#she should not have had unrestricted internet access

[skrunksthatwunk]

ive been led to believe that every (afab, generally) dyke goes through some kind of harrowing toxic possessive jealous overly dramatic vaguely homoerotic girl-girl friendship in their life before they figure out they're dykes and everyone always paints this as a middle/high school phenomenon but i need you guys to know that mine happened when i was 8 years old with a literal karen (in name only). ridiculous

[pitske]

long fucking rant about the joy of reading a good book. (not at all accurate title)

I just finished reading Felidae! incredible book I really love the story and- okay bear with me. I got the book a few years back because my mom mentioned reading it when she was younger. I told her I'd want to read it as well and she went through the painstaking process of finding it (which was not easy because the Author is a right fucking prick so his books aren't really sold anymore.)

so we found it on ebay eventually.( god knows I am not givin that author my money) I left it alone for a few years, had other shit to read and actually did not read much at all during that time...

right fast forward I decide I should read it because one of my terrible habits is starting thousands of things at once and never really finishing any of em. SO AND THIS IS WHERE IT GETS INTERESTING! I read the first 3 pages or so n talked to my mom and brother about it shortly, saying I liked the way it was written, the characters, the exposition, etc etc- AND at the mention of the plot my brother goes "oh! I've heard of that! it's the book that some german studio made into that horrifying animated movie adaptation!" AND IT ALL CAME CRASHING DOWN

because I remember what he meant because you KNOW tiny me with unrestricted internet access had seen some clips of the gory , disturbing cat-movie before! and you know what? I was unfortunate (or maybe fortunate , seeing how I'm a massive horror fan now) enough to watch "Watership down" as a kid so when I saw Felidae being ranked even HIGHER than that movie in those "ooh horrofying disturbing kids movieees ooh" lists, I swore I'd never watch it..

and here we are, I read that boook so fast and it is actually incredibly entertaining (i also just have never read a "krimi" before so I definitely have a high appreciation for the genre now)

I am incredibly excited to watch the movie. JUST AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH a 2D animated thriller-detective cat movie with horrorfying scenes and absurd amounts of gore??? COUNT ME IN TL:DR : I realize that reading is fun if you actually have a good book to read and obsess over the story of a cat solving a series of cat murders

[charrfie]

GIVE ME THE ELLIE LORE RRAAAAAGG🫵🫵🫵

OHHH BOY OKAY WHERE DO I START WITH THIS. HEADS UP THIS IS GOING TO BE SO LONG EVEN IF IM JUST SUMMARIZING THE BASIC SET UP!!! Also the plot is pretty heavy on violence but for the sake of this ask I'll try to skirt around the details

I suppose before I start explaining the details surrounding Elle I should talk about the actual overarching story itself! It's a story of reflection, mostly. Something I put together (with my boyfriend who made the other main character in the story, Tilly!) that contains a lot of the feelings I was never able to make sense of/reconcile with as a kid. Obviously it's done in a super over-the-top kind of way but I feel like it still works pretty well for its purpose. A lot of the metaphors and plot points are actually INTENTIONALLY inflated bc I wanted to encompass any weird middle schooler's love for edge and cringe (... my love for those things haven't changed either, admittedly <3). It's about young sapphic love and finding family in friends rather than in blood, it's about how fucked up middle school is, it's about transness and identity. It's about growing up too fast. There's a lot more to be said about the themes of it but these are the most prominent I feel.

As for the plot itself, I'll only explain the opening of it or else we'll be here all day. What you need to know is: Elle is a pretty fucked up kid. Often bullied for being The Weird Girl in middle school and with a mom who doesn't really care about her (would classify it as neglectful like "you do your thing I'll do mine" rather than abusive though ig neglect is a kind of abuse), she's left to face the world on her own. And of course this leads to things like unrestricted internet access as a child (should mention it takes place roughly in 2008/2009 so this kind of stuff is in full swing), morbid curiosities not really having a reason to fade, etc. There's quite a bit that happens in between her early life and the catalyst of what sets the plot in motion, like how she loses one of her eyes and whatnot, but I'll skip that part for now considering it's a little upsetting? Anyways, one day she meets a girl named Miriam. Miriam is a sweetheart and an A+ student... as well as the first person to give Elle a second of their time. Over the following weeks, a friendship starts to bloom between them. The friendship, however, comes to a close much too soon when a very paranoid Elle fucks up and makes a split second decision that gets Miriam killed. Its completely motivated by fear and self preservation, so of course she instantly regrets it. None of the potential witnesses around her figure she had anything to do with it. She's just a little girl after all. But there's one person who saw what she did. Staring at Elle from a distance with knowing in her eyes. Tilly. And it just so happens that Tilly is also kind of a fucked up Weird Girl! Who goes to Elle's school! Of course she does. Elle heads to school over the following days expecting to be called a murderer, arrested, or killed herself after being exposed by Tilly but... this doesn't happen...? Tilly tells no one. Rather, the students at school show Elle pity, thinking she was a victim. And yet Elle feels Tilly's eyes bearing holes into the back of her head all throughout class. Elle suspects this is a threatening thing, but instead, Tilly soon expresses an interest in Elle that likely also stems from her own morbid curiosity (however Elle can't fucking stand her for quite a while). Over time the two find themselves bonding somehow! Elle finds comfort in Tilly's similar struggles to her own, finds someone who pays attention to her for once with no possibility of hurting her. Tilly finds a home in Elle that her broken family can't provide for her. It sounds very unhealthy considering the context behind their meeting but it's genuinely very helpful for both of them, and sooner or later they find themselves dating ^_^ !! This, uh..... doesn't stop them from getting into worse trouble down the line though............

I have a much longer version of this written out but this is a lot already so maybe another time? Sorry if this sounds rushed!! Its a lot of info I'm trying to stuff in here at once so a lot of the more nuanced and slow-moving topics dealt with in the story may seem a little awkwardly phrased here

Now despite literally everything I've said about Elle and Tilly, they're both big babies and I love them a lot. They're very sweet just ignore the violence okay? Here's some art of them together my bf (@nervigg) did!! Same one I used as my pfp! Girlfriends :^]

[olive-otterton]

OK Y'ALL BIG THOUGHTS TIME

Guys, parents of tumblr, do not give your kids phones until at LEEEASSTT middle school.

We all love our phones, I know. I love my phone as much as anyone else and I can admit that I have a bit of a problem. I ignore the world a little more than I should and I'm too involved in the online world, I don't have the best attention span, and I got my phone at 11. Imagine what a phone would do to a 5 year old. Imagine what unrestricted internet would do to a toddler.

I know a gen alpha kiddo and her texts are actually unreadable. I cannot understand her and have to ask so many questions. She makes contradictory statements, no commas, no periods. Nothing.

Give your kids a leap frog learning tablet. I grew up with it and it brought me endless EDUCATIONAL entertainment. After that, I got a small parental controlled tablet at 6. Then unrestricted internet access at 8, and a phone at 11. And I got a little fucked up- I admit it! I have trouble spelling certain words and I have some fucked up handwriting. But If that could happen with an 11 year old, imagine what could happen to a child at 3.

Children at those ages are more susceptible to bad behaviors and habits more than anyone. Don't let the ipad parent your kid, keep the ipad away and read to them. Have them go outside and see the wonders of nature, let them get dirty and bruised. As a child, I would roll down a hill in my neighborhood playground, getting grass stains on my pants and bruises from rocks. I would swing on rope swings and bike up the stupid steep hills to go to the mini-mart down the road with my friends.

I know I kind of sound like a gen x or boomer here, but going outside and socializing is so so important to a child's early development. I have so many happy memories by going outside and socializing and to think my little cousins and nieces and nephews will never know that is horrifying.

As a writer I love nothing more than seeing young writers make their first character, write their first story, make cringy plot lines and edge lords. But those are going away. Kids aren't allowed to be bored and need constant stimulation, and their imagination is being stunted. As a child, I was bored so so much because having ADHD means that would happen; however, that was the best thing to happen to me. I started making character, drawing on napkins, building castles out of those jelly packets. I got my start on ocs because I was bored and obsessed with foxes and wolves, and was then introduced to the concept by a friend and I was obsessed. I spend my boredom making characters and backstories for those characters, but kids today just aren't doing that anymore.

I'm just ranting tho, I hate seeing gen alpha go down the drain. It's not their fault, it's the parent's fault, and any parent reading this I hope you listen well. I want you to ween your kids off the ipad, or never even give it to them in the first place. Give them the childhood you had- that you cherished so much. Wooden play places and outside play, hanging out with friends and exploring. Give them a childhood they can't summarize in one sentence they can barely formulate. Don't be the parent whose kid's nostalgic over the ipad pro.

[cyberdykes]

something i’m like horrified of is the increase of children with unrestricted internet access bc of the amount of porn they’re going to see before they turn like 13 let alone 18 i mean i was straight up watching porn when i was 12 and i didn’t even have my own ipad or computer i was doing this on my family computer!! bc it was available and i was curious as everyone is eventually! But like it’s so easy to access that if a six year old had their own ipad??? they could literally be watching hardcore pornography completely unsupervised. I mean the stuff the kids i nanny say they see on YOUTUBE!!! makes me nervous. Imagine if they knew how much illicit stuff they could be seeing if they left the app like i swear 7yr old is days away from seeing something that’s going to scar her. if she hasn’t already!! Like society is so horrified by a child potentially meeting a gay or trans person but The powers that be are intentionally ignoring how harmful pornography is for everyone let alone children. Like that is the moral outrage that is the moral panic we should be having!!!! Idk i spend a lot of time worrying about the stuff children are consuming on regular youtube alone but there’s just so much worse stuff out there it breaks my heart and scares the shit out of me!!!!

[bondsmagii]

The part about ChrisChan that absolutely guts me is that her parents literally moved instead of letting her go to specialized school. She needed that sort of support and her abusive parents went "hell no! fuck that!" and then also gave her completely unsupervised access to the internet. Also, it's sort of just a gut feeling, but I have suspicions that the mother started the inappropriate behaviour when Chris was young and it's just come out now because of a psychopathic/sadistic troll

god, I know. and there was also that other school she was sent to, where the teachers would pin her to the ground when she had a meltdown? like, an adult on each of this small child's limbs, it was horrific. that was the same school where I strongly suspect at least one of the teachers sexually abused her, too.

there's definitely something going on with Barbara, though. I mean, both of Chris's parents are shitty enough that they have adult children from previous marriages who have cut them off and don't associate with them at all. I remember seeing a video the other week where Barbara was caught on audio talking to Chris, and god. she's such a slimy piece of work. she's so emotionally manipulative, and it's clear both of Chris's parents are abusive and Chris is frightened of them.

her parents could have easily stepped in well before it got to this point. they were completely aware of what was happening, and it got to the point where trolls were calling the house and sending packages in the mail. the only time they seemed in the least bit concerned was when they found out Chris had posted a video tour of the family home, where the horrific hoarding situation was clear. they freaked out at her and demanded she take the video down so they didn't get evicted for essentially living in a landfill site. no concern for Chris has ever been expressed.

I'm all for disabled people having as much autonomy and independence as they can manage, but it's clear very early on that Chris could not handle unrestricted access to the internet. she might be an adult, but she's a vulmerable adult who needed extra care and attention. her parents should have stepped in right as this all took off the first time. I cannot imagine doing nothing while hearing my child screaming and crying in her bedroom as people harass and torment her online, while stuff arrives in the mail and people call my house incessently, night after night and day after day. literally what the fuck. Chris stood no chance, and it's through no fault of her own.

[zippodippo]

izuku is lowkey chaotic

listen i love how the fandom potrays izuku but there is NO WAY he spent 10 years with no friends and only the internet as company for him to not understand memes or be completely innocent. the dudes seen stuff

he’s definitely seen the dark half of the internet when he scrolled to deep into a hero forum when he was 10 and accidentally read some sort of all might x nighteye smut and hasnt been the same ever since. that was his first exposure to fanfic. after that he starts reading fanfics but like “all might adopts you” or “all might is your dad”

i saw someone say that izuku writes fluff fanfic like that and after meeting all might he still does it and it keeps on getting more accurate

also that bakugou reads his stuff and hes his favourite writer but doesnt know its izuku and ive adopted that into my hcs i CANT

kaminari + izuku is a underrated duo i love them as friends so much theyd go batshit crazy together

after kaminari quotes a meme and izuku finishes it they look at eachother and just. grin. they look feral. everyone else in the room feels incoming dread and aizawa can already feel his grey hairs coming in faster

they like to knock on eachother doors at 3am and just look at memes together and lose their shit LITERAL platonic soulmates

they also randomly go up to todoroki and quote stuff to see his confused face then fall over eachother laughing as todoroki repeats it

like to record themselves making stuff in the kitchen cause they both cant cook for their life and post it on the class 1a youtube channel cause they definitely have one. bakugou loses his mind everytime a notification pops up and those 2 are the thumbnail

always great to see the usually “smart” “determined” “future member of the big 3” izuku lose it over a deepfriend image of bread

izuku has the rest of the world fooled they all think hes a model student when really whenever he leaves the school he gets caught up in the middle of a villian fight, being held hostage or causing trouble on accident (or purpose)

everyone outside of ua: aw!! bone break kid seems so sweet and innocent!! he wouldnt hurt a fly!!

everyone in 1a: no. you did not see last week when he was laughing so hard at uraraka being told off by iida cause she got stuck on the roof that he punched a table, accidentally activated his quirk, and broke his arm.

all the teachers, nodding in agreement: you dont deal with a emotional teenager who gets into trouble everytime he leaves our sight

izuku: HEY!! >:((

whenever the dekusquad meetup he makes them agree to whatever activity comes to his head first. iida tries to be the voice of reason but gets dragged in. tsu is the true voice of reason dont let the class prez roll make you think different. todoroki and uraraka are always up for whatever izuku comes up with no questions asked. some highlights include

uraraka making a grocery cart weightless and having iida push it as theyre all inside it. ended up with a broken cart, tsu carrying izuku and todoroki back to the dorms and uraraka and iida leaning on eachother the whole way.

they made todoroki lick a pole when it was cold outside as a joke cause they thought he would be able to heat up his tounge and get free. 3 hours later after the emergency services were called they now know he cannot heat up his tounge.

izuku made shinsou sneak out of the dorms with him for coffee at 3am when they had been studying together and used shinsous quirk to make everyone who saw them forget they did. they came back with coffee but with aizawa waiting for them at the entrance. they silenced him by promising to bring him next time

have DEFINITELY had a group costume together

the list continues

hes got a hero blog thats filled with analysis and stuff about life as a hero in training but also just random shitposts. like it goes from him making a huge post about all mights retirement and all his achievements to things like

is best jeanist just sentient jeans that have decieved the entire japan population? +extra points given by todoroki shouto

here are all the reasons toga from the lov should leave me alone (HOW DO YOU KEEP GETTING MY NUMBER?!?!?)

my favourite near death experiences rated out of 10

look at this photo of kacchan i got as he was about to explode me!! isnt he cool :DDD

what is mr aizawas scarf made out of?? i kinda want one just to be able to fling it around

some of his followers are concerned.

this boy is smart+strong but he also had unrestricted internet access like the rest of us. he knows

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Kiwi 12

Previously on Kiwi

For three days the world was rampant with news of Lexa and Costia. It was a hot topic for speculation and Lexa realized she hadn’t missed that aspect of dating, nor did she truly crave that kind of pressure or notice any longer. It was pure distraction, and it could not end soon enough. 

