#still every job advert said the same thing and it's like. it's so easy to just say you're inclusive but if you're not going to actually

[katya-goncharov]

every time a job advert asks for an "excellent communicator", an autistic person should magically be given $100000

[blu-joons]

DATING DAY6 HEADCANON A⇴Z ⇴ Park Sungjin

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Being affectionate isn’t something that Sungjin isn’t a huge fan of, so whenever he’s affectionate with you, make the most of it. If he’s in the mood, he’ll love to cuddle you and keep you nice and close against his side.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

You’d met through music, you were one of the techs at a gig that they were playing, and you were in charge of Sungjin’s guitar. It naturally meant that the two of you began to strike up a conversation, and Sungjin quite quickly took a liking to you, making sure at the end of the night that he asked for your number.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

At the end of a gig together was when Sungjin confessed, he drove you back to your place after the two of you hung out and watched a local band, but just as you were about to step out of the car, he told you that he needed to talk to you. You sat and listened intently to what he told you, and once he’d finished, you said the exact same back to him, joking that you were relieved you weren’t going crazy thinking that Sungjin could like you.

D ⇴ DATES

Sungjin is quite a homebody, he enjoys being in his home and with his own company. With that, the two of you will often have dates at the house or at the studio together. Sungjin always works better too when you’re around which helps him. You’ll usually show up with food, and he’ll be prepared with a game or a film, or if he’s in the studio he’ll set up somewhere for you to relax and talk about your days. It’s the perfect hub for you both as you much prefer doing your own thing away from the rest of the world.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

Love was all a bit of a mystery to Sungjin before he met you, he never quite knew how he managed to portray it so well in his songs when he had no real idea of how it felt. You were the answer to a lot of his questions though, the old lyrics that he used to look over with huge confusion suddenly made so much sense. The new lyrics that he did write too were also a great improvement, the words he wrote made a lot more sense when he knew that they summed up perfectly the love that he had for you rather than an abstract he never understood.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

Arguing with Sungjin was a big no, he would never argue with you nor would he ever raise his voice. The two of you definitely had your moments when you’d disagree with each other, but you were grown up enough to know that these sorts of things just needed talking about rather than adding fuel to the fire. Arguing with you can make Sungjin very emotional, he’s not afraid to be in touch with his emotions, and knowing he’s not getting along with you can be the main cause of his upset. Similarly, when he resolves things with you, he’ll often get teary again as he tries to apologise whilst wiping away his tears.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

You knew his family were protective of him, Sungjin hadn’t always had it easy. But more than anything, they were thankful that he had you in his life as someone who could support him and understand him. Seeing the many positive changes, you made to Sungjin’s life made it impossible for them not to love you.

H ⇴ HOME

When he really began to feel comfortable with you, he was quite keen for the two of you to begin to find your own place. He really wanted a space for the two of you where you could be yourselves as you often spent a lot of time together at the dorm, without any of the other boys being around you to interrupt.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

Sungjin was the first to say, ‘I love you,’ when you came home from work one day. Waking up from a nap without you there completely startled him, he didn’t understand where you were. When he saw you, he was relieved to know that you were safe, and before he had a moment to think he said those magical three words.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

He’s not someone that tends to get jealous, Sungjin is much more of an insecure person. He can’t blame someone if they take a liking to you, he knows how special you are, but when someone is around you, he instantly blames himself for missing something. You know how often he beats himself up, so whenever he goes quiet you know that he’s not feeling good. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, you’ll leave straight away as Sungjin is, and always will be your priority in any situation you’re involved in.

K ⇴ KIDS

His career had always been the focus for him, but as he began to get older, he definitely wondered about the future. He’d often sit when he had a moment to think in the studio and tell you all about how he wanted to be able to teach your children instruments and how he hoped that they’d follow after him. Most of the time he didn’t even realise he was doing it, but you loved to listen and smile back at him.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

If there was one distinctive feature about Sungjin, it was definitely his laugh. His hoarse chuckle was always an infectious sound that was guaranteed to put a smile on his face. Hearing him laugh was often a great relief for you too, you knew there were times when he really felt low, so hearing him laugh was incredibly comforting. Sungjin knew that he found himself laughing the most whenever he was around you, it was just a natural instinct for him to smile around you, he just loved your company so much.

M ⇴ MISSING

Sungjin struggles a lot when he’s on tour, he really feels like the other half of him has gone missing. Every day, without fail, the two of you will talk, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for a couple of hours. It doesn’t matter if you’re awake at four in the morning waiting for his call, you’re well aware of how big of a boost it is for him, and with that, you’ll do it in a heartbeat. He always feels bad for waking you up, but deep down, the calls the two of you have are important to you too. You struggle just like him, so you often hold out even for just a small bit of contact from him to try and pick yourself up. Being around the dorm by yourself just isn’t the same without him, and all of the other members too.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

Before dating, you were a fan of the band anyway, so naturally, you just began calling him ‘Bob.’ To begin with, he hated it, but as time went on, it felt strange not to hear that nickname come from you to him.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

He’s obsessed with your eyes; he can read a lot about you just by looking at you. He loves the colour and the hold they have over him whenever he’s talking to you.

P ⇴ PDA

Again, Sungjin isn’t a massive fan of skinship, so don’t expect too much from him in terms of affection, especially in public. The most you’ll usually get from him is feeling his hand in yours, even though he doesn’t like affection, he’s still very protective of you, so likes to have a hold of your hand so he can make sure you’re beside him.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

Sungjin will often ask for your opinion on something that he’s been working on. When you’re in your little hub at the studio he’ll often call out your name and play you something and then ask what you think about it.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

Around you, Sungjin is a pretty open book, but one thing you don’t know about him is his diary. Sometimes, he worries about scaring you off with how strong his feelings are, so instead he’ll note them down in a diary to remember how special you are. There’s definitely been a few occasions when you’ve nearly accidentally read it, but luckily Sungjin has been able to move it away quickly before you get your hands on it.

S ⇴ SEX

The two of you often switch roles, most of the time neither of you subs or doms, you just work at your own pace. He likes to be able to find your eyes during intimacy, they tell him a lot about how you’re feeling, and often reassure him that he’s doing a good job. It’s during these times when Sungjin will often tell you the most about how he feels about you, he can’t help but whisper into your ear and let you know.

T ⇴ TEXTS

He loves to text you when he sees adverts for gigs whilst he’s at work. The two of you love live music, so he’ll often see if you’re free for the night and speak to one of his managers to see if he can get two late tickets.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

For a long time, Sungjin had been a very closed book, but you’d been the one to open him up. At some point in his career, he really felt like he’d lost his way, but when he was around you, he really felt like he’d found himself again.

V ⇴ VACATION

Sungjin isn’t a huge fan of going on holiday when he has time off, instead he wants to appreciate that he has the chance to spend some time at home. With that, he’ll often invite you to go on tour with him instead, so he still has the chance to show you the world and do a bit of travelling with you amongst his schedule.

W ⇴ WHINING

If there was one thing he would never do, it’s whine. He understands that he can’t always have your attention, and that’s alright with him.

X ⇴ XXXXX

Sungjin doesn’t kiss you often, so whenever he does kiss you, he expects you to savour it. He knows that you love his lips, so he loves to tease you by pressing a few feathery kisses against your skin before kissing you properly. He much prefers to receive your kisses as he finds them reassuring and comforting when he’s had a bit of a rough day. They certainly go a long way to trying to pick his mood back up when he’s down.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were his soulmate; you turned his whole world upside down.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

Sungjin loved to go straight to sleep when he went to bed, so he’d usually whisper a quick goodnight before falling asleep beside you. He’ll often cuddle up to you at night to make sure that you fall asleep safely and sweetly.

---

Masterlist

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

There's Magic in This Place

photo by @vexbatch

for @reverseprompts challenge #11 - Broken Briefcase

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing: Newt/Anathema

Rating: G

Word Count - ~1k

Newton Pulsifer rushed down the lane, briefcase clutched tightly in one hand and keyring in the other. It was his first day at a new job–a new job he was absolutely determined to not bungle like the last three, which couldn’t be his fault, things just happened to him–and he’d opted to walk to work, but now he was running behind.

Of course.

Such a lovely first impression Newt was making; he’d only spoken with his new boss on the telephone once, most of their correspondence had actually been done by post. Strange, but the whole job was a little bit strange. A shop owner who insisted all his bookkeeping be done by hand, in a ledger, rather than on a computer? Still, he needed a job and when he’d seen the advert for this one everything had fallen into place.

And Tadfield–the little village was practically perfect. Tadfield–even the name sounded nice. There were kids laughing and playing everywhere, and flowers in every garden, and people kept waving and saying hello as he passed. So of course Newt waved back. It was probably slowing him down, but he was a polite lad, always had been. It was so unlike the busyness of London, with people rushing by without so much as a glance, with streets full of cars instead of kids on bicycles, with honking horns instead of barking dogs.

He loved it already.

Something across the lane caught his eye–a boy on a bicycle, just an ordinary boy, but there seemed to be something about him–so he turned slightly to follow the movement. Unfortunately his feet didn’t slow in their forward progress and when he turned back he ran smack into...something. Something warm and soft and smelling of jasmine. He ended up on the pavement. So did his briefcase, and so did whatever–no, whoever, he ran into.

“Oh! Sorry, so sorry, I–” He looked up, and the dark-haired, dark-eyed, almost smiling face made him forget what he’d been about to say.

“Maybe next time look forward when you’re running down the street?” the woman said. There was a teasing lilt to her voice; Newt liked it immediately.

“I wasn’t running. I was rushing. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, of course. So sorry for the misunderstanding. I’ll explain it to my bruises later.” Her voice was dry, but there was a twinkle in her eyes.

Newt realized his glasses had been knocked askew, so he straightened them, and tried to nonchalantly straighten his hair into something presentable at the same time. “Sorry,” he said again. And then, “Newt. Uh, I mean, I’m Newt. Newton Pulsifer. I’m new to the village. But that bit you probably realized already, since it’s a small place and we never met before I ran into you and knocked you dow–.” He realized he was rambling and snapped his mouth shut before he told her his life story. He actually felt his teeth clack together.

“I’m going to be late,” he said absently, looking at the broken briefcase and the papers scattered all over the lane.

“Depends on where you’re going. Seems like you met me just at the right time, though maybe next time we could try to meet without crashing to the ground?” She raised an eyebrow questioningly, then put out her right hand. “I’m Anathema.”

“Newt,” he said, shaking her hand. “But I said that already, didn’t I. I’m keeping the shops at a book here in the village. I mean I’m keeping the books here at a shop here in the village. A bookshop. I’m supposed to meet a chap named, ah, Az, Azra...”

“Aziraphale!” Anathema laughed. “Looks like you came to the right place after all.” She waved to the house behind her, which had, in fact, been converted into a bookshop. Rare Books was painted in gold on the bay window, and Newt could see piles of books through the glass. “You’ll love the place, Aziraphale especially. He’s a little quirky, but so is most of Tadfield. And don’t let Crowley get to you, he truly is a dear under all his growls.”

“Crowley?” Newt asked, trying to stand and help Anathema to her feet at the same time.

“He’s Aziraphale’s not-so-silent partner. They live in the apartment upstairs. Crowley supposedly has his own interests, but it seems to me his main interest is Aziraphale.” Anathema brushed off her skirts then picked up Newt’s briefcase and passed it to him.

Newt sputtered, looking from the briefcase–now whole, his papers safely inside again–to Anathema and back again, unable to keep the confused look from his face. “But– I mean to say– This was–”

“I told you. Tadfield is quirky. You’ll get used to it.” She straightened his tie, smiled brightly and said, “You’ll do great. Shall I bring tea around lunchtime?”

After all the strangeness of the morning, after all his nervousness about his new job, this question was easy to answer. “Yes, please.”

“Good!” Over her shoulder she called, “Aziraphale, your new bookkeeper is here! Please don’t let Crowley scare him away, I like this one.” She jerked her head toward the face peeking through the window at them, then winked at Newt.

Yes, he already loved this quiet, strange little place. Tadfield, where neighbors said hello, kids rode by on bicycles, and briefcases mended themselves. This place where he now lived, and worked (if he could ever get to his new job). Where running into a stranger could lead to a date for lunch.

“See you soon, Anathema.” Emboldened by the events of the morning, he took her hand in his and brushed a soft kiss across her knuckles.

Anathema blushed.

Newt turned and half walked, half skipped up to the door of the bookshop. He almost felt like he could fly.

[stoplookingatmeblog]

twenty-one

1.

It was around that time that all my friends went to work in different chapters of what you can call ‘the filming industry’. P-G shot beer adverts which used some kinds of robotics to get the right shot, flip the bottle right, and then slept with this girl who offered him a paid internship in managing pretty much everything on sets of a bunch of movies, ads and whatnot. My own mother, finally getting out of the convenient but unemancipated housewife life, got a job in supervising the shoot - making sure the costumes were right, the scenography, all that stuff. It was pretty much, you could call it, the time of Life On Set Then - everywhere you went, ads, movies, Netflix series, all of it wrapped up in fake police ‘do not cross’ kind of tape, horses and knights from our beer-bottles riding the streets, and the catering busses with food that was (mother told me) ‘absolute horeshit’. Whatever. The time was of living in a reality created for money, by money, with money, because of money, giant heaps of money, distributed unequally (of course) to all my student friends who didn’t even need the money except for that feel of ‘life on their own’.

I didn’t have a job. Before not working, I worked a couple of cafes, restaurants and the like. That was the vibe. I hated it. Each time I began working in one of these places, I ended up sleeping with someone (first time a guy, and then a girl or woman that was honestly too old for me) and that I hoped marked the end of relationship with gastronomy for me. So I didn’t work, deciding not to decide what to do next, not putting myself on the road to one kind of future or another. I didn’t want life to go anywhere directed. I thought about writing but then I thought about the seriousness and stiffness of writing, whether or not it’s a purely natural act, all that, and decided on trying to squeeze the last drops of childhood (it was adolescence, but adolescence is really a final sigh of childhood) and live what was left of the kid-life to the fullest.

I was twenty-one years old. 

A group of friends convinced me to go with them surfing (on my parents’ money), to Victoria, a place which location doesn’t really matter, except that I thought, and still do, that the spot is an actual a piece of heaven on earth. A nearly imaginary point on the increasingly smaller map of this melting planet. My age, too, was melting away like icecream - not having a job and surfing in Victoria, like a teenage pimple, some place that popped up and presented itself in its complete and vulgar form and purpose that you initially didn’t believe and then wept after at that airport because you could never come back. It was an actual speck of heaven on the map. 

Even though everyone was younger than us - four of us, me, P-G, J, and Stone (the last one, a tired intellectual I could never get tired of, except you could see he was really both bored and exhausted by being born and living as himself. And his nickname surprisingly not derived from the astronomical amounts of weed he smoked but his actual god-given surname (which he thought of changing, because of his father) - even though everyone who came to Victoria was younger than us by something like three or four years, we surprisingly didn’t have trouble at least getting along, and at most sleeping with girls there. It was even more grand in that way, even if absolutely not true, when you saw yourself in their eyes as someone older and somehow experienced, who somehow kept going on, and somehow knew what was going on. The same lie made most of us, (excluding me, as I mentioned) get a job around that time. In movies and advertisements, with no creative input or control, but like actors that nobody knew about, playing their own invented parts backstage.

I was twenty-one years old and completely aware of both how small and how big that was. I knew about the kinds of things I probably should be doing and that’s why I sometimes did them, for a minute putting my feet into that creek too, but most of the time staying at the bank and just watching. I knew what being twenty-one meant, so I decided to sit back and watch it.

My friends all surfed a lot, which would normally bother me because I did it only for the first week of our month-long stay, but quickly dropped it and decided to stay at the beach and read, and drink and look at some really beautiful girls who passed me by, and for once enjoy that stranger-life. By the second week, after seeing in a restaurant a shirt with a ‘SeXsurfing ‘00’ inscription on it (‘00 being the year we were born, which made us inspect our parents’ lifelines to check for the possibility that at that time some of them were in Victoria), and in the twenty-one-year-old drunk epiphanius inspiration, all four of us decided that we would lead the ‘SeXsurfing ‘21’ lifestyle, not thinking about the ‘42 and the ‘63 and all that shit. 

I wasn’t the most successful one when it came to girls, but I can say that the stories I had with them were the most absurd and worthy of telling. Even though it was J who (and he too asked himself why in the world that was) was able to talk with someone new every evening, somehow perhaps betraying my unwanted by nonetheless existing monogamous attachment, I slept with only one girl over the course of the last week, picking her up (or perhaps her picking me up) through a conversation about our shared borderline-sociopathic or rebellious outlook on reality. That was very twenty-one. 

Our first meeting (like every meeting since) was going to one of the three tourist shops on the beach and stealing something. And that too was very twenty-one. We were rich enough (our parents were) and far away from home enough to do all that. And we were both young and beautiful enough to want a mugshot we could keep from an arrest by a Victoria Police County Jail or whatever it might have been called. We were never caught but we did steal something every day, and then get drunk in the evening, and then fuck in the night. While my friends had these singular, although beautiful, encounters I would drunkenly burst into the closed restaurant with my temporary girl-friend, steal absolutely vile icecream from the fridge, and then play chess with her on the hotel rooftop at four AM. 

The four of us were twenty-one years old and born in the year 2000 which in the same way made sense - our lives were easy to calculate, clearly-definededly started, and even if they had to end with no thing coming back or being repeated, the twenty-one points we scored didn’t mean anything except the joyride and experiment, and meaningless game that it was. We were taking our shot at living, taking our shot at playing, and even when we didn’t win, it still didn’t mean anything. We lived on our parents’ money, or on advertisement money, or cafe-sleep-with-someone-there-and-then-leave-because-you-don’t-need-money money, all of it a mystification, but that those twenty-one years led to nothing we suddenly did not care. 

Well, and then being woken up by the police, although surprisingly not because of the icecream dream but for the crime of sleeping in a hammock on the dunes which (I learned) was territory of both the military and part of some natural park.

What made me go home with something in the end were the conversations we had at that time, and in particular the conversations with Stone. Like me, Stone had a feeling of injustice done to him by his family, not having a real father and hanging down on the tired gray hair of our housewife mothers and all, and it made us connect on a level we didn’t with either P-G or J, who were most often busy surfing or thinking about the jobs they had or would one day have, and the girls they met that weren’t my girls so I didn’t care that much.

Stone kept affirming that both of us (although him in particular) were in possession of superior intelligence, which I instinctively tried to discourage him from saying (because I didn’t like sucking my own dick like that), but nonetheless accepted as at least potentially or partially true. In my case, it was not intelligence that me connect with Stone but some kind of a shared understanding of what was going on, that we were twenty-one and what that meant, like a filthy two-pigeon flock of pigeons flying above the waves, knowing the fact of the creature swimming underneath the surface. I thought, and still do, it had to do largely with coming from an unhappy or non-existent family, which really makes you understand that all you do, with even the most meaningful and beautiful things, is just this game that you play but holds no particular meaning beyond it. That and that love, no matter how beautiful or true, can slip away from you like shit. 

‘It is completely lonely’, he said one night as we chugged down the bottles of beer drunk rich kids left behind running away from the police - bottles half-empty to me and I think half-full for him, but I still haven’t quite figured that one out, ‘Because you never really see things the way the rest of them do, and each conversation almost the same, you begin to think the only way to be is to be alone’

I agreed. I usually did, being aware that he was slightly more intelligent than me.

‘Back when I was in the Institute, they told me I would have problems with getting out of relationships with people what other people get from other people because what I want is to be understood and that is problematic when you think you want it but also think it’s impossible to ever understand anything’

I too thought you could never understand anything, but had a sense he perhaps only said it to keep me on the same page. Stone chugged down another half-full beer and kept talking. I stayed silent, in part because I would probably say the same things he did.

‘When I was seventeen and worked in a factory, I gained a sort of awareness of how my life would look like’

‘What kind of a factory?’, I asked

‘A cake factory, I would work in the hot section and pull out cakes out of the oven and then fill some of them with cherry, and some of them with apple-cinnamon. And then, because I was seventeen and my work was fundamentally illegal you could say, they’d let me work in the cold section in the night, and I applied sugar coating on these doughnuts, you know’

‘Yeah’

‘And then wrap them up in plastic covering, you know’

‘Yeah, yeah’

‘when the coating was dry, and send them to another section of the factory. And so over and over.’

‘So, what does your life look like because of that, do you think?’

‘I don’t know…’, he took a puff from one of the cigarette butts we found that night in the ashtray, ‘... I guess working in the factory was a kind of almost psychedelic experience that really made me aware what my attitude towards suicide is. You’re young, and you step into that thing, and you do those things because you want to, you don’t need to. Well, you might need to but the need is still your choice, it isn’t honed into your life like… Like I recognised at some point that each cake I filled with the stuffing or coated was an expression of the same kind of thing I did when I smoked weed (a lot), or drunk (a lot) or had sex. That, ultimately, I would never be able to not think about it.’ 

‘I mean, I think the position we are in - if I understand you correctly - of being relatively well-off - I mean our parents - would make you unable to really plunge into anything that you’re doing, right? Because you ultimately don’t have to do anything, like, really, like here, you always sort of treat it as a game’

‘Not even a game’, he said, and the sun was already slowly creeping up the mountain in front of the shop where we were sitting, ‘But just not a challenge. Because of our intellect, both yours and mine, the only challenge you really face is whether to continue being or not, and the rest is just, you know, stuffing these cakes. But that decision, you know The Myth of The Sisyphus?’

I did.

‘Yeah, so that decision you have to and always will have to make fundamentally alone. And so either go and work - work in any kind of way and do those things and hand them over to others to complete them and you don’t really ask questions (but we can’t do that, neither you nor I) or you step out of the factory and face the living sun, like you’re definitely going to feel after we leave this place, and decide whether you’re more happy alone or with others, or whether you want to keep on handing things to others or not, and all that.’

‘I mean this is the reason I think people shouldn’t have children - I’ve written a piece about it, you should definitely read it - because it’s kind of like juggling with a hot potato and handing it to someone else, so that they have to confront these questions, instead of you, but what you really do is give up.’

At that point I don’t think I understood his cake factory metaphor or didn’t want to believe that I did in the fear that it wasn’t very profound.

‘So what do you think you’d like to actually do?, if you could pick anything at all?’

‘I don’t know’, again inhaling another cigarette butt and handing one to me. And the sun almost rolled its own boulderous weight to the top of the mountain. ‘I think I would like to have a family, especially since meeting May (he was the only one of out SeXsurfing quartet with a girlfriend), I started thinking that maybe I can, and I’m recognising this, give someone something that my father never gave me, hoping to do it right this time’

‘Yeah, I mean that’s literally the ending of my book - have I told you already I’ve written a book? - that the main character thinks he can do it right this time and he of course fucks it up, but I don’t know if I still think that. You know, life is sometimes surprising.’

‘Exactly’, he exalted the smoke, and the sun, previously rolling up the mountain to sunrise, seemed to have fallen back again to the bottom of the mountain, and began its journey anew. 

‘I mean, when I was seventeen I worked in a factory…’

‘What kind of a factory?’

‘A psychedelic cake factory’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I worked in this factory and I worked in the hot section and my job was to take the cakes out of the oven and then pump them full of acid, or pot, or sex, or anything you could get your hands on. I guess it was illegal, but then again I was seventeen so my work was all fundamentally illegal.’

‘Where did the cakes later go?’

