Homestuck is about and how it connects to the game, I hope you think of me.

If you like my writing and have a buck to spare, you could also really help me out by enabling me to focus on putting more of this content out there through pledging on Patreon. Doing so will also give you access to my private community of enthusiasts trying to advance new and interesting readings of this wonderful property.

See you again soon, everyone. Until then,

Keep rising.

[turnupswritessometimes]

Scattered Dreams - Alibaba X Kassim

Title : Scattered Dreams

Word Count : 6312

Summary : Modern AU (-ish) It is the day of Kassim’s funeral, and Alibaba spends the time unable to separate the past from the present. How can Juliet move on from Romeo? 

On my A03 and ff.net under the same name, but tumblr won’t put posts with links on search results. So it’s under the cut.

"Hey, Alibaba, are you ready?"

Alibaba turned to the door of the room that he was staying in. Sinbad was standing there, looking only slightly uncomfortable in a black suit. His ponytail coiled on his shoulder like a snake. He regarded Alibaba with calculating eyes - his real question lay there 'are you doing okay?'

"Yeah, I should be," Alibaba replied. His tongue felt like a lead ball. "Just give me a sec?"

"I'll meet you downstairs," Sinbad said.

Alibaba tried to give a grateful smile, but he felt like it was more of a grimace. There was a knowing look on his face as he left the room. Alibaba couldn't hide anything from him. He certainly wasn't okay.

He turned back, checking his reflection in the mirror. He had only ever worn a suit to a school dance before. When the hall was sweaty and there were stray crisps everywhere and couples would hold hands just to prove they were together. Awkward kisses as though they everyone was watching them. When the lights were just two disco balls flashing blue, green, red. You couldn't see anyone, and you couldn't hear anyone over the dated music - 'because kids liked retro, right?' When he and Kassim would...

He felt the memory like a blade in his gut.

A first kiss in the corner. Awkward and brief. Fourteen. The last school dance they had really shared.

What would Kassim say - if he could see Alibaba now?

"You can't repeat the past, old sport."

He always did. When Alibaba wore a suit and slicked his hair back. He would laugh at Alibaba's little smile - it flattered him. And Alibaba would tell him that he really should read it. Kassim would shake his head - "I don't want to know what disaster it ends in."

Kassim would always stick a hand in his hair, and restore it to its usual mop.

Alibaba stuck a hand in his hair, breaking the gel so that it fell into its usual mop.

Kassim was gone.

Can't repeat the past, huh?

"Alibaba, the taxi's here!" Sinbad's booming voice came again.

Alibaba stepped away from the mirror, meeting his own gaze warily. As though his reflection would escape if he didn't watch it.

His eyes looked to blue. Too clear.

Not red-rimmed, like they should be when going to his best friend's funeral.

He backed away, and headed downstairs.

They were waiting for him in the doorway. Sinbad, Ja'far, Morgiana and Aladdin. All watching him like he was going to explode.

He thought about smiling.

He didn't.

"I'm ready," he muttered, as he pushed past them. No one said anything.

They followed him into the taxi. It pulled away from Sinbad's huge house with barely a sound.

They were staying there. Since the mess Alibaba had created. Since his brother's had disowned him for good this time. Since Kassim...

Since Kassim's death. Alibaba forced himself to finish the thought. It was no good pretending he was still there. He wasn't.

Alibaba got a last glimpse of Sinbad's house. A huge, Georgian style place that was more like a mansion than a house. More than enough room for three extra kids. It was all white trimmings and shining brick. Even the roof was polished and gleaming. The perfect little suburban dream.

But the windows stared at Alibaba like empty mouths. Crying out…

*

Kassim used to climb through his window. He wouldn't knock. He would just appear, a grin and amber eyes.

Alibaba would pretend to ignore him. To see how long Kassim could hold on without falling off. But his room was small, and he could only pretend to be studying for so long, before Alibaba would give in.

The longest he had managed was an hour, and even then, Kassim was barely breaking a sweat.

"Hey, Rapunzel," Kassim would say, staring to pull himself up. It was on account of the tiny attic room and the golden hair.

He would push his arms up first, like a gymnast, leaning forward to press his lips against Alibaba's.

The first time he had done it, Alibaba had been so surprised that he had almost pushed Kassim out of the window.

The second time, he leant into Kassim so much that he almost fell out himself.

Most times, it was a just brief exchange - a taste, for safety's sake, before Kassim pulled the rest of his body through and Alibaba closed the window.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I wanted to hang out," Kassim said. "Am I not allowed to do that?"

"No, you're not, actually," Alibaba said "I'm not allowed to hang out with you any more. After the shoplifting incident."

Kassim rolled his eyes.

"You know your life would be boring without me, Juliet-"

Their story had the same ending. Or, at least, half of the same ending. But Kassim had always said he hated how Juliet had committed suicide too. - "He would want her to live." - He wanted Alibaba to live.

"-And the orphanage is boring without you."

"How is the orphanage?" Alibaba would step toward, desperate. Kassim would catch his hands, holding them like a treasure. "How is everyone?"

"Mourning your absence," Kassim would reply, sarcastically, then shrugged. "Same as, trying so many drugs they don't realise I've sneaked out, and living for their next cigarette."

That was when Alibaba's face would fall.

"I'm kidding, of course," Kassim would grin, and tap Alibaba's nose with a finger. "You're so gullible. We're just looking after the other kids. Trying not to fail school - same as you."

"You're not - doing all that crap - are you - Kassim?" Alibaba asked.

"What kind of boy do you take me for?" Kassim replied. He kissed Alibaba's forehead, pulling him into a hug. They swayed slightly, as though they were dancing. As though they were on a boat - holding onto each other as the Titanic sank.

Alibaba had always said it was unfair Rose didn't take a turn to swim. Kassim would say Jack wouldn't want her to. That was love.

It still wasn't fair.

And Alibaba would smell the cigarettes. The weed. He would know.

But he would just bury his head into the crook of Kassim's neck, and ignore it.