The reunion had its desired effect on the world. There were pictures that rolled all over the universe, or so it seemed, with headlines proclaiming all sorts of wild stories and theories as to the reason the bad girl model turned actress was seen paling around, post-show, with reformed and enjoying a successful third album world tour rock star. They hypothesized about the lost love and the rekindling, the cheating that might have happened, the whole entire thing. Two very distinct sections of the internet went bonkers for the pictures and news and fourth-hand accounts of their five minutes together in public since the break up. 

Lexa hated all of it, but bore it because she was now someone who did good things or at least tried to do good things, even if she didn’t like those things. Costia needed it, Indra asked her, and so Lexa stuck to the line that they were just friends and didn’t answer any other questions. It was easier that way. 

None of it mattered Lexa was too happy, feeling too good despite the normal trials and tribulations of the tour, and counting down the days until she would get unrestricted access to her girlfriend, her real girlfriend, her true and honest girlfriend who was currently squatting in her apartment back home. 

So she ignored the tabloids and tried to focus, ticking off the days and existing as far away from Costia as she humanly could. 

Even though there was a lot to get done for the show, even though there was a lot to run through and she should have hung around and helped her sister, Lexa was basically useless and dismissed relatively early in the day. She’d warned Clarke that she would have to send a car to get her, but there was suddenly free time. 

Practically vibrating, Lexa tugged her baseball cap lower and adjusted her glasses. Nervously, she looked around and tried to blend in as much as possible as she anxiously awaited her girlfriend’s arrival. As far as she was concerned, she was absolutely being an amazing girlfriend. The best perhaps. And everything was falling into place in a way that she hadn’t expected or ever truly experienced. 

Lexa saw Clarke before Clarke saw her, and she felt her heart sip a little. It wasn’t supposed to do things like that, and for an instant she was slightly annoyed that she was falling. It was a rare thing to have a moment to look at the girl with pretty lips without her knowing, but Lexa gave herself a few moments. And Clarke looked at her phone and smiled before Lexa felt her own vibrate. 

I made it! I’m going to see you soon! Prepare yourself.

From a reasonable distance, Lexa followed along as Clarke moved to pick up her luggage, carefully apologizing for pumping into someone, smiling warmly at someone else. 

And what should I prepare for?

It might have been slightly voyeuristic, but Lexa didn’t care. She was so used to being the one who was watched, that this felt rewarding in many ways. She would have never gotten to see the view of her girlfriend grinning at her phone and debating what to write, the casual glance around, as if someone was going to know or read it over her shoulder. 

Me, your exceptionally horny and understanding and downright magical girlfriend. 

When she got her bag and moved toward the exit, looking around for the ride that was promised, Lexa finally gave up her watching. 

Bring it on, Griffin. Look at the car rental place behind you.

It took a few seconds for it to register, but Clarke turned around and searched before meeting Lexa’s eyes, hidden as they were behind glasses and beneath a ball cap. And though she felt her, the pull and the need to close the gap as quickly as possible, Clarke stared at her girlfriend and smiled, relieved and surprised and happy. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“I missed you,” Lexa whispered. 

“Did you?” 

There wasn’t a wasted moment or movement. Lexa pushed forward until Clarke was pressed against the wall in the hotel room. She smiled, hovering near her lips, hesitating, teasing, waiting until she couldn’t wait again. Hands moved up from hips and Clarke moaned at the contact of lips on neck. 

It was the closeness that did it-- the unwavering feeling of another body and hands gripping into muscles despite already being closer than close. Lexa liked that Clarke clung, that she grabbed and dug her nails into skin and her legs wrapped around hips. She was unable to lie with her movements. She liked the feeling of being needed so innately. 

“You just popped into my life with a swipe and now I think about you a lot,” Lexa explained. “You made me someone who misses someone.” 

“I’m a terrible influence.” 

“You really are,” she agreed eagerly, kissing the girl in her arms once again before stumbling them toward the bed. 

With a flop, they landed and Lexa made quick work of pressing into Clarke’s hips, spreading her legs even more. 

“Can we do the slow and intimate after. I just--”

Hips canted and Lexa smiled down at the girl wiggling beneath her, cheeks flushed and hands gripping and pulling and tugging. 

“What do you need?” she murmured, dipping her head to kiss her jaw and neck again. 

“Lexa... “ It was somewhere between a whine and a command. 

“Tell me.” 

“Please.” 

“Since you asked so nicely.” 

XXXXXXXXXXX

Spent and sweaty, sprawled across the bed with arms wide and sheets tangled, Lexa sighed and ran her hand along her stomach. Clarke was in love with her knees and the point of her ankles. She was in love with the way her gangly limbs seemed to stretch and tangle themselves everywhere. And sometimes, without even meaning to, Clarke fell in love with all of those parts at one time and it was simultaneously soothing and overwhelming, leaving her startled and warm. 

All within one body, she saw so many contradictions and in that, an overwhelming kind of affection that Clarke hadn’t experienced before with anyone. From her spot between Lexa’s legs, her ear pressed against her thigh, Clarke thought about it more than she ever had before, because she was across the world and it’d been nearly a year, and there was nothing more terrifying than realizing you were in love with something like the wind. With a sigh, Clarke kissed Lexa’s thigh before lifting her head and slouching her way toward her hip. Lexa took a deep breath and held it as she shifted, stretching and adjusting, compensating for Clarke’s movement. The ink on her ribs moved and shifted on the skin there. Clarke kissed her stomach, kissed the giggle that came at the base of her rib cage an instant later. 

With a tiny smile, Clarke pressed her face into Lexa’s stomach and blanketed her hip. She ran her fingertips along the soft skin of her breast, over her nipple. Clarke fell in love with the sound of her lungs when she breathed and she fell in love with the piano keys of her ribs and she was surely in love with the slant of her wrist and elbow and shoulders. 

Not one thing existed-- the world was not at all composed at all of anything other than the bed and the night and the two bodies. Lexa’s fingers slowly tapped a rhythm on her own chest while her other hand swirled through Clarke’s messy hair. 

Sometimes it was too much; all of the feelings and such, and Clarke didn’t know how to explain or feel them or say anything. Words didn’t seem needed in the moment. And so she lifted herself once again and slithered lower until she could taste Lexa again, because she desperately needed to communicate and she needed to express, and she had no way to do it other than to make Lexa arch and grip the sheets and swear. It only made it worse, that Lexa gave all of herself over. But Clarke was in love with a live wire, and she knew that sometimes. 

When all tension that had been worked into her muscles left in an instant despite Clarke’s desire to prolong it, and the body in the sheets was once again pliant and spent, Clarke laid once more on her thigh and kissed her there before closing her eyes and listening to Lexa catch her breath. 

It was possible to fall in love with a moment, and it was possible to fall in love with a dream-- what Clarke wasn’t sure of, was if it was possible to fall in love with a person who navigated through those moments and those dreams. She wanted to reason her way out of whatever it was that was plaguing her, but deep down she knew that it wasn’t something she could do, and she was presently stuck with it. The only choices left were to nurture it and let it grow or ignore it and let it strangle her. 

“I missed you, too,” Clarke whispered. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“Wake up please. I want to go look at castles.” 

Clarke groaned in complaint before yawning into the pillow. A body settled near her, sitting on the edge of the bed as it rustled this way and that. The sleeping girl pushed the hair out of her face and watched as the rockstar typed on her phone before tossing it on the desk and pulling her shirt over her head. 

There was a tray of fruit, coffee, and scones on the table, and lit in the morning sun from the window, a shirtless girl ate a strawberry and surveyed the land outside before turning back toward the bed. 

Clarke just smiled and grabbed her phone before groaning once again at the time, enjoying the smile it garnered from her girlfriend. It was still early. Too early. 

“Did you already work out?” 

“Sure did. Ordered us breakfast, too. Already checked in with Anya and Indra for the day, and returned a few emails.” 

“Are you always like this?” 

“What?” Lexa asked, flexing slightly in the mirror before taking a sip of her coffee. 

“So perky in the morning?” 

“Honestly, just when you’re here. You’re a good reason to want to get stuff done. I want to waste a whole day with you.” 

“You left me alone in bed though.” 

“Yeah, or else I wouldn’t have gotten anything done. Can we go see some castles now? I’m very excited. I’ve been waiting til you got here.” 

“Can we shower first?” 

“I guess. If we must.” But Lexa didn’t move. She sat and began her breakfast. “I got your coffee ready, darling.”

Only then did Clarke find it incentive enough to heave herself out of bed. She wrapped the sheet around herself and moved toward the table, careful to lean down to kiss her girlfriend’s cheek then neck then shoulder as she did. 

“Are we going to grab dinner before your show tonight?” 

“Definitely. Anya has already picked out a spot. I thought tomorrow we could grab something just us. I mean… the weather is going to be nice. I found a place-- It’s already set. You’re fed for the next two days at least.” 

“Good. Because I broke down and bought very unhealthy food to contaminate your kitchen and I need proper sustenance.”

“You’re a growing girl.” 

“Exactly.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

“You really like castles.” 

“They’re so cool. I feel a bit like I’m in a Jane Austen book or something.” 

There was always a surprise with Lexa, and Clarke wished she could predict it, or at least figure out a way to be less blown over when Lexa said things like enjoying Jane Austen books and still, as a full adult, dreaming about owning a castle.

“I can barely fathom squatting in your loft let alone, so please don’t go buying a castle anytime soon.” 

Goofy and happy, Lexa smiled and shook her head, carefully slinging her arm over Clarke’s shoulder as they perused. 

“I try to read a book by an author from every country I visit. I made myself read Emma, and I’ve been a bit of a castle fan ever since. It was genuinely the funniest thing I’ve read in a long time.” 

“And what are you reading now?” Clarke asked as they walked along a rather drizzly path along the grounds with the other tourists. 

“I went with something called The Guts, about rock music and junk. I’m a cliché.” 

“You never told me you were a big reader.” 

“I don’t like to advertise it too much.” 

“God forbid people think you’re clever,” Clarke rolled her eyes and teased, earning a kiss on her temple. 

“I don’t know if you know this or not,” Lexa chuckled. “But I’m a high school drop out.” 

“You’re--”

Aimlessly walking and enjoying the mildly warm day despite the spitting rain, the pair was interrupted by the growing murmurs of people noticing. Clarke felt Lexa’s arm tighten slightly on her shoulders, guiding her away from someone else. 

“This is going to happen, huh?” Clarke sighed. “And we were having such a good time.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“If you weren’t so damn good looking and you know, sang those songs, and gyrated your hips a little less…” 

Lexa burst out into a laugh, unable to contain it. The cameras caught it, snapping pictures and documenting every move. For most of it, Clarke forgot to be too nervous. She couldn’t be completely distracted from the people following and stealing their moment, but Lexa did her best and it worked in its own way. 

On the way back to the hotel to get ready for dinner, Clarke scrolled through her phone while Lexa chatted with some friends on a scheduled call. She paused when she recognized herself and Lexa from just a few hours ago, paired with the picture Lexa posted of the two of them on her account. There were a lot of comments about them, speculation about who she was, linking to the previous pictures. 

For the moment, Clarke felt her heart race and her cheeks blush. She wasn’t sure what to say, or what to do or what to feel about it all. Suddenly, the privacy of a castle didn’t seem like a terrible life. 

XXXXXXXXX

There was something fantastic about a concert behind the scenes. There was something absolutely magical about watching Lexa onstage that simultaneously made the incident with the cameras seem better and worse. 

But for a while, it was gone and Clarke was infatuated with the girl on stage who had twenty thousand people hanging on her every word and song. During a song, Lexa looked over and winked and Clarke was certain that there was nothing better. 

Fingers moving up and down the guitar frets, Lexa leaned into the microphone and sang to her heart's content. She turned and looked at Anya and smiled. She moved and danced with the rest of the band. She chatted up the crowd, holding them in the palm of her hand, keeping them hooked. An entire stadium sang back her own words to her, and Clarke was in awe of the whole display. She wondered if the amazement would ever go away, or if she was doomed to be bowled over by Lexa every other night. 

Slightly sweaty and still high from her show, the lights went black and Lexa appeared close to Clarke, earning a hug. 

“You looked good out there, Woods.” 

“She never does this well,” Anya teased. “We should bring you along more often.” 

“I didn’t do anything special,” Lexa disagreed, enjoying the kisses she received. 

The crowd chanted and begged for more and Clarke knew what was going to happen. She saw Lexa soak it up a little bit more. She enjoyed the mood and the contagious feeling of it all. 

“I have to go back out there for a bit longer. You good?” 

Earnest and eager, Lexa waited for Clarke’s answer and nod. If Clarke would have said no, she knew that Lexa wouldn’t have gone back out, and that was something. So Clarke hugged her once more. 

“I guess I’ll chant your name later,” she whispered. 

She expected a smile or maybe a moan, or something inherently Lexa as a reaction to a comment like that-- something cocky and interested all at once. Instad, Clarke earned Lexa’s eyes and a very set jaw. 

“I need you to understand what I mean when I say this,” Lexa insisted, her forehead pressed against Clarke’s, the rest of the band already taking the stage for the encore. “I've come here to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours.”

She hadn’t meant to hear the words, and she certainly hadn’t expected such brutal honesty in such a sweaty and loud and public moment. Still pressed together tightly, Clarke felt a tear roll down her cheek because she was completely blindsided by such a confession. 

“I understand,” Clarke nodded. 

Lexa smiled and Clarke knew only because her cheeks crinkled near her eyes. The music started, but Lexa wouldn’t move. Clarke tapped her thumbs against her girlfriend’s chest. 

“You should go finish work.” 

“I should. Chanting my name, huh?” 

Lexa kissed Clarke quickly and disappeared back on stage before she could answer. 

NEXT

[1zashreena1]

Angst Fluff Whiplash -14

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary:  What does an apex predator do after confessing undying love? Princess is about to find out.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Non-descriptive sexytimes, the L word, criminal activities glossed over, relationship building, plus size woman+fit man, Anxiety, This one is all feels and

I Am So NOT Sorry. 

THE TIME HAS COME

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​ ​ @symbiont13​ ​ @nicke0115​ ​​ @bunnykjm​ ​ @rosee-sensuelle​ ​ @girlpornparadise​ ​ @mandoplease​ ​ @heresathreebee​ ​ @xxsteph-enrixx​ ​ @jetiikad​ ​ @joalsglasses​ ​ @mutantcookiesecrets​ ​ @demoncatstone​ ​ @squidlywiddly87​ ​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​ ​ @poeedamerons​ ​

"I don't know, Lisa. He won't tell me. Not until this weekend apparently?  We're supposed to go shopping."

"Honestly, I'm scared. I mean, there's the whole how did he get a passport FOR me dilemma. Then the part where he knows I don't like surprises. And he said he was calling my sister!"

"Oh my God, she could tell him anything! Please don't tell him about the Backstreet Boys phase. I'm going to have a panic attack."

"Of course he would tease me about it for eternity!"

"What? Watch what words? What are you talking about?"

"Do not hang up this phone! Do you even love me?!? Lisa? …. Hello?"

You toss your phone down on the bed and heave a huge sigh. Your very own BFF, abandoning you like that. Luckily its your own phone and not the insane cell Diego got you because it bounces off the other side of the bed and smacks into the wall before admitting total defeat to gravity. 

You stand there staring at your open suitcase. Your typical items are in there already. You don't need any toiletries. Or makeup, now. Or bras. Or underwear. Fucking hell, its like I already moved into the penthouse with him. 

… Could I do that? He already basically asked for it. He keeps telling me to quit my job and let him spoil me for real. You wring your hands together while rubbing your lips against each other and being bombarded with intrusive thoughts. Yeah. Until he's done with me and then I have to start all over. At 35. 