‘Later? Well in the factory I sent them to another section that I never really saw, but later later to homes, parties, rich people who really wanted to try the kind of stuff their kids were taking, I guess’, he chuckled, ‘It’s interesting, I wonder if my father ever tried one. Maybe in some alternative universe or something. Maybe he ate it and became like me, and dropped everything and went to work in a factory and in that reality they stuffed the cakes with shit like cherry and coated them with sugar, you know, maybe that was the right reality, and later he dropped that job, and went outside of the factory, and made the choice and threw himself under a bus or something.’

‘The right reality. 

Maybe.’

2. 

Lou from the restaurant (the SeXsufring tshirt we found was in that restaurant) was the kind of man you’d always want to be. We travelled to him for dinner hitchhiking from the beach, in twos, usually P-G and J, and then me and Stone, around seven, or all together if we could sit in the trunk of the car when we travelled in one of the rich-kid rented cabrios, and you would feel the day (same day, every day) a winding road under our feet (like gods, treading on forever) cutting through the mountains and the sunset rolling his boulder somewhere and when you finished eating you’d lie down on the warm good night asphalt with a can and listen to music on one of our phones and wait for someone to take you back to the beach. 

But gods that we were, Lou from the restaurant was the kind of man you’d always want to be. It was always a show, too. He would come by people’s tables (our table in particular, because he knew and we knew), this enormous older man dressed in a white sweaty shirt with eyes that looked blind but saw everything, and told us stories about all that he knew, which was pretty much the town, and the town hall, and the restaurant, and everything. And the girls also came there to eat, and everyone too. And everyone knew Lou from the restaurant.

I always ordered things I could not afford because P-G and J were always happy to lend me money, so I ate octopuses and steaks, and everything was everything you’d ever want to eat. There were half-blind, strangely-speckled cats that roamed under the tables, not even expecting guests’ dinner cat-food enjoying the company, like we did, and there were kid cats and mother cats and they would fight on the backdrop of the white-painted summer trees, and some girls would say the cats’ were really poor and imply their lives were wretched and miserable to which I would reply with something like natural selection and they would say that’s a horrible thing to say and then all of us would bite into the steaks that Lou brought us. 

After P-G  asked him to tell us his version of the legends we heard of from the girls, about his old restaurant, and how someone ruined it and how the paradise moved from Victoria to this new town (I don’t know the name, but it was simply Lou’s town), and it seemed like god himself was telling us the story, dusting it off, driving away the spiders and the snakes, an old book or a chapter in a book that everyone on the beach talked about but it seemed nobody actually heard. Except the four of us.

‘Well so you know I’m really electrician’, he began, ‘but at one moment I tell my wife - let’s build restaurant. So I go to the town hall, here’, and he pointed to a building not ten meters away, ‘and the auction close at 12, I go in at 11:56 and the price is 12000 and I go in and say 60000. So I get the restaurant and everyone crazy and angry at me but I have it.’, I cut out the portion of the steak and chewed on it orgasmically. Everything Lou cooked was good as hell. ‘So I build restaurant…’

‘But not here, right, on the beach?’, P-G, who heard most versions of the story interrupted

‘Yes, the beach. So I build restaurant and first year I make so much money I put it in…’, his broken eyes and mad half-blind english were both looking for the word, ‘like bags, plastic bags, trash bags, and it is so much I count it then in winter, because I have no time in summer. So it is good, so much money, going great. And then in year two thousand and… two thousand just, maybe, I go away for holiday and they call me “your restaurant is destroyed”, I say “no you’re kidding me”, and they say “no, no, they burn restaurant down, come back”. So I come back, and true, the restaurant is destroyed, and you cannot build it again because the law that was there changed so you cannot build now.’, as he was telling the story, Lou’s eyes stayed monotonously bland, bright and staring somewhere beyond. A true restaurateur, he never stopped looking at what was going on at the other tables so at that point he stood up, saying ‘I finish the story in moment’, and went to take care of something in the kitchen.

Then when he finally came back, he said:

‘So where was I now tell me.’

‘Your restaurant was burned down when you were out of the country’, I reminded him

‘Yes. So I move here and build new restaurant, and it is small but people come like before and they even fight for to eat, and they ask “you finished already, let us eat”, and my restaurant again now is doing well, very well, and people come, and still I don’t have space, but people come’

‘And is it going better or worse than in the previous location?’, P-G asked

‘No, there there was more money but here is good. Very good.’, he waved his grubby big hand at all the tables packed with people, girls, others like us. And he laughed with his tongue flying up and down in his mouth in a way some people find repulsive, but to us it was Lou from the restaurant, and Lou from the restaurant could honestly laugh in whichever goddamn way he pleased. 

‘Ok, I’m sorry but I have to go again, the people’, he pointed to the kitchen, ‘don’t know what they do’

Our twenty-one year old quartet replied ‘of course, of course’, in unison and for a while we sat there chewing our steaks, and fish and octopus, and another steak, silently, only saying a couple of words of admiration for Lou from the restaurant, the man you’d always want to be.

‘There are snakes and scorpions here’, P-G told me one time we went to the more rocky part of the dunes near where our tent was pitched. ‘So we have to be super careful, especially during the day. In the night they sleep in their wretched little caves or among the rocks, they won’t bother us in our sleep.’ 

But they will bother us when we’re awake, or when we think we are, but are someplace else, like Lou from the restaurant who went for holidays. You stop paying attention to what is slithering or crawling in the sand and one time as you are looking for a nice and fresh cigarette butt lost in the sand, BAM, and you are dead, like that (Lou’s grubby old hand falling down on the wooden table with a thud).

We were twenty-one years young and on holidays from either a job in advertising or not yet having a job in advertising, and there were girls and waves, and sand, and scorpions, and it was all a joyride so we didn’t really think about that. Well, to be honest, not much could go wrong - another day, like groundhog day, would be more or less the same, always better and better and better. And the shrinking, melting map - warmer and warmer and warmer. 

The worst that could happen, we knew, was the police coming in and chasing us away from the dunes (because it was both military grounds and a national park at the same time). But that wasn’t that bad, after all, it was police in paradise, and we felt so much love for them as we did for the scorpios and the snakes and it was just impossible for them to not love us back.

Well, hen one day it happened. It was after I woke up with her, for the first time in two weeks sleeping in an actual bed, but more importantly for the first time in perhaps a year sleeping with a warm body next to my heart, next to me, in my hands, falling asleep with my lip still in her teeth. I woke up in the morning and having the bare level of awareness of my state, that I must stink and will not be fun to be around in the morning (although the fresh air made hangovers impossible - what can I say, it was paradise), I decided to go back to the our camp on the dunes and sleep off the night in a hammock I usually inhabited. 

There were usually some locals (working in restaurants and the shops I stole flip-flops from) who like devils crawled out in the night and tried to party with the twenty-one year old us, drinking our booze and smoking our smokes, so when the white-poloed guy woke me up like bad sunrise saying ‘Police, wake up, police’, in sly english and a broken smile, my instinctive reaction was to reply with a classic ‘Shut the fuck up, you’re not police’, but after seeing one of them who definitely was police, with a uniform and gun and all, I complied with their request for my ID and let them write me a pink slip of paper demanding a fine so astronomic that none of them could not possibly believe I’d actually pay it. A younger policeman (also not uniformed) asked me what happened to my neck and, explaining a bruise that could only look like a love bite (and indeed it was), I replied that I was bitten by a wild animal (and indeed I was). He said that with that bruise-like love bite and a half-unbuttoned shirt I looked like a ‘star, rock star, you know’, and we both laughed, and I decided none of it was that bad after all. He looked like a ‘star, rock star, you know’, as well, slightly unfashionable but at the same time completely incredible in bluish sunglasses, a pink polo shirt and slightly silver but naturally black hair. In Victoria, the snake, too, was quite handsome, and what he ruined, at the end of the day, was only an hour of my sleep.

I met Lou from the restaurant - he saw some creature, and its wretched work, destroying his restaurant, but his bright, half-blind, all-seeing eyes burned with nothing but love. And mine, slowly but surely, started to shimmer with it too. The days, or the same day, grew brighter and brighter, and the nights drunker and drunker and the driving drunk on the beach got faster and faster, and more and more people fitting into one car, with no winding-road end in sight.

3. 

There was no hangover in Victoria, but going anywhere in the morning was especially difficult, as if the gravitational force doubled, or thriced, or quadrupled.

Stone, who had an admirable ability to make contact with any kind of an alien species of a person (that I really envied), found himself one night in a conversation with a russian maths student (the Russian started university well before the usual age, he was like 17), and when the next day we asked what the two talked about Stone only said ‘I think we are a week away from merging the theory of relativity with quantum mechanics. But give me another bottle and it will be one day.’

The Russian, Stone told us, was one of the ‘exceptionally intelligent’ ones (which Stone, had the habit of identifying and cataloguing into his set of people ‘worth talking to’). The Russian was younger than us - perhaps sixteen or seventeen, as I mentioned which really gave everything he said an additional benefit of seemingly prodigy-like, but also made Stone wonder whether he was a kind of a father-figure to the exceptionally intelligent maths student, that considering leading Stone to the two days later declaration that it was undoable, stemming from Stone’s own desire to redeem his father’s abusive absence et cetera et cetera. 

The Russian was so socially inept, that even I was doing quite well (it was not superior intelligence, that barred me from connecting with others, as Stone asserted). A prodigy, the Russian spoke not just maths and Einstein, but quite good english, french (from my limited knowledge I could confirm also quite good), spanish and bulgarian (which I had absolutely no idea about but he sounded possessed and speaking in tongues when he presented his abilities to us). He could play giftedly most instruments you could think of, but playing, he said, never really excited him. He was one of those kids who know and can do so much they would really rather not do it at all.

Because of our groups’ incidental and unexpected but intense interactions with girls, the Russian treated us with an unjustified reverence, but it was not any kind of envy, with a mind like that you don’t really envy anything except being able to rest from what’s in your head and for once have a good night’s sleep. There is a scene in the movie Beautiful Mind where the main character, a schizophrenic, lays out to a girl he likes, very systematically, astrophysically like, why she should sleep with him. I bet that’s what the Russian would do too in the future.

There is another scene in a movie - Interstellar where a group of astronauts looking for humanity’s potential new home (the map contracting, the world getting small since the year ‘00, now twenty-one, then ‘42 then ‘63, warmer and warmer and warmer), the group of astronauts lands on a planet, of constant, unending sea, sees in the distance what they think is the great mountains of a new found land. After a couple of minutes of advancing towards the mountains, Matthew Mcconaughey says in hollywood style ‘these are not mountains. These are waves’ and the four astronauts have to flee the slowly approaching catastrophic demise of the wave, which, due to a fucked-up gravity on the planet, rose to that catastrophic height. 

At six AM, after one of the exceptionally drunk nights, with the sun already in full swing, and the alcoholic gravity fucked-up in their heads, Stone and J went to catch a wave bigger than at any time of the day. 

While I was sleeping off the night in the hammock, with God knows what dreams, or maybe even no dreams at all, and P-G tossing and turning in the tent, and Stone and J surfing the morning wave, the Russian sat solemnly and alone on the sunrise beach and looked up at the starless sky, wiped clean by one gigantic white star which at that point (he knew, we didn’t know) was so big and close to the contracting map that it sucked out some of the time and some of the space from the air, making the tide rise more than at any time of the day. He knew why that was and we didn’t know but we were looking at the same thing, the earth getting warmer and warmer and warmer, and the wave growing higher and higher and 

And we would sometimes go away from Victoria, to a nearby town where the waves were always bigger and we marvelled at how they whip-cracked, splash-fell and rocked against the concrete-lined shore and drowned the air underneath with all their might, worked it into white foam. He knew and we didn’t, and while we lay down with girls looking into the stars and talking about constellations (only to then laugh about how drunk and absurd it is to think three stars can possibly represent the shape of a great bear or big dipper or any kind of stupid shit like that), The Russian tried to crack the code written in the stars. Looking for a new home for us. The four of us walked the shore and wondered about the origin of colorful pebbles spat out by the lapping magnificent waves, and he could probably tell us everything about each of them, trace lines from each falling star to each stone we cast mindlessly into the sea.

He could explain the shifting realities when the morning came, and why, at seventeen, you have to do certain things and not the others, and now, too, why we did all those things, why we worked in psychedelic factories and sung our hearts out to the bass of the speaker. Why we ran after girls beach-length and back, why we hitchhiked to Lou’s restaurant, why we came to Victoria in the first place, why we had jobs in advertising, why we were twenty-one, but Stone was right about one thing - the Russian was ‘fundamentally alone’

There is another scene in Interstellar, the next one after the giant wave, where Matthew Mcconaughey comes back to the spaceship waiting in the orbit of a water-mountain-these-are-not-mountains planet, discovers that time, tied with an invisible string to the fucked-up gravity) passes differently on the surface of the planet, in its orbit, and in general completely differently back on the contracting earth’s map where he left his children. How old were at the time he left in that movie - I can’t remember, let’s say twenty-one. Having spent only half an hour on the surface, he now plays the received messages from back home and sees his children’s lifetimes growing older and older and older and finally sees them surpassing them in age. He breaks down in tears and I suppose you could say he, too, was ‘fundamentally alone’

The Russian, Stone told us, was taught privately by a tutor who’s line of mathematical origin could be traced all the way to Gauss or someone. He could speak Einstein, french and spanish, and although his tongue got tied in human conversations, one day, as we drank beer on a small patch of grass in front of the local hotel, he proclaimed there was something very important we wanted to tell us. Concluding that the Russian was most definitely possessed by something (you could tell when he spoke bulgarian), we all decided listening would do no harm but at worst would be so incredible that we would not believe it. 

‘You guys are now young and strong and you surf and all, but seriously, you have to do sports’, he began, ‘I don’t mean just any sport but something that really puts weight on your muscles. Like rowing or pumping on the bench, you have to train and now prepare for the rest of your life. And cardio, too, it will save you from heart disease and such.’ - and you can imagine mine, our surprise and feeling of absurdity that a being like that was uttering sentences such as these at that moment. 

And that was it, the only normal set of words he ever uttered in front of us, which in his mouth was not normal at all - this man, trained by Gauss himself, had one recommendation to us and it was to do sports because it will help us to stay healthy in the future. 

In space, the state of weightlessness makes the unused muscles grow weak, and the astronauts have to use the special gym machines installed on their spaceship so that their bodies don’t entropy, and heart is a muscle, too, I think, and I wondered, briefly, after what the Russian told us, if it too can die with no gravity. And it seems that time is a muscle too. It contracts and then it unfolds, it squeezes and releases and lets you breathe and suffocates, and ultimately things seem neither good nor bad but just what they ended up being. Time can definitely die away and fall from you like a dead leaf. Or it can end up a pretty stone under the feet of a giant wave. You don’t feel how it squeezes and unfolds, how it lays you down in a warm bed in the arms of someone you didn’t ever know but who reminds you of everything. 

Matthew Mcconaughey - seeing messages from the future, past, present, now, never, always, and breaking down into tears, his heart breaking from weightlessness.

I was twenty one and I knew what it meant. 

And in a year I would be twenty two, and in another year twenty three, and in three years twenty four. And the astrology girls, going with us skinny dipping in the midnight water, they will disappear somewhere under the waves and start slowly fading away from our lives like an unused muscle.

J loved quoting this one scene from Matthew Mcconaughey's first movie: 

‘You know what I love most about college girls? I get older - they stay the sameeeee age’

And each time he said it, he laughed with the greatest, purest laughter you could find on this now planet.

4. 

‘And I got caught one time’

‘For what?’

‘Well, maybe two, but only one time involved the police. Second time. And that was me trying to steal an album, well, it was called Steal This Album’ - I was lying, although I did also steal that album, but having trouble with the police was for an attempted theft of headphones though that didn’t sound as sexy. And for some reason which made me feel real good I was flirting with the most beautiful girl under the good sun by us recounting our thefts both real or invented.

We both quickly settled that we had some borderline immoral thread running through our veins but drew the line at actually killing someone. We were rich and young enough to say those things and be all sexy about it. We knew we didn’t have to steal but arranged we should do it together and some point (‘ok, why not tomorrow?’) and it was beer first, and then flip flops the next and then another day a pink swimming mattress from the backseat of some rich and young and abandoned rented cabrio. And we took it swimming, drunkenly in the night. Rich and young, and full of stars.

We stepped into the calm sea, small waves, shallow, and took off our clothes, most of them, and took our pink stolen mattress against the waves, her covering small breasts with only her hands, our sociopathic personalities meeting somewhere under ridiculous notions of astrology. We kissed, and that was that. 

The mattress lay once again abandoned (has someone left the rented cabrio just as we left the shore?) where our friends would say it was ridiculous to steal it. We only stopped kissing when she said we have to look for the damn pink abandoned thing (apparently it was rented by one of her friends) after which we dived deep into the shallow sea.

I remembered all those things other than sex best. The kiss in the sea. The conversation about stealing shit, the hand covering breasts. And after sex, the interruptions of it by my taking sips from a big bottle of booze, and playing chess on the rooftop of the place we stole from. 

‘And I got caught one time’

‘For what?’ 

‘Stealing mattresses, and flip flops, and beer, but it was good, the time I did treated me well’

‘How long were you in for?’

‘Hmm I don’t know, around eight decades’

‘Woah, how old were you when you got caught?’

‘Like, twenty-one’

‘Shit, but you say it was good?’

‘Yeah. It was good life’

[haberdashing]

As If You Were There (2/4)

The statements from Episode 100 rewritten as regular statements, with a fair bit of creative liberty taken to fill in the missing details.

on AO3

Part 1 / Part 2

Statement of John Smith, regarding a supernatural encounter within the depths of the abandoned Aldwych Tube station. Original statement given May the 13th, 2017. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

Look, I’m not giving you my name and address and birth date and goddamn blood type so you can go hand it all over to the bloody government when I’m done. Maybe you don’t do that sort of thing, maybe all that talk about confidentiality is more than just lip service, but I can’t trust you just like that. I’m not sure who I can trust, not anymore. I trusted my friend--let’s call him Jeremy, I trusted Jeremy--but that’s about it, and now he’s not here, and I don’t know what agencies will help and what agencies will just rat me out to the perpetrators. I’ve heard of your field, found a few web pages a while back, but that’s not much to go on. I just really hope you’re one of the good ones.

D’you know about Aldwych Tube station? Well, it’s not a Tube station anymore--there’s still trains running at the platform level, but the station itself isn’t running anymore, it’s been abandoned for decades now. So many of the things there are all in original condition--the original adverts are still up, things like that, never removed that stuff after they shut it all down. It’s part of London’s history, y’know, it’s public transport, it’s interesting.

But when Jeremy and I decided to break in there, it wasn’t just about about the public transport stuff and the adverts. We wanted to have a look around because we had some ideas about what else might be down there, maybe there was something worth investigating there. It’s the right kind of place for it, hiding in plain sight, unused space in the middle of London but nobody thinks twice about it because oh, it’s just an old Tube station, everybody knows that. But we figured maybe it’s not just an old Tube station, maybe there’s more to it than that.

Suppose we were right about that bit, at least. Just wish we could’ve learned it without losing Jeremy in the process.

We were in the tunnels when it happened. Already saw the adverts, the usual public transportation stuff, nothing too exciting there, but that wasn’t a surprise. We weren’t the first ones to break in there, not by a long shot, so it couldn’t be that easy. But the tunnels, they could be hiding something for sure. Jeremy and I both had torches with us--it was evening then, but it was gloomy enough in those tunnels that I doubt they’d be much lighter in the day time. It started out pretty boring, just following train tracks, no signs of anything.

Then our torches went out. Both of them, at the same time. And we’d packed them with fresh batteries, too. Can’t have been a coincidence there. Maybe the government made some kind of field down there that messes with electronics, just in case someone came poking around, getting too close to what they’re hiding down there.

Now, it was proper dark down there without the torches. Couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. But Jeremy started rambling about what he was doing, came closer and said he’d get his phone out and use it as a torch since the actual torches were a bust. I wasn’t big on his bringing the phone in the first place--too easy for the wrong people to track--but having the light from it definitely would’ve been better than nothing.  But the phone wouldn’t light up either. Thought it had died too, but then Jeremy tried to turn it on and it made a sound like it was turning off, though the screen hadn’t shown a thing the whole time.

Electronics disrupter, I’m telling you. Screwing with the EMF field. It’s gotta be.

Jeremy wanted to turn around then, just call it a bust and go home, but I figured this meant we were close to something big, exactly the sort of thing we’d come for in the first place, and I talked him into going a bit further before giving up. ‘Course I regret it now, but how could I have known?

We linked arms to make sure we each knew where the other one was in the dark, even though it made walking a little awkward, and Jeremy definitely stepped on my shoes more than once down there; to be fair, I probably paid him back in kind along the way. Tried to keep going straight, best as we could figure, but we kept bumping into the same wall over and over again. No matter how much we course-corrected, we kept bumping into this smooth, cold wall on either side, though the tunnels had seemed plenty big when we started out. No way the trains could pass through a space that small.

I pointed that out to Jeremy, actually, said we must be getting close to something then, and it was right after that that we first saw them.

Couldn’t tell you what they looked like, height, weight, gender, any of that stuff. For one thing, it was way too dark to make out any of those kinds of details, and for another, they were dressed to blend in, to hide that identifying information further. Could be some sort of military camouflage prototypes, adapted to the darkness of the tunnels. I could only see the faint snippets where their pitch-black clothes didn’t quite cover them--gaps between long sleeves and gloves, or between a turtleneck and a ski mask--and even then, they had to be pretty close first. If it really was camouflage like I thought, well, it wasn’t perfect, but it sure got the job done.

The first one I saw was off to the right, so we tried to go around, but just bumped into the wall on the left instead. Jeremy was on my left, and I think he got a few scrapes there, heard him wince in pain. Then I saw a flash of skin from another figure, and another, and my stomach began to sink.

I was sure there were five of them there. I don’t know how I was so sure, given that I only saw them in brief flashes, small snippets of skin that could’ve been the same person over and over, but I was sure. And if it was two on two, or even three on two, I might’ve been willing to duke it out, but five on two’s hardly a fair fight, is it?

I heard something in the distance, a loud, long sound that reminded me a little of a train coming, and I remembered this was a Tube station, or had been, though I didn’t think any trains were supposed to run that late. I thought maybe one was heading towards us, or coming from behind, though there were no lights to show as much, so I told Jeremy to run.

I heard my own breathing then, and could just barely make out Jeremy’s as we tried to head back, but I swear, I swear I didn’t hear a single breath from the five that were after us. Maybe they were robots that just looked like humans. Wouldn’t surprise me.

Whatever they were, they were after us for sure now. Even as we tried to get away, to dodge, they just kept getting closer. Tried heading to the right, but hit the wall pretty quick, even though we’d just hit the other one. Tried walking backwards but, well, that’s hard enough on your own, let alone when you’ve got your arms linked up to someone else.

So we just broke arms and ran. Every man for himself isn’t pretty, sure, and I’m far from proud of it, but sometimes that’s all you can do. If we’d stayed together, we’d prob’ly both be gone now.

At one point when I was running I saw a light back the way I came, looking like it was coming from everywhere all at once, and after being in the dark that long it hurt my eyes to see. I could see then that Jeremy was behind me, that the men in black were all gathered around him now. He was on the ground, so either he fell along the way or one of them knocked him down; probably the latter, if I had to guess. Either way, I hadn’t heard it, just that low rumble of a train that never quite arrived.

Part of me wanted to go towards the light, like it’d be safer, but I figured it had to be a trap. The only place that light could be coming from was their secret holding facility, and I wasn’t being dragged in there for the life of me. Plus, that roaring noise had only gotten louder when it showed up. So I ran the other way and made sure not to look back.