"What do you want to do," Kassim asked into Alibaba's hair.

"Nothing," Alibaba replied. "Just stay here, with you - and pretend that this is our house. That we live together."

"Of course, Cinderella," Kassim said. "I'll always be here to chase away your ugly half-brothers."

Alibaba would give a breathless laugh.

"I'm so trapped here," he told Kassim. "They never let me out."

"Because they know you'll go to see me," Kassim said. "And I'm a bad influence."

"You're a terrible influence," Alibaba said, poking Kassim's cheek. "You pierced my ear in a school bathroom!"

They saw each other at school. They would snatch conversations from each other in class. But it wasn't enough. It was nowhere near enough.

"You had an apple to bit down on," Kassim chuckled.

"I was grounded for a month!" Alibaba said. "And it got infected."

"You're just too good," he said. His voice lowered. "You've always been too good."

Alibaba smiled. It made him feel uncomfortable.

"You're good too," he said, rubbing his nose against Kassim's in a butterfly kiss. He had only said yes because he wanted to be cool. To be like Kassim. Be good enough for him.

Kassim gave him a sad smile, his hand in his golden hair.

"How's your dad?" he asked.

Alibaba went back to clinging onto Kassim like a mast.

*

The day was bland. It wasn't raining, but the sky was grey. You could see blue patches, but it wasn't sunny.

People were just going their own way. A normal day.

It felt like the world was fracturing into abstract shapes around Alibaba.

Aladdin was holding his hand. Morgiana's foot was pressed against his, and she was watching his face carefully.

Sinbad and Ja'far were talking in low tones. Trying to figure out what to do with all of them.

"Alibaba, your brother sent a condolence card through this morning," Aladdin said.

Alibaba nodded. His tie felt too tight. He tugged at the earring in his lobe - the one he had got done after the school bathroom experience.

"He said he would love for you to stay one day. He might arrange a weekend in the summer." Aladdin continued.

"I'm not going back," Alibaba said. His voice was quiet. Dangerous. It was hard to get the words out.

"Ahbmed's not there any more," Aladdin said.

"I can't," Alibaba said.

Legs tangled together. The laptop crashing five times in ten minutes. Kassim whispering lines he knew into his ear. Resting his head on Kassim's chest. Hearing a heartbeat. A steady heartbeat. A reassurance that everything was okay. That he wasn't alone.

He forced himself to take a breath. He wasn't alone.

He felt so alone.

"Kassim spent a lot of time with me in that house," he managed to say.

A quick afternoon turning into staying the night. Kassim tracing patterns on his bare back. Alibaba writing words on Kassim's back.Writing with the torch on the ceiling. Kassim trying to stick up the plastic stars he had 'borrowed'. They had fallen down overnight. They had awoken to be surrounded by them. It wasn't like floating in space - just chunks of plastic on a duvet. But Alibaba had imagined that they were floating in an indigo sky as hard as he could.

"How is your new room?" Ja'far had broken off from conversation with Sinbad, and was staring at him. "Have everything you need?"

"It's great." Alibaba nodded, non-committal.

"It's so plain," Aladdin said. "Is it okay if I bring some posters in?"

Ja'far nodded, but he was still looking at Alibaba. Almost concerned.

Alibaba turned away. He couldn't deal with concern right now. Concern made him repeat the words 'I'm okay'. And the more he repeated them, the more he felt they weren't true.

He thought of his new room. The room was plain. Plain white walls. Pain wooden floor. Plain bed. Plan duvet. Plain curtains.

Nothing to remind him of Kassim.

So why did the memories keep coming?

*

"You're being sent to boarding school?" Kassim asked incredulously.

They were lying in bed. Alibaba kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he nodded.

"What didn't you say anything earlier?" Kassim had turned to him, lying on his side. His eyes two candles in the dark.

"I didn't know how," Alibaba had muttered.

Kassim pulled his chin, so that their eyes met.

"How long have you known?" Kassim demanded.

"A week," Alibaba whispered.

"A week!" Kassim repeated. He wasn't angry. He sounded hurt. "And you go tomorrow?"

"I didn't want to tell you," Alibaba said. He felt his voice break. "I thought if I didn't tell you it wouldn't happen."

"You've always been such a child!" Kassim snapped. Then his gaze softened. "You should have told me."

Alibaba's gaze dropped. Kassim's hand had left his chin.

"If you had told me, we could have said goodbye properly," Kassim continued.

"I don't want to say goodbye," Alibaba said. "At all."

Kassim had held his cheeks and kissed him. Tenderly. Gently. As though he would break. Alibaba had kissed him back. Wondering if it was the last time.

Then Kassim sat up suddenly, fiddling with his hand.

He pressed a ring into Alibaba's palm.

"Take this," he said.

"This is..." Alibaba stared at the circle of gold in his palm. He had always seen it with Kassim. He never knew where it came from.

"Remember me there. Remember where you came from." Kassim said. "That you're not one of them. That you're like me."

Alibaba slipped the ring onto his finger. It was at least a size too big.

Vergissmeinnicht. German for forget me not. Alibaba had studied the poem. "For here the lover and killer are mingled, who had one body and one heart." He hadn't liked the imagery of the dead soldier. But the word was nice. Vergissmeinnicht.

Kassim kissed him. His mouth tasted of cigarettes, but Alibaba had come to like the taste. The taste of Kassim.

"As if I could forget," Alibaba said. He kissed Kassim's cheek. "You will always be my home."

He paused, then pulled away, feeling a small smile tug his lips despite himself.

"It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear," he muttered.

"What?" Kassim looked at him like he was crazy.

"It's Romeo and Juliet," Alibaba said.

"Of course," Kassim said, then swung his leg over Alibaba so that he sat in his lap. He kissed Alibaba again.

Then his mouth slipped away, down Alibaba's jawline, resting just at the curve. Kassim's nose nudged his earlobe. He sucked down on the skin.

Alibaba gasped at the movement, but Kassim put a finger to his lips.