But its been almost a year now that you've been seeing Diego. What does that even mean, "seeing" him? You think about how the last few months have been so… easy. He practically lives in New York now, their territory split. He opted to control the East Coast and let his sister deal with the logistical nightmare of receiving the imports. 

He has been a lot looser since then. Faster to laugh, quicker to goof around, less likely to do anything as hard as he used to do. The distance from Alicia has allowed him to really flourish in every aspect. And he's beautiful with it. The laugh lines and the soft brown eyes wreck you every time.

He says he wants to keep you. Take care of you. You finally believe that he loves you. He has made so many improvements in communication. Hell, he read books on how to be with someone on the spectrum. Do you understand it? Hell no. Are you going to take it and run? Fuck yeah dude. I love him and I want to keep him.

And now he wants to take you on a trip. A surprise destination. Out of the country with a mostly legal passport. You don't doubt that you'll be safe with him. Your parents were a little concerned when you told them since they've never even met him. And they saw him on the national news that time he got arrested by the Feds, so that really inspires confidence. 

Your middle sister Lynne and niece Halley accidentally met him that one afternoon about a month back. And they have not shut up about it since. Diego this, Diego that, blah blah blah, paid the restaurant bill in cash, yadda yadda, took us all shopping to a Coach store and then got Halley some crazy new sold out Nikes. Diego had been delighted to be surrounded by a gaggle of giggling girls enjoying his spoiling attentions. Just like always, Diego went to the max and charmed them silly.

It was like having an out of body experience to see Diego with them. You couldn't really fault them, he swept you off your feet with no problems.  He was grinning and joking the whole time, making raunchy comments with your sister and encouraging your niece to be assertive (unnecessary according to her soccer coach and the 'Most Aggressive' trophy). He fit right in with them. Afterwards he had asked if that was what it was like to have normal siblings and your heart broke thinking about what his childhood had been like with his sister. 

Which brought you back to the here and now. He had mentioned off hand that he was going to call your sister. Maybe you should text her. She might know something.

Maybe you should just pack your bag and trust him. 

Your Diego Cell chirps and you dive for it on the nightstand. Is he okay? Please don't be hurt.

Its a pic of him. In the shower. With his own hand wrapped around himself. You choke on air and have to sit down. 

I miss you Princess

Holy. Shit. Its been almost a year that you have had unrestricted access to that incredible body and your reaction is still the same. Before you can respond another text arrives:

SOON

The attached pic is just from squinty eyes up.

You burst out laughing at him. You love that he is secretly a nerd about internet stuff. His appearance would never give that away. Time to be ridiculous right back.

Don't make me lick your eyeball 

You are a crazy person laughing to yourself alone in your bedroom.

You are so weird

Yet there you are, lusting after this weirdo

You shoot back.

… Am I the weirdo??

No. Still you.

I would threaten to bite it.. but you would like that

Well now you have to

Oh my God. You're fairly certain you could do anything to this man and he would think it was sexy. Its a novel experience.

Can we eat dinner at home tomorrow? I don't feel like wearing a real bra

You know the answer to that. 

YES. NO MORE BRAS EVER AGAIN. BE FREE

… no panties?🙏🥺

You can see the hopeful puppy dog eyes clearly.

A for effort babe. One of these days you might get your wish lol

...Are you panty free right now?

Wow. He is really trying here.

I'm packing. 

Your pic is a heap of tangled thongs dumped on top of Tiny Murder Panther.

💜🔥😛

He would find that hot. Fucking nympho.

Lemme finish this so I can go straight to the airport tomorrow

Fine. But I am pouting 

You do not doubt that.

Don't care. Still love your stupid face

You cannot believe you just sent that. 

Princess. 

Mi amor.

Diego's good little girl.

You shudder with the praise. You can hear it in his voice, as if he were right here with you.

I love you

Dream of me?

Oh baby, if you only knew. You sigh wistfully.

Always, baby

---------------‐---------

The flight is uneventful, thankfully. Your maxidress with a built-in shelf bra is stupidly comfortable and you actually take a nap. 

The plane has barely come to a stop and you already have on your silly lambswool lined Ugg flip flops. You had argued with Diego about these (Why would flip flops need a warm fuzzy lining??) but he had won by sticking one in your face and ordering you to feel. It didn't take a full second for you to snatch them both from him and cuddle them to your chest. His pleased smile full of dimples was worth all the subsequent teasing.

You slip on one of his previously stolen shirts in a metallic lilac color and roll up the sleeves so you have use of your hands. Bending at the waist, you flip your hair over and fluff it back up from the nap. What was that he had said? Oh yes: Wild and thick, just how I like it. The memory makes you bite your bottom lip and smile.

Bastian is waiting for you on the tarmac. He takes your bag and kisses you on the cheek in greeting. "Hey, sweetie. Nice shirt, is that new?"  His knowing grin is infectious. 

You nuzzle into the collar with a laugh. "Thanks! My boyfriend gave it to me." 

Bastian chuckles as he opens the passenger door for you. "Oh, honey. That is not all he is going to give you." He closes the door while you roll your eyes smirkingly. 

The ride to the penthouse is uneventful. Well, as uneventful as Friday evening rush hour traffic can be in New York. 

Bastian waits until the song is over before lowering the stereo volume. "We're supposed to pick up dinner. Any requests?" He drums his fingers on the steering wheel while you sit at the red light.

You ponder the options. "What kind of a day has he had? Meetings? Tours? Disciplinary action?" You ask Bastian thoughtfully. Sometimes when Diego has a bad day he likes comfort food. Mostly a giant heap of rice and beans next to homemade tortillas, he isn't so picky about the variety of meat.

Bastian glances at you out of the corner of his eye before warily answering, "There was a… termination… at a construction site this afternoon that took longer than expected. That's why he didn't come to get you, he wanted to shower first."

You keep your eyes focused forward to look out of the windshield. "Okay. How about Jalisco's then?" Comfort food it is. 

Bastian nods and adjusts course to obtain those tortillas.

‐--------------------

The instant the elevator doors ding open Diego pops up from the sectional and comes straight at you. Your giant sidestep to let Bastian pass is barely completed before Diego is slipping those big hands under his own pilfered shirt to crush your body to him. Your arms go around his neck like a reflex, like this is their natural resting place. He leans his forehead down onto yours and kisses you so very gently.

"Mmmm. Hi." You murmur softly into his beard. Those bottomless brown eyes look over your entire face before coming back to your own. His smile is huge, those dimples make your pulse trip. He blinks slowly down at you, just like the big cat you nicknamed him after. 

"Princess. How was the trip?" He always asks you this. You still aren't sure if its just culturally specific manners or if he is requesting a review of the flight crew's performance. Either way, your answer is always the same.

You pull him back down so you can cuddle into his neck. "Its better now that I'm here." He rubs his cheek against your own and purrs directly into your ear in response. Your body's reaction is immediate and decisive. You shiver in his arms and your nipples peak to full attention.

Except this time is different. With only a bralette and the dress's shelf bra Diego can clearly feel what just happened in real time. His eyes are comically round as he peers down at your cleavage in pleasant wonder.

"Oh. I like this outfit." His hands rise up your back to crush you further into him. You chuckle and rub your chest on his firm pectoral muscles. He watches hungrily as your compressed decolletage rises higher yet from the added pressure. "New rule to match the bedroom pants bar, no bras in the penthouse. Fucking magnificent, bonita." He licks his lips after making this proclamation.

You throw your head back and laugh joyfully.

‐----------------------

As it always does the weekend passes too quickly. Its already 1:00pm on Saturday when you two finally come down from the bedroom.

Diego is delighted to hear that your time-off request was approved for the trip. You had told him not to worry about it, your boss always kept her word about this stuff. 

That’s when he pulls a ridiculous pith hat out from under the couch. It looks like it came straight out of a Looney Tunes cartoon about a big game hunt on the African savannah.  You lose your entire shit and laugh until you do that silent clapping seal move.

Diego keeps repeating, "Wait, stop laughing. Stooooop." But he isn't faring much better. You finally wipe the tears and calm down enough to take it from his limp fingers while he chortles a few last times.

"Baby. What. What the fuck. What fucking is this??" You plunk the hat on your own head and Diego collapses facedown into your lap to gigglesnort uproariously. "Stop. Stop laughing. Stoppit!" You smack the back of his head lightly until he comes up for air.

He closes his eyes and composes himself. You take the opportunity to plop the hat on his head.

"Oh my god, that is so sexy!" You declare in high dramatics. 

He grabs your hands and leans in very close to explain. "You need this hat for our trip." Your eyes narrow in suspicion. "You will wear it for our safari quest…" he pauses for dramatic effect and your lips twitch in suppressed amusement. He leans closer yet and captures your stare. His face is hilarious, you can tell he is biting his cheek to keep from laughing. His eyebrows are drawn down in concentration but his eyes are widened in mock excitement. He sucks in a deep breath to exclaim, "To locate palm trees in the wild!"

He laughs as he puts the hat back on you.

You blink a few times in shock. Palm trees? You're going somewhere with palm trees? A tropical locale. Palm trees. Beaches. SWIMSUITS. Your sudden panic must show on your face because Diego's laughter dies off.

You blink furiously, but its too little too late. The tears burn as they well up in your eyes and spill down over your cheeks.

He reaches out to cup your face. "Princess?" His tone is an even mix of concern and fear. "Bicki? What?"

You shake your head 'no' and throw yourself into him. Diego catches you and hauls you into his lap. You curl up against his chest and sob quietly. He pets over your hair, open handed strokes so his fingers don't tangle in the curls, and soothes your back while you shake. Rubbing his nose against your temple, he kisses your cheek and whispers, "Do you want to write?" His gentle care only makes you worse. "...so that is no." He looks crestfallen. He buries his face in your hair and breathes heavily.

Your tears are slowing and your chest is finally beginning to loosen. "Dieg-" you hiccup, wrapping both hands around his forearm. You wheeze a few times before trying again. "I. I. Where? Where are we g-going?" 

He sighs deeply before answering. "Nowhere. I won't take you somewhere you don't want to go. I should have known better. I-" He snaps his jaw shut so fast that his teeth click together. 

Tilting your head back, you try to catch his eyes. Diego won't look at you. "H-hey, please." You cup his jaw and pull him down to you. He comes, but the motions are stilted. "Look. Please, baby. Let me s-see you."

When he finally meets your eyes it breaks your heart. That chocolate gaze is disappointed, hurt, frustrated even. You wiggle around until you're straddling his lap. He just holds his hands out of the way, not hindering you but certainly not helping either. Standing up on your knees to lean your forehead against his, you reach for his hands and bring them to your chest where you lace your fingers together. 

"Baby. I want that." Your nose rubs against his as you speak. "I want to go everywhere with you. I never thought I would ever get a chance like this. To travel? To go somewhere tropical? To have someone who loves me enough to do this for me?" You're crying again. And so is Diego? A little?? 

He brings your joined hands up to tap your chin. His face is adorably conflicted when he speaks, "You… want to go?" You nod slowly. His eyebrows lower as he tries to make sense of this. "Then why do you cry? Are they, the uh, is that 'happy tears' ?"

Your hands shake in his. "Yeah. Happy tears. I just. I was overwhelmed. I'm sorry." He huffs out a sigh. You continue, "Its almost like the super intense emotions short circuit my responses and I guess my default is panic crying? I don't know."

Diego huffs at you again. "Please stop that. I'm going to have a heart attack." There is a hint of real annoyance in his voice but his lips curl up at the corners. 

You free your right hand to reach up and brush his wet lashes. Why did something this little bring him to tears? "Baby, is everything okay?"

He leans into your hand, then turns to kiss your fingers. You giggle, you can't help it, his beard both tickles and delights you. He smirks at you, "It is now, Princess. You should get dressed so we can go." 

But you're not done here yet. "Where are we going on the trip? A place name, not foliage that may or may not be present."

His Cheshire cat grin is intriguing and mildly worrisome. He gives you one word, "Xcalak." And then watches while you access your mental map and pinpoint the exact location. 

It takes you a moment but you find it with a gasp. "Costa Maya? Like Caribbean-sea side of Mexico??"  He nods and you immediately start in with 20 Questions. "Are there cenotes? Is the water really those unreal colors? Is the food amazing there? Can we see ruins?"

Diego cups your face to stop you. "Whatever you like, little girl." With a kiss to your nose and a smack to your ass he ushers you upstairs to get dressed. 

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

The shopping is less traumatic than normal for you thanks to Diego making enthusiastic innuendo nonstop and feeding you between stores. You find sandals, and flip flops, and little slip-on sneakers. All kinds of flowy maxidresses and flouncy skirts paired with new tank tops in buttery soft fabrics. Cover-ups and kimonos and huge airy loose knit sweaters get rung up with linen pants and shorts you actually feel comfortable wearing.

But swimsuits? A disaster. Everything that fits your hips is way too big for your ribcage. Tankinis big enough to go around your middle are about a foot too wide around your chest. You try some maternity stuff… amazingly there isn't any chest support. That confuses both of you for almost 20 minutes while you discuss it over croissants and various iced beverages (coffee for him and some kind of hot chocolate slushie for you).

Then you look across the street and inspiration hits. One of the stores you order bras from is right there and has bra-sized swimwear in the display window. Diego turns to see what stole your undivided attention from him and slaps his hand down on the table in celebration. 

You aren't sure which one of you is more excited to get into the store. But while you run around exclaiming at all the things that come in your size Diego stands in the doorway and gawks. When you circle back to check on him he just points to one display wall.

There is lacy, frilly, corseted lingerie. In. Your. Size.

He demands one of everything that fits you and isn't red, brown, or yellow. You don't even argue.

The store does alterations and makes very good recommendations. The sales clerk is impressed with Diego's input, she comments that he really does seem to know your body well. You flush with it, glad that he isn't close enough to hear that. You leave with three bags and seven personalized swim outfits under construction. One is ready to wear and you keep reaching into the bag to touch it in wonder. 

Diego notices but just gives you a raised eyebrow. 

"This is the first time I've ever felt good about how I look in swimwear." You confess quietly. 

Diego wraps a massive arm around your shoulders and tucks you into his side while you continue down the sidewalk. 

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

Sunday is a mess as you try to make pancakes and Diego tries to remain physically attached to you like an excessively attractive barnacle. The pancakes are either burnt or still batter in the middle. Leftover carnitas and tortillas to the rescue. Diego teases you about the kitchen failure all day because this is the first time he has witnessed such a thing.

You doze on the couch under the pretense of "reading". Diego rotates through his laptop, cell, and the soccer match on ESPN+. 

Until his phone rings. 

You both tense up. Only one person calls him instead of texting. He takes the phone into the office to answer his sister. You wait on the couch to see which Diego you get back: silly tickle fight Diego,  sad puppy dog eyes Diego that requires cuddles, or  angry Diego that needs to fuck you through the nearest horizontal surface. 

The elevator dings and Julio comes in with a tray of coffees. "Ay, Gordita. Buenas tardes. I got you the hibiscus thing you like." He greets you with a big smile, then looks around when he doesn't see Diego on the sectional with you.

Hopping up to help him carry stuff, you point to the office in indication of Diego's location. Julio makes a face, "Hermana perra?" and you simply nod. Julio takes Diego's iced coffee and bites the bullet for you. The door closes softly behind him.

You munch plantain chips and slurp hibiscus lemonade until they come out.  Diego just looks tired when he comes back to you on the couch, coffee in hand. You open your arms in invitation and he plops next to you with a sigh. Cuddly Diego it is.

He doesn't tell you anything and you don't ask. Everyone watches the match mindlessly. Diego snores softly in your lap while you pet his hair.