Eventually the sound faded away and I saw a sliver of light from above, managed to climb my way out of Aldwych station, but I never saw Jeremy again. I came back the next day with all the industrial torches I could buy with cash without triggering any government alarms, found the torches we’d dropped along the way--both still dead--and Jeremy’s phone--also dead, and screen way more cracked than it had been when we started--and a spot of blood on the wall, but no sign of Jeremy.

I tried going to the tabloids first, the kind that publish what they know is the truth, no matter what the authorities try to claim. I figured Jeremy’s younger, decent-looking bloke, and pretty well-off these days, so even if none of them believed the government connection--and none of them did, or at least, none of them were willing to admit it--I figured his disappearance would be a human interest story, and the details could come out later. They all turned me down and laughed me out of the room, though. A few suggested going to the police, but I knew better; at best I’d get arrested for trespassing, at worst I’d be locked up down in the tunnels with Jeremy. One of them looked to be in the middle of calling me a shrink, or worse, when I just up and left. And one mentioned your name as an alternative.

Even if you had all my details, I’m sure you wouldn’t tell me if you sent someone down into the tunnels the same way we’d gone, or got in touch with your government connections to arrange a deal, or whatever. That confidentiality agreement of yours goes both ways, I imagine. But I don’t need all those details. I just need you to get back Jeremy for me.

Or if you can’t--if he’s too far gone, if they’re already testing bioweapons on him, or they already wiped his mind, or did something else that means he isn’t coming back--make damn sure nobody else goes the same way he did.

Statement ends.

[thetravelerwrites]

Harlan (White Bison Minotaur)

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Minotaur x Female Human Additional Tags: Exophilia, Minotaur Boyfriend, Monster Boyfriend, Reader Insert, Friends to Enemies to Lovers Content Warnings: Sex, Kinks, Light Bondage, BDSM, Sex Toys, Spanking, Whipping, Pegging, Ass Play, Female Dom, Male Sub, Biting, Safe Sex, Condoms Words: 6746

Another commission and more art by @oddacle​! A young woman trying to move up in her company is disappointed when she's passed over for a promotion for her best friend, but it's a development in his love life that forces her to distance herself from him. Please leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

“Heard about the promotion yet?” You asked Harlan over the lunch in your office.

“Only rumors,” he replied, eating his salad like he’d gone three days without food. “With Canus leaving to start his directing career, it leaves a spot open for a new Senior Content Director.”

“I want that promotion,” You told him vehemently, stabbing at your plate of pasta. “I’ve been at this company for years and I’ve worked my ass off. I deserve it.”

“You can have it,” He said, chuckling. “I’m fine where I am. This company already treats me like the sun and moon live in my ballsack. I don’t need anymore ‘special favors’.”

Easy for you to say, You thought to yourself bitterly, though you’d never say that to him out loud.

Harlan was an absolutely massive white bison minotaur, handsome and sweet, with bright red eyes, long pearly horns, a pale blonde beard decorated with braids and beads. He stood head and shoulders above you, and everyone else, even without the horns. He’d been your best friend since college, and you both had applied for this job at the same time after graduating.

White bison minotaurs were an extremely rare, and as such, people bent over backwards to make them happy. People put high value on creatures who were rare, seeing them as paragons of good fortune, so Harlan was used to getting anything he wanted; he didn’t even have to ask for it. Despite being close friends with him, you had always resented the fact the people just handed him anything he wanted for no other reason than he was considered lucky.

But this was different. This promotion would prove your worth at the company, and you would have done it with your own wit, determination, and effort. No one was going to take it from you.

“It’s still just a rumor at this point,” Harlan said, watching your face. “Don’t get your hopes up. The higher-ups may just close ranks. They did it last time someone retired.”

“I’m working on a big get for the streaming service,” You said, shaking your head. “You’ve heard about Rebel Yell, right?”

“Wasn’t that that dystopian show that got canceled halfway through the second season a year ago that has a huge cult following?” Harlan asked.

“Yep,” You said. “I’ve been talking to the creators of that show, and they want to continue working on it. I’m negotiating a renewal deal as well as buying the rights to run the original episodes on Binge.”

“That would be huge!” Harlan said, excited. “Subscriber projections would be through the roof if you managed to get that. They’d be insane not to promote you.”

“Exactly,” You said pointedly. “I’m so close to it, I can taste it.”

“Well, you deserve it,” Harlan said, wiping his mouth. “But you’ve also been working too hard lately. We haven’t hung out outside of work in months. Let’s get a beer tonight.”

“Can’t. I’ve got to double down on this acquisition. I’m not going to let it slip through my fingers like I did with Keepers. That one set me back months.”

“After, then. Promise?”

You sighed. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

He stood up and threw his plastic salad tray in the garbage, and stared at you judiciously.

“Do you ever think about quitting this job?” He asked you.

“What?” You replied, appalled. “No! I’ve spent the last seven years getting to where I am in this company. I’m not going to throw it away when I’m this close to a lead position.” You looked back at him, frowning. “Do you think about it?”

“Sometimes,” He admitted. “I just… I don’t feel like I’ve earned any of this. They keep pushing me into higher positions with no training, throwing me into projects I don’t know anything about, and every time I make a mistake, they just brush it off and blame it on someone else. I feel like everyone resents me here, even you.”

You stayed silent and didn’t meet his eye. You loved the big guy, but he wasn’t wrong. When you started your internship at Styx Media, which was the owner of Binge Streaming Service as well as a production studio for indie films, it had taken years for you to find a foothold and climb out of the archives, whereas Harlan had been promoted in less than a month.

It was infuriating. You’d had to fight and claw to get to where you were. Harlan was no more skilled than you. In fact, he was less so, since most of college he goofed off and yet somehow managed to make valedictorian. Even now that the two of you had equal positions in the company, he was still making more money than you. He often offered to help, but you refused. You didn’t need his charity.

“Got to get back,” He said, changing the subject. “Jensen has some kind of advertising project he wants me to help him with.”

“You mean, do for him? Jensen is a leech,” You said dismissively.

“Yeah,” Harlan sighed. “I may have gotten this job on merit, but I still want to do well. Helping Jensen is the least I can do.”

And now you felt like an asshole.

“Harlan,” You called after him as he started down the hall.

“Yeah?” He asked, poking his head back in.

“Let’s do pizza and beer tonight,” You said.

He smiled crookedly. “You sure? You won’t be too busy?”

“I think I can spare a few minutes to have a beer with my best friend,” You said.

He grinned widely at you, ducking his head. “It’s a date.” He disappeared down the hall, the beads in his blonde beard clinking against each other as he walked.

That evening, you met him at your favorite pizza place and ordered two slices and a house beer with a lime wedge. He ordered an entire veggie pizza and a pitcher of lager to himself.

“How’s Jensen’s advert project?” You asked him.

“No shop talk at dinner,” He said sternly, booping your nose before picking up a slice and folding it in half. “Besides, I’d rather hear about what you’re doing when you’re not at work. Feels like we haven’t caught up in a while about our non-work lives.”

“What non-work life? Work is my life.”

“That’s kind of what I’m worried about,” He said. “You do know there’s more to life than work, right?

“Not for me,” You said, sipping your beer. “Not till I’m in that corner office with a legion of people working under me. I have a goal and I’m so close to reaching it. I’m not giving up.”

“I’m not saying you should, I just think you need something else in your life. Like…” He sighed and sat back. “Like, maybe, us.”

“Us?” You echoed. “What do you mean, us?”

“You and me. Dating.”

Your head rocked back. “What?”

“I think it could work,” He said, looking sincere. “You and me have been friends forever, and I think we could be really good together.”

You gaped at him. “You’re serious. You want to date?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Is that so weird?”

You sighed unhappily. “Harlan… you’re my best friend and you know I love you, but… I don’t have time for a relationship. My job comes first and I can’t compromise my work ethic for anything or anyone. Not even you.”

Harlan was silent for a minute. “So… your job is more important to you than our eleven-year-long friendship.”

“I…” You tried to argue with that, but you weren’t completely sure that wasn’t true.

“It’s fine,” He said, not meeting your eye. “I figured you’d say no, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.” He flagged down a waitress and asked for a to-go box, throwing some money on the table.

“Harlan, I…”

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” He said, taking his half-eaten pizza and walking out of the restaurant.

Things were a little weird between you and Harlan for the next week, but during that time, you’d managed to secure the Rebel Yell deal, which was a huge win for your department. They even threw you a party.

During the party, as everyone was milling around, eating cake and drinking champagne, you approached Harlan for the first time since the pizza place.

“Hey,” You said hesitantly.

“Hey, there,” He said, smiling at you. “Congrats on the deal.”

“Thanks,” You replied. “Listen, I want to apologize about the other night. Of course you’re important to me, but my career is important to me, too. I just hope you don’t think it means that I don’t want to be friends with you.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” He said, patting your shoulder. “I’ve always known your career was your priority. I was being selfish. Besides,” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve actually met someone.”

Your heart thudded against your chest and your brain blanked for a moment. Cold washed over you. Your lungs forgot how to breathe.

When you regained composure, you said. “Oh, that’s great! What’s their name?”

“His name is Greg, he works in I.T. He’s nice, I think you’d like him.”

“I’m sure I would.” Stupid Greg.

“I felt this instant connection to him, you know? Just like,” He snapped his fingers. “Like that. We’ve only been on three dates, but I think this could be a serious thing.”

“I’m happy for you, man,” You said, giving him a playful slap on the arm. “He sounds great.”

He laughed shyly. “Yeah. Seems like we’re both getting what we want, huh?” He gave you a quick squeeze before walking off, meeting a tallish man with a ponytail and kissing him on the cheek.

“Yeah,” you said, watching him. “Seems like.”

Harlan introduced you to Greg, who seemed nice enough. You still didn’t like him, though, but you had to convince yourself that it wasn’t because you were jealous. You’d turned Harlan down; you didn’t have any right to be jealous.

A few weeks passed as normal as they could. You were trying to keep your mind on your work, finding new content for Binge and investing in new creators, but Harlan kept creeping back into your thoughts. It wasn’t like he hadn’t dated people before, but there was something different this time. Maybe it was because he had told you he wanted to date you, or maybe it was because his relationship with Greg seemed to be moving like a bullet train, but whatever it was, it made you uneasy.

The two of you managed to keep your friendship steady, although he had lunch with you less and less often. He still called and texted everyday to talk, or sent you an email when he wasn’t busy. You couldn’t understand why all of a sudden it felt like you’d swallowed something burning whenever you heard his voice or read his texts.

Finally, at one of the morning board meetings, your boss, Mr. Richardson, stood up and called for silence.

“Alright, now, I know you’ve all heard rumors that there is a promotion up for grabs,” He said, and there was a murmur among those sitting at the table. He waved his hands to calm them. “I know you’ve all been dying to know who’s going to get the open Content Director position, but we wanted to take some time, observe your performances individually, and one of you stood out. One of you exemplifies what this company is trying to do. And today, that person will be rewarded for their hard work.”

You took a breath and swallowed, your heart in your throat.

“Congratulations, Harlan!”

The whole table cheered as Harlan froze, wide-eyed. The anger rose up in your chest, but you forced yourself to clap along with everyone else. Harlan’s eyes cut to you, and you looked away, your jaw working. He knew you were pissed.

“Get up here, Harlan!” Mr. Richardson said, and Harlan reluctantly got up from his seat and joined him at the head of the table, shaking his hand a little awkwardly. “Get used to calling this guy ‘boss’ from now on.”

Harlan looked like he would rather be anywhere else, but he plastered a smile on his face while everyone congratulated him.

Later, back in your office, you were trying to complete some work, but your anger blinded you. You finally gave up and just sat back in your chair with your eyes closed, trying to calm yourself.

A knock at your door opened your eyes, and you said, “Come in.”

Harlan slowly poked his head in. “Uh, hey.”

“Hey,” You said flatly. “Congrats on the promotion.”

He sighed. “You okay?”

“Me?” You asked, getting up to put files that you should be working on away in a cabinet. “Yeah, I’m great. I’m just great. Don’t you worry about me.”

“I am worried about you,” Harlan said pleadingly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Why are you even here?” You asked him, looking up at him for the first time since he came in. “Shouldn’t you be settling in to your new corner office? Don’t you have a new job to do?”

“I don’t want this job!” He protested.

“You didn’t exactly turn it down, did you?”

He sighed. “Greg… thinks I should take it. He thinks it’s a good opportunity for me.”

“Oh, well, if it’s what Greg thinks…” You said sarcastically.

“I thought you liked Greg,” Harlan said.

“This isn’t about Greg!” I retorted. “Could… Could you just… leave, please? I need time to deal with this.”

He hesitated. “When you stop being mad, let’s talk, okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” You said dismissively. “Go. I have work to do.”

He disappeared and you was left alone in your dinky office with poor lighting, surrounded by work that wasn’t going to get done that day.

Before the end of the work day, Mr. Richardson called you into his office.

“Hey, there, wanted to talk to you for a second,” He said as you came in.

“What about, sir?”

He got up and sat on the edge of his desk. “Look, I’m not blind. I know you wanted that senior position and you fought hard for it. But the decision came from higher up. It wasn’t my call. If it had been up to me, you’d have gotten that job.”

“Thanks sir, that means a lot.” You replied.

“In fact, that’s actually wanted to talk to you about,” He continued. “We have another senior position available, but it’s at our London office. It’s yours if you want it.”

My eyebrows climbed. “Seriously, sir?”

“Seriously. You interested?”

You put a hand to your head. It was exactly what you wanted. But… in another country? Leave everything behind? Your family, friends… Harlan?

“Can I have a little time to think about it, sir?” You asked.

“Sure, but don’t take too long. There’s a few people vying for this job, although not as qualified. If you hold out too long, it’ll go to one of them.”

“I understand, sir,” You said, holding out a hand. “Thank you so much for recommending me.”

He shook your hand. “Don’t thank me. Your work speaks for itself. They’d be lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, sir, I appreciate this more than you know.”

The next day, early in the morning, you got in early to work on the files you hadn’t done the day before, and Harlan met you at your office door.

“Before you--” He started, but you stopped him.

“Don’t worry about it, Harlan,” You said. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” He asked trepidatiously.

“No. I thought about it. There are other opportunities for me. There’s no point in being pissed at you.”

“Great,” He said in a relieved exhaled. “Because I wanted to tell you something, and I was afraid you wouldn’t talk to me.” He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. “You’re my best friend and I wanted you to know first.”

You took the envelope he gave you, which was gold with embossed white lettering. Opening it, you found a card that said You Are Cordially Invited to the Wedding of-- and you stopped reading. Your heart dropped into your toes. Pins and needles stabbed at your spine and a stone lodged itself in your stomach.

“I know it’s only been two months, but I love Greg very much. I want you to be my best man. Or woman. Or whatever.”

“Wow,” You managed to say. “I’m… I’m so happy for you.” You pulled him into a hug so he couldn’t see your face.

“So will you? Be my best man, I mean?” He asked you.

“Of course,” You forced out. “I’d be happy to.”

You held him long enough to put something that resembled a smile on your face and released him. He grinned his great, big, sweet grin at you, and the knife twisted.

“Well, I’ve got some more invites to hand out, but I wanted to make sure you got yours first.” He pulled you into another hug and said. “Thanks. Love you.” And made for the elevator with a departing grin.

You went into your office, locked the door, and cried. You don’t know how long you were on the floor, sobbing into your knees, but you stopped when you heard people out in the main area. Getting yourself together, you wiped your face, reapplied your eyeliner, walked out of your office, and marched into Mr. Richardson’s office.

“What’s up? Are you alright?” He asked.

“I’ll take it. I’ll take the London job.”

June 14, 10:25 A.M.: Hey! How are you settling in? Is London as awesome as you thought it was? Call me when you get a chance. June 16, 3:22 P.M.: Hey bud, I wanted to ask you about some wedding details. Are you going to bring a plus one? We’re working on the seating chart. Call me later. June 20, 7:02 P.M.: You doing okay? How’s the new job? I know you’re probably busy, but message me when you get a chance, okay? Miss you, buddy. June 21, 9:19 P.M.: Missed Call from Harlan June 23, 5:47 P.M.: Missed Call from Harlan July 4, 10:34 P.M.: Wish you were here. The fireworks are awesome this year. July 10, 6:54 P.M.: Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in a while. Just text me and let me know if you’re alright. July 10, 7:01 P.M.: If there’s something wrong, you can tell me. We’re still friends, right? Call me. July 10, 7:25 P.M.: Missed Call from Harlan July 28, 2:56 P.M.: I called your office today. They said you were busy. Are you avoiding me? Why? Did I do something? Talk to me. August 3, 12.01 A.M.: Happy Birthday! August 3, 8:23 A.M.: Missed Call from Harlan August 3, 11:31 A.M.: Missed Call from Harlan August 3, 2:59 P.M.: Missed Call from Harlan August 3, 5:49 P.M.: Why aren’t you answering my calls? August 15, 6:20 P.M.: Look, just send me one text, okay? Just one so that I know you’re okay. September 8, 2:46 P.M.: It’s kind of bullshit that you got this big, new job and won’t speak to me anymore. If you don’t want anything to do with me, the least you could do is call me and tell me yourself. You’re being a coward by ignoring me. September 8; 3:04: P.M.: Fine. Have a nice life. December 13, 1:58 A.M.: Listen, I know you’ve got your own stuff going on right now, but I could really use a friend. Please call me. Please.

That was the last text you got from Harlan. You almost broke and replied, but the sting of hearing his voice would have been too much.

Nearly a year after getting the job in London, during which it took some time to get used to living in a different country, you were invited to a conference to discuss the success of the international campaigns and to encourage further expansion back in the US. You were worried you’d run into Harlan, but this was a work function, and as Content Director, it was pretty much mandatory.

Being back in the states was weird, but the familiarity was comforting. You got your key to your room and went up, intending on taking a quick nap to get rid of the jetlag. It ended up being a nine hour coma. You woke at three in the morning starving.

The only thing open in the hotel was the bar, which had basic bar food and you figured it was good enough. You threw on a comfy shirt and a pair of jeans and headed down to the lobby. There were more people in the bar than you expected to be at this hour, but then again, there was a huge conference going on. Lots of people had problems with public speaking, yourself included, and needed some liquid courage to get themselves on stage.

You sat at a table and ordered a beer with a lime wedge and some nachos, which would tide you over until breakfast. As you sat, waiting for your beer and food, feeling… a lot of things. You’d grown up in this town and coming back home had brought up a lot of memories. You’d driven past the playground where you spent most of your Saturdays as a kid, past your old office and the pizza place where Harlan had suggested the two of you start dating, past the campus where the two of you had gone to school.

You didn’t even know why, but you could feel tears welling up in your eyes.You hadn’t realized how homesick you were until you actually came home.

A shadow fell over you, and a hand set a plate of nachos and a beer in front of you.

“You and your lime wedges,” A familiar voice said.

Through your tears, you looked up in horror and saw Harlan standing in front of you, wearing a t-shirt with the bar’s logo on it and a pair of extremely tight black jeans.

You weren’t proud of it, but you ran. You ran out of the bar and into the elevator, escaping back to your room. You closed the door and bent over, gripping your knees and gasping for breath.

A banging on your door startled you, and you jumped.

“Let me in!” You heard Harlan say. “I know you’re in there! Let me in! Stop avoiding me!”

“Go away!” You yelled.

“This is because of the promotion, isn’t it! You’re still pissed that they gave the job you wanted to me, aren’t you! Well, you can feel better about yourself now because I quit months ago!”

“What?” That shocked You into opening the door, where he was standing, still wearing the bar attire. You suddenly put two and two together. “You quit? Why the hell would you quit? That was our dream job.”

“It was your dream job that I sniped out from under you and I never stopped feeling guilty about that.” He said.

“You didn’t have to feel guilty about it, I got a better job, so you were welcome to that one!” You shouted.

“I never cared about that job!” He yelled back. “I never cared about that company! I only applied when you did so I could be close to you!”

You was stunned into silence, your mouth hanging open.

“Look, can I come in, or do you want to conduct this shouting match in the hallway?” He asked. Wordlessly, you stepped aside. He came in and sat down on your bed, his hands clasped between his knees.

“What are you talking about, you only applied for me?” You asked him.

He sighed and cocked his head in irritation. “Everyone, every single person I’ve ever known, has treated me like some good luck charm. My whole life, people have gotten close to me because they thought that I could do something for them, that by being near me, they could share this luck I’m supposed to have. They thought it could get them good grades or a good job or whatever they wanted. You were the only person who didn’t seem like you gave a shit about that. You were the only person who wanted to be my friend for me, and not what I could do for you.”

He stopped talking and stared at his hands, which were shaking.

“I applied at Styx because I wanted to stay with you, the only person who treated me like a person and not a walking, talking rabbit’s foot. So when you shut me out after going to London, it felt like you had used me to get where you wanted, just like everyone else.”

“Oh…” You said. “Oh… no, Harlan, that wasn’t it at all.”

“Then what was it?” He asked, getting angry. “Why did you just start ignoring me once you got that corner office, huh? What made you so busy that you could send me one text? That you could pick up the phone? No one else had a problem getting a hold of you! So why couldn’t you talk to me?”

“I…” You swallowed, your throat tight. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why?” He said, getting up and advancing on me. “Why can’t you tell me? I thought we were friends! I thought you actually cared about me! But you’re just like everyone else. You just like the company! You’re just like my parents! You’re just like Greg!”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, your brow furrowing in confusion. “I thought you and Greg were getting married.”

“If you had picked up or answered any of my texts, you’d have known that Greg left me,” Harlan said, angry tears in his eyes. “He left when I quit. He just wanted the life being a big-shot got me. He didn’t want me, he wanted the money. The lifestyle.”

“I… I’m so sorry, Harlan,” You said quietly. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have, would you?” He said loudly, his tears spilling down his cheek. “You never bothered to check, did you? You went off and couldn’t have given a shit about me.”

“That’s not true!” You yelled.

“Then how! Tell me how you could just write me out of your life like the last decade meant nothing! What did I do that offended you so much, you just had to get away from me and never talk to me again? Tell me!”

“You got engaged!” You blurted out, pushed to tears yourself. You stepped away and gripped you hair. He was never supposed to know.

“What?” He said, confused. “But… you said… you said you didn’t want…”

“And I didn’t,” You replied. “When you started dating Greg, I figured it was no big deal. I hadn’t ever care when you dated before because they never got serious. But when you got engaged… I… I just… It felt like I’d been shot. And you asked me to stand at your wedding, and I wanted to be there for you, but the thought of standing beside you while you married someone else made me want to die. So… I ran. I ran away. It’s all I could think to do.”

You turned to see him staring at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You laughed mirthlessly, wiping your nose and sniffling. “What was I supposed to say, Harlan? ‘You can’t get married because I’m in love with you but I didn’t realize it until you got engaged? Oh, and you have to choose between me and your new fiance?’ Is that what you’d have wanted me to do?”

“No, but…” He stood up and approached you, looking down at you. “You’re really in love with me?”

“Yes, I am,” You admitted reluctantly, staring at his chest and not his face, fearing his reaction. “I just didn’t--”

You were cut off by him picking you up bodily and pushing you up against the wall, kissing you hard. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you kissed him back, grabbing handfuls of the fur on his neck and tugging him closer to you. It wasn’t gentle; by the time you broke apart for air, both of your lips were bleeding.

“I’m so sorry,” You said, breathing hard. “I’m sorry I shut you out and left. I’ve never been in love before and it scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s okay,” He said, hugging me close. “It’s okay. We can start over.” He held you up by tilting his hips up and removed his shirt. He then took your shirt and pulled it over your head, revealing your exposed torso. He pressed his lips to your breast, sucking it into his mouth, and you gripped his horns, moaning breathily.