"They'll hear you," Kassim whispered. Alibaba felt teeth on his neck. He swallowed his breath. This was part of the appeal. The thrill that Juliet felt having Romeo in her room.

Then Kassim was kissing him again. And his neck was throbbing, but he felt so alive. His heart felt as though it would swell and burst like a balloon.

"I have to say goodbye properly."

Their foreheads had been pressed against each other. Alibaba's hands on Kassim's shoulders. His skin was always cold. The ring on Alibaba's hand a glint of gold.

A promise.

People exchanged rings to demonstrate that they would always be there for each other.

*

Alibaba spun the ring on his finger. It was two years, and it was still too big for him.

And Kassim hadn't kept the promise.

They stood in the foyer of the small church, waiting to go in for the service.

There weren't many people. A lot of Kassim's friends from the Fog Troupe had also…

Alibaba swallowed painfully. He loosened his tie. It felt hot in here - hard to breathe.

"Have you got your speech prepared?" Sinbad asked. Alibaba felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He still felt like he was going to splinter into a thousand pieces.

He nodded wordlessly.

Morgiana stepped forward and silently adjusted his tie. She watched him carefully. Trying to tell him things would be okay. She didn't understand.

Her finger nudged the place where he had received his first love bite. The place where his last was still fading.

Morgiana stepped back as they were called inside. Alibaba tried to give her a grateful smile, but his lips barely twitched.

Scarcely half the pews were filled. They were sat in the front row. Aladdin was next to him. Then Morgiana. Alibaba counted the facts, but everything still seemed like shapes. Cardboard cut-outs.

He spun the ring, watching the light catch on the details.

He had gone to boarding school the next day. The next month he had snuck out. But getting back home required money. Cash, not card, so that his brother's couldn't find him. He had met Aladdin.

He had gotten distracted.

Aladdin was by his side now. His head was bowed. He was mouthing words, with half-lidded eyes. The only one besides Alibaba who was actually in mourning.

Their little fingers just touched on the pews. Another promise. A promise of friendship.

"Ashes to ashes," the priest begun speaking. The words blended and merged. Alibaba couldn't concentrate. He just kept seeing Kassim's face. Floating before him. Laughing. Sticking his tongue out. Sleeping. Alibaba hadn't meant to watch him sleep. He had rolled over to wake him up, and had found himself fixed on the line of Kassim's eyelashes. The downturn of his mouth. The little dip under his bottom lip.

They said his name.

Aladdin patted Alibaba's hand as he stood, feeling as though his legs would crumple like paper beneath him.

He stood behind the pulpit.

"These violent delights have violent ends," Alibaba said. His voice felt unused. Rusty. "Kassim would always say, what did 'violent ends' matter, if you had 'violent delights'? He loved Romeo and Juliet, though I don't think he ever read it cover to cover," he would have me quote it between kisses. Quoting it whilst he trailed his tongue across my shoulders. Quote it whilst he kissed me so much my lips went numb. "He was an adrenaline junkie. He always was, ever since we were kids. I loved that he spent so many nights at my house - because we were always together. When I found out why…well…" Alibaba swallowed, but the stone in his throat didn't go down. "Kassim didn't deserve the family life he got. He was too kind and cheerful. He was always cheerful despite what he had been through. He had this big goofy smile…and despite everything; he was a good person. A best friend. He was brutally honest, and brave, and witty and…"

Alibaba paused as he recognised someone in the back row. Someone from the Fog Troupe. His face blurred into a moon. Everything seemed to blur slightly.

That guy-

*

"That guy's staring at me," Alibaba said. They were sat in the corner of a hazy bar. People kept looking at Alibaba's blonde hair, so they had retreated.

"It's because of your cute, posh accent," Kassim said, taking a drag of the cigarette in his hand. Alibaba knew it wasn't full of tobacco. He was trying to ignore that.

"I do not have a posh accent," Alibaba said. But he heard it that time, and felt his face flush. "You think it's cute?"

Kassim laughed, the smoke coming out in chunks over Alibaba.

The air was thick with smoke. It smelt of weed, and cigarettes and urine in the bar. But it was where Kassim wanted to celebrate Alibaba's return. And Alibaba had never been able to say no to Kassim.

"You're not drinking," Kassim said, sipping from the can in his other hand.

"I don't really drink." Alibaba said.

"Liar," Kassim's mouth dipped down in a frown. "I've seen you drink wine."

"Only at dinner," Alibaba muttered. He couldn't stand the taste of wine, either.

He flicked the can of beer, and a drop came out the top.

"That drink cost me four dollars, you had better drink it." Kassim said.

"I don't know if I like beer," Alibaba gingerly took the can, and stared at it. Alcohol had never really been his thing.

"You've always been such a loser, Juliet," Kassim said. His hand tipped the can towards Alibaba's mouth.

"And I bet you're a real yo-yo," Alibaba said.

"I love you too," Kassim said. He tipped the can even more dangerously.

Rebel Without a Cause. Kassim had always said he was a rebel with one. Alibaba still thought the ending would be the same. Someone getting hurt.

He hadn't wanted to be right.

Alibaba had no choice but to take a sip, or risk spilling it all over himself.

He ended up spitting most of it out.

"Holy cannelloni, that's bitter!" Alibaba cried.

Kassim laughed, sipping his own drink.

"You're so cute," he said. He leant forward and caught Alibaba's mouth in his own, his tongue pushing through to Alibaba's mouth immediately.

He only pulled away when he needed another drag on his cigarette. Alibaba's heart was pounding. They had never kissed like that before.

"So am I a member of the Fog Troupe now?" he asked. Trying to sound witty and funny. To be worthy of Kassim.

"Practically," Kassim shrugged. He tried to blow a ring of smoke, and frowned at the result. "But first you have to pass our initiation test."

Panic darted in Alibaba's heart.

"I'm not murdering or raping anyone, Kassim," Alibaba said.

"Please, Alibaba, we have some class," Kassim rolled his eyes, as though it was an effort. "You have to take a drag of this."

Kassim held out his cigarette.

"You want me to smoke?" Alibaba asked, doubtfully.