He rides to the airport with you but you forbid him from coming onto the plane with you. He is already making this harder than it has to be with his big brown eyes and clingy hands.

"Baby." You breathe into his hair while he snuggles into your neck in the backseat of the SUV. "Its only a week. We do this every week." You pet down his bicep and immediately regret it.

"I know." Diego huffs into your skin. "Why don't you just quit? Let me take care of everything." You go through this almost every week now, too. He nuzzles you, the sensation makes you reconsider his proposal. You pull his head up by a fistful of soft hair and look him in the eye. He blinks guilelessly at you.

"Number one: No. Number two: Stoppit." He laughs at your fond exasperation. "Okay. I'm gonna go. You stay on the ground."

"Fine." He whines. "But I am going to send you a dick pic the moment that plane takes off." He crosses his arms as if daring you to tell him no.

You cup his stupidly attractive face in your hands for a kiss. Okay, several kisses and 27 minutes later, you respond, "Send me one every day. Its my favorite dick." His startled laugh makes you feel very pleased with yourself.

He pulls you into his arms again to kiss you one last time. His beard scratches and you sigh into him. Finally that tongue retreats and he rests his forehead on yours. His voice is low and rough, his hands squeeze tight on your hip and thigh, "I love you, Princess."

Will that ever stop hurting? You close your eyes against the burn of tears but smile with happiness. "I love you, Diego." You pop the door handle before you open your eyes to see him watching you, jaw tense. You stick your tongue out and he breaks into a smirk. With a laugh, you slide out of SUV and walk to the plane, determined not to look back.

When you get up the stairs the pilot greets you, but his gaze shifts behind you. Turning around, you see Diego standing outside the SUV, arms crossed and trying to look so not soft. You smile and mouth Bye baby, he gives you a short little wave. You duck into the plane before you can start crying.

The wheels are not, in fact, off the ground when the phone chirps.

‐-----------------------

The trip is a few weeks out and there is some kind of emergency at the San Diego docks the next weekend. So. You don't get your Murder Panther fix. 

And your coworkers notice. They spend all day Monday strolling past your cubicle, straining their necks to see if you're wearing new shoes or some fresh bling. Finally someone has the nerve to ask how your weekend was. 

You find yourself blinking back tears. I miss him so much. This is ridiculous, he just texted you at like six this morning. But its not just the conversation you miss, now is it? You miss that big body crowding you into the corner of the couch. His soft curls under your hands. That beard on literally any inch of your skin. Draping yourself over shoulders wider than your hips and knowing that not only can he take your weight, he likes it.

He says he wants to keep you and you desperately want to keep him. Why do you fear this? Is it just his profession? The risk? Oh god, how do you even go about introducing him to your parents??? Diego can be all kinds of charming but he can be a real asshole, too.

And they know what he is: A criminal.  For your boomer parents he is the living embodiment of Public Enemy Number One. 

Grand Theft. 

Money Laundering.

Arson.

Murder.

International Cocaine Trafficking. 

HE IS A LITERAL DRUG LORD.

You lay your head down on your desk and try to keep it together. 

Your Diego Cell chirps.

Your laughter bubbles up until it comes out of you without your consent. It turns hysterical and you realize you need to leave the office suite. Now. 

In the bathroom you stare down at the phone as it lights up again with another message.

Miss my Princess💔👑

How? How is someone who can do all those illegal things so nauseatingly sweet to me?

And then it hits you. Illegal. You didn't use the word immoral. Illegal. You think back to how everyone you see working directly for him is well into adulthood. No children. There are a few women but they are not being sold by him, they are there by their own free will. And he has never laid a hand on any of them, they're just as comfortable around him as the men are. No sex trafficking.  You saw someone give their resignation last month. The dude walked away with a suitcase of cash for a decade of trustworthy service. Its a better retirement plan than what I have. 

Have you seen him assault people? Yes. You've seen him stab people. Carve off someone's ear because they weren't listening as assigned and it cost the Jimenez Cartel a shipment. You've seen him push an informant down an empty elevator shaft. Choke a man into unconsciousness with his bare hands when you were disrespected. 

And you still love him. Not a single one of those incidents weighs on your conscience. Your morality is a dingy grey 12 year old men's undershirt that you should just throw away but you're definitely going to cut into rags to keep for cleaning when it comes to Diego. 

The cell lights up again.

Mi amor 💞😍🍑🏝✈⏲👙

You don't know what's worse: His excessive and ridiculous usage of emojis or the fact that you understood. 

Look what came

The attached pic is a few pieces of your new swimwear. They look gorgeous, you can't even tell where the alterations were done.

You have to try on all of them. And show me

Of course he wants his own personal show. You feel desire burning low in your belly. Its been a year and not once has he ever shied away from your stomach rolls or hinted at weight loss. He never questions the food you order. And while the two of you have chuckled about shapewear he has never mocked you for using it. Or seemed disappointed when you opted not to wear it. He tosses you around like its nothing and prefers for you to sleep on top of him. Its not that he loves you despite your weight, he loves it as part of you.

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

Its now Thursday and the desk drawer where you keep your purse at work is vibrating. He knows I'm at work. If he calls right back I'll answer him. You try to keep your Diego Cell out of sight at work or you'll never get anything done. Plus your coworkers are always dying to catch a peek of your infamous sugar daddy/boyfriend.

Yeah. Boyfriend. Keep practicing that. It feels good. 

You finish the insurance call and hang up your headset when the vibrating starts again. Your next door cubicle neighbor pops around the divider to advise you to answer that before he comes down here and abducts you.

What deity should I pray to for that??

You snatch Diego Cell and march out to the hall. Poking the green button, you answer the call.

"Baby. You okay?"

"Princess! I… yeah. I'm not hurt."

He sounds odd. There is definitely something going on here.

"What's up? You need me?"

The silence stretches. 

"Yes. Please?"

Diego sounds very uncomfortable. It causes you physical pain.

"Well, you have me. What is it?"

You can hear him swallow and in your mind you picture him looking away, hiding some soft emotion shining in his eyes.

"Baby?"

"Here. I am here. I just. I just wanted to hear you."

Something is very wrong with my Murder Panther, you think.

"Babe," your voice is soft, you're trying to ease him. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He huffs and you can hear him scrape a hand down over his face. "I know you are at work. And I should not have called. But."

His voice trembles, even over the phone you can hear it. He's afraid.

"Diego. If you need me, then you have me. Tell me, baby." You try to be reassuring but you also really need to know what is wrong.

"I would like to come down there." His declaration is overly formal. You wonder who he is trying to impress. Its certainly not me.

"You… want to come down here instead of me going up there this weekend?"  You're trying to make sense out of any part of this conversation. 

"I…. grrrrrrrrr."  He growls in frustration. Between English being his second language and your sensory processing issues, this is not an uncommon occurrence. He sucks in a deep breath and charges forward in an emotional rush. "I know you're working, but I want to come down there because I miss seeing your face." Before you have a chance to answer he adds, "Pick me up? At the airport, after work? Please, Bicki." His voice cracks at the end and his inhalation is ragged. Your heart implodes. 

"Diego. Baby. Of course. Of course I will. I can be there by six." You have a mental flash of how dirty your bathroom is, all the clothes you have laying around, and the vacuum you haven't touched in over a month. Diego needing me is more important.

"Good. Good. Yes, I. I will text you. When I land." His voice is raspier than ever, low and gravelly. 

"Sure. I'll be there." I'll always be there.

"Okay. You… you should go." You can hear his determination. You can visualize him squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, taking on the Jimenez Cartel persona. 

"Hey." He grunts in acknowledgement. "I love you." You blurt it out before you have a chance to talk yourself round in circles. You can hear voices in the background. 

"And you. You as well." The call ends, but you know.

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

You're sitting in your car at the little regional airport second guessing the coffee you got when the phone chirps. 

Here

Springing out of the car, you wave to the security guard as you trot past. "Hey Jim, I just have to grab someone real quick. That's okay, right?" You wave vaguely back toward your car parked in the fire lane. There are only four security guards who work here and they all know you at this point. 

Jim laughs but waves you on. "Go get 'im, sweetie." Jim must be pushing 90 by now, he doesn't care about traffic laws.

You enter one of the two sets of automatic doors on this entire building and cross through the tiny lobby. There. You can see his dark hair and ridiculous shoulders over a completely unnecessary row of potted plants. He must hear your echoing footsteps because his head whips around in alarm, but his face relaxes into a wide smile. He lengthens his strides to come around the stupid plants, hands automatically reaching out for you.

"Diego." You laugh breathily and fling arms around his neck. He smells so good. 

He crushes you to his chest and buries his face in your neck. "Printhesss." He murmurs into you, slurred because he refuses to remove his mouth from your skin. 

Turning your head to kiss his cheek, you moan shamelessly for him. He surges back upward to capture your lips and kiss you with mild desperation. That devious tongue sweeps over the roof of your mouth before curling up behind your top front teeth. 

Your entire world narrows down to Diego. Chocolate. Tastes like the smoothest Belgian chocolate in existence. He smells perfect, clean but definitively male to you. His silky button-down is smooth under your hands, stretched taut over muscle. Those massive hands gather you closer, molding you to that big, solid body. His beard scratches your face in soft tickles when he alters the angle of the kiss just so.

"Goddamn." A woman's voice exclaiming somewhere behind you catapults you back into the here and now. Which is a dinky little regional airport in rural central Pennsylvania. You know, a very public location in a very prudish area of the country. Fuck.

You pull back and Diego's hands shoot up to the back of your head. Holding you in place, he leans his forehead against yours with a contented sigh. He rumbles softly to you, "Take me home."

You feel so silly seeing Diego in the passenger seat of your Corolla, he just seems so out of place. "You can adjust the seat however, nobody really sits there. I just put it all the way back to make sure you can get in without cracking your head." You sound nervous even to your own ears.

Diego turns to you with a response but his attention is captured by the cup holders in the center console, specifically the Dunkin Donuts styrofoam cup. He points to it, then looks up at you with a slow grin. "Princess. Is this for me?"

You flush but can't stop the embarrassed little smile so you cover it with sass, "Well, it sure as hell ain't for me." You start the car and give Jim a little wave. He winks and gives you two thumbs up. Yeah, I'm aware that you saw that kiss too, old man. Everyone saw that shit.

When Diego reaches for the coffee his fingers brush your hip. The contact burns and you suddenly remember that you have not touched this beautiful man for well over two weeks. Apparently he remembers, too, because he wraps that huge hand around your thigh with rather a lot of force. Right hand slapping down to cover his, your heart rate jumps through the roof. Did I take my blood pressure pill this morning?

"Don't." You choke out.

He rumbles softly next to you, purring with conceited pleasure. "Did my Princess miss Diego?" He asks you with an incredibly pornographic voice. 

"Oh, fuck you." Your answering groan is also obscene. So glad the windows are up.

His hoarse chuckle makes your thighs tremble. "You're Diego's good little girl, you will." He's right and you both know it. You would ride him right here in your own damn car if he demanded it. You have a problem.

He lets you redirect his hand to the coffee with only a little resistance. "Focus." You hiss.

"Me or you?" Diego quips.

"Yes." You declare.

Diego's guffaw is contagious and you don't even try to hold back.

Your apartment always seems like an adequate size until Diego is inside. No, bad Bicki. Do not say it like that. His presence just sort of… lounges about in a vaguely threatening but highly attractive manner. Much like the actual man on your couch. You tried to pick up dinner on the way but he just wanted to 'go home'. You are disgustingly happy that your place feels like home to him.

Diego had flopped on your couch immediately and hasn't moved since. Something is very definitely very wrong. There were bursts of your Murder Panther in the car, but he has been just subdued overall. He had turned your stereo up and smiled faintly, watching you sing along. He had also complained that the stereo in your car sucked (Agreed) and this was unacceptable. You're sure he'll do something ridiculously extravagant to remedy this.

You try to give him the remote, he takes it but doesn't do anything with it. You offer him food, both junk and something home-cooked, all you get is a shrug. You putter around for a while, picking things up and sighing before putting them down somewhere else. His dark eyes watch you, unfathomable. 

Finally you disappear to the bedroom only to return in your pajamas. This he likes, perking up and blinking rapidly. "Okay, I know you brought something softer than those jeans, so get comfy so I can order shitty pizza and cuddle you."

His jaw drops in momentary shock. Then he scoffs, "I do not cu--"

You cut him off, "Yes, you do and yes, you're going to. Up. Now." This has to be hilarious. This short little woman in overly long pants barking orders at the massive man who heads an international drug cartel. Well, its either hilarious or fatal. I'm about to find out.

Diego looks around, as if someone else might secretly be here to witness him be a little bit submissive and moderately soft. He raises his chin in a tiny show of defiance. "Fine. But I am showering first." He glares with this proclamation, daring you to contradict him.

You throw your hands up in the air. Why the fuck would I have a problem with that?? His eyes follow your hands, like a cat when you try to point out a bit of food but all it does is rub your finger. You sigh, resigned to your fate. "Of course that's fine, Diego. You know where everything is, have at it."

You watch his butt as he walks away to the bathroom. 

The pizza actually isn't shitty and Diego eats half of it by himself. When you offer him the cinnamon dessert sticks he shoots you a calculating look. You split the contents, pulling two sticks over to yourself and piling up the rest in front of him. His delighted grin is decidedly not calculated and you lose track of time watching him enjoy dessert.

He's beautiful like this. He wears a soft, silky t-shirt that is tight enough to help you get through the nights you spend alone. His hair is a riot of fluffy curls, free of product and clearly trying to break free of gravity, too. He hasn't shaved for at least a few days and that salt and pepper beard is filling in nicely. His face is unguarded, expression open, those laugh lines and dimples you love make frequent appearances.

After dinner you lay all over each other in some weird we-have-intimacy-issues approximation of cuddling. It works so you don't question it. He has his laptop and you have your tablet and together you have sporadic conversation. Its comfortable. 

Until Diego asks you a seemingly innocuous question that you know is very nefarious:

"What color do you like in cars?"

Your eyes narrow so much that you have trouble seeing. "...Why." Your low tone might be frightening to anyone else.

He looks at you over the laptop screen, brown eyes innocently wide. "Just curious. Your car is green. Do you like any other colors?" He slowly pulls the laptop closer to himself to subtly cover the screen with his bulk. 

"Diego." You slowly put down your tablet and start leaning toward him. He has nowhere to go, propped up in the corner of the chaise end of the sofa. "What. Are. You. Doing." 

"Will you let me take care of you? Just in this one way right now?" He licks his lips, brow furrowed in concentration. Building desperation shows in his eyes and you can't fight that. You don't want to win this.

"Let me see, baby." Your sighed acquiescence has an instantaneous effect. Diego drops the tension from his shoulders and opens an arm to you in invitation. You crawl up him to cuddle into his chest, wedged on your side between all those muscles and the back of the sectional. From here you are stationed directly in front of the laptop screen.

He is looking at cars. 

Armored cars. 

Armored, bulletproof, explosive resistant cars. 

What. The. Fuck.

"Diego, what the fuck is going on?!?" Your apprehensive demand sets him right back on edge. You can feel him go tense underneath you. The laptop gets shoved onto an empty cushion as you throw yourself over him. Tiny hands land on those broad shoulders with extreme force as you use all of your deadweight to trap him. Below you, Diego shakes but you can't tell if its from anger or anxiety because his eyes are scrunched closed tightly. "Tell me why I need a fucking bulletproof car!"