You jumped down and unbuckled his belt, opened up his pants, and reached inside. He groaned as your hand encircled his length, already straining against the tight fabric of his jeans.

“Let me apologize properly,” You said, getting ready to kneel down, but he stopped you.

“No,” He said, shaking his head. “People always want to please me and I’m sick of it. What can I do to please you? That’s what I want. I want to please you.”

You bit your lip and smiled slightly. “Really?”

“Yes,” He said. “Tell me what you want.”

“Okay,” You said, thinking. “Take off the rest of your clothes.” He hurriedly started to undress, and you said, “No, slowly.”

He grinned and began stripping, making a show of it, while you leaned against the wall with your arms crossed, watching. Eventually he stood there, nude and glorious, and you pushed yourself off the wall and walked up to him.

“Now take off my clothes,” You told him. He knelt down and took of your shoes, socks, pants and underwear. He started to stand, and you said, “No, stay there.” And he stopped and returned to his knees.

“Put your hands behind your back.” You said.

He complied. You went to your luggage and found your sturdiest pair of leggings, and tied his hands behind his back.

“Hurt?” You asked.

“No,” He said.

“Good,” You said, and settled in a chair just across from where he was kneeling. Using your foot, you traced a line down his body, starting from his lips, down his neck, chest, abdomen, and just above his cock, which pulsed and jumped in his lap. Harlan was breathing hard, but he stayed still. You pulled your foot away and slowly opened your legs, resting your heels on the arms of the chair, and reached a hand between them, slowly circling your bud, making sure Harlan was watching.

Oh, he was watching: he was practically drooling. You slowly rocked your hips against your hand, the muscles in your thighs tensing and relaxing as you did.

“Let me--” He began, but you stopped him with the ball of your foot.

“No talking unless I tell you,” You said, and he clamped his lips shut.

Your fingers sped up, and you moaned and writhed, watching him the entire time. His muscles were straining against the restrains and he looked desperate to touch, but he obeyed and stayed still.

“You’re being a very good boy,” You told him. “How about you use that tongue of yours as a reward.”

He wasted no time in scooting closer and pressing his long, flat tongue against your slit, licking and sucking enthusiastically. You gasped, grasping his mane and pulling, and he moaned against you.

He had an extremely talented tongue, and your legs were shaking in a matter of minutes. You cried out over and over, not really caring if your neighbors could hear you.

“Make me cum,” You gasped. He was happy to obey, and within another few seconds, a wave of ecstasy hit you and you pulled harder on his hair.

“Stop!” You ordered, and he pulled away as you relaxed and tried to catch your breath. He sat in front of you, waiting for your next command.

“Go to the bed and lay down on your stomach,” You told him breathlessly. He stood and did as you told him, his hands still tied behind his back. You went back to your luggage and opened a special bag, taking out your favorite toy and a bottle of lube. You also took out your pack of condoms. Using condoms was the easiest way to keep your toys clean.

“Spread your legs,” You told him, and he complied.

You put a small amount of lube on your fingers and massaged his pucker, and he groaned against the blankets.

“Does this feel good?” You asked him, slowly inserting one finger.

“Oh, god, yes,” He said, his voice muffled.

You slapped a hand over his ass cheek hard, and he jumped and cried out.

“You want more?”

“Yes, please,” He begged.

You took the toy and covered it in a condom, then slicked it down with lube, and placed it against his entrance, slowly pushing into him. He whimpered over and over and it disappeared inside him. You pulled out and pushed it back in a few times before letting rest fully seated. He clenched down on it.

You got your belt out from the bag. You bent down and sank your teeth into his right cheek, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave an impression. His body tensed and he moaned loudly. Your rubbed the bite mark before slapping it, and he grunted sharply.

“More?” You asked.

“Yes!” He shouted.

You lay the belt on the bed where he could see it.

“You want this?” You asked him.

He nodded, but you grabbed his snout to stop him.

“Say it.”

“Yes, I want it,” He breathed.

You got back off the bed and poised yourself behind him, holding the belt in your grip. Carefully, you bent the belt double and reared back, cracking him across the ass. Your first strike was tentative, but he groaned appreciatively and said, “Harder, please!”

The next strike had more power behind it, and by the time you were done, he had several red welts across his ass. He was breathing heavily and moaning, and thanking you profusely. The toy stayed firmly in place the entire time.

You crawled on the bed and lay down next to him.

“You okay?” You asked him, caressing his face.

“Yes,” He said, kissing your palm.

“I’m going to have to get a harness and fuck you silly,” You said, pressing your thumb against his lips.

“I would greatly enjoy that,” He said, kissing your thumb and sucking on it.

“Are you done or can you keep going?” You asked him.

“I’ll go as long as you want me to, Boss,” He said.

You grinned. “Call me that again.”

“Fuck me, Boss,” He said.

“Mmm,” You moaned, biting your lip. “That sounds really good.” You sat up and untied his hands. “Lay back on the bed and put your hands above your head.”

“Yes, Boss,” He said, doing as you told him without hesitation.

You tied his hands to the headboard securely and kissed your way down his body. When you got to his cock, you stroked it for a minute before grabbing the lube and condoms. You tore open a wrapper with your teeth and rolled the condom down onto his member, checking for holes, and then lubed him up. You crawled up his body to kiss him.

“Ready?” You asked.

“Yes, Boss,” He said obediently.

You grinned at him as you sank down onto him. He was big, bigger than any of your toys, but the feeling of being completely filled from bottom to top was mind-blowing. You ground against him for a minute, during which his eyes rolled back and he grunted.

You bounced against him, your hands braced on his chest, your breasts rolling with every thrust down. You lowered your body while riding him and bit down hard at his nipple, and his body rose up underneath you. He shouted loudly.

“Too much?” You gasped.

“No, Boss!” He cried out.

You licked the nipple you had bitten, and he moaned.

“Keep moaning,” You told him, rocking against him faster. He obeyed. God, you loved it when he obeyed. You moved at a frenetic pace and he rolled his hips in time with your thrusts. He pulsed inside you and you clenched around him. The pleasure rose up and hit you just as hard as it had before, doubled by the sensation of him cumming inside you and the delicious sounds he made.

As the pleasure ebbed, you collapsed onto his chest, gasping for breath. He was just as winded as you.

“Are you okay, Harlan?” You asked.

“I’m incredible,” He said. “No one has ever done that for me. They always want me to be in control.”

“You liked it, then?” You asked as you sat up, fighting the vertigo.

“Oh, god, I loved it,” He said. “That was the best.”

“Good to know,” You said, reaching up to untie his hands. As soon as they were free, he hugged you tightly, kissing your face.

You felt him soften and slowly fall out of you, and said, “Let’s get cleaned up.” You got off of him and pulled the toy out of him. He groaned softly.

He got up after you and pulled the loaded condom off, disposing it in the trash. You took the one off the toy and threw it away as well. In the bathroom, you washed the toy and dried it, then put it, the condoms, and the lube back in their special bag.

In the bathroom, Harlan had started a shower and held out his hand to help you into it, then stepped in after you and closing the curtain. You rubbed his bruised behind and the bite marks on his chest, and he caressed your skin and kissed your shoulder.

“How did you even know what room I was in?” You asked.

He laughed. “I told the front desk you ran out on your tab.”

“Won’t your boss be wondering where you are?”

“You’re my boss, Boss,” He said with a smirk. “Besides, I don’t care about that job. I only enjoyed working when I was working with you.”

“Aww,” You tsked. “I wish we could work together again. I’m sorry I took a job so far away. I didn’t realize how homesick I’d be.”

“Come back to work with Styx in the States again,” He said.

You sighed. “That feels like a step back. A demotion. I want something else.”

“Like what?” He asked, scrubbing your back.

It hit you like a bolt of lightning. Of course, it was so fucking obvious.

“Like starting my own media company.”

He stopped and turned you. “Wait. Are you serious?”

“Yes! I hate working for other people, I want to be the boss, you know that. That’s why I’ve been fighting and clawing my way to the top of Styx. But starting my own company, I’d be the boss from the beginning.” You scratched his chin under his beard and his eyes closed in pleasure. “Want to be my partner?”

His eyes opened wide. “What, really? You want me to be co-owner?”

“Yeah! Between my expertise and drive and your natural charisma, I think we’d be an unstoppable team!” You bit your lip. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” He said. “Are you only talking about being business partners or… are you saying you want to be with me?”

You grabbed a fistful of his beard and tugged him down. “Are you questioning me?”

“No, Boss,” He said, his eyes sparking.

“Good,” You replied, kissing him. “Because you’re mine. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, Boss,” He said, smiling.

You kissed him deeply while the water ran over the two of you. In a few hours you’d be giving a speech about international synergy, and after that you’d be tendering your resignation. But you knew this was the right step. You and Harlan were going to do great things together, but most importantly, you’d be together, just like you were always meant to be.

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

Extra shirtless art!

[morallyblack]

brave, clever, and energetic man. such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger.

“State your full name, please.” 

“Sirius Orion Black.”

“Do you know why you are here, Sirius Black?” 

“For bullshit, I suppose.”

They had to have gone mental. Bonkers. Absolutely insane. Separated from his friends, with a handful of Aurors and a whole entire Wizengamot, Sirius sat in the chair, staring up at everyone with both amazement and boredom in his features. He still didn’t know what the hell was going on. When things were going well, really going well, he had been ripped away in urgency over worrying about a dear friend. They say Peter conjured the Dark Mark and all Sirius could think of was no way in hell. Sirius knew his friend, he liked to think that he knew his friend well and there was no changing his mind. Peter is innocent. He’s innocent. His mates are just as innocent. 

Sirius didn’t hold anxiety like his friends did. He didn’t find the feeling latching on to him because he didn’t need to. There are worse things to be scared of than the damned Ministry of Magic. Can’t even do their jobs properly, bringing in a couple of school kids for Dark Magic and couldn’t even be bothered to find the right ones. It was painfully slow, the start of this questioning, it felt more like a trial. Why was he separated from his friends? Why did he get this treatment?

After his initial answer to their question, there had been a slight uproar, a gaggle of idiotic men and women gasping at his insolence. Alastor McKinnon looked absolutely angry, beyond anger, as if rage made up all of his features. Sirius stared him down, knowing that the only reason that Alastor looked at him like this was for the last name he still had to bear. McKinnon walked up to him, sizing him up while Sirius sat in the chair, and Sirius did the same. A challenge uttered without words. “Enough jokes, boy. Answer the questions.” 

“You want to talk about jokes? Having me here in front of all these people. That’s a bloody joke.” 

“I said enough!” Sirius didn’t flinch at the outburst. One explosive temper to another, it’s easy to spot when the supposed random outbursts are about to happen. Sirius only clenched his jaw, eyes flickering to the other smug looking bastards that stared down at him. It was like staring at his family, looking at all of them thinking he was filth because he dared to defy them. “You Blacks, you all think you’re so above everyone else. You’re not above the law, Mr. Black, you don’t get to practice Dark Magic and hurt people all because of your name. There is evidence all around Hogwarts that you, along with your mates, that point to you all being troublemakers, with all the puzzle pieces pointing to the possibility of being dark wizards. Do you deny these claims?” The question was another challenge and Sirius tried to reign in his anger. He tried not to let the question bother him but it did. 

“Let’s get one thing straight, McKinnon, I’m not much of a Black these days. I’m a bit more of a Potter without all the name changing. Second, I am not and I will never practice Dark Magic. I believe those who do are the highest form of scum and I think you, a dark wizard catcher, could at least agree with me on that. Third, if you want some bloody Death Eaters, I could name a couple who were probably there that night. I go to school with enough of them. Name a pureblooded family sorted into Slytherin and save your bloody breath on one that was sorted into Gryffindor.” In hindsight, Sirius probably shouldn’t have gotten in Alastor McKinnon’s face but as his speech went on, the angrier he got and the more it felt right to get out of his chair and into the man’s face.

“I’m not my family. Hate me all you want because I, unfortunately, bear the Black name but I’m not like them. I think your mate, Fleamont Potter, would back me up if you didn’t shut him out.” Breath heaving slightly, staring nose to nose with a man who’s anger is matching his. 

Alastor didn’t even blink. “Get back in your chair, Mr. Black, or I will force you.” 

Sirius almost didn’t. He almost challenged Alastor to do his worst but with a blink, one last deep inhale of breath, Sirius sat back down in the chair. It was with a quick flick of the wand, the shackles were thereupon his wrist, keeping him bound to the chair. Anger boiled deep within him growing more and more by the second. “Now you won’t disrupt and cause another scene. I’m not questioning your classmates, I’m questioning you, Mr. Black. You deny dark magic but do you deny being a troublemaker?”

Sirius stared up at Alastor, jaw set and unmoving. He wasn’t going to talk to a man who would feel the need to shackle up someone without a wand. With literally no threat to the man with the wand. Defiance set on Sirius’ features as if he was done entertaining them and he wasn’t going to allow the pathetic excuses before him to convict him on nothing, on baseless facts and his last name. Alastor walked up to Sirius, grabbing his face roughly, a feeling he was all too familiar with as his mother adored pulling this move to make him look at her, to stare into her eyes and hopefully feel fear. 

“You will answer my questions as I ask them. Or I will hold you for longer, for contempt.” The words were whispered in a dangerous tone and still, Sirius wouldn’t waver. He wouldn’t back down. “Your silence is telling, Mr. Black. The longer you are silent to a question, the more apparent that I’m correct. You are a troublemaker. The facts presented in the insurmountable evidence. I daresay, you are quite familiar with detention. As you have managed to receive one from almost every professor at Hogwarts. And the caretaker, Mr. Filch, you had spent plenty of time with him over the years. Enough to harbor resentment for him, yes?”

Sirius’ cheek twitched. The bloody wanker was going to pin Filch’s attack on them as well. His silence had to be broken. “I didn’t attack Filch, if that’s what you’re getting at. Yeah, I may have kicked his cat once or twice but I’ll have you know, I’m a bit more of a dog person.” The comment wasn’t meant to be a joke, it wasn’t meant to have a hidden meaning, but it brought the slight twitch of a smirk to his lips. “What happened to Filch was disgusting. I would have never done that to the man.”

“Yet, a witness claimed to see you head back to the castle from the Halloween party early. Do you have an alibi for that night?”

“Yes, you can ask the hundred or so house-elves in the Kitchens who saw me eat four pumpkin pasties in a span of ten minutes.” 

“What about the Ball? Your mates couldn’t account for your whereabouts. Do you have an alibi then?” 

Sirius bit his tongue. He didn’t want to involve Mary in this. He didn’t want them to go after her, to think that she would have anything to do with dark wizards and Death Eaters. She can’t be subjected to this. “I was in a broom closet. Do you want details or should I save you lot from fainting?” He addressed the men and women behind Alastor, almost laughing in his tone as he spoke. “I’m sure you all are intelligent enough to figure out what a lad and a lass get up to in a broom closet, yeah?” 

“Enough, Mr. Black.” Alastor stood in front of him again. His anger radiating and forcing Sirius’ own anger to match. “Who were you in the closet with?”

“Can’t remember her name.”

“Do not lie to me. I’m Auror, Mr. Black, you do know we have been given permission to use certain spells in order to get the results we want.” The threat was clear. Do not lie, if you do, you’ll be forced to tell the truth. Sirius’ jaw set again, eyes holding onto the staring contest with Alastor’s before finally conceding, adverting his gaze down.

“Mary MacDonald.”

Alastor knew the name. He knew it well. Marlene had been friends with Mary for so long now. And then given Mary’s attack, it should have bee some knowledge to the Head of the Auror’s office. “Corrupting her, no doubt, as you’ve corrupted most nice people into being your mate.” His words were low enough that only Sirius heard him. Sirius had momentarily forgotten that he was shackled, bringing his right hand up to punch Alastor in the face but he was stopped, earning a smirk from the older man. “You can’t deny that I’m right. Mr. Black. It’s what your family does. Corrupts, spread your poisonous thoughts and ideals onto others, leeching the good from them. Your father and mother had done their share of sinking claws into respectable witches and wizards over the years. No doubt their son would do the same.” Alastor finally backed away from Sirius, looking back at those behind him, as if he were coming up with his next rounds of question and Sirius found himself straining against his shackles. He felt beyond anger. He felt hatred and rage and all of those ugly feelings that cropped up whenever things felt unjust. Whenever he remembered the way his parents treated him. The way that he left, disowned, burned from the family tapestry.

“If you truly know my parents, McKinnon, that you would know that I’m dead to them.” The word rang throughout the room, as everyone stared back at him in silence, stunned or stony, either way, it was quiet. His heart was beating loudly in his chest, in his ears, he was sure they could all hear it. “I ran away in July and they burned me off the tapestry. As I said, I may bear the name Black but I’m more of a Potter.” Sirius stopped straining against his shackles, he leaned back in the chair again, fighting the urge to show them how upset he was. He blinked away the tears, he kept his jaw shut and lips together even tighter to keep them from quivering. For a minute, just a quick minute that he forced out of his mind the moment that he thought it, he wished for Euphemia. He wished for a mother’s touch. Because beneath all of his anger, all of his defiances, was a scared twenty-one year old, facing down people twice his age, with the threat of extreme measures over his head. But he couldn’t show them that he was vulnerable. 

Alastor was quiet for only a few minutes, no longer than ten, before he continued on. As if he registered what Sirius had said but it meant nothing. It didn’t mean a thing that one of his closest friends had taken in a young man when he left a family who hated him. As if the word dead meant nothing. Because his hatred for the sacred twenty-eight, for those who are pure but think themselves above anyone else, outweighs the words of someone who denounced that life. Sirius wanted nothing to do with his family. He didn’t act like the type of pureblood who was above anyone else. Yes, he was arrogant. Yes, he had an ego the size of the whole bloody kingdom. But he would never think he’s above anyone else based on something as archaic as blood. None of this mattered to Alastor McKinnon.

The questioning went on for hours, longer than some of his friends had been questioned as if he was the one who cast the Dark Mark and not Peter. Did they see that Peter would have to be innocent on the basis that Peter couldn’t hurt a fly? Did they realize that it couldn’t have been Remus and it couldn’t have been James? All anyone saw in Sirius was his last name. They blamed him for his last name. It was after some time, after being asked to explain what he had received different detentions for, the fights he had been in, the curses he used on his victims; eventually, Sirius stopped talking.

Eventually, after some deliberation, they let Sirius go. The evidence was circumstantial at best and that if they found anything else, he would find himself back here. Or Azkaban. It was almost as if Alastor got a sick enjoyment thinking about that. Sirius didn’t say a word, no cheeky response, he barely even looked at anyone as he walked out. He wished he could burn the room behind him. If they wanted a monster, they might as well get one. The world around him felt like a blur until he felt a pair of arms wrap around him and out of instinct, just by the smell that overwhelmed him, that Sirius even wrapped his arms around the other person. Fleamont held Sirius close, whispering words that he wouldn’t be listening to. 

“Can we just go home, please?”

[georgialouisea]

Meant To Be - Part 9

Pairing - Jared x Reader, Jensen x Sister Reader. Word count -1079 Warnings - Fluff, swearing.

Part 8 - Masterlist

Life in Vancouver was amazing, life with Jared was beyond amazing.

Ever since you were little you’d hated being the one singled out, you hated being the new girl, moving school or getting a new job was your idea of hell. The girls at supernatural made you feel at home, they were honestly the nicest girls you’d ever met, they didn’t seem to care that your brother was one of the stars of the show.

“Did you manage to get that email out?” Jo asked shutting off her computer.

“Shit no, completely forgot.”

“Want me to stay and help?” She paused at your desk on the way out.

“No, it’s fine, I have the details written down somewhere, get home to your boyfriend.”

“Don’t you have to get home to yours?” She perched on the corner of your desk smirking down at you. You’d only ever given her and Lizzie small details and they were more than intrigued.

“He’s working late today, so I’m fine, go home and enjoy your date night.”

“You sure?”

“Positive Jo, go enjoy your weekend I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Enjoy your weekend Y/N.”

“You too JO.” Watching her leave the room your attention turned back to your screen.

“Y/N/N?” Jared whispered from the doorway behind you. “You ready to go home?”

Turning to face him your eyes adjusted to the lighting change. “What?”

“You done?”

“Give me like five minutes.” Turning back to the screen you finished up the email you should’ve sent 6 hours ago, trying to ignore Jared spinning himself around in a chair behind you. “Okay done.” Shutting down your computer you could finally head home with Jared.

--

“Baby?” Jared mumbled as he shifted on the couch.

“Yeah?” Looking up at him he paled slightly.

He sat up straighter. “Okay, I haven’t told you this yet but on Thursday I’m gonna be on Ellen.”

“Jare that’s amazing.”

“You might not think that in a few minutes.”

“Why?”

“You love me right?” He paused, nodding in response he smiled at you. “I want to tell everyone I am in love with the most beautiful, amazing, smartest, funniest woman I know, that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I love you.”

Nodding you smiled up at him. “Okay, yeah, we’ll go official.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m one million percent sure Padalecki.”

“Oh thank God.” His head dropped. “I thought you’d say no.”

“Why? When I love you.”

“I didn’t think you’d want people to know yet.”

“Jare, I’m tired of sneaking around trying to hide our relationship, let’s just tell everyone.”

“You’re sure?”

“So sure.” His arms wrapped around you.

“You’re happy with me announcing it on the Ellen show?”

“Yeah, I am, you have an interview and if you really want to talk about me it’s up to you.”

“I would talk about you every second of every day if I could.”

-

Jared’s flight back to LA was delayed due to bad weather, he’d planned to be home hours before his interview was aired. A knock at the door pulled your attention from the cereal advert, praying by some miracle it was Jared, opening the door Jensen stood in front of you.

“Why’re you here?”

“Because.” He took a step into your apartment closing the door behind himself. “I know what you’re like and as soon as people know you’re going to panic and Jared’s still in the air, so I’m here and we’re gonna watch it together.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the couch.

“Mr Jared Padalecki!” Ellen introduced as the audience clapped and cheered.

Biting your lip you tried to suppress the smile as he waved at the audience.

“How are you?” Ellen asked as she sat opposite him.

“I’m great, how are you?”

Ellen nodded with a smile. “I’m good, you’re living up in Vancouver now aren’t you?”

“Yeah I am, it’s a lot colder up there than it is here in LA.”

“You’re up there filming for the new show Supernatural right?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I am.”

“So tell us what the show’s about.”

You watched Jared explain the premise of the show adding in little stories of his time on set with Jensen.

“Do you two get on well?”

“Yeah, we do, we’re both from Texas, we watch the same shows, listen to the same music, it’s been easy to get to know him.

“So it’s not uncomfortable playing his brother?”

“Nope, he already is like a brother to me.”

“That’s good to hear, now I have to ask, you’re a very attractive young man.” The audience whooped. “Alright.” She waved a hand trying to calm the women down as Jared chuckled. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Jared blushed, his head dropped trying to hide it. “I am actually, we’ve been together for nearly a year now, she’s amazing.”

“Will we know who she is? A fellow actor?”

“No actually she’s not an actress, she works on set behind the scene in the admin department, she’s so smart half the stuff she does I’d have no idea how to do.”

“Is she watching?”

“Yeah, she’ll be watching with Jensen.”

“Oh have they become close too?” She asked with a furrowed brow.

“No, well they’ve always been close, Y/N is Jensen’s sister.”

“Oh wow, is he okay with you dating his sister?”

“Yeah, I mean he’s said if I hurt her he’ll rip my lungs out.”

Ellen chuckled moving on with the interview.

“That wasn’t painful was it?” Jensen smiled down at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah everyone knows, everyone loves you on set this isn’t going to change anyone's opinion of you trust me.”

“I know.”

The front door opened behind you. “Hey.” Jared walked in dropping his bag by the door. “Have you seen it yet?”