"Just one drag," Kassim said. He had a smirk on his face as he demonstrated.

"Kassim, don't you know how bad those things are for your health?" Alibaba said.

Kassim blew more smoke in Alibaba's face.

"Live fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse." Kassim blew more smoke into Alibaba's face.

*

They hadn't been able to find a corpse.

*

The smoke made him feel light headed. Giggly. Kassim looked attractive with the cigarette in his hand. His eyes half-lidded, and a smirk on his face.

So when Kassim handed him the cigarette, Alibaba took it.

He brought it to his mouth, then found himself dissolving into a fit of giggles.

"I don't know how," he said, trying again to the same effect.

"C'mon, it's easy, Rapunzel," Kassim said. He rolled his eyes, and steadied the cigarette in his head.

The pet name made Alibaba's heart pound.

He took a drag. For once, he felt just as cool as Kassim.

Then he burst into a coughing fit from the stuff.

Kassim was laughing, and clapping him on the back. Alibaba found himself laughing too.

"Oh, Rapunzel, you're adorable," Kassim said. He had pulled back Alibaba's fringe and kissed his forehead.

Alibaba's breath caught. His whole body felt warm. Impossibly warm. Like he was on fire.

Was this passion?

"I love you," he said, tilting Kassim's chin so that their eyes could meet. He had really meant it. His heart was throbbing with it.

Kassim blinked at him.

Panic fluttered in Alibaba's heart at the hesitation.

Then Kassim took another drag, and blew out the smoke luxuriously.

"I love you more."

*

There was no coffin to lower. They hadn't found a body. But Kassim had always said he had wanted to be cremated.

Lying in bed. Naked under the sheets. Heart racing - "Ideally, I'd like to come back as a tree. I read this thing online that said they could do it. Wouldn't that be cool?"

People were just standing around outside of the little church. There was no after celebration planned. They were unsure how to leave it.

There had been a few drops of rain, but nothing proper. Not even the sky was willing to cry for Kassim.

Alibaba was choking away his own tears every other moment. He couldn't show he was struggling. Then people made a thing of it, and that made it worse.

"Don't cry for me. Funerals are always full of so much crying."

"Walk with me," Ja'far was at Alibaba's side.

"What?" he blinked at Ja'far.

"C'mon," Ja'far said, leading the way down a path with graves on either side.

Alibaba followed, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Can't repeat the past, old sport? Why of course you can."

What Alibaba would give to repeat the past. Even knowing how it would end - just to spend one more day…

"I understand what you're going through," Ja'far said. "At least, part of it."

"What would you know?" Alibaba spat. He wanted to be angry. Because that was better than being sad. Miserable. Completely numb.

"You think you're the only one in love with their best friend?" Ja'far glanced back towards Sinbad. "Especially when you're teenagers…You guys feel everything so much more vividly…I couldn't imagine how I would feel if anything happened to Sin…"

Alibaba blinked at him and Ja'far gave him a small, knowing smile.

"Your speech - he liked you to quote Shakespeare, didn't he?" Ja'far asked.

Alibaba nodded wordlessly. He nudged a rock with his shoe, but it just rolled over.

"The course of true love never did run smooth." Ja'far said slowly, turning his face to the trees ahead of them.

"He - he liked the tragedies most," Alibaba's voice felt thick. It cracked.

"Sin likes the comedies," Ja'far said, with a small smile.

They took a few more steps.

"Are you going to tell me he will always be with me?" Alibaba asked dryly.

Ja'far gave a wry smile, and shook his head.

"I'm going to ask you not to follow him. You're smarter than that, right?" Ja'far said.

"Oh churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after?" Alibaba said. He had tried to give a mock sigh, but it came out as a real one.

"I'm serious," Ja'far said.

"Don't worry - I'm not stupid," Alibaba said. He turned away and swallowed heavily.

But what if I was?

Ja'far placed a hand on Alibaba's shoulder.

He didn't even have to say anything. It was enough to send the tears over the edge.

Alibaba coughed as he fought to stop himself from crying. He couldn't do this. He had lasted so long…

But then Ja'far was pulling him into his chest. Alibaba was wrapped in a black shroud. Protected from the rest of the world.

Everything hurt. His heart felt as though it had stabbed. His fingertips ached. He felt as though he had been battered to a pulp. But he wasn't bleeding. None of the pain was going. It hadn't lessened in a week.

His body racked with sobs. He found himself clutching Ja'far, but it didn't help. Nothing was fixing him back down to earth. Everything was just painful.

"It's - so - hard!" he managed to say.

"I know," Ja'far murmured.

"I miss him - so - so much!" Alibaba was choking on the words. Words that had throbbed through him ever since…

"I know," Ja'far repeated. He rubbed Alibaba's back as he choked on his own saliva. As he fought to breathe.

It's always so hard to breathe. Like an anvil weighing down on his chest.

But Ja'far wasn't being patronising. He was just there. Someone who understood.

And that was enough.

It was enough just to be here, with Kassim, frankly. Kassim had always been enough.

*

"Try again," Kassim said, bringing the cigarette to Alibaba's mouth.

"I already did it," Alibaba said.

"Yeah, but do it properly and you'll understand why everyone here smokes the stuff," Kassim said.

I'm not sure I want to know.

But Kassim was smiling at him.

He could never say no.

Alibaba tried again.

He had marginally better success.

"It tastes disgusting," he said, wisps of the smoke still coming from his mouth. But he felt a buzz. A happy buzz.

"But it feels good?" Kassim said, taking the cigarette back.

Alibaba felt giddy. He nodded. He liked this. He liked the pet names and the smiles and the way Kassim was patting his hair.

Kassim stubbed the cigarette out on the table, his mouth against Alibaba's cheek.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" he asked, his fingers on Alibaba's neck.

"I thought you would return the favour?" Alibaba muttered. Kassim's hair was in his face.

"I think that can be arranged," Kassim smiled, and he laced his hand in Alibaba's.