He surges up into your face to match your volume, "She knows! Mi hermana perra knows about you! Alicia found out about us!" You lurch back in shock, but the steel hands on your hips stop you from retreating. His voice is hoarse, louder than you've ever heard him, and its terrifying. Your fear must show because he releases his grip on you like it burns. 

"WHAT?" The ramifications here could truly be lethal. Alicia has already tried to set Diego up to take the fall when they were arrested almost four months ago. You know she has scorned Diego's familiarity with his men in the past, that is why he handpicks them personally. To Alicia, everyone is disposable, even her own brother. Her only loyalty is to herself.

Diego's hands come up in an aborted reach for you. You're still too shocked to move. His face crumbles in agony and he blinks furiously, hands balling into fists. "Everything I have ever wanted she has ensured I never got. She, she manipulates me into destroying everything I touch. I will not let her hurt you! I refuse to allow her to break us, mi amor!!" His volume has steadily escalated until he is yelling. 

He's afraid. He is afraid that he will lose me. The realization emboldens you enough to take his hands in your own, bring them to your chest, and press them close to your heart. You trust that he won't hurt you in his rage. You don't fear him, this dangerous, powerful, ruthless man that you love.

His hands open to slide up your shoulders, curl around your neck, and his thumbs glide over the pulse point under your ears. He brings your face to his own, his expression twisted up with fear and anger and possession and love. 

"You are mine! And I will keep you!"

You realize everything that you have been debating with yourself, all of your pro versus con lists, your stupid little dry erase board covered in sticky notes with your fears, your scribbled timeline of events and possible future predictions, none of it matters. All you care about is the man in your arms. Diego is the most important thing in your life and you can't imagine a life without him. If you had to give up everything to keep him, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

Your hands grip tightly around his wrists and you consciously straighten your spine. Expression hardening, your eyes open to meet his anguished gaze.

 "I want black."

The armored 2020 Camry is delivered that Sunday. You thank him for finding something inconspicuous with an upgraded JBL sound system and he compliments your understated color choice of Black Sand Metallic. By the time you drop him off at the airport that evening you've managed to replace the new car smell with something better and you're thankful that the leather seats just wipe clean. Monday morning in the parking lot at work, however, is a literal ordeal.

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

The next two weeks feel like they’re seven months long. You clock out at noon on Thursday to a chorus of your coworkers making vaguely lewd remarks and howling with laughter about your vacation. 'Two whole weeks on a beach in Mexico with an absolutely loaded hottie' is what they've been repeating gleefully all week. 

You turn around and walk backwards to give them finger guns, "Yes," then you reach down to adjust your pants, "And YES." Their squeals are contagious and you're still laughing when you burst out the front doors to drive home. 

You turn the volume waaaay too high in the car so that your teeth vibrate and it feels like you're having heart palpitations. I love this fucking car and I love that man. 

There is a rental Tahoe parked in the grass next to the huge gravel driveway at your farmhouse, but he left the second assigned parking space next to your Corolla open so you can park The Beast (as you have affectionately named your new ride) appropriately while away. When you get out of the car you glance up instinctively, Diego is standing outside your front door on the small third floor balcony laughing. 

"Are you deaf yet, Princess?" He hollers down in amusement. 

You flip him off with the middle finger that wears the gemstone ring he gave you while yelling back, "WHAAAAT??"

His laughter fades as he disappears inside, leaving the door wide open to let out all the cold air. Were you raised in a barn?? Close the door, the electric bill-- You cut off your own thoughts when you suddenly remember that you haven't been paying that electric bill for the last six months. Nevermind.

Before you can start up the stairs, Sara, your first floor neighbor, appears on the porch with their toddler. "Hey stranger!" Sara waves with a big smile and the kid does the same but with some kind of unidentifiable kitchen utensil in hand. "That is your boyfriend, right? He had a key so I didn't think it was your ex but I wanted to make sure. I mean, from what I just saw it is your boyfriend. Also, holy shit, that's your boyfriend?"

If she says the word 'boyfriend' one more time I'm going to spontaneously combust. 

"Uh yeah, definitely not my ex. Sorry, I forget that you guys haven't really seen him before, I meant to tell you he was coming." You can feel your face burning and it isn't from the August sun. Sara fans her own face with a hand while mouthing 'he's hot' like you're somehow unaware. You forge on before she can start gushing aloud. "We're actually leaving on a trip tonight so I'll be gone for the next two weeks."

Now Sara drops the kid and scrambles over to whisper fiercely to you, "Oh my god, seriously? Where are you going? Wait, this is the same guy you've been going to see in New York, right? How long has it been, like a year? Is he taking you on a trip for your anniversary? I don't even know his name. Oh my god, that is so sweet!"

Okay, down girl. You're not sure who you're trying to will into being chill, Sara or yourself. 

"Um, we're going to Mexico. And yeah, he's the guy in New York. It's just a vacation." You don't even touch the relationship questions with a ten foot pole. You glance up but Diego is still inside, Thank fuck. 

Sara hops a little in excitement. "I'm sooo jealous!" She squeals. "You have to take a ton of pictures! I need to see! Oh my god, I bet you guys are such a cute couple!" You nod and start backing away, trying to wave goodbye so you can climb the stairs and then climb Diego. "Ooh ooh, wait, what's his name?" Sara hisses conspiratorially. "Does he speak Mexican? Is he Mexican!?!"

You suddenly remember why you tried to move away from this area. Repeatedly. "Yeah, he's Mexican and yes, he speaks Spanish." You sigh. Sara nods but continues staring at you expectantly. Fine. "His name is Diego."

Sara makes a stupid face like this is a rom-com movie. I cannot take anymore, you must shut the fuck up. "Okay, okay. I won't hold you up. But seriously, we can have a 'pics and wine' girls' night when you come back!" She waves maniacally before snatching up the kid and skipping back inside. 

I can't think of anything I would like less. Oh hell no.

You climb the stairs in record time before she can come back outside and start talking again.

Bastian, Julio, and a third man you don't know are in your living room. You do not care and your vague wave shows it. You can hear Julio's warm 'Gordita!' greeting as you spin around and march to the bedroom.

Diego is standing at your bed, tucking TMP into your small duffel, when you burst through the doorway and continue at full speed directly into him. He laughs breathlessly but holds steady against your weight. "Princess. Are you ready?"

You take overflowing fistfuls of his shirt, bury your face in his chest, suck in a huge lungful of air, and shriek at full volume.

"Uhhh...that is a yes, si?" He mutters uncertainly above you. 

You rear back to look up at him with a smile so wide it hurts.

"Oh good." His hands come to your shoulders while those beautiful brown eyes sparkle. The dimples and laugh lines come out as he absorbs your infectious excitement. Your hands shoot up to his hair to yank him down so you can crash your mouths together with bruising force.

The effect is immediate. He moans loudly and crushes you against him. You dig nails into his neck and you lick your way into his mouth, his hands snake down to your ass to hold tight. Your left leg comes up as you try to wrap it around his hips. With a pained groan he rips those lips off of yours and pulls back. Undeterred, you move on to assaulting his now bared throat, moaning like porn come to life.

"Princess," he gasps, "You have to sto-- uhhh, yes, bonita. Your fucking tongue." You're too busy licking his adam's apple to pay attention to words right now. "Nooo, mi amor, please, lo siento, stopstopstop." You get in one last nip of his collarbone as he pulls your head back via a handful of ringlets. His pupils are blown wide and he's panting hard. You stare longingly at his delectable mouth while making pitiful whines.

"Please, baby, pleeeease. You're all I've thought about for days. I need you!" You try shameless begging, you're certainly not lying. Petting over his shoulders and down that solidly muscled chest, you shudder and try to pull yourself back to him.

He closes his eyes with a grimace. "Flight! Fuck you on the flight!" He croaks, then yanks your hair harder than you like. The pain clears the fog just enough for you to blink back to awareness. You nod jerkily and step back. "Have to leave now to get there before dark." He explains in a rushed huff. You blink as you remember how time works.

"Right. Yeah, right. Okay. Okay." Straightening to attention you yank off the cardigan you wore for the air conditioning at work, leaving you in a tank top and ready to be productive. Focus on not-dick.

Diego shoves your favorite notepad in your face so you can see your packing list and not him. The distraction works. He has checked off every item in each categorized list but left the strike through action for your completion. You lower the notepad until you can make eye contact with him and intensely whisper, "You know I fuckin' love you, right?"  

He laughs so hard he has to sit down on the bed.

You go through every bag, touching each item and crossing it off your list one at a time. He did it. Everything but you.

"You know I don't need TMP, right?"

"Why?" He squints up at you from where he lounges across your bed. 

Your face heats up and you clear your throat. "Well, its, I'm. I have, uh, you. So I don't need anything else." The realization of how true that is in every sense gives both of you pause.

Diego surges upright to cup your face and bonk your foreheads together just a little too hard. You giggle and he huffs. 

"Mi amor…" he sighs for you, eyes closing in pleasure. You 'mmmmm' in response. Then his eyes snap open and he growls an order, "Get changed so we can go!" And punctuates it with a stinging slap to your ass.

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

You spend the flight with your face pressed to the window, vibrating in excitement, except for a brief intermission of seven orgasms in the bathroom.

The unknown third man is Joey, Bastian's boyfriend. Joey is even quieter than Bastian and just as cute. They're not overly demonstrative but clearly comfortable moving around each other. Joey works in "Packaging" and does an admirable job of ignoring his cartel drug lord boss being snuggly. Julio naps. 

The customs agent at the Cancun airport looks you up and down with wide eyes but stamps your passport with no questions. Its a five hour drive to Xcalak but Diego is adamant it can be done in three. You give him an eyebrow question which he dismisses with a vague wave, "They paved the road all the way to the southern border last year."

Uhh, they what now? You understand soon enough. The drive drastically changes outside of Cancun. The scenery is both beautiful and heartbreaking. There are occasional mansions with armed guards, high fences, and SUVs like your own current ride. Mostly though, its shacks and people on foot or riding bicycles, weaving to avoid stray dogs and huge iguanas. Could I handle this as my daily reality?

The first time the road sidles right up to the ocean you have a small meltdown.

 "Is that what I think it is?" Your soft whisper is accompanied by a shaking hand pointing to the left. Diego, crammed into the middle of the backseat between yourself and Julio so you could have an unobstructed view, indicates an order for Bastian to pull over. He reaches across you and pops open your door. You slide out with his hand on your lower back and take about a dozen steps to the lapping water. Diego appears to your right, watching you intently.

 "Its gre-e-e-en!" Your stuttering squeal is accompanied by happy tears and you fling yourself into Diego with joy. He laughs at you, but hugs you back just as tightly.

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

The first week passes in a blur of amazing food, warm green sea, fruity drinks, and shirtless wet Diego. And so many orgasms that you can't keep count. Diego is all over you non-stop, more than he ever has been before (Astonishingly). Its incredible and you feel like the only person in the world. If he's not molesting you then he is at least touching you; keeping you in his lap, holding your hand, cuddling and petting and snuggling like a man obsessed. 

You love it. You love him. You love this life.

On Saturday he lets you lead him through the tiny town, your Spanish improving by leaps and bounds as you try to navigate the streets and alleys and shops. The four years of high school Spanish actually prove useful as you manage to complete a purchase all by yourself. Your playful mock smugness evaporates under the blazing desire in his eyes. 

He drags you back to the casita in a much shorter and more direct route than you took upon earlier departure. You're marched directly to the bed and he puts one massive hand in the middle of your chest to gently push you down onto your back. There is something different about this, something important in his eyes. Your voice is high and soft, "Diego?"

He climbs up between your legs and leans down to kiss you senseless. It goes on forever; soft lips, scratchy beard, silky tongue, and nothing but the taste of Diego. Your moans and sighs are mixed together, there are moments when you can't tell who is making what noise. His hands are shaking as he strokes every inch of newly bared and sunburnt sensitive skin while undressing you. 

It takes repeated attempts, but you finally get him naked, too. The sight never fails to take your breath away. All that soft, and now freshly tanned, skin is like velvet to your touch. You're mesmerized by his muscles flexing and then evening out as he moves above you. He finally gets your linen pants untangled off your left foot and flings them across the room with unnecessary force. Your soft peals of laughter light up his face and it brings tears to your eyes. You reach a hand out to him, "Diego. Baby."

He comes up over you, threading fingers into your hair, kissing you slowly and thoroughly. You can feel him against you, fire hot and mouth wateringly hard, but he makes no move to take you. Your eyes open in hazy confusion as the kiss ends. Diego is watching your face, blinking back tears. 

He is holding your head still, hands like steel. Whatever this is, he needs it. And you want to give him everything he needs. Forever.

You're captured by his eyes, bottomless, soulful, and hungry. His raspy voice is soft and trembling with desire. "I love you, Bicki. I want everything. Forever, Princess?" 

Your chest compresses and your heart implodes. Scalding tears escape when you blink and you're nodding before you even know it. "Yes, Diego. Yes, baby, I'm yours." 

Your back arches off the bed as he comes home and brings you with him.

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

You wake up crushed under Diego. The sun is still up so you might be able to talk him into going out for dinner. You rub your cheek on the huge bicep doubling as your pillow and Diego sighs directly into your ear from where he is spooned up behind you. Oh yeah, we should have done this waaaay sooner.

He nuzzles your neck just to incite squirmy giggles and you don't even fight it. "I have something for you, Princess. Stay here." He pulls away and you whine about the loss of your pillow. His low chuckle burns you alive with want. "Stay like that. Do not move." You obey while you listen to him rummage around behind you.

He comes around to your side of the bed, still completely and unabashedly nude. Hell. Fucking. Yes. You love it. He hands your glasses over and you slide them on to take in the now high definition view of naked Murder Panther. The view disappears as he kneels down next to the bed so you're on eye level. His expression is very peculiar. 

His hands slowly come up to reveal a small box of black velvet. Time slows to a halt as he opens the box and presents it to you. 

Inside is a ring. Gleaming in platinum and sparkling with three tastefully large princess cut diamonds. 

Its an engagement ring.

Diego is proposing. 

He swallows hard and rumbles gruffly, "Now remember, you already said y--"

You cut him off with a shriek. "YES! YESYESYES!!"

In the time it takes him to blink twice with surprise you're on him. Arms around his neck, you throw yourself into his lap. He topples backwards and you ride him to the floor, already bawling hysterically. 

He stares up at you in shock as you nod furiously and cry all over him. "Princess. You… you are certain?" If this were any other time you would be howling with laughter at his huge eyes and lax jaw. 

Your answer is stuttery but determined. "Y-y-yeah. Put it-t-t-t on me already!" 

He laughs in delight at your order and the imperious presentation of your shaking left hand. The ring glides on easily, a perfect fit. It gleams up at you blindingly. After a moment of admiration you lace your fingers with his and sigh at the union. His other hand comes up to roughly brush away your tears. "I know you do not like labels so much… but, you will be my, my married... Person. Thing?" 

You stroke his bearded cheek in return, thumb lingering on that dimple. With a hard gulp you dive in head first. Fuck it.

"Yes, Diego. I will be your wife."

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

The next time you wake it is dark out. You reach for a phone on the nightstand to your left and jump when you find one with a loud crack. Diego pops upright behind you, instantly on high alert. "Princess?" He hisses while covering your body with his own.

You gigglesnort, then meekly answer him, "I forgot about the ring and whacked a phone. Everything's okay, baby."

He sighs so deeply that his breath ruffles your hair. "Jesus fucking christ, woman. You are a menace."  He flops down on top of you and snuggles back into your warmth. 

You reach back with your left hand and grope blindly for his face. He licks your fingers as soon as they're in reach and you stuff them into his mouth as retaliation. He just sucks languidly. 