“Yeah, we have.”

He walked around the couch to face you. “And are we still together?”

“Of course we are, why wouldn’t we be?” Looking up at him you punched Jensen’s thigh making him move up the couch so Jared could sit next to you.

“I haven’t seen it yet, I can’t remember what I said, I could’ve said something stupid.”

“Everything you said was perfect.”

Jared’s arm wrapped around you. “Good.” He took a shaky breath. “Good.”

“Were you actually worried that I’d leave you?”

“No.” He scoffed.

“There’s only one issue now.” Jensen sighed.

“Which is?”

“When Jared’s found with his lungs ripped out they’ll know I’ve done it.”

Part 10

Forever Taglist - 

@mega-loser1298 @smalltowndivaj @roxyspearing @emoryhemsworth @dwgrl1903 @cassieraider @mirandaaustin93 @mogaruke @heyitscam99 @mouselovesmusic @supernaturaldean67 @atc74 @witchofenoch @malindacath @skathan-omaha @ain-t-bovvered @beffyblueeyes @unicorn-sparkles123 @serienjunkiegirl @jchona @polina-93 @thefangirlliveson @rhochradel @juanitadiann @amandamdiehl @dixonsunicorn @deanzeppeloin @katieelementarymydearwatsonme @atlas-of-the-world @spnbaby-67 @chelsea072498 @dean-winchesters-bacon @racheo91 @mrswhozeewhatsis @death-unbecomes-you @brewsthespirit-blog @shann-the-artist-moon @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @claitynroberts @spnwoman @angelsandwinchesters @smoothdogsgirl @cdwmtjb8 @perkypolarbear @thisismysecrethappyplace @tatertot1097 @jessieray98 @curly-haired-disaster @gh0stgurl @starfirerules @kcrews74 @calaofnoldor @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @screechingartisancashbailiff @malindacath @kolelondon24 @natura1phenomenon @thehufflepuffblog @lemondropirwin @babypink224221 @mariekoukie6661 @mymysosa @blackcherrywhiskey @lonely-skys @titty-teetee @foreverwayward @81mysteriouslyme @x-waywardaf-x  @blueberrykushlovexoxo-blog @paintballkid711

Meant to be -

@gh0stgurl @witch-of-letters @oneshoeshort @samuelwillliamwinchester @love-nakamura @spn-obession @holylulusworld @wayward-gypsy @heythereamigodude @rainbowkisses31 @deangirl7695 @traceyaudette @winchesterprincessbride @vickiq9761 @cdwmtjb8 @samsgirl93 @love-my-not-natural-babies @gloriousartisanfancreator @me-han10 @pretty-fortune @jamielea81 @the-is13 @kit-kat-katie99 @imaginationisgrowth @bitchwhytho @deansgirl79

[reignmyworld]

You don’t swim with sharks, unless you accidentally swim with sharks... - Roman Reigns x Reader

Summary: You, Roman and your friends decide to go on a vacation on a little island to recharge your batteries from the constant WWE tour stress. When Roman decides that he wants to go down in a shark cage, you are anything but content with that decision. Of course, things don’t go according to plan and you find yourself fearing for his life.  

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Reader

Tag List:  @iwritewwe @trixdeee @calwitch @alexisbagans143 @rollins-princess214 @vebner37 @scuzmunkie @the-queens-reign @mermaid-at-heart

Being on the road for the majority of the year was never easy, even if it was with the people you loved and cared for. You had just ended the European leg of the WWE househows, including the RAW taping in Manchester and you couldn’t wait to have a few days off. You were looking forward to that vacation ever since the officials agreed to it and now it was just around the corner. You knew that Roman was looking forward to having a few days off just as much as you did. You had been together since your NXT days and apart from a few tiny arguments here and there, you were going strong most of the time. You had the feeling that you had found not only your partner for life and in crime in him, but also your best friend and your soulmate and you knew that Roman was feeling the same about you.

It had been one evening when the both of you were invited to Dean’s and Renee’s house for some delicious barbecue that you ended up dreaming how great it would be to leave the tour stress behind and just have a few beautiful days for yourselves. Since both Dean and Roman were of the opinion that taking action would be way better than talking, it didn’t take long until they found themselves knocking at Vince’s office door a few days after, negotiating whether they could have a few days off. Although the man had his flaws and you certainly weren’t content with every decision he was making - especially if said decision turned out to be a major disadvantage for you or your boyfriend - you nevertheless respected him. And contrary to the omnipresent opinion with regard to his persona, he indeed did care that his talent got the time off they needed to rest.

Neither you nor Renee were aware that Dean and Roman went straight to the CEO and both of you were equally surprised when they informed you that you would be flying to a beautiful little Hawaiian island so you could recharge your batteries. Since the four of you were close friends in and out of the WWE, you were extremely happy that you would be experiencing that adventure together.  There was just one big flaw in that plan. You wanted to see the result, but you were way too lazy to plan it. Searching for and booking flights, finding a suitable accommodation, figuring everything out… You had to admit that you were rather bad at that. Roman had found that out as well rather early in your relationship and he always teased you that you should feel beyond lucky that you were on the same roster since he would take care of the responsibility of planing each trip for himself and you quite alike. You knew that you could trust him and you were absolutely happy that he was willing to make sure that you wouldn’t get lost somehow along the several city stops you had to make.

„Without you I would be completely lost.“, you chuckled as you tried to book everything on your own once and failed miserably as you accidentally entered the right city but the wrong state, wondering how everything that came up didn’t make any sense at all. „I still have no idea how you made it through life till now without getting absolutely lost, never to be found again.“, Roman laughed out loud as he took your notebook that day, filling in all of the necessary details and presenting you a detailed travel plan just shortly after. That day you knew that he would be in charge from now on, just to make sure that you would arrive everywhere safe and sound. Much to your surprise he volunteered when it came to the planning process of your vacation and since neither Renee nor Dean were too eager to put all of their work into it either, it was your boyfriend, who came up with a pretty detailed travel schedule just days after.

„I can’t believe that we will head to Maui tomorrow already. And I had no idea how much I needed to break away from our daily, busy schedule.“, you whispered as you were cuddling against Roman’s body while his fingertips drew little circles on your back, both of your bodies still sweaty from the passionate last hour you had shared.  He was lazily smiling down at you, as he replied: „Me too baby. I thought it would be perfect for us. It’s the smallest island of Hawaii, meaning there shouldn’t be too many people surrounding us. And the place we’re going to stay is a beautiful mansion, nothing too luxurious as it is rather old, but nevertheless big enough that it has wings, meaning we’re not being interrupted by Dean and Renee and on the other hand we don’t have to turn our volume down if we’re getting louder.“ He was wriggling his eyebrows, giving you a seductive look, causing you to laugh out loud as you playfully slapped his arm. „Babe, although I have absolutely no problem with staying in bed with you for the majority of the day, making love to you again and again, that’s certainly not going to happen while we’re at that island. I want to see something there, go for a walk, go swimming. The whole deal, you know?“, you grinned at him. Roman just shrugged his shoulders and mumbled „What a pity.“ But before you could scold him, he was kissing you passionately and just minutes later you were moaning out his name again.

The first few days on Maui were beautiful. You went on a long hike on the island, taking in the beauty of the landscape and the comfy feeling of the beautiful town. Roman hadn’t made promises, that he couldn’t keep. There weren’t too many people on this island and your house indeed was fantastic, giving you the privacy that you needed, while Renee and Dean had theirs as well. Approximately three days had already passed and you definitely could get used to just staying here. And you knew that your friends were feeling the same. You didn’t want to think about the time your flight would bring you back to the States. No matter how much you loved your job and you loved having matches almost every day, this right here felt like paradise.

It was early in the morning when the four of you gathered everything you needed for breakfast together, including coffee, bread, bacon, some vegetables and fruits, and headed for the kitchen table to have breakfast there. Just a few minutes later you were all sitting around the kitchen table, chatting a little bit, discussing what you could do today since you had agreed that you wanted to spend a day together instead of splitting up like you had done the last day. Dean was looking through the adverts, that were delivered together with a few magazines once a week, until he held one leaflet up, saying jokingly to the others: "You know what? We should to that." Roman, Renee and you were taking a closer look at what the leaflet was offering and while Renee and you immediately shook your heads in disagreement, Roman was instantly hooked. "You know what, Dean? We should really do that.", he exclaimed, grabbing the leaflet from his best friend's hand and reading through the details.

Although Dean had been joking at first, he had to admit that he actually liked the idea, given that he was always up for things that were adventurous  and somehow dangerous. There was a reason why he was called lunatic after all. "If you're in, I'm in as well, man." , Dean responded, his eyes slightly sparkling with excitement. "Please tell me that the both of you are kidding." ,Renee got out, not feeling too well about that whole idea with Dean laying an arm around her waist, answering: "Come on Renee don't worry. It's going to be completely safe." You were snapping the leaflet out of Roman's hands, eying it skeptically while Renee replied: "Dean, diving with sharks in a damn cage just can't be safe." You were nodding your head in agreement, before asking Roman: "I thought you were terribly afraid of sharks. How can you possibly think that this would be a good idea?" He just shrugged his shoulders and took a sip from his coffee. "I guess it has something to do with looking your fears in the eye. Maybe I can overcome my shark phobia then. Besides that, they are majestic and breathtaking creatures. So what do you say, baby girl, are you in?“

You looked at your boyfriend as if he had lost his mind completely, saying: "No I'm not. And let me quote a wise man on that as to why I won't be in. Here we go: „First of all sharks are sharks, people are not sharks. You don't swim with sharks, unless you accidentally swim with sharks. Sharks hurt people from time to time… Especially great whites.“ You got that?" Roman couldn't hide how amused he was by your disbelief, so he just said: "Yeah I got that, loud and clear. But that doesn’t mean that I have to agree.“ You gave him a scolding look but decided to not say anything in return, hoping that he would admit that he joked eventually.  All four of you were discussing that topic for several more minutes and much to your and Renee’s dismiss neither Dean nor Roman were willing to drop it and therefore miss out on diving down into a shark cage. Renee and yourself both were annoyed beyond belief but since you realized that there was no way in talking any sense into them, you both agreed to accompany your boyfriends on their trip although neither Renee nor you exactly felt like doing so.

Approximately one hour later the four of you were on your rented boat, that you had secured at the beginning of your vacation, heading back to the main island of Hawaii in order to book such a shark cage adventure. "I swear to god if they're getting themselves killed, we're going to bring them back and kill them again on our own. Just because we can." , Renee grunted, being completely afraid that something might happen with you nodding your head in agreement, but nevertheless staying silent since you were fuming on the inside. It didn't take you longer than 30 minutes to reach the main island and as soon as you left the boat, Dean and Roman made their way into one of the tiny offices in order to book that shark cage adventure for the both of them.

Just minutes later Dean as well as Roman returned to you and Renee and informed you that you should follow them to the boat, whose captain and crew would bring you to one of the deepest areas of the ocean, where tourists were asked actually not to head to due to the water there being shark infected. Once you were on said boat and it was steered to open water one guy of the crew gave Dean and Roman the instructions they had to follow during the shark cage diving. "Okay guys, you will go down in two different cages in diving gear, however, at the same time. Once you're down, we will close the top of the cages to prevent the shark from getting in there. We then will throw some raw, bloody meat pieces into the water to attract the sharks. If you're lucky you will be able to see a Great White one. It's important that you stay relaxed and don't try to touch them or something like that since they are beasts of prey after all. It will take a couple of minutes and as soon as the shark is gone again, we will open the top of the cage so you can get out. Do you have any questions?"

Before Dean or Roman could ask anything, Renee wanted to know: "How safe are those cages? I mean, have there been any severe accidents in the past?" Dean could clearly see how tense his girlfriend was, hence why he was pulling her closer, holding her tightly to his body, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. Carter, the guy giving the instructions, turned his attention to Renee, answering: "You don't have to worry, Miss. Those cages are built pretty safely and although there had been incidents in the past, we are professionals here, knowing how to handle such incidents should anything happen. But I can assure you that we don't expect anything to go wrong." Dean could see that this answer did not really calm Renee so he pulled her even closer, mumbling: "Don't worry, babe. Nothing will happen. I'm pretty sure that everything will go according to plan." Renee tried to stay positive by nodding her head in agreement and replying: "Yeah I hope that you are right.“

Shortly after, both guys put on their diving suits - and no matter how mad you were you had to admit that they looked rather good in them - and moved over to their cages after having been advised to do so. Renee wrapped her arms around Dean's neck, placing a soft kiss on his lips to which he responded right away and mumbled: "Be careful, Dean." He gently stroke her back, responding: "I will babe." Roman, however, looked questioningly at you shaking your head in disagreement. "What? No good luck wishes for me?" , he wanted to know amused with you responding: "I'm on that damn boat, that has to be enough. I'm certainly not wishing you good luck in risking your life." Roman moved closer to you, replying: "I'm not risking my life here, baby. Those cages are save, you have heard Carter." You looked at him in disbelief and got back: "Save my ass. You decided to willingly go diving with sharks. That's what darwinism looks like." Before you could say another word, he pressed his lips on yours. As soon as you broke apart, Roman wanted to know: "You're scared doll, aren't you?" You threw your arms up in frustration, responding: "Of course I am scared. How the hell could you possibly think that diving with sharks would be fun? But just go ahead if that makes you happy.“

With that you wanted to turn around but with one swift move Roman held you back. He was locking eyes with you, his amusement having vanished as he said seriously: „I will be careful. I promise you that Y/N.“ Before you had the chance to respond he was pulling you closer once again, kissing you fiercely and you automatically held on to his arms. As you broke apart both of you were breathing heavy. You were scared and angry at him all at the same time. Usually you didn’t argue much with each other but right now you just couldn’t help doing so. You freed yourself from him, hissing at him: „If you lose a leg or an arm down there, don’t you fucking whine in my presence then because you can’t do your damn job any longer.“ With that you turned around for good, heading back to the upper deck with Roman sighing in frustration and Renee following your example after having kissed Dean one more time. 

When both of you were standing on the upper deck, looking down on Dean and Roman, who stood in front of their respective cages, listening to the last instructions, Renee mumbled: "I just hope that everything is going according to plan." As she realized that you were not responding to her, she glanced over, realizing that you had turned absolutely pale. She gently touched your arm, asking: „Y/N?" with you looking at her questioningly before Renee explained: "I said that I just hope that everything goes according to plan." You were nodding your head in agreement, saying: "Yeah I do so too." before turning silent again.

After what felt like an eternity both guys vanished into the cages, diving down as deep as possible with Carter and another guy from the crew closing the top of the cages. Right afterwards Carter took two buckets with raw and bloody meat, that he was throwing into the ocean, with the smell of it being carried through the ocean to attract a shark or two. Renee and you got more and more nervous as you watched the water turn light red, both of you grabbing each other's hand to reassure yourselves that everything would be fine in the end. "There", Renee mouthed and pointed to the water, where you could see the fin of a shark drawing nearer and nearer. Carter turned round to the both of you, an excited expression on his face, informing you: "Your men really get what they had paid for. What you can see here, ladies, is a Great White coming nearer.“ Neither Renee nor you were able to say anything in return as you absolutely shocked watched that creature of the sea coming nearer until it was close to the cages, feeding on the meat that had been offered by the crew. "I can't even look", Renee mumbled, trying to focus on the cage with Dean inside only, blending out the shark as best as possible while you starred at the shark in fear. There was a reason why one should be afraid of those animals and you still couldn't believe how Roman and Dean could be so dumb to dive with a shark voluntarily.

It felt like hours watching the shark swim around those cages and god knew how the guys were doing down there since they weren't in contact with the crew over microphones and earpieces or something like that. Just as Carter exclaimed "It should be over now, he's drifting away already" and Renee and you dared to breath again, the Great White took a turn, heading right towards the cages. Renee didn't have to think twice to realize that this shouldn't be happening. Her silent "oh my god" almost went unheard when the shark crashed against the cage, shaking the whole boat. "Open the cages, do you hear me? OPEN THE DAMN CAGES." ,Carter yelled and two guys from his crew rushed to grab two poles right away in order to open the cages.

Renee and you were both shocked, staring at the scenery evolving in front of your eyes while the crew did their best to fight the shark off. "That's it, they're going to die.", you stated as a matter of fact and although Renee could clearly tell that you were in a state of shock, she just hissed at you: "Shut the fuck up and don't say something like that." All she could think about was Dean and him getting out of that damn trap, the caged turned out to be, safe and sound. She was rushing down to the lower deck, trying to get near the cage but one of the crew guys held her back, screaming something at her that she couldn't understand. And as a matter of fact it didn't really matter in the end because just as she was about to break down, she could see Dean breaking through the surface of the water. One of the guys instantly ran to help him with Renee following right away. As soon as they both got Dean out of the cage, Renee was kneeling down instantly, tears running over her face, while she cupped his face, asking with a shaky voice: "Dean, oh my god, are you okay?" with Dean trying to figure out what had happened but just nodding his head instead, answering: "Yeah, I'm fine babe, I'm fine.“

The crew, that tried to scare the shark away somehow, only made him more furious and before anyone could react it found its way into Roman's cage through a bigger aperture the cage was offering. "For god's sake get him out of there.", Carter yelled once more, leaving it completely open whether he was talking about Roman or the shark. Everyone seemed to be trapped in shock somehow, not really knowing how to deal with the situation. Renee and Dean couldn't believe what was happening and both were hoping that everything would miraculously turn out fine. As Renee looked up, she saw you standing next to the crew, stiffened like a statue, an expression on your face, that Renee had never seen before and never wanted to see again.

It felt like hours during which you were watching Roman, whom you couldn't even see, and the shark being trapped in his cage until the Great White finally found its way out again, swimming away from the cage with a wound the cage had ripped in its body. After what felt like an eternity Roman was breaking through the surface of the water, trying to catch his breath while Carter and another guy were helping him out. "Thank god." ,Renee just mumbled while Dean was holding her close to himself, not intending to let her go. "Are you alright?", Carter wanted to know as soon as Roman was standing on the boat again, patting his shoulder. Although he was still visibly shaking, he managed to nod his head, saying: "Yeah I'm fine. All limbs are still there and it didn't get a taste of me." Carter patted his shoulder once more before moving over to his crew, yelling instructions that they should get the boat back to the haven asap.

"Are you really fine, man?" , Dean wanted to know as he and Renee moved over to Roman to make sure that he wasn't injured. He just nodded his head one more time, trying to shake off the shock before he answered: "Yeah I am. I might have peed a little down there, but I'm fine." Dean couldn't help but laugh out loud. That joke was silly but he was glad that neither himself nor his best friend were hurt and that they hadn’t ended as shark food. You were moving over to them as well and as soon as Roman saw you, he asked: "Baby, are you alright?" Instead of giving him an answer, you just slapped him across the face, before you screamed at him, your voice being an echo of your shock, fear and desperation quite alike: "What the fuck did you actually think when going down there? Were you actually thinking something? The next time you try to get yourself killed, make at least sure that I don't have to watch, you fucking asshole." You were beyond scared but attacking him was basically your way of coping with it. Before he could reply anything, you just snapped: "Don't you fucking dare saying something now. Just keep your damn mouth shut.“

With that you were heading back to the upper deck, sitting in a lonely corner, letting your tears fall. You couldn't believe that you could have been witness to see the man you loved dying if the gods weren't in his favor. As you were crying your eyes out, Roman, Dean and Renee were standing on the lower deck, still in disbelief of what had just happened. "What the fuck was that?" ,Roman exclaimed, rubbing his cheek, where you had slapped him. Renee shook her head, slightly mumbling: "Her way of coping that she had to watch you almost getting killed." Dean was holding his girlfriend even closer to his body while saying: "You should probably talk to her, man." Roman just nodded his head, motioning away from his friends, with Dean turning his attention to Renee, quietly saying: "And we should maybe talk as well." But before being able to do so, Renee was cupping his face, kissing him gently before she whispered: "I thought that I would loose you, Dean. I really thought that you would die down there." And with that her tears were falling as well.

You were making yourself as tiny as you somehow could, leaning against the wall next to you, wrapping your arms around your knees as you buried your head into them. All of the desperation you had been feeling before broke free now. When you saw the shark getting into Roman’s cage you were convinced that it was his end. You already saw the huge amount of blood in front of your eyes, heard his screams while he was ripped to pieces by that creature. You had never felt so helpless and it pained you as if he had already left this world. You hadn’t even seen through your own eyes, it was as if you had watched yourself from far above, staring at the scene in front of you, every feeling being gone except for fear and despair. You were not able to move, were not able to hope that it would be alright in the end. All you braced yourself for was, having to learn to live with the man you loved being gone, being killed due to a stupid adventure he wanted to experience. All of that found its way to the surface now. Of course, you were relieved that he made it out alive and that he was doing well. But the fear of facing the sheer risk of him being gone absolutely crashed you down and you could not cope with it. Your whole body was trembling, shaking due to crying so hard.

You didn’t realize that Roman had made his way up to you by now, that he was staring down at you, guilt washing all over him. He was aware that he hadn’t thought about the consequences, was aware that it had been egoistical to just look at his own fun without accepting that you were scared, without wanting to take into consideration that those cages could fail, that something could happen, without wanting to admit that he could have died down there and that you would have had to watch it. He couldn’t forgive himself as he just imagined how he would be feeling if it were you down there, if he had to watch what you had to watch, if he had to fear that this huge shark killed you. He was feeling beyond guilty and he was aware that he couldn’t make up for that easily, that a simply „I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.“ wasn’t enough. He hated himself for putting you into that situation and for seeing you like that, knowing full well that he was the reason for your breakdown.

„Baby girl?“,he wanted to know carefully, motioning closer to you. „J-just f-fuck o-o-off.“, you got out being shaken not only by you tears but by a hiccup quite alike. You didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want to have him near you. Roman shook his head although you couldn’t see it as you were burying your own. He moved over until he was able to sit down next to you. And although he knew that it wasn’t the smartest move, that you wouldn’t let him off the hook like that, he pulled you closer, hugging you as tightly as your position allowed him to, as he whispered: „I’m so sorry baby girl. I didn’t think about it, about any of this. I was so sure that nothing could happen, that it would just be a little adventure. I never thought about the ifs and whens, didn’t even waste a thought that you would have to watch if something happened. I’m so terribly sorry as I can only imagine what you were going through. If I imagine that I would have had to watch you down there, I… I don’t even want to think about that as I would die as well if I lost you.“ You had been listening to him, your despair turning to fury with every word he had been saying. 

As soon as he had ended, you freed yourself from his embrace and before you could think twice you were hammering your fists against his chest, over and over again while you screamed at him, tears streaming down your face: „No, you fucking asshole, you had not thought twice, you got that right. Do you have any idea how I was feeling? How I’m still feeling?! I thought you would die down there, I thought I would have to live my life without you just because you thought it was a fun idea swimming with sharks. I thought I had to watch you die, thought I would lose you forever. Tell me how I should go on without you, huh? Have you ever thought about that, you fucking idiot? Have you considered how I should live my life when all that mattered, all I ever wanted, all I cared for, meaning you, was gone from one moment to the next just because you were searching for that special kick?! You have no idea how much I’m hating you right now.“ Your strength was slowly vanishing, your punches becoming weak although you highly doubt that he had felt any pain when you were hitting him as hard as you could in the first place. Your voice was cracking as your sobbing started increasing again, not being able to see a lot as tears were clouding your vision. Roman knew that he deserved all of this and he couldn’t even blame you. 