Alibaba allowed himself to be led through the pub. People called out to Kassim, but he couldn't make out the words. The smoke in he room was making his head feel light. He felt like he was walking on air. Surely this was a dream.

Kassim led him upstairs.

"My rooms right above the bar," he said to Alibaba over his shoulder.

Alibaba nodded. He was grinning like a fool. Kassim pushed a door open. The lights were dim up here. The electric light turning Kassim's skin green and yellow. A happy dream.

Alibaba was nudged into the room, and Kassim closed the door behind him.

The room was small. Small enough that when Kassim kissed Alibaba, he fell backwards onto the bed.

Kassim was over him, his mouth just out of reach.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since you left," he murmured. Growled.

Alibaba should have recognised how cliché that was. But his heart pounder at the words.

It must be a dream.

*

He felt like he was in a dream when he finally stopped crying, and Ja'far lead him back to the others.

"All good?" Sinbad asked. His words were loaded with meaning.

Ja'far nodded. He still had one hand on the back of Alibaba's back.

He felt like he was a spring that had run dry. His eyes felt heavy. He was tired. He wanted to go to bed. Wake up and find Kassim next to him. Grinning at him. Perhaps a wink.

"Alibaba, let's go home," Aladdin gently took Alibaba's hand, pulling him back towards a taxi.

"I think he would have laughed at your speech," Morgiana said. Her eyes were warm. Trying to help. Unsure of how.

Alibaba managed a shaky smile in thanks. He had good friends. Friends who were there for him.

But he was still relieved when Ja'far took the spot next to him in the car. Relieved that Ja'far didn't say anything when Alibaba lent on his shoulder slightly. Something to hold him up. A totem pole.

"Thanks," he muttered.

Ja'far didn't say anything. But there was the slightest incline of his head.

"Have you read the three musketeers?" he asked Alibaba.

"No," Alibaba's voice was barely there any more. Stolen by the howls.

"You're quite like D'Artagnan," Ja'far said. He was looking out the window. "Your bitter memories have time to turn to sweet ones."

Alibaba gave a small snort. He couldn't imagine looking back on these memories fondly. He couldn't imagine ever feeling normal again. His world had fundamentally changed. His heart would bleed forever.

Ja'far had another small, knowing smile on his face. And deep down, Alibaba considered him perhaps being right.

The taxi went on.

Morgiana and Aladdin were talking about other things. It was time for them to move on from being sad. The funeral was over. They could be happy again. Forget about it.

*

"Forget about it all," Kassim murmured to Alibaba; pulling off his shirt for him. "Forget about the world - just for one night."

Alibaba was happy to oblige. He couldn't think of anything else, anyway. Kassim filled his senses. His touch - his fingers on Alibaba's skin, like a pianist's fingers on the keys. His face blurring out of focus when he leant close to Alibaba. His breath against him. His voice. The taste of his mouth.

Kassim pushed Alibaba down onto the bed, kneeling over him. Alibaba's skin was burning. His stomach was leaping as Kassim's mouth twitched in a smirk.

"Kassim," he murmured.

Kassim stole a kiss from him.

"Romeo," he corrected. He buried his face in the crook of Alibaba's neck. Alibaba felt his

teeth against his skin. His body arched, and his arms circled Kassim's neck. He liked this.

"Deny thy father and renounce thy name," Alibaba murmured the words as though in a trance. "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

Kassim made a small sound like a growl against Alibaba's neck. A moan. His fingers tightened around Alibaba.

His hand touched the waistband of Alibaba's trousers.

Alibaba's heart skipped a beat.

Then Kassim fell down on his side on the bed next to Alibaba in a heap, his arms pulling them together in a hug. Their legs tangled on the weather-beaten duvet.

"What happened to you?" Kassim said. He pushed Alibaba's hair away from his face tenderly. "All these years?"

"I…escaped boarding school," Alibaba murmured, leaning into Kassim's palm. He kissed the soft pad of Kassim's palm.

"That was stupid," Kassim said. "Do you know how privileged you were to go there?"

"And I thought I was the naive one," Alibaba said. His finger traced Kassim's jawline. Had it always been that strong? "Did you not realise my brother sent me there to just get rid of me?"

Kassim was silent. His eyes watched Alibaba.

"They were scared of me. After dad…passed. They thought I could take over the business. And quickly. That's why they sent me away. It was nothing to do with being privileged." Alibaba could feel himself growing angry. He forced it down. Don't think about that. Think about Kassim.

Kassim closed his eyes, and pressed their foreheads together.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "We really are too sides of the same coin, huh?"

"You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain."

But the lines had blurred.

"We're both pretty messed up," Alibaba agreed, closing his eyes. It seemed like they fitted together. A mirror image. A hand on each other's cheek. Light and dark entwined. Ying and Yang.

"I am damaged. Really damaged. But you're not beyond repair." Kassim had always said the movie of Heathers was better. Alibaba had disagreed. "Too unfeeling." "That's what makes it badass."

"What's…" Kassim pulled away slightly, and pulled Alibaba's hand away from his face. He examined the ring, then cracked a smile. "You've still got that piece of junk?"

"Don't be like that!" Alibaba said. His fingers tightened around Alibaba's. "It's how I found my way back to you, Prince Charming."

Kassim had laughed, and kissed his forehead. Then his nose. Then his cheeks. He pulled his hand towards him and kissed the pads of his fingers, and his palm and his wrist. Alibaba returned the favour. They had taken it in turns to shower each other with affection, until they had fallen asleep with their mouths pressed against each other's.

He knew that Kassim was touched really. That Kassim loved that ring.

Kassim loved that ring.

Alibaba twisted it on his finger.

They were back at Sinbad's house. Alibaba couldn't call it home. He didn't think he had had a home in a long time.

That wasn't true.

Kassim had always been his home.

He went up the stairs.

He stood in the doorway of his room.

Twist, twist…twist…

He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He looked pale and tired. Drained.

His gaze moved over it. To the desk. There was an old picture of him and Kassim stood there. The only thing he had taken with him. Sinbad had said it would help. He had been wrong.