"Mmmmmm, I'm your menace, baby. And I have to pee." He nips your fingers but rolls over to free you. You slide out of the bed and stretch your arms high while arching your back. Diego groans painfully. "What?"

Diego rises to all fours on the bed while the sheet slithers off of him. "You forget that other people can see without glasses, huh?" You cock your head and realize that you have a shadow.

It's a full moon. And I just stretched naked in front of a sliding glass door. "Oh. Huh. I guess I do forget. Oops. I'll be sure to keep that in mind now." Your seemingly tame answer is directly contradicted by the exaggerated roll of your hips that makes your butt bounce when you walk off. 

"Fucking menace, woman." Diego growls as you push the bathroom door shut with a trill of laughter.

You never do go back to bed but you do wind up on the beach in front of the casita to watch the sunrise. Julio finds you both snuggled together late the next morning, still asleep on the covered daybed under the palms while the rising tide comes ever closer. At least Julio has the decency to cover your bare ass with a beach towel.

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

By the time you think to check your phone gallery you have… 1,792 pictures. WHAT THE FUCK. 

You scroll through the pics, there are a lot you do not remember taking. Was I that drunk or did Diego take some of these? One is a close up of your ass from below wearing a string bikini, I knew I wasn't that drunk. The next pic is Diego asleep on a lounge chair, one arm curled up above his head, muscles glistening in the sun, and swim trunks so low on his hips that it's almost obscene. Immediately following that is the same pic but with your own face photobombing about three inches away from the camera and giving a thumbs up with your left hand so your engagement ring is prominently visible. Oh yeah, I remember that one. 

There are videos, too. The first one is Diego making lewd comments while you twerk in the ocean for about ten seconds. Okay, that's par for the course with us. Next is you successfully backflipping off of Diego's shoulders into the green water to everyone freaking out. Shit, even I'm impressed with myself. After that is video of you gagging through a dish of octopus at some restaurant. Both of you are clearly visible in the shot so Julio must have had the phone. Betrayal. 

There are tens of dozens of the two of you in various poses and outfits, both disgustingly happy and blatantly in love. There's even a role reversal shot of Diego sprawled across your lap, one enormous arm wrapped around your neck and his knees over your own arm while you grimace and he laughs hysterically. The table to your right is covered in empty bottles and mostly finished drinks. An entire subsection depicts you asleep like you have a stalker. You count no less than 29 of you two trying on increasingly ridiculous hats in random stores.

You can't even keep count of all the close ups of a smoldering Murder Panther. You feel no guilt.  Aren't you supposed to be ridiculously attracted to your fiancé??

Fiancé.

You have a fiancé. Your fiancé is Diego. You are engaged to Diego Rafael Jimenez. 

I have to explain this ring to everyone. They'll have questions about him. People will want pictures. How do I explain what he does?? Oh my god, there's no closet here. I have to… find somewhere. And I can't I can't. Its-

Your head jerks upright when something touches your hair. Its Diego. Kneeling on the floor in front of you, he has unfurled a sheet over you to block out everything, and he waits there, watching you. Before you realize it your hands are reaching for his shoulders, just the feel of him, warm and solid under your hands, calms you. 

Slowly, his right hand comes up to cover your left. "No closet, Princess." His huge fingers grip yours tightly. You nod a little. He just watches you, eyes guarded. 

"Ask. Go ahead." You mutter. You can tell from his posture that he is uneasy, apprehensive. 

He locks eyes with you and his gaze is intense. He curls all of his fingers around your left ring finger. "Still yes?" 

The fear in his eyes breaks your heart. Your voice is shaky but determined, "No. You can't get rid of me. I'm your problem now, baby."  His expression would make a meeker woman cower in fear, you laugh weakly. 

He settles down on the tile floor in front of you, with the sheet over both of you. Its like four in the afternoon and I am sharing a blanket fort with my cartel boss fiancé while on vacation in Mexico. What even is my life? His elbows are on his knees, chin in hand. He studies you for a minute, you stare right back. He raises one eyebrow and you sigh in capitulation. 

"I don't know how to just be happy. I suck at it."  You shrug but reach for his face. Diego nuzzles into your hand while you stroke your thumb over his beard. 

"Habby isz nawt a berb." He slurs into your palm with a soft kiss.

The epiphany is like a cinder block to the brain. 

He's right. I don't have to 'do' anything. I'm happy right now. I've been happy every time I'm with him. And no one had to exert any effort.

People can define themselves. People can define their relationships. Why can't they define their own normal? I can make my own rules. Especially with someone like Diego as my partner.

His one eyebrow slowly rises as he watches your thoughts play out across your face. "You back?" He asks with a hidden smirk, you know its there from the way his eyes crinkle with laugh lines.

"Yup!" Is your decisive answer. Diego licks your palm. "I got better places you can lick, baby." You answer his smirk with a waggling eyebrow. 

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of play wrestling and inappropriate noises.

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

You do, in fact, go on a safari. Of sorts. Tours of ruins and jungle and cenotes, lots of side quests because the both of you are easily distracted by pretty colors. You probably added another thousand pictures of various palm trees to your gallery. The hat makes multiple appearances. 

Diego has to ship a crate home to New York because he bought you too many souvenirs. You laugh and tease him when he wants to pick out things for your middle sister and niece, until you hear his logic. 

"They were nice to me." He murmurs with a little half-shrug, "It was like being in a real family for a little bit." He studies the bins of painted shells on display in the little store with way too much focus.

You spend a moment deliberating before you decide to reach out and touch his elbow.

 "Hey," your soft voice brings his gaze your way momentarily before he goes back to ceramic turtle magnets. You take his hand with your own right and rest your left hand on his chest. Diego looks down where your ring glints in the light, then up to your face. "You know you're going to be part of that 'real' family, right?"

Diego's boyish little smile is heartbreakingly adorable. 

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

The flight home is much shorter than you want it to be and you spend most of it asleep on Diego. At one point you wake up to see Bastian and Joey cuddled up together napping. When you look up from where your head is resting in Diego's lap he is already looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

"What?" You whisper softly. You stifle a yawn and blink repeatedly. 

Diego strokes one big hand over your hair and grips your jaw firmly. With a huge toothy grin he answers, "Mine." 

"Uh huh. How many times you need me to say yes, baby?" You smirk up at him with an arched brow. He seems to be reveling in hearing you readily admit your commitment to him.

He considers your question carefully while his other hand trails down the front of your body under a blanket. I don't remember having a blanket earlier. Finally, Diego settles on "Every day. At least seven times. Seven is a good number, right Princess?" 

Your body jerks as his fingers press between your thighs with steady determination. Your eyes flick over to Bastian and Joey, still out cold. You make a show of wiggling around to get comfortable, and, surprisingly, that involves spreading your legs. "Yessss." You hiss up at him.

Julio reclines his seat and exaggeratedly covers his face with a new hat. 

Seven is a very good number.

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

Your first day back to work is a circus. You don't think twice about your normal greeting as you enter the office suite. You swipe your badge with your right hand and pop the door, then wave 'hi' to everyone. Like usual. With your left hand. 

There is an excessive amount of squealing that makes you second guess going into a female dominated field. The whole day is a wash because you have a steady stream of people passing through your cubicle. You're glad you had the forethought to curate a photo album of appropriate images to show your coworkers despite Diego's repeated attempts to sneak a dick pic in there somewhere. You most definitely included the glistening swim trunks lounge chair picture. Squealing intensifies.

Everyone comments on the hat and you're forced to tell the story of the hat. How you once told Diego that you wanted to see palm trees, 'But like, in the wild.' And Diego had laughed so hard that he fell off the bed only to pop back up wheezing about a 'Palm Tree Safari' until you smacked him in the face with a pillow. Your coworkers think it is just disgustingly adorable that he never let you live that down. 

Your coworkers have questions:

When is the wedding? 

Where are you having it?

What kind of dress do you want?

What are your colors?

Are you going to do flowers?

What about the cake?

Who is your maid of honor?

How did your family take the news?

What about his family?

Are you going to New York?

Will you take his name?

Oh shit. I forgot about the whole 'wedding' part of this.

[duchessofostergotlands]

As someone in the charity sector do you have any advice for the average person looking to donate? What should we look for when determining if the money will actually help people in need. I’ve heard negative stories about Red Cross/Salvation Army & other night names but during tragedies they’re the names everyone mentions to donate to! I want to help but don’t sure the best place to start.

Hello :) This is a very interesting question. I remember volunteering in Calais at the refugee camp and being shocked that MSF were the only major NGO there. The Red Cross weren’t there even though all their adverts made out like they were. Everything was done by local or small scale refugee groups like L’Auberge des Migrants while MSF provided medical services. 

A few years ago, people really didn’t pay much attention to which charities they supported. It tended to be based on name recognition. In recent years people have become much more conscious but I still think there are completely massive misunderstandings about how charities operate and what is helpful. I’m going to do a few bullet points I hope are helpful!

If you are interested in providing funding after something like a natural disaster or a humanitarian crisis I personally would not give money to a major organisation. I would try and find the local groups on the ground. That might even mean searching news articles and google in foreign languages or putting a call out on social media. These organisations are not well funded, they are much better at understanding and supporting local need, and they don’t usually have the same entrenched issues major NGOs in the development or aid fields have like the culture of exploitation Oxfam have had to deal with. 

If you’re interested in a more chronic problem which requires a societal or generational shift I think funding bigger organisations is a better approach, personally, because they have contacts and influence smaller charities don’t have. They can often pick up a phone and be in contact with a government minister which small charities just can’t do. 

Don’t rely on what you think a charity does. There is a major organisation I won’t name who get a fuck ton of funding because people have been helped by local branches. What they don’t realise is that the national branch and the local branches are all totally separate legal entities who do different things and essentially are charity franchises. That national body makes its money from people’s misunderstanding, from people who want to give back to a local charity that helped them but don’t realise that charity will never see a penny of the donation. Visit their website, check out their annual reports, and find out what they actually do every day. Then you can see if it aligns with what you value

 Read the small print. If it’s important to you to know that your money is going towards a certain cause or project, this is a really important thing. So for example, a lot of people who are part of Sponsor a Child programmes think that their money goes towards that child. In reality they could be using the same child for 100 different people and the money goes towards projects supporting similar children. That doesn’t make it bad, it’s more efficient tbh, but it may mean people feel cheated if they thought they were really the only one connecting with this child. I think this also plays in to impact figures. Every charity lies about their impact. It’s just a reality. But if you look at the small print or dig deeper in their reporting and accounts you can see how they arrived at that figure. 

How do they portray the people they support- this is a big one for me, especially in the international development world but none of us are immune. I will not donate to organisations if I see them engage in what we call “poverty porn.” Essentially it’s the adverts you see where little African babies are shown with their ribs visible, crying, maybe a fly lands on their face, a sad voice over talking about how Kwame cries for days in his mother’s arms. When I see those adverts it makes me wonder whether they had Kwame’s mum sign a consent form like they would have to for a kid here. Does she know that her baby is as a poster child for malnutrition and suffering? They perpetuate the idea that African people are a homogenous mass of starving, voiceless people and that’s not true. And even those who are starving are also people with human dignity. If I’m going to donate to an organisation I look at their branding and advertising and the way they talk about their target population and think “would I be ok being talked about this way?” If not, I won’t donate. You could go even further and see if they have Participation/Involvement groups where service users can feed into their work, do they have any of their service users on their board etc. An organisation that works exclusively in Africa having 100% of their board being White Brits is a red flag. 

Unrestricted funding- I talk about this all the time to anyone who will let me haha. A lot of times people will judge based on the amount of money that goes straight to service users. You hear all sorts of drama about how only 7p from every 10p goes to service users etc etc. But the thing is everyone wants to fund that 7p and if you’re an ambitious organisation you cannot even spend that 7p if you don’t have the other 3p. So for example my salary is part of that 3p. But if I was the one who did the application and got us the 10p in the first place, we wouldn’t have that 7p to spend on service users if we didn’t have that 3p. We also have HR people whose job is to do background checks to make sure people legally can work for us. That keeps children and families safe. If we didn’t spend part of that 3p on them, the 7p we spend on children could fund salaries of dangerous predators or people who aren’t qualified. Unrestricted funding is really really valuable and most charities would rather have a smaller donation that’s unrestricted than a larger one that’s project specific. So if you see those things and think “only 80% of their funding goes directly to service users?” remember that the other 20% is really really valuable too. 

I’m not really sure where to put this and it may be more relevant for major funding organisations rather than individuals but let’s go with “not all charity is created equal.” I have a colleague who runs a charity supporting kids in Africa and he was talking about how projects often don’t consider the real world ramifications of their funding. The example he gave is a charity that provides computers to schools in African villages. What they forgot is most of those places they were donating to don’t have internet access. So they spent a lot of money to give people fairly useless computers instead of looking at how they could ensure that connectivity first. Look at why they’re doing the things they’re doing. Ask them if they have evidence, where they got the idea from, have they tested it?

[autismgavemychildvaccines]

Why I’m Ashamed to Be Christian

So, now that I am literally sick of the Measles nonsense (no, fucking literally, working 12+ hour shifts on an incident management team has got me sick and tired enough to call in tomorrow), I’ve decided to do a non PH rant, though it’ll for sure rear it’s fucking head somewhere in here. Instead, let’s tackle something real fun. Religion! Time to buckle up.  In my half fucking awake daze that I was just nudged out of, something really wild hit me. My faith, my belief in a very specific God with a specific book (though I admit that other religions, so long as their origin is not a company or a tool to oppress others on the outset, are valid/likely just as true) makes no God damned sense.  (For reference, here I will claim my most closely related sect as my own; American Evangelism [though if one were to ask in person I’d say “non-denominational”, but historically, the two are close] and will be speaking as a part of a community I used to closely belong to but now have drifted away from on some granola-crunching dumbassery that is “I am a church of one” bullshit. I’ve wanted to be other things, but ever since I left the Freemasons, fuck all else has had much appeal.) So, first things first, Garden of Eden, right? Pretty fucking cool place, some might have even called it a perfect garden, a perfect place for humans and God to interact? But here’s my hang up with it. The trees of Life and Knowledge, and the rule that Adam and Eve could eat of any fruit except those grown upon that pair. Why even fucking have them?

 When I asked that as a kid in a faith based area, they said because it was a test.

 Of what?

 “Well, of our loyalty to God and our Faith, of course”. 