Instead he just reached out to you, holding you close once again and although you wanted to break free at first, you eventually gave in, finding comfort in his arms, listening to his strong heartbeat as your head was resting right above his heart. You felt his lips rest on the top of your head, his hands rubbing over your arms and you knew that this was his way of showing you that he was here, that everything would be alright. It took you some more minutes until you were as calm as you wanted to be before you gestured for him to let go of you. Roman did as you had told him, staring down at your face as you were looking up at him, locking eyes with his. Those eyes, that you always got lost in, when you stared at them for too long. You held his gaze for quite a bit before you got up. Roman’s heart was about to sink as he thought you would just leave, letting him behind, showing him that way, that you hadn’t forgiven him. But much to his surprise you sat down on his lap, moving closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him with all the despair you were feeling as your tongue explored his mouth. Roman was used to having control but right now, he gladly handed it over to you as he was pulling you closer, pressing you down on his lap, while you muffled his moans as he was deepening the kiss. You didn’t even care whether Renee and Dean would turn up out of the blue, all that counted right now was you being with the man you loved, knowing that he was alright.

In the distance you heard Carter’s voice, letting all of you know that you head reached the haven. You broke the kiss, both you you being completely out of breath as you locked eyes with him. You could see the passion in them and you were sure that they equalled your own. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, whispering: „I’m so glad that you got out of there without a scratch. I really thought I had lost you there. Promise me to never do something so stupid again.“ He was gently rubbing your back, mumbling: „I promise you that, baby girl. Something like that will never happen again.“ You remained in that position for what felt like an eternity before you heard Dean’s amused voice exclaiming: „Found them but I’m not sure whether I want to disturb. Do you have your pants up, Ro?“ You couldn’t help but laugh out loud as you left your boyfriend’s lap, turning around, saying: „You’re an idiot Ambrose. I hope you know that.“ He grinned from ear to ear as he answered: „Yeah I might have heard that before.“ Just a few seconds later he turned serious, wanting to know: „Are you both alright? I mean, I can still call you our dream couple, can’t I?“ You peeked back, holding out your hand for Roman, who took it right away, getting to his feet. He hugged you from behind as he smiled at his best friend, answering: „Yeah we still go by that name.“

As you headed back to your rented home, the four of you decided to have a rather unspectacular evening as the shock of today’s events still was pretty present. You chose a movie everyone of you wanted to see and had some relaxed dinner together. When you parted your ways past midnight and found yourself in the bed next to Roman shortly after, you finally were able to somehow let go of the fear you had been feeling the whole day as Roman was holding you close to his naked body while you were playing with the tip of his hair. 

He certainly knew how to make you feel better when you were emotionally scared although you couldn’t tell how many rounds of sleeping with each other you had taken that night. You didn’t need a lot of words until you finally fell asleep in his arms, relieved that he made it out alive of that shark cage.

The next morning Roman stretched in bed, watching your naked silhouette lying next to him. The both of you had made love almost all night, recovering from yesterday’s events and he wanted to give you some rest before you would head for the beach like you had agreed on the last night. He tried to be as quiet as he somehow could but you seemed to have felt his eyes on your body even if you were asleep, opening your own slowly. You sleepily peaked at him, yawning out loud. You couldn’t help but feel as if it was still in the middle of the night, with you not getting much sleep, not that you would have complained. „What is it?" ,you mumbled, trying to rearrange your thoughts. "Nothing, beautiful" ,he whispered and pressed a kiss on your shoulder, kissing his way up to your neck to gently nibble on it while his beard was tickling you, sending shivers down your spine.

"Don't tell me you want again" ,you whispered as you tried to hold back any mischievous sound, that would have shown him how much you enjoyed his gentle touch. Roman laughed, slightly amused at that accusation although he had to admit that it was kind of true. He didn’t even make a huge secret of the fact that he couldn’t get enough of you in and out of bed. You just completed him in every possible way. And whenever you would become one, whenever you welcomed him in, it felt as if you became one person, sharing everything. Roman would have lied if he would have said that he didn’t love the sex you had and he knew that you felt the same. But that didn’t mean that he would take advantage of that all the time. He was aroused but by no means would he wake you from your well deserved rest just to make love to you again.

"No I am good" he said softly, continuing his sweet assault on your neck. You couldn’t help as you yawned again, covering your mouth while doing so while your other traveled to his neck, holding him close. "Then it means you are taking a gun to bed and I can't say that I like an armed man pressing against me." ,you jokingly said, making Roman laugh out loud. „I’m sorry for that ma’am. You are right, an armed man shouldn’t lie in your bed, threatening you.  I’m right back baby girl, just taking a cold shower, so you can get some more sleep in the mean time.“, he said amused, kissing you on that sensitive spot under your ear, getting ready to leave the bed. Just as he wanted to get up, you instinctively grabbed his arm, threatening him: "Don't you dare to leave, Reigns. Not like that.“ Roman groaned into your neck, realizing once again that you were full of surprises and that was just one of the many things he loved about you. He turned his attention back to your neck, kissing it gently once again since he knew how much you loved that.

"I could get used to all of that. This island, this house, you in my arms, making love to you for the whole night only to continue right in the morning, no rushing, no stress as we don’t have to move from city to city.“ ,he whispered in your ear, his tongue flicking over your earlobe. You sighed softly at the pictures he had painted in your mind, feeling a warm wave of lust and affection for him going through your body once again. You weren’t sure whether you needed him so close because you had feared that you almost lost him the day before or simply because you and Roman had a constant desire for each other but whatever it was, you enjoyed the time with him, especially the one right now, where only the both of you mattered. His hand travelled down to your waist, sliding up and down there, sending shivers down your spine as his rough palms caressed your sensitive skin. He slowly trailed his fingertips along your side until he reached out for your breasts in order to cup them gently. He carefully squeezed them, his fingers drawing little circles around your nipples, drawing a low moan from your lips before you instinctively bit them.

You had to admit that you loved how he often fell asleep with his arms around you from behind as it gave you a feeling of comfort, of being protected of anything in this world. Of course, it had led more than just once to the both of you having early morning sex, but that was something you would never complain about. Roman’s hand slowly left your breasts after having given them the attention that they deserved, gently pushing it down over your stomach, trailing around your belly button for quite some time before it continued its journey down your thighs. You tried not to make a sound as his fingers were gently tracing up and down your thighs before they travelled between them. He could tell that he wasn't the only one aroused this morning as he felt your wetness already although he was barely touching you. He had to held his own groan back and in the back of his head he registered amused that once again the both of you could enjoy it as much as you wanted because no matter how loud you would get, neither Dean nor Renee could hear you as they were at the other end of the house.

You tried to remain silent, you really did, but you just couldn’t help but moan out loud as Roman's long, thick fingers gently touched and explored you. He was rubbing through your damp folds, taking his time to build some friction there before he moved his index finger to your bud, rubbing it as slow as if he had all the time in the world, before he moved his fingers between your folds again, soaking them completely, only to return back to your clit to continue his slow torture there. You moaned out in pleasure, throwing your head back to rest it on his shoulder while you prayed that he would already start fucking you. You couldn’t wait to feel him inside of you but if he didn’t want to grant you his dick right away, you would also be happy with his fingers inserting you first. As he trailed his fingers back to your entrance you automatically bucked your hips as you couldn’t wait to feel him already. Roman laughed one of his dirty laughs as he groaned “Naughty girl“, not willing to let go of your sweet torture that easy.

You groaned out in frustration. He knew how to push your buttons and he did it damn well. In general you appreciated a long and slow foreplay but when you were as turned on as you were right now, you would rather skip it without thinking about it twice. "How about you stop smart assing me and fuck me instead?" ,you gently hissed, barely able to hide your annoyance. You were quite sure that Roman couldn’t wait to sink into you either but whatever the reason may be, he certainly had more self-control in situations like that than you had. Not that he would hold back, of course not. But he knew how to extend pleasure to the fullest until it was almost unbearable. You had experienced it more often than you could count and you loved every single time of it, when you became a whimpering mess below him, screaming out his name in pleasure and ecstasy quite alike while he would fuck you like no other guy had fucked you before. 

Upon hearing your words Roman groaned, hardening against your back even more, his dick trapped between your back and his belly. He bit down on your neck, making you scream out in surprise, using that exact moment to push his finger inside of you, a second and a third following shortly after, slowly pulling them out of you, only to push them back in as far as he could. „Oh fuck“, you exclaimed as you enjoyed the feeling of his fingers fucking you gently as he set the pace just like he wanted it to.  You were meeting his thrusts with every movement of your hips as you heard him moan out behind you as your movement created a friction on his dick quite alike. As much as you enjoyed his fingers exploring you, you needed his cock inside of you.

„Babe, stop fucking me with your fingers, no matter how good that feels like, and start thrusting into me with your dick, will you?“, you groaned out in frustration. "No need to tell me twice baby girl.“ ,he mumbled as he brought some distance between you and him, grabbing his cock and guiding it to your entrance, only to push slowly and agonizing into your warm and wet inner core, your walls surrounding his dick instantly as he pushed inside of you bit by bit until you had taken his whole length in, filling you completely, making you whimper as you were always taken by surprise anew as to how big he was. Roman's moans filled your ears as he started to thrust into you gently, becoming harder with each thrust, finding just the right pace and movement to bring you the most lust somehow possible. "Fuck Ro...just like that.“ ,you moaned as you tilted your head to the side in order to kiss him, while your hand held onto his neck, keeping him as close to you as you needed him. He was passionately kissing you, effectively silencing your moans while he was slowly pulling out of you, only to push himself completely in again. His strong chest ground over your back while doing so, his hips increasing their pressure against your ass.

You clung tightly to him, not willing to let go of him for just a bit, which added even more to his arousal, stroking his ego nicely. "You were made for me, baby girl. I have no doubts about that.“ ,he groaned as he gently grabbed your breasts and pinched your nipples once again. You had your trouble expressing some words through all of your moans but eventually you were able to say: „I’m fine with being made for you. But that means that your dick is all mine, with no other woman having the pleasure of being fucked by you ever again.“ You heard his deep chuckles as he groaned into your ear: „Baby girl, this dick doesn’t want any other woman than you. You are mine, just like I’m yours.“ You knew how cheesy that sounded but you didn’t care as you knew that he was right. You were all his and you had no desire whatsoever to have another man fuck you as you were as happy as you could be with the Samoan, that was pushing you closer to the edge with each thrust he kept burying himself into you.  

You were grinding up against him and although you couldn’t really believe that the both of you were fucking again after the sleepless, steamy and passionate night you had, you couldn’t do anything else but admit that it felt so damn good. You really wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your vacation in bed with him, no matter what you had told him before your vacation even started. Roman kept on thrusting into you, his fingers gently finding your clit and giving it a nice little rub to add to the overall sensation, you were feeling, a little more. "Mhhh fuck. That feels so good babe.“ ,you sighed.

Before you had the chance of finding some release, however, Roman stopped his sweet torture on your clit as he was moving his hand back to your thigh, grabbing it roughly and lifting it up, making it rest on top of his thigh. Just as you wanted to ask what he was doing, you immediately felt it. While he was holding your leg in place, he granted himself even better entrance to your pussy, being able to push into you even further. You wouldn’t have expected that the sensation could increase but you were wrong. „Oh my fucking god.“, you exclaimed as he was slamming into you, his pace increasing, his whole movement becoming rougher. You loved every single moment of it and you didn’t mind one bit that he was thrusting harder into you without asking you for permission first since he was quite aware that you absolutely loved the going back and forth between vanilla and rough sex. 

With each thrust your breast were bouncing in synch, while Roman held onto your leg with one of his hands, while his other one rested on your stomach, pressing you against him, making it unable for you to move away, not that you would have wanted to do so of course. While his beard was scratching over your jawline, you felt the sweet pain as he was biting into the sensitive skin of your neck, making you moan out once again in sheer pleasure. You had no idea how long he was fucking you like that but eventually you felt your orgasm drawing nearer while he kept thrusting into you.  "I am coming" , you exclaimed breathless, which only resulted in Roman thrusting harder and deeper into you that he had done before, causing you some sweet pain, that you gladly welcomed. "Come for me baby girl" ,he groaned, his deep voice breathless and hoarse as well, his breath hot against your cheek. Although he would have loved to fuck you for quite some more time, he nevertheless felt a warm tug in his own groin as well,  telling him that he wouldn't last much longer either.

Just moments later you came around around him, your walls clenching around his cock, covering it completely with your cream as you closed your eyes, screaming out his name while he held you close to his body. He kept on thrusting into you, helped you riding out your orgasm, enjoying every second of the pleasure he had brought you. He wanted to last a little longer, he really did, but ponding into you, fucking you for approximately an hour already had its toll on him. „Fuck baby. I’m close, so close.“, he groaned as he picked up the pace one last time and with a few more thrusts, Roman came as well, moaning out your name while he filled you up with his cum. He kept on riding out his orgasm as well until he was exhausted too. With a few more lazy thrusts, he pulled out of you, his dick covered in your juices and his cum quite alike, gasping for air. 

You were lying next to him, trying to regain a constant breathing as well. Every bit of your body was sore but you would be damned if you didn’t absolutely like it. "Dammit Ro… I’m not quite sure whether we can still head to the beach today. I’m not sure whether I can walk after you had fucked me like a maniac throughout the last night and the early morning“ you grinned at him, rolling to your side, cupping his cheek and kissing him passionately, before you added “You are simply amazing and way too skillful for your own good.“  Roman grinned at you, saying: „Baby girl, if you’re not able to walk anymore I have definitely done everything right, Would be a shame if you could still trust your legs. Besides that it's not hard to be amazing with a woman like you.“ Before you had a chance to reply, he hungrily kissed you, before he moved so he could face you, pulling you into his arms.

You felt how sleep was overcoming you and you didn’t mind one bit. After all, your morning was adventurous enough and after all that had happened, falling asleep in the arms of the man you loved, was a way better start of the day than anything else. The beach and the island itself would still be there in a few hours. Right now you just wanted to rest in Roman’s arms and his quiet snoring told you that he was of the same opinion. It didn’t take long until you had fallen asleep, following Roman’s example and while doing so, you were already counting the days until your next vacation would take you to a lonely and secluded place again. You couldn’t wait. But until then you would just enjoy the here and now.

[the-lavi-to-your-kanda]

Commission for the fantastic @aoi-hina !!

lemon (smut/whatever tumblr bots aren’t going after)

Bucky has a nightmare, Jenna makes him feel better ;)

Jenna couldn’t sleep. It was normal, she guessed, that she wouldn’t be able to sleep at night after going out fighting crime all night for a week. Still, this was meant to be her day off. Their day off, actually. She looked over to Bucky who was sleeping beside her. 

She was too wired to even close her eyes and he was practically a rock beside her. It might have ticked other people off, but it made her smile. Bucky didn’t get to sleep peacefully most nights, so it was nice to see. He slept on his side with his arms tucked up near his head. His face was calm, his mouth a little open. His hair was hanging around his head. She brushed a stray strand behind his ear and returned to her book. The room was just light enough for her to read, but it was a cosy kind of dim. The blankets over her legs were warm. The city outside was almost quiet. Sometimes a truck would go past, and she could hear that more clearly than the other things. Still, it was all muted, distant. She sat back against the headboard and let herself be immersed in the story.

As the night went on, Jenna was close to falling asleep. She couldn’t quite concentrate on the words, and her eyes kept closing and refusing to open. She would sometimes only realise she had basically fallen asleep when she discovered the story had stopped. It wasn’t as late as when she would normally get home, but her body had realised she wasn’t doing anything and started powering down. She closed her book and stretched. Bucky shifted and let out a soft grunt. At first, she figured she had half woken him from moving. She leaned over to press a kiss to his temple but paused when she noticed the way his eyes were shifting beneath his eyelids. He let out a few more grunts and jerked a little. It seemed like he was trying to wake himself from his nightmare but couldn’t.

She gently shook his shoulders, calling his name until he woke. His breathing was short, but his eyes recognised her very quickly. She could see him forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths.

“You okay?” She whispered, rubbing his shoulder. His body always felt so large under her hands.

He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back. “Yeah,” He sighed. His thumb rubbed the spot he had kissed and gave his hand a soft squeeze.

She shifted so she was laying closer to him. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He licked his lips and adverted his eyes. She had sort of expected that answer. Maybe he would tell her one day, but for now she brushed his hair behind his ear before saying, “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

Bucky placed a hand on Jenna’s waist and pulled her closer. The two laid there for a moment beside each other. His hand wandered slowly along her waist, and she used her thumb to caress his cheek.

He pulled her closer and kissed her lips softly. The way he acted after a nightmare was always different. Sometimes he would wake up and have to leave the room; sometimes he needed to stay in bed but needed to be left alone. Tonight, apparently, whatever he’d dreamt of made him need contact. Sometimes it was emotional contact, but this time it was physical contact. She didn’t mind and was more than willing to provide what he needed.

She let her fingers tangle into his hair as she wiggled herself slightly closer to him. He let the arm he had been laying on (his prosthetic) out from underneath himself and placed it under her instead. Then he pulled her to his chest. She could feel his muscles through the thin fabric of their shirts pressing against her. It took a little adjusting, but she got her own arm out from underneath herself and placed it on Bucky’s chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath her palm. It was steadier than she expected, but she could tell it was beating harder than normal.

Bucky’s hands started to run up underneath her shirt. The mix of cold and warm – metal and skin – made goose-bumps raise all over her back. He stopped kissing her lips and started to peck along her collar bone. He was being so sweet and soft with every touch, which was rather different to his usual roughness. There was something about that difference (maybe just the fact that it was different) that made her mouth water. She made sure to match his tenderness while she slipped her hand under his shirt. His skin was so warm, but she only touched it for a moment before he flinched away.

“Sorry,” She whispered, pulling her hand away. She wasn’t sure why she felt like she had to be so quiet. There wasn’t anyone else around. Although, she supposed her neighbours wouldn’t be happy to hear them. That wasn’t very likely though. Still, there was something about the moment that seemed to demand a modest voice.

“It’s okay,” He replied, obviously feeling the same way about how he should be speaking. He took her hand it pressed it back to his stomach, “Your hands are just cold.”

Jenna laughed under her breath and pressed a kiss into his hair. “Sorry, they should warm up soon though.” Bucky laughed with her. He still flinched a little when her fingers explored new skin, but she simply waited until he settled back against her.

His hands were slowly reaching towards her nipples which he started to rub. The light touches sent shudders down her spine. She let a little gasp leave her lips could feel him grin against her skin in response. She loved him knowing when she felt good almost as much as she loved the feeling itself. Tingles raced up her spine.

The fingers in Bucky’s hair untangled and made their way down to his crotch. She caressed his dick through his pants. She felt the rush of air leave his lips and brush against her skin. Goose-bumps raised in the spot he’d gasped against and she slipped her hand beneath his pants. His own hand followed her suit and slipped beneath her pants to tenderly rub against her pussy.

She could feel him growing hard in her hand. The thought was enough to make her mouth water and she quickly found herself sinking down after grabbing a condom from the bedside table. He rolled onto his back to make it a little easier for her to navigate what she was doing. When she was totally submerged beneath the covers, it took a little fumbling in the dark before she could slip the condom on, then head of his dick into her mouth. She heard him gasp at the sensation and smiled to herself.

Letting her head bop along the length of Bucky’s dick, she focused on the movement of her tongue. She wanted to keep everything slow, and soft, and gentle, and tender – like it had been – but there was the undeniable desire to push roughly with her tongue and quicken her pace. She somehow managed to restrain herself and kept her speed even and easy, and her touch mild and smooth. She could hear Bucky gasping softly and calling her name, making it worth it to take her time.

After a while, her jaw started to hurt, and it became very hot under the covers. She glided her way back up; she pressed kisses randomly along his stomach and chest. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed heavily. When she was back up to his face level, she pressed little kisses around his neck and cheeks. She felt his fingers exploring along her waist and sinking down to her pussy again. He had apparently brought out the bottle of lube while she had been down there, since she could feel the liquid on his fingers. He had his thumb against her clitoris and his fingers rubbing against her labia. She couldn’t have stopped herself moaning if she tried. She was already kind of wet, and Bucky’s finger slipped inside her. He kept up his relaxed pace, letting her mewl at the sensations.

She found the bottle on the bedside table and grabbed it. It took her a second to make sure she was concentrating while she was poured the lube on her hand. She really, really, didn’t want to spill it all over the bed. It wasn’t easy with Bucky’s fingers distracting her, but she managed. She put her own hand under the covers and pumped his dick at the same rhythm that he was fucking her with his fingers. It was a slow rhythm, but at least she held him a little tighter than she had before. She let herself buck slightly against his fingers. It added a level of friction that made her mouth water and shudders raced along her spine.

After a few minutes, it became clear that Bucky wanted more than just a hand-job. He removed his fingers and let his hands rest on her waist. He was giving her the control to put him inside her at her own pace. She sat up so she could ride him cowgirl and fiddled around until she could line him up easily. She restrained herself from just sliding straight on and made sure she moved gradually. It wasn’t easy. She wanted to push right onto him. Still, he had set up a slow pace, and she wasn’t going to push for something faster if that’s not what he wanted.

When he was all the way inside, Bucky let out a soft moan that made her muscles tense and shudder. She slowly started to rock her hips back and forward. The shifting was obviously enough to make his hands clench faintly. She looked him directly in the eyes as she started to add a little bounce to the movement. Those bright blue eyes that she couldn’t help but adore. He gasped at the sensation, probably since it pushed the boundaries of their set speed limit.

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” He asked. She was so surprised she stopped.

“What? No,” she answered. They’d done this a million times before, usually rougher. She wasn’t sure why he would suddenly be afraid of hurting her now. He’d never hurt her before (at least, not in any way that she hadn’t asked him to).

His hands started to wander down from her waist to her thighs. “Okay,” he said, “That’s good.”

She wasn’t sure if she should laugh at how weird the situation seemed, but she started to move again. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m fine, Bucky. I’ not going to break.”

Bucky’s prosthetic fingers tangled in her hair and she kissed him again. She tried to focus on the movement on her hips and the kiss, but it was a little difficult. Especially since he felt so good inside her. It was distracting.

She could feel herself wanting to move faster. She struggled to keep her pace. Reminding herself that if Bucky was worried about hurting her, he wouldn’t want to move too quickly. He was barely even moving his hips against her, even if she’d insisted that she wouldn’t break. She wondered if he maybe wasn’t as into it as he had suggested. Maybe it wasn’t the best to have taken him up on his offer if he was this worried about it. She couldn’t really take it back, but she could stop, so she did. She didn’t pull him out, but she sat up and sat still.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked immediately. There was concern there, or maybe fear.

“Are you alright? You don’t seem like yourself.”

He tensed at those words. “Don’t I?”

She felt a sad smile pull up on her cheeks. “Since when do you want to go this slow?”

He shifted, making him push slightly into her. She gasped lightly. “Sorry,” He said quickly. “If it hurts, we should stop.”

“I already told you,” She sighed, “I’m fine. I’m just worried about you.”

One of his hands, down on her thigh, traced light circles into her skin. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I know,” She laughed softly, “But if you don’t want to do this, I want to know.”

He tensed again. He sat up and pressed a kiss to her cheek before pulling her into a hug. She didn’t think this was asking her to keep going, exactly, but she hugged him back, letting her head rest on his shoulder. “It’s going to sound ridiculous,” He whispered in her ear.

“I won’t laugh.” She traced along his back.

He was still very tense, but he seemed to relax a little under her touch. “I just need to touch you and know that I can do that without hurting you.” She pulled out of the hug so she could kiss his cheek.

“You haven’t hurt me at all.” He looked like he was about to respond to the contrary, but she quickly added, “Not just tonight. At all.” (At least, she added in her head, not in any way she hadn’t specifically asked – and begged – him to.)