They still had gaps in their teeth's and Alibaba's hair was as fluffy as a ducklings. Kassim didn't have bags under his eyes. His hair wasn't as messy.

Tears stung Alibaba's eyes. They hurt.

Everything hurt.

He stormed across the room and picked up the photo. He was suddenly furious. It was easier to be angry than to be sad. Miserable. Desolate. Lost.

"You said you would never leave!" he said to the photo. "You said you would always be there to protect me! You were my Prince Charming! You were my - Kassim!"

He couldn't see. He could barely speak. All he knew was that he was burning. Everything was burning.

"You were my home," Alibaba whispered. He clutched the picture frame in his hands so hard that the edges dug into him. "You seriously had to leave for good?! You couldn't have come back as a force spirit?" "Just doesn't make sense in the universe." "Or a ghost -or something?! You jerk!"

He threw the picture.

The mirror smashed.

Alibaba dropped to his knees heavily. He couldn't support himself anymore. He was done. He was lost. He held his head in his hands and he sobbed. It wasn't the wailing from the graveyard. It was heavy, silent sobs that jerked his whole body. He was lost. Completely lost. He had no sense of who he was anymore. What he was doing. Only that he was in pain and it hurt. It hurt so much.

"Seven years bad luck," Kassim said.

Alibaba raised his head.

He was alone.

Had he imagined it? He must have imagined it.He was just thinking about Kassim. He had been all day. He was just telling himself that's what Kassim would say. He could remember Kassims' voice so clearly.

But did it matter?

"I love you!" Alibaba cried. "I love you - so - so much."

His chest hurt. As though he had stabbed himself through the heart.

"Dagger, here is thy sheath."

Everything hurt.

Everything would hurt forever and ever.

"I know."

A pause. Alibaba could barely breathe.

"I love you too, Leia."

[goodcore101]

25 Tips For Improving Your Software Development Process

How do you keep improving as a software engineer? Some pieces of advice are valid no matter your experience level, but often the advice will depend on where you are in your career.If you're a beginner, the best advice is to simply learn your language, frameworks, and tools top to bottom and gain more experience with a variety of different projects.If you're an experienced developer or working in a software development company UK or anywhere around the globe, than you should constantly try to find new ways to optimize your code for readability, performance, and maintainability, and then practice making well-reasoned decisions about where to focus time and resources in your code—whether it's testing, performance optimization, or other technical debt.Those are some of the themes you’ll find if you ask veteran software engineers to share their best advice for being a great programmer. There aren’t any well-kept secrets. The advice of many of the most successful developers is readily available to you on blogs and forums.I’ve taken the most illustrative advice and recurring tips from blogs and forums and organized them into five categories that emerged as I compiled them. I've paraphrased and merged various similar tips into single snippets, and I've also left a few pieces of advice as untouched quotes from their authors.Whether you have five, ten, or twenty years of experience programming—or if you have almost no experience—I think just about every developer will find some good ideas for self-improvement.

Domains, architecture, and design

1. The best programmers can take a complex problem, break it down into smaller pieces, solve each of those pieces, and then put everything back together to solve the initial problem.2.  Software is just a tool for solving domain problems. Since it’s needed in almost all domains, develop in one that interests you. If you understand a domain well and are passionate about it, you’ll be a much better, more motivated developer. You’ll also be exponentially more valuable and lucrative to companies hiring in your chosen domain.3.  Don’t let one domain pigeonhole you into one way of coding. An example would be a mobile developer who is mainly good at hooking together existing APIs but can't come up with a sane data representation. Don’t be a one-trick pony.4.  Plan your code away from the computer. It will help you build a clear mental model before you start. You use the same strategy in writing, because if you don’t have an outline, your content becomes a messy stream of consciousness.5.  As an architect, you can’t have blind spots in your understanding of your applications and their execution environments. You need to know how things work in the front end (UI), the back end, the data store, the OS, any virtualization layers, the hardware, the network, and the data center.

Languages, tools, and advancing from beginner to intermediate

6.  Contribute to open-source projects as a bridge from beginner to intermediate. Collaborate with the developers of the project and attend meetups to collaborate with other developers in person.7.  Don’t let anything get in the way of that initial motivation to learn programming and just build something. Sometimes you block yourself by having too much focus on reading books or resources first. Other times beginners will try to find the perfect first language. Your first language doesn’t matter. What matters is learning to program well. Just start coding.8.  Learn multiple programming paradigms such as object-oriented programming, functional programming, reflective programming, etc. Believe it or not, your programming in one paradigm will improve after studying an alternative paradigm.9.  Make common programs that have been made before. Not for a production project (see “reinventing the wheel”), but as a learning project. If other developers can make a calculator, text editor, paint, Tetris, or Pong, then so can you. Look at several examples of these apps written by more experienced developers and try to learn their tricks.10.  Beginners learn just enough of their tools to get by. To become an intermediate or expert developer, you need to know your tools cold. Learn all of the features, menus, and context menus. Learn to use them without a mouse by memorizing keyboard shortcuts. Find every “tips and tricks” article available.

Code readability and maintainability

11.  Name variables so that other developers can understand your code better. This is a skill you need to nurture.12.  Using inheritance often reduces testability and reusability of your object-oriented code in the long run. Your first choice should be using composition and interfaces.13.  Don’t use design patterns like a hammer looking for a nail. If you don’t have a clear reason you need it, don’t use it.14.  Always favor shallow code hierarchies to deep-nested code (whether it’s inside or outside a function). Deep-nested code is harder to maintain, harder to reuse, and more likely to create bugs.15.  Reusable code is helpful and important, but trying to write overgeneralized, super flexible code is often a waste of time. This kind of code is usually harder to maintain and causes bugs. It’s okay to hardcode some things if your code is doing one task.