Except again, what the fuck? Like, I get the idea of free-will, in fact I am a huge believer in individual free will (I’ll get to that in a sec), but here’s the stickler here. As any other creative type will tell you, we want our work to take on a life of its own. Like say I wanted to program a remarkably bright AI, and it worked, and all I wanted was for it to recognize me as its creator and to discover and enjoy what home I could make for it. You know what I wouldn’t do? I wouldn’t give an AI, even with some simulated free will, the ability to break certain rules. For example, I wouldn’t allow it unrestricted access to the internet or my personal accounts. I wouldn’t even give it the concept that such things existed, let alone put it right fucking there to be used. That would be a flaw, an imperfection in an otherwise perfect place. And yeah, there’s something to be said for giving free will with not-free consequences, sure. But two things: 1) Don’t be pissed when the thing happens that you allowed to exist in the first place and thus forced it to be a mathematical certainty now that you’re dealing with perhaps the most curious species to ever exist.  2) Don’t go blaming them for a lack of faith. If anything, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, an act that abusers often use to get what they really want and have a thin veneer of an excuse to make happen. Now doesn’t that sound a lot like a good number of the followers of this faith, as opposed to an almighty, omnipotent, powerful being? Hmm, something to consider there, maybe.  Speaking of followers, let’s actually also take a look at some of the prophets that we as American Christians often hold so dear. Now me? I’m a Luke guy, I like Luke. Peaceful, loving gospel for the most part, and I dig it. Peace and love, baby, that’s all I want coming from stories regarding a higher power that we had to hang up like a fucking tapestry to make sure we got all that love. But do you know who I fucking hate, and who I blame the most for how the American chruch is? Paul/Saul of Tarsus. Thiiiiiiiiiiis prick. This fucking Deus Vult Vulture. Actually in many ways, he really is the archetype to the Modern Evangelical fucking anything. Actively participated in the harassing, attempted extinguishing and successful terrorizing of a marginalized group. Then after being hit back for it, literally “seeing the light” and trying to be the fucking vanguard of said group only to lead it down a path where he’s suddenly the appointed expert of anything to do with the issue. And while he does this, he helps create the most violent and bigoted thoughts in the whole of the religion, and is praised for his visions as he says they are truly from God, and can thus act oh so righteously. This right here is a fucking problem, y’all. Like, I know the whole forgiveness idea allows for some mental gymnastics on how this could even happen, but even then to make a genocidal ass-face your de-facto leader aside from Christ himself for the next 2000 years is a fucking flip that even at the 1988 Olympics, if Christians were America, Russia would give them a straight 10/10.    And yet, for many of us, that’s exactly what we’ve done. Hell, we’ve even fallen into the forced victim narrative of the synopsis of this asshole:  “Oh well, you see, I was a heathen and thus I couldn’t help myself, but then like, the God of the people I was killing talked to me and like, now I have to do this (Take on the “burden” of leading the church) as penance for what I couldn’t help myself over.” We’ve fallen for it so much, that it may as well be hard wired into our nervous system to believe anything resembling it, just as we assume if something is flat, green and on a tree, it’s a leaf.  Maybe it’s why we as a religion (and let’s face it, other Abrahamic religions as well) are so damn good at beating down the marginalized while screaming that we are the saints, we’re the sacrificiers trying to make things better. Like, let’s have some modern day fun with this bullshit, man; let’s see how we treated and in many places continue to treat women.  Of the few churches I have been to, 100% of them had one dual-sided message that made me real fuckin’ uncomfortable, fam:  Part 1) That women cannot be trusted onto themselves and thus 2) Men must take control of them and society to not allow for some unspecified “Ridiculous bullshit”.  (as a fair heads up; I do fully recognize non-binary, trans individuals, etc, but for the sake of brevity I’ll be mostly referring to M/F in the traditional sort of way, because opening up Christianity’s treatment of anything regarding gender fluidity is a Ph.D. thesis for another day)  Now, I don’t know about y’all, but I know damn well that out of all the dudes I know, and all the lasses I know, they’re a pretty mixed fuckin’ bunch. It’s almost like their gender assigned at birth doesn’t really affect how reasonable they could be as people nor how much responsibility they should have. Obviously some cultural practices skew this quite a bit in so far that women are expected to take more responsibility, younger, and for less praise, but if anything that should help destroy, not reinforce that message.  And yet, the idea persists so much in Christian circles. And not just by the men themselves, but the women, also. For the longest time of my church going days, the pastor was a woman. She wholly believed it was just and right that her husband be in charge of everything, that women should be loyal to their men in all aspects. Then again, she also (despite recruiting members primarily from college) did not believe in evolution at all, so there’s that in terms of an intellectual hurdle. But regardless, this inherent submissive attitude within the faith (and even the half-hearted and self-congratulatory “Yeah but we REALLY are the ones making the decisions because we can withhold sex if we want” is essentially that too just a smidgen more empowering), when combined with the idea that men should be wholly in-control (which is a breeding ground for toxic masculinity if there ever was) is shameful. It’s what has allowed so much bullshit in the past, including these recent abortion laws. Now, I’m going to cover abortion in another post (I might get to it tomorrow; It’s been on the burner for weeks), but it’s super pertinent here.  We, as a religion, have allowed ourselves to tell women (just as we tell/told minorities before) that they cannot be trusted with their own bodies, that they cannot be trusted when they speak, and most certainly cannot be trusted to truly hold dominion over anything. And that has allowed the most insidious, hateful, bigoted, disgusting things to happen in the name of God. A God that while I am writing this post I still believe in, but my doubts about how genuine the message has ever been is hitting home. One whose words about peace have been ignored when they could be interpreted or pointed to to support war, where the rich can profit off the poor, or to support sexism, because we as men historically have wanted to control “everything of ours”, or to take the very free will we claim to hold so dear from those who need the ability to make their own decisions the most. Words that have been used to hold down good people from making lives better. Words that in the hands of those who wanted, could be profaned and desecrated and thus allow for profane and disturbing events, both on the grand stage of the world and behind the closed doors of any house in some small town. Words which are held up with a wink and a nod so that followers feel included when they are scammed by some fucking fried chicken joint who wants to make more money to fight against equality, or to pay for another $9 million jet for some asshole who croons about how the poor should be grateful they do not have the temptations of the rich.  To other followers, do you not lament that we are this way? That we have been this way for so long? Because I fucking do.  And to those who have been discriminated or marginalized or whatever else against because of your gender or skin colour or situation or victimization or  past deeds of any sort; I’m sorry. Genuinely, truly sorry you have suffered as you have. Sorry for what people have done thinking it was somehow morally or spiritually justified, sorry that they thought they were saving you. And I can assure you that I will never try to lead you as those before me have tried to. Though if it’s all the same, I’d like to get to hear you, and walk beside you. 

[mr-alex-unofficially]

You know what’s really weird. Looking back into your past and finding these things that should have been turning points but in reality, they just were a part of a series of events. Like the fact that I made out with one of my best friends at a time, always wanted to see her and it took another 5 years to kinda get the fact that I’m not straight.

The distinct memories from when I was like 7-8 and wishing I was a guy. I didn’t realize that could be a thing so i pushed it away and I can remember these thoughts and feelings but I never put any stock behind them because I grew up in a small town. i didn’t know that lgbt+ community existed until 13-14 (does that coincide with when i got unrestricted access to the internet, why yes). You gotta wonder what might have been different if growing up was different. not wishing, just wondering.

I have this super obscure memory and honestly thinking back I am pretty sure I am mushing two separate things together but anyway. So there were these old water tanks, but like huge. They set up various events at these, usually one or two were art shows, and one was permanently set up for music. It was in the botanic gardens, so super gorgeous setting, with north Queensland greenery. 

Mum dragged me to the garden because there was supposed to be live music. Folk music and a small market kinda thing. Mum loves them, and the amount i went to in my years, i hate going to them now. But I’m digressing. 

(not the story but kitten came up and cuddled me so i now have a purring cat on me :) )

Mum parked, and we moseyed on down to the entrance, and i was 10-11 at this stage so memories are a little hazy, and they had this sign. I remember seeing gay and lesbian on there but at that point, i didn’t understand what that meant. 

Mum read that sign and she turned around and said nope this is not for us. I remember asking mum why and getting this non-commital answer back. I know i questioned what the words meant but i think she avoided the question. I just wonder if something might be different had we gone into that event that day. 

its so weird how little things can change your entire experience. 

yeah sorry. rant done now.

[slimyscrivener]

Sugar Syrup Summoning Pt3

Our neophyte summoner attempts to explain the internet to a demon. Some looks are exchanged, an evening comes to a close.

Beginning ~~~~~ Previous ~~~~~ Next

As much as looking my demon in the face was daunting, having her stand behind me was in a whole different world of weird. Her body sounded slick, every simple shift or twitch of her body lingered at the edge of being audible. As I sat ensconced within my faux-leather office chair I could hear the sound of her breathing. A far away sound, like the sloshing of a distant bathtub. Once or twice she made as though to lean her arms on the chair back but stopped herself midway and instead placed her hooves awkwardly on her hips.

When the computer finished booting up from sleep mode she leaned in.

Her breath smelled of coffee, and her body gave off the aroma of sweet mushrooms. I felt myself getting hot around the cheeks again but for entirely more embarrassing reasons. She smelled like ooze, like slime on warm flesh, and if pressed I’m not sure I could accurately describe what that even meant in words without blushing madly. It made my brain feel foggy as though trying to peer through a car window on a humid day. My hesitation as I stared at the peak of her muzzle leaning past me became noticeable and she angled her head to look at me.

“It’s very colourful.” She said, the scent of coffee was a mundane detail I could cling to and I nodded in response.

“Yes, I like my, uh. My backdrop.” Which was a dull thing to say that the demon probably wouldn’t understand so I rounded to the task.

“Anyway, it’s sort of like a- a box of functions. I mean, it can do all kinds of things. The computer I mean.”

I opened up my word processor and starting to type at random.

“This would let me write up something and then I can have it printed over there.” I indicated my bulky old printer in the corner with a backward thrust of a thumb.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, a hooved hand gripping the plush side of my chair. A breath caught in my chest as she cheerfully continued.

“We have something like that in the offices, it’s a bit finicky for me though. I prefer something like this that stays put.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, neither the idea that demons had offices nor the concept of a computer that didn’t stay put. I felt my head swim at the idea that demons has computers IN their offices. She didn’t seem apt to explain, leaving me adrift in rapidly devolving thought,  so I tried to carry on.

“Right, uh…” A deep breath in, then released.  

“So, the net.”

Popping open my web browser, I preferred Narwhale-lite because Narwhale-premium takes up too much system resources and also because poverty, I navigated to my media feed.

“This…” I said, scrolling slowly, “is sort of an example. It’s a feed, uh, it’s a list of things my friends have said or news articles. People share them on the net and they get passed around. And my feed sort of aggregates all of that stuff for me so I can read it in one place. And the net is… like this huge collective storage space of information that keeps changing and evolving. I guess, and there’s people that manipulate it and use it for communication too.”

I turned to look at Lilwanyu, wondering if ‘aggregates’ was a confusing way to phrase it, or if that absolutely terrible explanation of the internet was just a mess, but she seemed rapt by the images on the screen. Eyes blinked, some wandered reading while others widened in some expression I could hardly ken.

She said, in a breathy murmur, “how fascinating..! And do you set it to your exact specifications for the information you want to collect? How much of your activity does it aggregate for other people using this same function? Does it only collect from events that are shared or does it do so by some other process?”

Lost for words, I had to think a moment. She’d grasped the concept faster than I had assumed she might, and even used the same terminology I had used back at me with surprising deftness. I needed to amend my explanation and get more technical before I accidentally started giving her the wrong idea.

When I clicked the mouse I found that I had gone a bit sweaty and wiped it down with the hem of my shirt before I continued.

“Y- yes. I mean, people have to put things on the net before they can be collected, and it only collects the stuff that I put up there too. I have my preferences set up for what it will share publicly and privately, and what it will show me from other people and sites.”

“Interesting…” She breathed, and I wondered if the demon hadn’t gotten… excited? I had the impression that she was gripping the seat more tightly, it had begun to list to the side ever so slightly. I realized it was leaning me in closer to her as she stooped in to look at the screen more closely. I had to actively scoot myself against the other arm rest to stop myself from physically touching her.

Though, for a moment, I wondered what it might feel like. Was she covered in soft, peach plush fur? Or perhaps it was slimy, as slick as its texture seemed to imply? I found myself staring at her arm where it curled out from under her shawl. Without thinking I followed the shape of it up to her hand, to the muzzle resting upon her palm. Most of her eyes were on the computer, but one was fixed firmly upon me. Its pupil was a thick band, like a goat’s eye, with a sclera of yellow like aging parchment. As I stared back at it, the pupil began to dilate.

It grew until it filled all available space within its socket. Ink black and shimmering like oil, as I watched it began to ooze at the corners, overflowing down the lines of her face. My mouth went dry, I felt breath pass over lips hanging open, but I couldn’t bear to look away. Oil slime tears bled into other eyes, and their pupils slowly turned to gaze at me. One by one, until my vision was filled with a field of eyes that shined like bubbles upon a darkened sea.

In my chest, my heart had started to quake, ribs were aching as though its beat sought escape from the cage of my bones. Something inside me was wanting, I’d never needed something so badly, but I couldn’t give the need a shape. It was formless, oozing around the edges. The eyes upon me did not judge, they were waiting.

Expectant.

I blinked.

“I had no idea humans had such tools.”

Her words jarred me so hard I slapped the mouse on the desktop with an awkward plastic clack.

If she noticed she didn’t mention it, continuing to chat as though the last thousand years of mutual staring had never occurred.

“This is quite sophisticated. Can you find information not aggregated by this function specifically?”

Nodding my way out of some distractingly slimy thoughts, I went through the motions of showing her a variety of my bookmarks without speaking.  Going through news and cooking sites then segwaying into forums and webcomics. When she started to ask direct questions I mustered the will to speak, though it came out in a hoarse squeak at first. I wanted to call it a feeling of numbness but that was incorrect. My skin was buzzing, like an electric chill. I felt more exhausted than anything else, though her quiet cadence and curiosity began to sooth the sensation. More questions as I went, some of which I was unable to answer, she was exceptionally keen and quite interested in the technology of it. Eventually I asked if she wanted to mess around with it for a while.

“Oh..! May I?” She said, sudden excitement making her yank the chair ever so slightly. I yipped, jumping in my seat, causing it to spin and face her directly. Her arm moved with the chair and she turned with it so that the two of us were face to face.

The intent look that she gave me made my head swim. I wasn’t certain if I was ready to have her full attention again, especially after that previous… whatever it was. Just, being so close to her made me feel so vulnerable, in a indescribable way. I never considered a demon being disarmingly sincere, but that was the best way I could describe it, when she looked at me I could tell she was looking directly into me. In a person I would be hard pressed to understand this kind of behavior, these looks she gave me. In a demon, I was distressingly without a clue. It had a simultaneous, ‘this demon wants to eat me’, and, ‘this demon wants to eat me’ sort of feeling.

“Y....” I stammered, awkwardly attempting to casually lean back in the seat, “Y-yes..? Sure I’ll uh, I’ll set up a guest user account for you since you’re going to be-”

A thought struck me, sudden enough to break through a new bout of brain fog, and I sat up again.

“Wait. How long are you going to be here?”

Some eyes started to glance about the room, the middlemost one stared up at the ceiling. While she thought on it I quickly put together another account for her and logged myself out, giving myself something to do that wasn’t staring my demon in the face.

“Well”, she said, “I presume it will have to do with how long it takes me to satisfy your request?”

“I guess I should make up the couch?” I frowned, standing up from the computer and gesturing at the seat. “Here, the password is just your name backwards.”

As she settled into the chair, curling her tail around her hips and bringing her legs up to perch on the seat, I continued to think out loud.

“I guess you can use the other room. I haven’t had a chance to fill it yet. There’s just a mattress though, she took the box spring.”

It had been a fraught sort of parting when my last roommate left.

“That will be fine.” Lilwanyu responded, her voice having a distant quality as she henpecked the keyboard. Luckily the mouse was well suited to a three fingered hand and she picked up on that quickly enough. Then again, she was also writing and speaking just fine in English, now that I thought of it.

I watched her for a few minutes, a thought slowly creeping up on me. Was this an incredibly terrible idea? Turning a demon loose on the internet with unrestricted access to what had apparently, to her, been unknown technology? Even if it was, I really had no means to stop her from doing so. Again the thought of binding her came to mind, particularly the part where I hadn’t done so.

A feeling like a snowball traveling downhill was picking up speed. Lights turning on in my head. I felt panic beginning to build.

“H-hey…” I tried to effect a casual tone and only succeeded in a nonchalant squeak.