Bucky’s hands were ridged against her skin. She wondered what he planned to do. Maybe he would pull out and they would go to sleep. Maybe he would leave completely. After a moment, though, she felt him start to shift. After a moment she realised he was bucking up into her again. She felt a fresh shudder break its way over her spine and let out a moan. She quickly started bouncing on him again. He moaned in response and the two remained like that for a couple of minutes.

As Bucky grinded up into her, Jenna could feel her muscles growing tight the way they always did just before she came. She tried to ignore it in the hopes it would go away. It did not, and she found that she couldn’t stop the rush of euphoria racing through her.

Bucky paused and watched her for a second before asking, “You okay?”

She rolled her eyes and kept moving her hips. “I’m fine.”

Bucky smiled and started to kiss her shoulder before continuing to fuck her. It wasn’t nearly as soft and slow as it had. It seemed that he was close too. She was a little tired, but she managed to focus enough on moving in a way that made him grunt in her ear. It wasn’t hard, since she basically could’ve done anything at that point. After a couple of minutes, she felt him tensing (his hands dug into her skin, and his muscles flexed against her chest and stomach) and then a second later and he came, groaning in her ear.

He cleaned up quickly, letting Jenna lay down for a couple of minutes. She was exhausted and wound up all at once. She felt heavy, but her brain wouldn’t stop running through what had just happened. She was worried about Bucky’s nightmare, specifically what he’d meant by, “I just need to touch you and know that I can do that without hurting you.” It was quite an odd thing to say, although she supposed it might not be for him. Considering his past, he probably felt that he hurt a lot of people without meaning to. It made her stomach turn to think about how sad he must be. She tried to stop thinking about it, at least so she could sleep, but she couldn’t. Even when he came in and turned the light off, crawling into the bed, she was still thinking about it.

There was a moment of silence where she assumed that he had fallen back to sleep. She could hear him breathing softly and it seemed pretty even to her. She wondered if he would have another nightmare. Maybe if he did, they’d fuck again. That thought brought her pause, but only because she realised how horrible that sounded.

“Do you still want to know what I dreamt of?” He whispered quietly. It was so soft that she wouldn’t have even heard it if she’d been asleep. She supposed that was probably the point.

“Only if you want to talk about it,” She replied. It was true, she didn’t want to push him. Still, she figured that he wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t want to talk about it though.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

She could feel him shift about in the dark. She wondered if he was trying to shift off the discomfort. “Well,” He whispered, “I’ve seen some pretty fucked up things. I don’t know if you necessarily want to hear about it.”

“You can tell me,” She reached out and felt his hand. It was cold metal. She closed her fingers around it, and he squeezed her hand gently in response. “I’ve seen some shit too. Obviously, not quite like you have. Still, if you need to talk, I can hear it. I promise.”

Bucky brought her hand to his lips and pressed another kiss to her hand. He murmured, “I dreamt of some of the assassinations. It’s weird, I can’t quite remember them. Sometimes I see faces and I know I killed them, even if I don’t know how. Sometimes I see myself shooting someone, but I don’t know who. Some of their faces aren’t right. It’s like they’re incomplete. I see their eyes, or their mouths. I can’t see their face though. Sometimes I think I can, but if I try to look at it, it fades.” He sniffled and she realised he was crying. “That probably doesn’t make sense.”

“It does.” Maybe she didn’t have that experience exactly, but she understood things vanishing in dreams once you tried to focus on them.

“Sometimes I see what I did from outside my body. Sometimes, I see it from my own point of view. Is that weird?”

“I think your brain is trying to process,” She answered. She understood that too. Sometimes things happened to her, or she did something, and she saw them as if they happened to (or were done by) someone else.

“I guess,” Bucky replied. “It’s sort of annoying not knowing who I hurt.”

She swallowed thickly. It took her a moment to figure out how to reply to that. She couldn’t necessarily relate to that. “Maybe, but would you really want to see those people’s faces?”

He went quiet for a moment. He was so still and so silent that she wondered if he had fallen asleep. She guessed that was fair, he had seemed tired. She shifted to get more comfortable and then he answered, “It’s hard being guilty of killing someone you can’t remember.”

Another weird thing she wasn’t sure how to respond to. She made a mental note to possibly look into getting a therapist or something for him. Maybe she would have to do some of her own training in this sort of thing, just so she would know what to say and when to say it. “It wasn’t your choice to do that.”

“But it was my body that did it.”

“Maybe, but it wasn’t your mind.” She wasn’t really sure if that was actually helpful, but he pressed another kiss to her hand.

“If it hadn’t been me,” His voice was so soft she felt it against her skin more than she heard it, “I wouldn’t remember anything at all. I do though.”

“Your mind wasn’t physically removed, so it naturally still got some of the information. That doesn’t mean you chose to do those things.”

“I don’t think I put up much of a fight though…”

“Do you remember?”

Bucky went quiet for another moment. This time, though, she could feel his fingers gently squeezing her. “No,” He admitted.

“Then you probably did. They couldn’t have you remembering something like that though, could they? It would have made you impossible to control, if you knew you could fight them.”

Bucky pressed another kiss to her fingers. He sniffled again before asking, “You think so?”

“I’m positive,” She replied immediately, even though she wasn’t. She couldn’t be one-hundred-percent sure since she wasn’t there. Still, it seemed more likely than not.

After a few more minutes, she realised that Bucky’s breathing (still brushing against her fingertips) had become deeper and slower. It was clear he had fallen asleep. She sat in the dark listening out for any noises he might have made to indicate another nightmare. For now, at least, he seemed to be sleeping more easily. Still, she stayed up for awhile longer. She wanted to make sure he got a good night’s rest. It wasn’t necessarily true that she could actually do anything to help him except wake him before it got too bad and be there when he woke up. She wasn’t going to simply refuse to do those things because it was all she could do though. She stayed up until she saw the sun start to peek through the blinds. She intended to stay up a little while longer – just until Bucky woke. She watched the dust dance in the sun, then she was being woken by Bucky. She turned to him with mild confusion. For some reason it took her a moment to realise she’d been asleep. He said it was afternoon and that she needed to get out of bed so she could get to work. She was pretty sure she was going to have a shitty day. It seemed worth it to her.

[girlmood]

so yesterday, after crying about my phone being in the hands of some stubborn, unsophisticated uber driver, my mind kept going back to something i’m a bit obsessed with. i have had these obsessive and compulsive thoughts for around a year and a long bit now, and they make me feel unsafe because they revolve around someone. the thoughts themselves are innocent, yet they’re incessant and i feel that they get in the way of being active and focused on things. 

for a long time now i’ve tried to make sense of these thoughts.

i’ve come to the conclusion that these thoughts are in the way of something.

whenever i am daydreaming this recurring thought, i close my eyes. i reflect and become drowsy. even when i am trying to reject these thoughts i try and use sleep. needless to say that this gets in the way of things like reading and creating. however, i always insist when people ask that i am always busy reading and creating. in effect i am if i am daydreaming something all the time, BUT i am not putting pen to paper, am i? 

i close my eyes to my reality, the outside world. i live in my interior. 

i do this because it is easier.

i have said that i choose to obsess over this thing because it calms and soothes me. i always knew that the facile nature of just thinking something alone and not doing anything with it made me feel freer.

yesterday, however, it was difficult to cry about my phone OR this thing. it felt forced to encourage tears even though i felt a hollowness inside. when i noticed that this uncomfortable moment was taking place, i berated myself for not telling me how i really feel. THAT made me cry. knowing that there are things concealed from myself within myself is a fact that terrorizes me more and more each day i get older, especially because i think “I did psychology! Why don’t I know what is wrong with me?”

if i had been focusing on saturday night, i would have my phone. i was drunk and sleepy so i did not hear the uber driver trying to return it to me (or so he says). i also have no memory of the situation. i just have no phone right now.

if i admit to myself that i feel what i am scared i feel because i don’t know it, in regards to the obsession (though admitting this would no longer make it an obsession -- it would practically free me), then i must open my eyes and focus and take action towards it. it isn’t a bad thing to want what i am daydreaming about. i argue that it doesn’t make sense, but it does. my issue is that i cannot go a day without thinking about it in some form. i want to be able to focus.

i am taking a while to get to my point here but i think that this does further emphasise the importance of what my point is, to be fair.

anyways, i cried when i talked about my lack of focus, and how really, all i want to do is wri--... wri--

i couldn’t say the word “write” because i got choked up by my tears all of a sudden.

when i finally realised that “i’m not letting myself write, or create at all, by my lack of focus” i started sobbing like a child bereaved of ice cream.

i use that obsession, i use alcohol and drugs and social media and films, all to distract myself from what i truly want to do.

I want to write.

i do english. i tell myself it is because the teacher i had a crush on replied to a letter i’d given her; she said she could see me being “the next j.k rowling.” i’m sure that was meant as a compliment back then. there is also the fact that i never intended with continuing on with education past year 11 until we had to by law, but after enjoying my sixth form subjects, i found it incredulous that i had to pick just one for university, and english seems to be the perfect avenue in which to incorporate media, sociology and psychology (i also never got to do philosophy and i never continued on with french after gcses, so i also hoped to approach them in my courses).

but really, i do english because i’ve always been a good writer.

that is a bold claim to make, but in the past years i have made many bold claims. i am a sagittarius! it is our job to make bold claims and when asked to elaborate on that, we say no! like, that meme format was born out of sagittarianism.

for the sake of talking, because us sagittarians also do love the sound of our own voices, i will elaborate THIS ONE TIME.

i wrote many songs when i was younger, and used to perform them with my sister and cousins. there was this song called “girls style” that i still remember the chorus of. i must’ve written it when i was like, 7 or 8 years old? i swear, though, it’s good enough to be on a dolly advert or a song that jojo siwa could get more famous of. i think it must’ve been inspired by bratz too... anyways, that was a good song, is my point. i don’t think i could write it again and it could be as good because, for one, i don’t identify as a girl anymore. 

there was also another song that i wrote, i don’t remember how it goes, but i know once beyoncé came out with “irreplaceable” i was infuriated because the song i wrote had the exact same subject matter and tone as her song (but actually who was i telling “to the left, to the left” at 8 years old? rolling WHO around in the CAR? that I BOUGHT? for WHO?) somehow i swore blind that beyoncé had stole my song, and even though she was my whole life even back then, i had to unstan for a bit because i was mad at her.

imagine. 

i’m writing beyoncé level songs at 8 years old.

okay, i may not be THAT good -- well, actually, most of the songs on b’day aren’t so intangible for an 8 year old. not to say it isn’t a masterpiece, like every other thing beyoncé has done ever since and before and god I LOVE THAT WOMAN, but you know, i was in that ballpark, i guess, maybe...

or maybe not but ANYHOW i also learned to read at quite an early age, think it must’ve been 3 or something (despite how intelligent he is, i can’t imagine my 4 year old cousin being able to read right now, so that must have been a shock to my mother) and i was pretty artistic at a young age too, despite my main interests being in science at that time. 

i remember being in year 3 and writing a poem about ice cream that my teacher would never stop bringing up even after i left his year. i also drew a portrait of my best friend that year, and trust me, it was so good, the whole class was in awe. no joke. 

funnily enough, though, for a while, i used to deny that those things happened. you know, the pride my year 3 teacher felt or the way my best friend looked at me when she saw how well i depicted her at, again, only 8 years old. i forgot about them until now, 13 years later, in my last semester of university. 

my best friend from secondary school and my dad were so obsessed with this journal i used to bring around. my best friend used to write in it from time to time. i was so perplexed as to why she liked it so much that eventually it weirded me out and i stopped bringing the journal to school. (sorry mia, still love you!) i went to jamaica for two weeks when i was 15 and brought that journal with me, and my dad read every entry and seemed so excited by it as well that i just. stopped bringing it to show him. he still asks about it, and if i’m still writing in general. i give him mono-syllabic answers and hopes that he doesn’t ask any further questions (i mean perhaps that is because the moment i visited jamaica was also the moment i realised i really liked this one girl and since then i’ve realised i am a lesbian and since all i was doing was writing about this one girl for three years... i didn’t want to share anything too incriminating with him, a known homophobe, naturally)

in all of these instances, you can see that people enjoy my art. there isn’t an instance in which they’ve protested against it, even when i’ve explicitly named people in that journal or not everyone likes ice cream. but you can also see that i somehow conveniently forget that. like. “people enjoy my art” does not compute in my mind for a long time. it is a sentence that does not make sense, by every word. 

people? 

outside of myself? 

enjoy? 

like, actively consume and are amused? 

my? 

ME? 

art?

that’s BOLD, you believe you create art? ART? 

well, what else would you call it? what else would you say? i’m creating something whimsical here.

i’m currently studying critical aesthetics, and as far as i’ve read for this class, i can perfectly claim that the creations i allow to be consumed as such ARE in fact, poetry, by the basis of many of these conflicting philosophers.

but obviously, before three months ago, i didn’t know much about what aristotle, hume, hegel and such had to say about art and creating. however i always know i want my every endeavour to be artful. i’ve been enamoured with the concept of aesthetic for a long time -- perhaps this was vapourwave’s doing -- and i know i daydream a lot. it’s where the mental illnesses i’m plagued with permeate these naturally creative realms of my mind and distort them and they become unhealthy obsessions that i react compulsively toward. 

i’ve been to therapy and counselling and have heard the same thing. i’ve even heard it from a friend who really inspires me recently -- overthinking is not a bad thing. you just have to know how to control it so that it benefits you. overthinking could not be the bane of my existence because i probably would not be able to create without it. however, it’s dysfunctional because i don’t control it. i always think it’s about not being able to “turn my brain off”, which is impossible apart from braindeath, which i think is what i accidentally purposely try to allude to, but that isn’t what control is. 

control... is a scary word. a hell of an intimidating word for someone who is considered by many to be free-spirited and laid back. but control could have saved me the frustration of a missing phone for two days. control did save me from this obsession from furthering at one point, but after one event i lost control and have not regained it since. it is easy to blame the person in question but she hadn’t done anything wrong. i’m not really doing anything wrong. i just need to control myself.

last year, i meditated a lot. this was perhaps i was smoking weed and normal tobacco, thinking i could find myself in those vices, yet felt so paranoid and low. when you meditate, it isn’t really about controlling your thoughts by blocking them out. rather, meditation is about controlling where your mind is. where you focus. it’s choosing to relax.

strange as it sounds, relaxation is not an easy choice to make.

i often mistake relaxing for being idle. the major difference is in my thoughts. being idle allows for thoughts to intrude upon me and be incessant and unnerving. 

being idle is unfortunately a constant in my life.

it isn’t that i haven’t got anything to do. it’s just easy to be idle.

somewhere in the bible (no, i don’t care enough to go and look it up) it says “idle hands give the devil play”. or it’s a jamaican proverb. my mum says it a lot. anyhow, it rings true in every sense for me. the “devil”, my unconscious “ego”, base impulses, “play” with my mind, they swing my “idle hands”, make them shape their way, clap their way, ball their way. an innocent hand clapping game played until my hands are sore. i’m always throwing my hands at the devil to let him do what he wants.

relaxing is stopping the hand game. i put my hands down and watch the devil wait for me to parttake once again, saying encouraging things. there, i control my passivity. i spectate my own mind. 

right now, i’m relaxing. i am in bed, but also while typing this i am taking my time to focus, be honest and try not to digress. it feels so tranquil. i have written a lot but i want my point to get across so i can feel understood.

i feel like i have misguided my friends about who i am for a long time. or have i? it’s easy to be the messy black lesbian who loves one direction and is “woke” but there is this thing that i notice when i am with them: i am relaxed. well, in most instances. i listen to what they are telling me, because i enjoy listening in general but also because i love them. 

in my teenage years when i decidedly “wasn’t into friendships”, i would still listen to the people i hung around with. i’d complain about them on twitter after, which funnily enough people still joke that i do but i really do not (and CAN not) do it as much as i used to but i know by idly listening to them and not opening up i let all sorts of demons in because they can intrude unlike people you haven’t given the key to. 

now i am choosing to open up because people aren’t so bad, and people mostly like me. even if they didn’t, however, it doesn’t actually matter. 

me existing regardless of anyone else is the point here, despite me being a good writer. i think that’s what makes writing good. i think that is what makes art good. it has the ability to exist and encourage thought. 

i shouldn’t be afraid to write because i think i’m too depressed or messy or something i don’t like will come to fruition because that isn’t what its about. creating is creating. no one else would have written this. i don’t expect this to be winning the nobel book prize any time soon. i want to finally find peace in my honesty. i have been a compulsive liar for too long and it has become monstrous. now i must relax and take the true easy path in the end: the one which terrifies me the most.

i am going to be disciplined, patient, open. honest, forgiving, sensitive. 

i do love to be a mystery but it isn’t fun if it’s causing you pain and you’re a mystery to yourself for such a long time.

one way i’m going to solve the enigma that is myself, as well as the world, is writing.

[f1]

Extremely frustrating to lose more running due to Baku retirement Sainz | 2022 Azerbaijan Grand Prix

Carlos Sainz Jnr admitted it felt “extremely frustrating” to have dropped out of another race in the early stages due to his hydraulic failure in Baku. The Ferrari driver has covered the fewest laps of any full-time driver so far this year, including Sebastian Vettel who missed the first two races of the season. He has retired within the first 10 laps of three races so far: Azerbaijan, Emilia-Romagna and Australia. “From my side it’s been extremely difficult to get any kind of momentum,” rued Sainz after his lap nine retirement on Sunday. “Every time I do a good race, the next race there’s something happening. “2022 has been extremely frustrating on that side. But I’m still hoping that one day all this will finish and we start having a smoother time.” He was joined in retirement by his team mate Charles Leclerc, who suffered a power unit failure before half-distance. Sainz said his failure came as a surprise to him. “From my side this year we haven’t had any reliability issues,” he said. “It’s been unluckiness and things not going my way. But I see that Charles had a problem in Barcelona and another one here.” Baku was “a difficult day for the team” said Sainz. “But I’m sure we will look into it and we will stay united and keep pushing. It’s still a long season ahead.” Aside from the blow of their Baku double retirement, Sainz believes the team can be pleased with its start to the season. Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free “It’s part of the experience and part of the process,” he said. “I think we’ve been quite solid as a team, honestly, this year. There’s been some niggles here and there but I think the team is doing a very good job. Yes, we’ve run into our first double reliability issue, but I think the team is doing a great job. Poll: Vote for your 2022 Azerbaijan Grand Prix Driver of the Weekend “We just need to make sure we stay calm, we stay united and we react accordingly and we’re learning from these kind of mistakes. On the personal side, it’s frustrating, very frustrating because it’s extremely difficult to get any kind of momentum. Again, a retirement in lap nine, another 40, 50 laps without doing any learning with the car, which is extremely frustrating. But it’s how it goes.” Red Bull finished first and second on Sunday, putting them 80 points clear of Ferrari in the constructors’ championship. But with 14 races remaining, Sainz is confident they can get back in the fight. “I think we have a team to fight for the championship,” he said. “It is true that we are against the recent world champions and a great team like Red Bull. But Red Bull [didn’t finish with] both cars in Bahrain. So we just did the same here. “It just shows that in 22-race season, these kind of things are going to happen once in a while. Wwe need to learn from it and make sure it doesn’t happen again like Red Bull seems to have solved their issues. “It’s a tough race here. It was very warm, a demanding track on our car with the bouncing and everything so I’m sure it’s not easy.” Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free 2022 Azerbaijan Grand Prix Browse all 2022 Azerbaijan Grand Prix articles via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net

[storyunrelated]

Downward Trend - William Bosworth Has An Idea

Actually, let's do this.

I'm going to put the whole first bit of Downward Trend here.

I mean, why not? This is my blog, after all. I can do what I like. And this way all can marvel and laugh at what I consider an opening.

Beginnings are my weak point. Followed closely my middles. And endings. And writing in general, really. But that's life!

And I'm putting a break here but I bet you - I fucking bet you! - Tumblr breaks it and the whole text just dumps across your dash and makes you hate my filthy filthy guts. For which I am sorry.

Though not so sorry I won't risk it.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

One: William Bosworth Has An Idea

William ‘Billy’ Bosworth - the billionaire tyrant and horrifyingly influential media mogul - was looking up. Figuratively and literally.

You wouldn’t have thought ‘billionaire’ from looking at Billy. Your first impressions would likely be of a man who would have a very intense conversation with you about his new petrol lawnmower. Or maybe about which route he’d taken down the motorway to get to you and what the traffic had been like. He just had that look about him. Hard to put your finger on.

But no. Instead he was one of the most powerful men in the world. A pioneer of technology, a shrewd businessman and also an eccentric.

He was an eccentric because while he had unusual habits that some might have scoffed at had he not had money he did, in fact, have money. Lots and lots and lots of money. So he wasn’t weird. He was eccentric.

If anyone else eschewed beds at night because ‘lying down was for corpses and I’m not a corpse’ then you’d laugh at them and point and call them names to their face. But since Billy was very successful and slept upright tied to a post in his office then clearly it must have been a good thing to do. Because he was rich.

So he wasn’t weird. He was eccentric.

“Sally. Sally come in here,” he said, waving a hand in the vague direction of his secretary. He’d had no reason to raise his voice given that every inch of his office had been hooked up with top-of-the-range microphones to record his every murmur on the off-chance it was groundbreaking and brilliant. Like that time he’d come up with the idea of the having customers pay to not have to view incredibly offensive adverts.

Really, deeply offensive. They’d employed only the vilest of bigots to ensure that no-one could tolerate the adverts. It had been inspired.

But he raised his voice to get Sally’s attention anyway, because that was just how he operated. Sally came rushing in moments later looked haggard. As she worked for Billy Bosworth, Sally always looked haggard. It was unavoidable.

“Yes, sir?” She asked, only mildly breathless. Her response time was still the best of any secretary he’d ever had. Even better than that former Olympic sprinter he’d hired a few years back. That lad had had a very poor work ethic. Couldn’t stick it out for the distance, it seemed. Should have seen it coming.

That, and he’d just kept talking about his bloody medal. ‘We get it’ Billy had said ‘You ran very fast in a straight line. Get over it’. There followed a rather heated argument and from that point their professional relationship had taken something of a dip.

Hence, out with the athlete and in with Sally, who actually had secretarial experience and actually knew how to do her job. In retrospect the better approach.

“Do you know why I took off the roof of this building, Sally?” Billy asked, gesturing upwards to where the ceiling was missing and, more generally, to the sky beyond. Sally looked up and blinked. There was nothing there that gave her even anything approaching a clue.

“No, sir,” she said. An honest answer. She really had no idea why anyone would willingly do that to a building they owned.

It hadn’t even been a proper job, he had literally just paid a group of men to come and cut the top off the building. The structural damage had been significant and none of the air conditioning worked any more. Or the satellite links. Or the insulation.

And the building also now leaked when it rained. There was also that.

“Well I can’t tell you. You’re not important enough, I’m afraid, Sally. Send in Vlad.”

Sally - who wasn’t especially fussed about not being told, in all honesty - left the room as quickly as she’d arrived and lunged to her desk to ring down for Vlad, who could have been anywhere. Thankfully Vlad had chosen this time in the morning to sit and have a biscuit and so was at least within easy reach.

Minutes later a man who looked rather like someone had poured eighteen stone’s worth of beef into a suit before balancing a potato on top emerged from the lift on Billy’s floor and came striding on into Billy’s office without even pausing to knock.

Vlad was possibly the only person in the world who had standing permission to do this. This was because Vlad was the sort of person who urinates without lifting the seat up first, doesn’t flush and then dumps the paper handtowels into the toilet even though it’s made very clear you’re not supposed to, specifically to block it for whoever followed.

A monster, basically. But Billy’s personal go-to monster, so a monster with considerable latitude.