Technical debt, code coverage, and process

16.  Know when to take on technical debt and when to pay it off so it doesn’t compound. When exploring (and discarding) different features and pivoting frequently, borrow heavily on technical debt. When your position is stable and your direction is clearer, optimize your remaining features and clean up bugs to pay off that technical debt before moving on to the next stage.17.  Within the context of your projects, learn what the right amount of testing is. Too little and your software becomes unreliable and everyone is afraid to deploy to production. Too much and you’ll end up wasting too much time and resources writing and maintaining them, while also making the development process slower.18.  Commit your code in small, working chunks and write a detailed commit messages that will help developers find and understand bugs that may have been introduced in that commit. Just summarize what you did and why you did it.19.  Most developers don’t think about security in every unit of code they write. Many think that frameworks will handle that for them. Don’t be like most developers.20.  You can spend an exponentially greater amount of time hunting down the last 1% of bugs in a project than you would for the first 90%. If you’re not working in a domain that requires your software to work perfectly 99.999% of the time, then you should spend less time debugging the edge cases and features people probably won’t use.

Soft skills and productivity

21. Have large chunks of time set aside for focused coding each day. The quantity of time spent coding is meaningless if it’s full of interruptions such as meetings, emails, and web browsing.22.  Don’t be ashamed to admit when you don’t know something. As a developer, you’re often solving new problems, so you can’t be expected to know all the solutions immediately. Trying to hide your lack of knowledge only slows the learning process.23.  Don’t be afraid to share your unfinished work with others frequently.24.  Googling is a crucial developer skill. Learning how to do something you haven’t done before and finding optimal solutions from the collective intelligence of the developer community is half the battle in programming.25.  Teach. Even if you’re a novice at programming, you’re knowledgeable about something. Teaching teaches the teacher. And if you can train other workers, your manager should realize that you’re exponentially more valuable.

Finally

Take a look at some of these and then maybe pick some of your favorite pieces of advice from this article to create a tentative checklist for your personal growth. Share some of your own advice in the comments below or tell us about some advice here that you really liked or disliked. Hopefully we'll all get the jobs we want with this advice.Content Source:

https://techbeacon.com/app-dev-testing/50-tips-improving-your-software-development-game

[mikazukikannagisjourney]

Last Chance to Make New Year’s Resolutions Come to Fruition: Spring Equinox Message!

Abstract: Spring Equinox this year also coincides with the coming of Aries season and the astrological new year. Thus, making new beginnings and commitments have much more momentum right now. Make the changes you wanted in your life, the universe supports your goal!

With all the crazy and chaotic energies happening in the world, don’t we all want our lives to move forward? Yes, it can be quite frustrating to be stuck somewhere all day, especially when we have been used to having a lot of activities outside. But instead of thinking that cabin fever sucks, why not use this chance to make lasting changes? Especially with the Spring Equinox coming tomorrow, March 20, 2020 (equal day and night time that signals the move towards spring and summer), this is a great opportunity to make and keep new year goals and resolutions that seem to be evasive since the Gregorian year started. And by Gregorian year I mean the start of 2020.

It is also very important to note that not only is tomorrow the earth starts shifting towards longer days and shorter nights here in the Northern Hemisphere, and longer nights and shorter days in the Southern Hemisphere (showering love to everyone through inclusion), but tomorrow also coincides with the beginning of the new Astrological Year as well as Aries season, so that’s quite a double dose of energies that can push forward the major bulldozing and removal of everything that no longer works, relationships that have grown stale, previous ideas and beliefs that feel so alien because these no longer reflect the wonderful person you have grown into, and all the things, material or non-material that have been sucking your high vibrational energies dry and have been causing you so much unnecessary stress. Seriously, despite the disease scare** across the world, getting even more stressed will only affect the immune system even more negatively by reducing the production of White Blood Cells (imagine: Less Macrophage waifus in your body. Or if you like Killer T’s or our good old pal Neutrophil-sempai yeah sure. Lol I love Cells at Work - Hataraku Saibou so yeah, I am doing my best to make things light here) so might as well take precautions on the personal level because that’s the only thing each person can have almost 100% control over.  Other than that, I think this is a great opportunity to revamp our lives in however ways we want. But if you feel like it’s already too late to start anew and go over your January goals...

YOU’RE STILL FINE, LET’S DO IT!! We still have a big push to start this thing!

So ditch the guilt for not starting early enough, you’re gonna be OK because for the next 5 days the Equinox energies are here to help all of us (believers or not) move forward to our new life chapters as well as into the new decade. And it’s a great wave that we can all catch and reap the benefits as well as the rewards from.

But hoooow?

Well, I am glad you asked. What is wonderful about these energies is that aside from helping us move forward with what we want, we can also better align with the higher vibrational versions of our selves aka HIGHEST SELF so that we not only can make personal goals that we absolutely want to happen, but also next-level goals, the divinely-guided ones that can steer us into the person we were supposed to be. These are the goals that can shape and transform us and our inner world. And spoiler alert: these are not all earthly goals. Some of these can be goals that you never expected to even think of dreaming to achieve. So you might wanna think about that too.

Thus the next 5 days starting from the equinox is  a great way to start meditating (if you haven’t already) and asking the universe, source, god, friendly star entities, whoever and whatever you consider your higher power to provide you guidance on what you need to do to grow into the person who shines their light in these dark and tumultuous times. And be open-minded on what answers will pop up. Ponder and meditate on those too. Just feel free to play with whatever you pick up while you meditate: visions; smells; sounds; textures; tastes; the whole gamut of feelings available.

But what if I don’t have any unfulfilled goals right now? I started them all and finished more than half before January ended.

Then you are amazing! Honestly. And what better way to celebrate than making a fresh new inner self, because that part of you that already achieved your goals is for sure wanting to set new ones, maybe more flexible and chillax visions of you. So you still would benefit from getting an inner-self revamp and goal revamping or revisiting.

How to do this?

Also simple. Here are some suggested steps:

List all of your new year goals 

Tick the ones that you accomplished 

Write your feelings when you accomplished them 

See if it’s a goal that can get better through an upgrade (eg. saved x amount of cash. next goal can be save 2x amount of cash), and lastly,

Ask yourself: Is this goal worth upgrading or is it worth making new goals?