“S-so, what are you uh, looking up th-there..?”

“Humans”, came the distracted response. I had the strangest feeling of being just a little hurt that she hadn’t spared a single eye to look at me as she said it.

“Oh, haha. Well...” No more words were forthcoming and I shut my mouth.

I watched her read wikipedia articles in silence for a few minutes before I realized that at this point I was a host, she was a guest and, there were certain expected behaviors.

“I’m going to go make up your bed, alright? You, I mean you sleep, right?”

A few eyes turned to look at me as she responded.

“Yes I do”, she said, “thank you.”

It was fast, this change from being terrified at her attention to being relieved. I hadn’t actually spoken with anyone, outside of cash register canned responses, in months...

Had it really been months?

Hesitating, each step out of the room followed by a glance back at the great horse monster using my computer, I went out into the living room. Staring up at the popcorn ceiling, standing there in the center of a carpet that crunched under foot, it almost felt like a normal night once she wasn’t in view anymore. But the apartment felt less empty, even just knowing she was there out of sight. It was a nice feeling. Screwing my heel up against the fabric, listening to the crisp sound, I glanced down.

The rug’s texture felt as though it had been badly burned, but it looked relatively the same as before. I rubbed the toe of my slipper on it and watched fibres flake off in tiny bits. Perhaps I shouldn’t have used it as a ritual ground, but the concentric circles seemed like a good idea at the time. Wouldn’t the unbroken circles have been a good binding for a demon? Or did the process of the summoning destroy them somehow in a way I couldn’t have foreseen?

There were also several stubs of candle melted into my carpet, the landlord will be furious if I can’t scrape that out, and an overturned offering dish. It looked as though it had toppled over when Lilwanyu appeared and its contents released onto the ground. I stooped to look and feel the carpet but, there was no trace of the liquid. Originally, I had been using honey and a variety of morbid ingredients but tonight I had the inspiration to just dump out a bottle of simple syrup, like what you’d use for cocktails. Just that, some blood of course, and the other thing.

‘The other thing’ I eventually found under the sofa, a perfect orb of selenite. At least I assumed it was perfect, that’s what the ebay seller had assured me. Presently when II picked it up I felt an electric jolt that made every muscle in my arm spasm. Dropping it with a yelp, it rolled sedately back under the couch. I clutched my smarting hand to my chest and stared at the sofa.

“Whatever. Just… just stay there I guess.” I mumbled.

Standing, I went through the motions of making the mattress into a bed. My only spare sheets were cast offs from a nearby hospice, run through a washing machine and several bleach baths. It was still cheaper than buying new bed linens. In the process of fitting sheets and locating comforters I felt exhaustion creep in to replace the adrenaline of the last few hours. When I walked back into my room the sight of the demon hardly stirred the sleep that had begun to fog my mind.

I let her know the bed was ready and muzzily explained how to put the computer into sleep mode when she was done. As I finished Lilwanyu turned in the chair to look at me.

“Thank you, I won’t be a bother while you’re sleeping will I?” Genuine concern, so many eyes watching me, so tired.

Shaking my head and waving a hand casually I responded.

“Naw, I sleep like a rock when I actually get to sleep. Having someone around makes it easier.”

“Oh.” She said, “then, goodnight to… ”

The demon did something strange:

she blushed.

The flesh of her cheeks and neck blossomed in purple hues as her expression flashed through frightened, to anxious, and then settled into exasperation.

“I’m so sorry, I never asked for your name.” She said, from her tone I thought at first she was angry at me, but I recognized it as disappointment in herself. Ah yes, I am very well accustomed to that feeling.

She hadn’t asked, I realized, and I had never bothered to give it to her. Wow. It has been a long time since I’ve talked to anyone I guess.

I laughed to assuage her feelings. Trying to sooth the emotions of a demon..! What a strange day.

I said, “it’s Alice.”

As an afterthought I added, “She. Earth.”

Lilwanyu nodded, then with a smile she said, “goodnight Alice. Tomorrow we shall begin fulfilling your wish.”

My heart abruptly throbbed in my chest at the sight of her teeth, at just the bare sliver that showed when the demon smiled. I couldn’t put together a response to her assertion so instead I simply said goodnight and rolled up into bed.

With covers over head I calmed my heart back down, luckily the weight of sleep was there to make the work easier. I amused myself by thinking how absurd it was to be napping as a demon was busily polluting my search history with things like “humans, how to talk to them” and “how do humans make friends.”

As I fell asleep, “Humans, top recipes”, came to mind as well but in the half conscious mind of an exhausted young woman it really didn’t bother me that much. Honestly, it would have been a lot easier to just ask her to eat me, that would have solved all of my problems pretty nicely regardless of her interpretation.

…

Oh.

Damn.

[managementblogbuzrush]

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[salamandergoo]

Kamal finding out that everyone on the team are going through their own personal problems and he's always been a dick about it but he didn't realise how bad some of it was (Ryland hating himself and feeling unloved, Sam realising that she's probably never going to be a professional tennis player etc) and that he should be nicer, but it's hard for him because he's not very good with emotions.

[quinquinis]

hey, can you please write another crossover between White Collar and Batman? like a oneshot or something, but i really like how you tie everything together. like maybe where he hadn't deleted his existence off of the internet and was found out as Dick sometime while working for the FBI. and like, everyone was shocked that rich-boy Grayson was grand-thief Caffrey. XD thanks, any theme you use is good though, i'm just really into your AU.

I don’t know if this is what you were thinking about but enjoy:

Bruce tried, Neal suffers and Nightwing drops in on Peter

Bruce had tried. He was exhausted and beaten and could no longer put up the fight. He could only hope his eldest son would forgive him.

"Hacked the wifi yet?" Jason asked Tim from his corner of the elevator. Tim, sitting right by the buttons, had pulled out some cords and was using them to try and get his tablet computer online.

"Didn't we get you a portable wifi modem?" Bruce questioned.

Tim hummed and crouched down, placing the screen on his legs. "That won't get me unrestricted access to the FBI. Nor will it tell me where we are." Bruce had no doubt that Tim could find a way around that but, it seemed his middle child wanted to do things the messy way.

"We're on the tenth floor, going up," Damian said in his 'you're stupid' tone. He pointed to the floor indicator on the button panel above Tim's head.

"They're inaccurate," Tim repeated. "And I want accuracy."

"Just don't get caught," Bruce sighed.

"-tt-" Damian pushed off the wall and Bruce glared at him.

"Damian!" he barked. "Against the wall."

"This is stupid," Damian huffed dropping back against the wall of his corner of the elevator.

"Then why did you come?" Tim snapped back.

"Because you were coming."

"Because I like the idea of walking right in and out of the FBI," Jason responded with a grin. "I think Red Hood is still on their watch list."

"I didn't ask you."

"He didn't ask you."

"Stick to your corners, boys!" Bruce said as they started to shift. How many more floors were there until the White Collar office anyway? He didn't think he'd survive the way things were going. "And I told you all to stay back at the hotel."

"Come on Bruce, that FBI agent said we should give our statements."

"After all, it's not every day we take down a fleeing suspect."

"Besides, this is the best team in the country. They even have a conman working for them."

"It's not the first time that's happened," Jason commented.

"This one supposedly stole the painting of St. George and the Dragon done by Raphael."

Damian rolled his eyes.

The elevator dinged.

Bruce tensed. It was time.

Bruce Wayne and sons walked into the office like they had stepped off the runway. Neatly and smartly dressed, Wayne and the two youngest were in suits while the other one was dressed in a blue button up shirt and black jeans with a jacket thrown over his shoulders.

They could give Neal a run for his money.

Neal's eyes widened and everyone wondered about that until the one in the jacket pointed at him.

"You!"

Neal pointed back and yelled at Bruce, "I thought you said you weren't going to bring them!"

Bruce looked like he had been caught between a rock and a hard place. He adjusted his tie while Jason growled at him.

"You knew?"

"I tried?" Bruce admitted to Neal, looking worn out for a moment.

A few of the agents felt for him. It was obvious he was out of depth with whatever was going on.

Up in his office, Hughes frowned at the sudden commotion. He walked out and popped his head in Peter's office.

"Is it Caffrey?" Peter asked with a put-upon sigh.

"Possibly. Wayne's here."

"Great," Peter groaned. They observed from above the bullpen.

A rather thin and short teenager had Neal pressed up against a wall with a finger shoved against his chest. Neal's hands were up in surrender and he had the smile of a conman whose con had just gone wrong.

"You know that the Raphael was my favourite!" Tim cried out. "Why'd you go and steal it?"

"Allegedly," Neal said, "no one has proved anything. Also, come on, Tim, you never saw it in real life anyway. It's not like it getting stolen affected you."

Damian cackled from where he was sitting on Neal's desk.

"Caffrey!" Hughes barked.

"This isn't my fault!" Neal whined back. Peter wondered about that. He was starting to understand why Neal had been twitchy whenever Wayne was mentioned and downright terrified of the man coming to the office.

Who knew Neal's reaction would have more to do with Wayne's children than Wayne himself?

"I do apologise for my children," Bruce sighed, causing Peter to jolt. The man had somehow appeared beside him without his notice. "They are... troublesome at times and it's been a while since they've seen their older brother."

"The guy in the jacket?" Peter questioned. He looked like a ringleader, standing behind Neal's desk and grinning at the others while he looked through Neal's drawers.

Bruce blinked. In an almost too-innocent tone he said, "no. That's Jason. He's the second eldest. I was taking about Richard... what did you call him? Caffrey? I was taking about Caffrey."

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about?" Hughes demanded to know. Richard Grayson was Bruce's first, taken in years ago and adopted only a couple of years back. "How is Richard related to Caffrey?"

"Hey, Dick! Why do you need a drawer full of ties?" Jason demanded to know with a wide grin in Neal's direction. He held up a blue tie which Peter had seen before. Neal wore it often but only in the office. If they went outside, he tended to change it. Neal had said that the tie was special and he didn't want anything to happen to it.

"Put that down Todd! I bought that for him!" Damian screeched, reaching across the desk to grab it.

"Everybody FREEZE!" Neal bellowed suddenly in a tone no one had ever heard from him before. It reminded Peter of Hughes or himself, the tone of someone in charge. "Tim, take a couple of steps back and I'll talk to you in a moment. Damian, get off my desk and follow your father up the stairs. Jason, choose. Either get yourself into the conference room or get out before I call security."

Silence reigned for a few moments, broken when Jason sighed and shoved the tie back in the draw.

"You will have to explain," he said, shoving a finger in Neal's face before quickly ascending the stairs and walking right into the conference room without acknowledging anyone else.

Damian made his way up to Bruce with a frown on his pudgy face.

"Tim," Neal sighed. "Really?"

Tim's expression was serious as he responded, "Really."

"Sara was bad enough but now you?" Neal huffed. "Forget about the Raphael for now and I'll explain what's going on upstairs."

"The FBI better get it back in a couple of months in an anonymous package or something," Tim said as Neal guided him up the stairs.

"What just happened?" Agent Blake questioned in shock.

Peter raised an eyebrow at Neal, who just shoved a thumb in the direction of the conference room. Hughes had already walked inside to keep an eye on Bruce Wayne and his brats.

"Okay, Caffrey explain," Hughes ordered.

Neal smiled. "Hi, my name is actually Richard Grayson but most people call me Dick. I'm Bruce's eldest. I... may have done some silly things and Bruce decided I could stay on the anklet until I learnt my lesson."

"You broke out of prison. For a girl," Bruce huffed.

"She was in danger! I was right about that," Neal muttered.

Peter winced at the reminder of what had happened with Kate. Neal had been devastated to lose her. He both disapproved of Bruce treating the anklet like a minor punishment and approved of his disapproval of Neal breaking out of prison.

"Prison. Which you were in because you went and forged bonds for Roy and then gave them to that Mozzie character."

Jason laughed. "Seriously? Bond forgery? Should of known you'd be the most boring white collar criminal."

"Bond forgery is not boring!" Neal countered. "That's mortgage fraud!"

"Does it really matter?" Tim questioned, looking between his two brothers. "Although I guess this is why we haven't seen you outside of phone calls for a while."

"A year," Damian said. "Not that I've been keeping track. I just have a good memory."

"Of course," Neal said with a fond smile and ruffling the kid's hair. Peter was amazed. Neal actually seemed like a responsible adult around these people.

"Dick, we will see you back at your place, I think," Bruce said. He told Tim the address and Jason, Tim and Damian bolted out of the room. "Let me just give you my prepared statement and then I'll be off."

"So, Neal is your son?" Hughes questioned as Bruce handed him a signed statement.

"That's right. Just... let him go by Neal Caffrey. It'll get him into less trouble than Dick Grayson," Bruce advised.

Peter wondered about that but decided to trust the billionaire. Neal already got into trouble on a regular basis. He didn't want to risk it getting worse.

A few months after meeting Bruce Wayne and his kids and learning that Neal was not just Neal but also Dick Grayson, Neal received commutation and was let go. The news had a mixed reaction from the White Collar office. Some agents would miss him while others was glad to see him go. The latter were not from White Collar and didn't interact with Neal often, if at all. Peter wasn't surprised at the news and wondered if Bruce had something to do with it.

Neal left with a smile on his face and a promise to Peter that he would see him again.

A few nights later, Peter had been in the backyard with his wife when a man in a dark uniform jumped over the fence. Peter grabbed his gun while El held him back. She had seen the flash of blue across his chest.

"Peter, wait! That's Nightwing!"

"Nightwing?" The man dropped to the ground, holding his side and Peter looked closer. He did look the vigilante who returned to New York and had started hanging out with a bunch of adults calling themselves the 'Titans'. "He's hurt, El. Get the med kit." He could see the dark stain of blood growing on the man's uniform. He wandered over, holding his hands and the gun up to show he meant no harm. "Can you stand?"

"Ugh, I have no idea. I didn't intend to hit the ground." That voice was familiar.

"Neal?" Nightwing grinned up at him and Peter huffed a sigh. He should have known. He reached down and helped Neal up, caution gone now that he knew who was under the mask. "Why are dressed like that?"

"I'm following a pattern of behaviour instilled in me in a young age," Neal responded. "Also, call me Nightwing, okay? To any outsiders, you're just helping the guy who crashed into your yard. I don't want any of my enemies coming after you two."

"Then why come here?" Peter growled as he deposited Neal into a chair. The man was heavy, probably as a result of all the lean muscle under his uniform. No wonder Neal always had looked fit.

Neal looked at the ground. "I missed you and I promised I would visit." Peter didn't budge, staring at him until he answered probably. "I'm hurt and was close to your place. Plus, I need sleep which isn't interrupted by my friends' 'emergencies' like 'Roy invented a bomb which exploded and now the room is covered in whipped cream' so can I sleep on your couch tonight?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Come on, let's get a look at you." To his surprise, the suit had a zipper down the back which Peter had to pull down for Neal.

"I would do it, but I don't want to risk tearing myself open even more."

"I would love to know that trick," El said as she came in. "Maybe I could use it to get into some of my dresses."

"Use a coat hanger in the hole of the zipper," Neal responded matter-of-factly. "And pull it up."

Peter resisted telling his wife that were was no hole in the zipper for Neal's uniform. It was small, almost invisible.

Neal's side had been sliced. He raised his arm and had a look.

"Well, that's not as bad as I thought. Hurts though."

"Of course," Peter said patiently as El handed him something to clean the wound with. How had he ended up mending a hurt vigilante in his lounge room anyway? "You know what? While I'm helping you with this, maybe you could help with some of my cases?"

Neal barked a laugh. "Sure, why not?"