If you feel deep within your heart that upleveling your goal is worth it because you know 100% that you’ll feel so happy and fulfilled doing it, then please do, by all means! Any and all forms of growth and development are wonderful, and that’s also going to improve your skills in the long run. Who knows, you can grow into an expert in that field too. So yeah, I support you!

But.. What if a considerable chunk of what you did and accomplished didn’t give you the amount of satisfaction that you were expecting to receive? Or, you felt drained?

Don’t despair, my friend, because all of those activities ARE NOT IN VAIN. These are not a waste of time. Why? Because at the very least, they’re great lessons made especially for you. It just means that your inner self just wants to get more out of life, and you’re starting to yearn for bigger goals. Maybe goals that you haven’t thought of doing yet, or goals that you kept shoving in the back of the oven. Or it is also possible that you just need to expand your comfort zone, or do stuff you haven’t done before but were always chilling at the corner of your mind. It is also possible that you just need to do something new, just to feel alive.

Whatever the case, a breath of fresh air is what the doctor recommends. And you can definitely benefit by harnessing the incoming Equinox energies! Aside from asking the higher dimensional realms for extra guidance and support. I mean, any form of support and cheering is better than none so why not take this chance as well? What is there to lose?

If you’ll ask me, you can only gain newer perspectives. Newer ways of solving things. Newer ways of looking at things. Once you’ve crossed that path, you can only go forward, because neural networks get rewired each time you CHOOSE to change and EMBRACE everything that goes with it. Basically BECOMING the identity instead of just seeing yourself as someone who does things is a better goal because by BECOMING, it becomes who you are as your own personal choice. For me, my personal identity is a life-long learner who learns to improve my personal life and other people’s too. Yeah I got this idea from Vishen Lakhiani, it makes so much sense to me because I was already doing identity shifting even before he coined the term. Fun 13 years that was, and counting. So it’s both borrowed and personal, I couldn’t care any less lol

OK past this point are personal ramblings. You can end your reading here =) Thank you and be blessed always!

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Of course, changing things just when things are getting settled can be very, very unsettling. For me, even if I am open to changes, it can still get really annoying. I already started going out of my comfort zone as advised by my higher self since November last year, and it’s not as easy as I wanted it to be, because I had to purge so much stuff, more than my body could ever handle. I also started to purge inherited emotions, ideas, patterns, karmas, and all that garbage that I have been holding onto energetically, because aside from not being for my highest good, these things have held me back because deep down, I KNOW that I can do more and be more. I am B-MO lol but really, aren’t we all B-MO? =D

I wish I wasn’t kidding when I kept saying that it wasn’t easy making changes. Honestly, it wasn’t. We’re hardwired to be habitual creatures, it’s in our DNA, and by going against our instincts and relying more on intuition can feel like swimming upstream, up a waterfall. Also, I have a stubborn streak (a Saturnian gift which I am doing my best to be happy with), which can really get in the way of instilling new habits and schedules, especially just implementing a weekly Kundalini meditation to clear off energies and learning new stuff. Another thing that is tripping me up right now is adding my paypal donation link below each post, which is pretty much divinely-guided and right now I am hoping that some magic can happen, one way or another. It felt uncomfortable but I also chose to do it, even if a tiny part of me, the fearful one who wants me to stay in poverty consciousness is guilt-tripping me even until now. If I could just obliterate that part of me so that I can let abundance come in, I will do it in a heartbeat. And right now I am still in that process so wish me luck to succeed.

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Well, this turned out to be longer than I intended it to be. But still, I hope it helps others a lot, even just one person. Of course, if it helps more then the better it is to have this posted. 

One last thing: An Energy-infused photo to support you with the incoming Spring Equinox energies:

If you reached this part of the post, seriously thank you so much. You can have all my hugs, my UwUs, and uhm.. Everything else in between. UwU

Be blessed by the Divine Realm always, and may you become the healing you deserve.

Mikazuki

PS. If you found the information in this post to be very helpful, insightful, and of great value to you and your own personal journey, please feel free to reblog, share and heart/like, or if you feel super-generous, energetic exchanges are welcomed! Please click here and use this email address: may_chan_otaku@yahoo.com 

Thank you so much and be blessed!

More personal rants under the slash lol no need to read unless you want to get triggered lol

----Trigger warnings: ranting--------

**  I personally believe that the “pandemic” is nothing more than a scare tactic instigated by uhm, “you know who” (Voldemort? Sauron? lol) because based on some of the statistics which I have been doing my best to read, the disease only affects susceptible members of the population aka people with weak or compromised immune systems, especially people around the age of 60 years and above. Also I am miffed that many reports kept focusing on number of deaths instead of adding very pertinent info such as total number of cases, demographics of suspected and infected individuals and number of deaths versus total number of cases with full age demographic of the entire population of infected individuals as well as the entire population structure of each country. I am basically saying that a lot of things should be considered before making rational or irrational choices or procedures, because any incomplete info or analysis can affect decision-making and make matters worse. I believe it’s called looking at all options including past events and how these were mitigated and assesing all possible ways to create solutions. Seriously, deciding out of hightened emotions and under fear can create more horrible events. Try deciding from a place of confidence, peace, love, and gobbling a lot of information and regurgitating that information to create BETTER solutions. Sheesh.

As with most of the diseases out there, proper hygiene and personal responsibility are still the most important things each person can do to control ALL COMMUNICABLE DISEASES. And in my own, personal opinion, some other viral and parasitic diseases have more lethal effects because ALL members of the entire population demographic can readily die from it without proper detection and care. Think HIV, Dengue fever, trypanosome diseases, malaria, etc.. Just my two cents on this whole thing. But if you disagree then it’s fine. I still love you OK? I guess I am a lot more passionate than I should be because I love studying epidemiology and pathogens and how these things can be controlled, plus some background on cell signalling and formation of cells helps a lot. I wasn’t kidding when I said I learn and apply what I learned to help myself and other people, that’s a large part of my personal identity. =)