“Vlad. Do you know why I took the roof off this building?” Billy asked, not looking. Vlad was the sort of man you could hear coming. Feel coming, too. The air got out of his way in a very particular, noticeable fashion that you could tune into.

“Uh, no. Sir,” Vlad said. He, like Sally, also had no idea. He had worked with Billy long enough to not only learn that questioning his decisions was a bad career move but that even thinking about them too much wasn’t such a great move either.

Billy turned his head slightly, peering out of the corner of his eye.

“Sally shut the door. This is still too important for you,” he said. Sally obliged, leaving the two men alone in Billy’s roofless office. Whether Sally would be able to hear them talking anyway because of, you know, the lack of roof was not something that had apparently crossed Billy’s mind.

“Look up there, Vlad. What do you see?” Billy asked. Vlad looked. He saw pretty much exactly the same thing as Sally had seen. Sky.

“Sky?” He asked, hopefully, tentatively.

“I meant beyond that, Vlad. Look deeper. Expand your vision!”

Vlad had no idea what this meant. He just squinted harder. The sky remained sky. A distant plane crawled across it, glinting. A single cloud meandered. Vlad saw nothing of any particular significance.

“Uh…” he said, hesitating. Billy rolled his eyes. Vlad was a wonderful henchman in many ways but he was rubbish when you needed someone to bounce ideas and notions off of.

“Possibilities, Vlad!” Billy said with exasperation, raising an arm and pointing to one specific patch of sky. “You see there?”

“Yes,” Vlad lied.

“Up there - in that very patch of sky! - lurks a group of stars. Very far away of course and you can’t see them right now because it’s daytime and we’re in London anyway, but I assure you they are there. A glittering cluster of stars! Around which spin and twirl scores of worlds!”

At this point Billy finally stopped craning his neck upwards and turned to face Vlad properly. As he had been standing looking at the sky for some hours now this produced the most horrendous cracking sound. Not that Billy seemed the least bit concerned.

“I posit that these worlds contain life. Life, Vlad! And what does life mean?”

Billy did not wait for Vlad to take a stab at an answer to this one, for which Vlad was profoundly grateful.

“Customers, Vlad! Potential customers! People I have yet to reach! Did you know that my services, my products and my presence reaches out in one shape or form to about ninety-nine percent of all available humans on this planet?”

This was true. Ludicrous sounding, but true.

If people weren’t watching a programme that had received some level of investment from one of the many, many (many) companies that Billy had a finger in then they were watching it on a television or device made by one of his companies or containing one of the revolutionary components he himself had designed.

Or they were watching a film backed by one of his production companies (or one of his production company’s subsidiaries companies).

Or they were booking tickets to see one of these films on their phone made by a company he owned or designed by him.

Or both. At the same time.

But what of those people way out in remote regions? Tribes deep in the jungle that had no real awareness of the world beyond? Those who deliberately sought to avoid any and all human contact? Billy had those poor souls covered, too.

Personally owning a good chunk of the planet’s satellite infrastructure (and having designed some proprietary parts that showed up in all the places he didn’t own) Billy ensured that - floating around up there - were several specialised satellites which lovingly beamed down carefully modulated signals on all the more isolated parts of the globe.

These signals didn’t translate to anything a normal receiver would have been able to pick up. After all what would have been the point? These poor souls had - either by choice or by unfortunate twist of circumstance - no access to such devices.

Rather, these signals were of the cutting-edge, experimental type that only the human brain could pick up. A biological antenna, as Billy had so gleefully said at the time. Those in the affected areas could enjoy quality, Bosworth-created content every night when they went to sleep.

Unavoidably. Constantly. Every night. With adverts. For products they’d never heard of and had no way of purchasing. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to reach those formerly thought unreachable. And this had been achieved.

Billy’s influence was everywhere.

And did he expect thanks for his kindness? Plaudits? Awards? Of course not! People gave him those things anyway. What Billy did was for the betterment and benefit of mankind!

And now the betterment and benefit of whatever beings lurked out there among the stars, too. His magnaminty knew no bounds, least of all earthly ones.

Assuming these alien beings were there, of course. Which Billy was fairly certain they were.

Mostly certain, edging towards totally certain. Adamant, really. On most days. Some days he experienced flickers of what normal people might call doubt, but the rest of the time he was the bastion of certainty. Those extra-terrestrial customers were out there waiting for him. He’d put money on it.

“Customers?” Vlad asked, slowly, still peering at the sky. It just looked blue to him.

“Yes Vlad. Very far away though, like I say. Getting to them is going to be a bit tricky. But I have a plan!”

Billy turned on his heel and marched to another part of his sprawling office, Vlad following close behind. Both men stopped when they reached something wide draped with a white cloth. Billy whipped this cloth aside with theatrical flair, an act he had spent some previous weeks practising. Vlad gasped appreciatively as a meticulously hand-made model was revealed. It had little people and everything.

“This is the phase-array transmitter that will broadcast my new extraterrestrial channel to my new customers! Isn’t it cool?” Billy asked. Vlad was circling the model, bending down to get an eye-level look and taking in the detail.

“Very cool,” he said, nodding. He liked the miniature chain-link fences and outbuildings and pylons and substations. And the array itself, of course - a deeply impressive and monolithic building of truly intimidating size. Even built to scale it was a bit daunting. Probably the fact that it was flat-black and studded with glowering red lights had something to do with it. And the group of tiny people modeled to have collapsed on their knees in awe and terror clustered around the base.

Really the attention to detail on the model was astounding.

“This whole thing has been something of a pet project of mine but it is finally nearing completion. I have the spot picked out for this. It’s a very precise spot. It can only be this spot. It’s this spot or nowhere. This is where the problems start, Vlad. Do I like problems?”

This was an easy question, Vlad’s favourite type.

“No you don’t,” he said.

“That’s right, I don’t. The problem here is that the spot where I need to put my fantastic and cool array is presently occupied. I’ve been patiently working on strangling the life out of the area for months now - buying land out from under people, raising rents and that sort of thing - and I’m all poised to start! But there’s a holdout.”

With the flick of a button the whole model inverted. This seemed like a feature that would have required a lot of work, but the effect was certainly something to see. Where before there had been the clean, wonderful phased-array complex there was now several streets, some wasteland, some shops and general urban blight.

“This is the area as it is now. Ugly, isn’t it? Look at these shops. What does this one sell? Kebabs? Poor souls. Anyway. I own this land here,” Billy said, indicating in turn each stretch of blank wasteland. “These buildings are all unoccupied. They were set to be developed but not now. These shops are all set to close in a month or so because I’ve bribed them. So far so good.”

This left one quite obvious exceptions. A single house, sat on its own. Vlad looked at it. Billy glared at it and, slowly, unfurled a finger to pointing accusingly down at the model house.

“This,” he hissed. “This thing right here. Holdout. Nail house. The lady who owns it really owns it. Owns the building, owns the land under it. Refused my bribes, my generous bribes and even my staggeringly generous bribes. Money is apparently not something she’s interested in! I can respect that, but it’s annoying.”

“What’s her deal?” Vlad asked. Businesslike now, he could start to see the shape of the issue forming up in front of him. Billy wouldn’t have called him in here just to show the model off, after all. Vlad was there to solve problems. That was why Billy kept him around.

“Oh, landlady or something. Has lodgers. Likes talking to people. I don’t know, I haven’t looked into it - that’ll be your job.”

Billy waved aside such concerns. As far as he saw it he’d already done more than enough himself by personally organising his gaggle of assistants to go and pay out those bribes and telling Sally to tell his real estate division to buy up all that land. It had been exhausting. Having to deal with a principled lady keen to cling onto her house was something he simply didn’t have the energy for.

Besides, that was why he had Vlad.

“Want me to get rid of her?” Vlad asked, eyebrows waggling euphemistically. It took Billy a second or so to decode this gesture. Vlad was heavily implying murder. This was what Vlad tended to go to first whenever Billy came to him with anything but Billy still hadn’t picked up on this. For all his faults, Billy was still at least vaguely innocent and well-meaning.

Careless and myopic, but not actively malicious. He’d reverse over your foot in his car, but not try to hit you with it. If you follow.

“Heavens no! No no,” he said, flipping the model the right way round again and moving back towards his desk, which was the size of a normal person’s kitchen (in width and depth if not in height - it did also have a sink). “Nothing so crude or, ahem, obviously legally dubious as that.”

As powerful as Billy was, even he knew better than to have a known employee actively murder someone. That sort of thing was just unnecessary work. That and, you know, murder was wrong. Billy remembered that. Someone had told him once.

“What am I doing then?” Vlad asked, settling into the chair on the opposite side of the desk as Billy sat in his. Billy’s chair was a luxurious high-backed leather number that cost an amount to make most people wince. Vlad’s was from Ikea and could not properly support his weight.

“You are going to go to the site and help them oversee the demolition of what’s presently there. And at the same time - you know, if you find occasion - you might possibly see that life for this lady and her lodgers becomes more…”

Billy fished his hands through the air, searching for the right word.

“Unpleasant.”

Vlad grinned. He understood this. He had experience with unpleasant.

“If I find occasion,” he said.

“If you find occasion,” Billy said. Billy was grinning too.

He was thinking about what he was going to have for dinner later. There was a microwave curry in his fridge with his name on it. Literally. He’d written it on there. Not because he was afraid anyone else would take it. It was just so his dinner had his name on it.

He was going to see if he could have a drone feed it to him. Just for kicks. It sounded like a lark. Just tape a spoon onto one of its runners and see how things went.

What an age to be alive.

[usuknetwork]

USUK Christmas Countdown 2017: December 25 #2

Title: Here Tonight Day 13: Christmas Day Summary: Arthur never cared that much about Christmas before, but without Alfred around, suddenly it seems like the season is missing something special. He only wishes that his boyfriend wasn’t 3000 miles away. Rating: PG Warning: N/A

(Written by: @clocksfanfiction and Art by: @usuccc)

Arthur sighed as he shut the door, shaking off the cold and stamping his feet to try and bring some feeling back to his numb toes. It was freezing outside. Ordinarily Arthur wouldn’t have bothered going out, but he’d been swept up in the sudden need for a certain set of groceries and ventured out into the freezing evening. The sun had long since set, and the forecast had been predicting snow, but he’d ignored both in favour of hurrying down to the local shop to scavenge the items on his list.

His fingers, colder than his toes, fumbled with the laces of his shoes as he tried his best to kick them off, leaving them haphazardly by the door and collecting his meagre bag of food to bring to the kitchen.

It was fitting that his pickings were so grim: a reduced packet of sprouts, precisely two potatoes, and some pre-cooked slices of chicken. He had plenty of food in his fridge of course, but ready-made pasta sauce didn’t quite cut it as a Christmas meal. Neither did his measly horde in honesty, but that was the consequence of suddenly up and deciding to buy Christmas food on Christmas Eve. He didn’t know why he’d bothered, staring into the sad little bag. He’d never cared about Christmas that much before, not enough to plan fully in advance and certainly not enough to warrant this kind of sudden action.

But Alfred loved Christmas.

Arthur bit his lip, suddenly hit with the emptiness and darkness of his lonely little flat. He turned away from the bag, moving quickly over to the radio and switching it on for some background noise.

Alfred wasn’t there.

His sudden expedition had been some nonsense of wanting the slightest comfort of his boyfriend on the day they’d spent together for the past four years. Of course they’d only been dating for three of those years, but that didn’t change the fact that Arthur couldn’t disentangle the association of his sunny, ridiculous, Santa’s little helper boyfriend with the entire season.

They’d attended the same university, sharing a class of some compulsory module that Arthur still didn’t understand the necessity of. Alfred had invited him to come spend Christmas with his family in Michigan since Arthur didn’t intend to fly home for the holidays. It had at first been an entirely friendly affair, but then there was a bit of leftover mistletoe still hanging up a few days after that first Christmas and they hadn’t looked back since.

Until now, as Arthur tried to block too many thoughts of Alfred from his mind for fear they’d only make him sad. After graduating, he’d taken a job offer in England. Alfred was still in the states, looking into postgrads and working various internships. The decision to go long distance hadn’t come easy, but it was less painful than the alternative. It wasn’t so bad, after all, it was just like when he went home in the summers and they were apart for a few months. Every day he woke up to Alfred’s good morning message and sent one in reply. They skyped often, shared things about their days, updated each other about what was going on. The only difference was that this time they weren’t certain when they’d see each other face to face again.

Arthur still loved him desperately, and knowing Alfred felt the same made the whole affair much easier. But it was the first Christmas they’d spent apart in four years.

Arthur sighed again, mostly in frustration at himself for being so sappy and distracted. Thoughts of Alfred usually made him happy, but as Christmas had approached he’d grown wearier with the longing to have Alfred beside him once more.

He emptied the grocery bag, folding it up to store under the sink for his next trip. The radio was playing Christmas songs, the same collection he’d been hearing over and over since he was a child and whatever new one some popular artist had released that would be utterly forgotten next year.

“Rockin’ around the Christmas tree…”

Arthur paused. He’d been mostly tuning the music out, just wanting something to make the flat feel less empty. But that song was one of Alfred’s favourites. He could remember walking in on Alfred in the kitchen at his parents’ house, not so quietly boogying to the music he’d put on while he was trying to make himself a snack.

Arthur had walked down from their room in search of his boyfriend, only to round the corner to find said boyfriend bopping about to the song. He hadn’t been able to hold in his snort of laughter, leaning against the doorframe and fixing Alfred with a raised eyebrow when he turned around.

Alfred had merely grinned and kept dancing, twisting over to Arthur and grabbing for his hands.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you need some holiday spirit, babe.”

Arthur laughed as he was tugged away from the door frame, allowing Alfred to drag him into the centre of the kitchen despite himself and soon smiling right alongside his boyfriend. Alfred jived around the kitchen, hitting the counter once and playing it off by spinning Arthur out and pulling him back into his chest. Arthur wasn’t a great dancer, much less in socks on a slippery floor, but Alfred had that smile and that easy way of moving and he couldn’t stop himself from swaying to the music and letting Alfred swing him about the room.

The song changed eventually, leaving them both a little out of breath and still full of giggles. But it was followed by a slower paced number and Alfred just pulled him close again and wrapped his arms around his waist. He’d thought it was ridiculous to dance to Christmas music, and more ridiculous still to slowdance to it when there could be nothing romantic in the tone. But Alfred smiled at him and drew him close and pressed their foreheads together and Arthur forgot to call him ridiculous so much as say he loved him.

There was no Alfred holding him now, just the cold metal of his fridge door pressed to his forehead. He opened it as gently as he could as irritation swept over him, all but shoving the remaining groceries into the fridge. It hurt to think of Alfred. Not knowing when he’d see Alfred hurt at the best of times, and the reminder of how close they had once been upset him more than he cared to admit.

Alfred hadn’t messaged him all day. With timezones and their daily routines clashing he usually had to wait until later in the evening to get to have a proper conversation with his far off boyfriend, but throughout the day there would usually be little messages and questions to tide them both over. A constant reassurance of their presence. But Alfred hadn’t messaged him since leaving his usual good morning message, and that he wrote before he went to bed for Arthur to wake up to.

Arthur didn’t blame him; he’d gone home to Michigan for Christmas and Alfred’s family usually had a long itinerary of things to do that would distract him from trying to talk. Not to mention it was Christmas Eve of all things; Alfred had told him they were having some family friends over for a little get-together and between sleeping over the time difference and preparing for their guests, he probably hadn’t had a chance to get to his phone. But they’d agreed to have a video call that evening when all the guests were gone, since Christmas day was bound to be busy for Alfred.

He didn’t like to think of himself as sad, or lonely. Technically Arthur was far closer to his family in proximity than he had been in a while and he could’ve easily taken the time off work to go and spend the holiday with them. But they didn’t really make a fuss about Christmas. Even if it was unfair, he knew he’d spend the whole time comparing everything to the Jones’ cookie-cutter perfect Christmases. Besides, Arthur didn’t particularly want to be around his recently married brother and other happy couples only too happy to remind him of his own loneliness. Not to mention his mother would be prying him further with more questions about Alfred, whom they all had yet to meet.

He glanced out of the window, barely able to make out the overhanging grey clouds from the street light.

Just looking outside made him shiver with the memory of the cold, and rather suddenly he determined that the thin button up he’d worn to work was no longer sufficient for the chill of the evening. He walked away from the window, trying again not to think of how quiet and empty his flat seemed to be despite the radio as he headed into his bedroom. He had plenty of jumpers, but as he opened his drawers and started to rummage through he knew he was looking for one in particular.

After a few moments of searching, he pulled it out; a thick, wooly monstrosity that depicted an ugly pattern of reindeer and a knitted ho ho ho across the front. Alfred had given it to him. Alfred had his own unnecessary collection of Christmas jumpers which ranged from the rather stylish to the outright tacky, and he’d insisted Arthur needed one too. They had too many pictures of him in it, being forced to wear it on the Christmas Alfred had presented him with it. A selfie of him and Alfred in their equally ugly jumpers had been the background of Alfred’s phone for a solid three months before Arthur had demanded he change it now that it was out of season.

He thought it was ridiculous and tasteless, but it was warm, and as he pulled it on he couldn’t help being briefly reminded of being wrapped up in Alfred’s embrace.

He was far too sappy for such a quiet evening. He’d never been sentimental about Christmas, the emotional adverts and constant barrage of what the season was about had never bothered him, and he refused to let it get to him now. And yet still his mind was occupied with each tiny reminder of his missing boyfriend.

Arthur wandered back into the kitchen, glad to find the radio had moved on from its Christmas playlist to some talkshow. He had no interest in whatever celebrity gossip they were sharing now, but still he went over to turn it up, glancing idly out of the window as he did.

It was still outside, the kind of stillness that came only with winter. There were no people wandering about, everyone with family or at parties or cuddled up at home against the cold. The clouds were too thick and grey to let in any view of the moon or stars, and the only interesting thing to be seen was the way the barren branches of a tree on the other side of the road bent just slightly in the wind. There was nothing about winter that couldn’t remind Arthur of how isolated he was; and nothing more poignant than the snowflakes that had slowly begun to fall.

Arthur blinked. He’d been so engrossed in just watching the tree he hadn’t noticed the snow falling until a flake hit his window pane and his eyes focused in on the light smattering of white slowly covering the pavement.

Others might have thought the view pretty, an exciting suggestion of a possibly white Christmas. But most anyone over the age of twelve had come to accept that it just wasn’t likely. Tomorrow morning they might have a couple centimetres at best, if the snow hadn’t already begun to melt and turn to slush. Even if it stayed for the day, it would be gone by the next, and leave them only with soggy, cold shoes as a reminder that it had been there at all.

Snow was never a given, and on the rare occasions it did snow, it remained only for one day before dissolving into a disappointing slush.

That had been one of the things he’d been blown away by at Christmases in Michigan. The pure, uninterrupted snow that seemed to arrive every year without fail, and plenty of it. Alfred loved it. Though he was a summer more than a winter kind of guy, he’d professed to Arthur endlessly of how much he loved snow. There were times he’d gone out to play ridiculously and build snowmen and Arthur had refused to join him and Alfred had returned inside with bright red fingers complaining of the pain but grinning like a madman all the same.

He remembered the last Christmas. Alfred had driven them up to his parents’ house and they’d arrived so late that his family had needed to put aside plates of dinner in the oven to keep warm. There had been snow on the roads when they got there; already ploughed through and played with, and Alfred had been disappointed that he couldn’t drag Arthur out to make a snowman with him at so late an hour with blemished snow. But it had begun to snow again just as they got inside, and Alfred eagerly watched the flurry as they ate their dinner. Arthur had to hook his ankle around Alfred’s to get his attention back, but he was practically bouncing in his seat from excitement and Arthur could only smile at him.

They’d gone to bed almost immediately after wolfing down their food, cold and tired from the drive (Alfred especially so, since he’d refused to let Arthur drive and subsequently driven the whole distance himself.) and eager to just curl up under the covers and sleep the day off.

“Art.”

He’d been shaken awake, groaning and trying to bury his face in the pillow to the sound of Alfred’s laughter and insistent shaking.

“Babe, wake up.”

Usually Arthur considered himself an early riser, more often than not it had been him who was forced to try and wake his dosing boyfriend from sleep. But that morning Alfred was the one doing the waking, and he shook Arthur more insistently until he finally blinked his eyes open and scowled at his boyfriend.

“What? What time is it?”

“It’s seven.”

“Seven? Alfred we got here so late,” Arthur began to complain, rolling onto his back with another groan. He was tired. He’d been looking forward to waking up later and spending too much of the morning just cuddling up with Alfred until his parents began to grow suspicious. Unfortunately for Arthur, he was the type of person who once he was awake, he couldn’t go back to sleep, and Alfred’s cheerful grin was no help to his complaints.

“I know, I know.” He interrupted, finding Arthur’s hand on the pillow and threading their fingers together to keep his attention. He was kneeling on the floor next to Arthur’s side of the bed, still in his boxers that he hadn’t bothered to replace with pyjamas the night before. “But it snowed.”

“There was snow when we arrived.”

“Yeah but this is new snow.”

To Arthur’s embarrassment, it hadn’t taken Alfred long at all to drag him out of bed. Though he told himself it was the promise of a fully cooked breakfast of pancakes and bacon that did it. Before he knew it, he was standing in Alfred’s back garden, wrapped up in as many thick layers as he could manage and trying not to look too fond as his ridiculous boyfriend wandered about in search of the best spot to build a snowman.

Alfred crouched down by the hedge, leaving Arthur to wonder if he was collecting twigs and stones for the features of the snowman. He was about to call out, but Alfred stood quickly and suddenly there was a snowball hurtling toward him.

He dodged just in time, but it still hit him square on the shoulder, and Alfred’s peels of laughter echoed through the still air.

“You prat!” Arthur cried, smiling despite himself as he resolved to make a snowball of his own and throw it in turn at his boyfriend’s face.

They descended into a ridiculous fight, coats and gloves plastered with snow and Arthur’s hat falling off as he dropped snow down the back of Alfred’s jumper. Alfred yelped in protest, and as Arthur laughed and tried to run off he’d simply grabbed him from behind and spun him around until they both fell to the ground in a heap of giggles and numb extremities.

Arthur rolled off of Alfred once he caught his breath, not caring that his trousers were getting damp as he knelt beside his boyfriend. Alfred grinned up at him, staying still for a moment before he waved his arms and legs, looking ever the more ridiculous as he made a snow angel on the ground.

“You should make one too, it’ll be cute.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, still affected by Alfred’s wide grin despite all those years.

“You’re ridiculous.” He didn’t follow suit and make a matching snow angel, refusing to get even more cold now that he was already quite soaked. But he did lean over Alfred, steadying a hand on his shoulder to share a sweet kiss of cold lips and cold noses pressed to equally cold lips and cold cheeks.

Alfred laughed a little, and Arthur had to pull away before Alfred could cup the back of his head and let the kiss linger more than it rightly should’ve. Arthur stood, brushing himself off and offering a hand to his still horizontal boyfriend.

“Come on, I thought we were building a snowman.”

The snow outside would not be nearly enough for such antics now, though Arthur had to think that the dark street outside wouldn’t be the least bit inviting compared to the bright open space of Alfred’s garden. For once at least, Arthur was sure that had more to do with the time and location than the lack of his cheerful boyfriend. Yet still he was certain if Alfred were there he would’ve dragged him right out to do-- something.

He wouldn’t know what he wanted. Arthur knew; Alfred would’ve seen the snow and if Arthur had told him it would be gone by morning he’d simply insist they make the best of it now, even if it was steadily approaching nine o’clock. He would’ve wrapped them both up in coats and scarves and grabbed Arthur by the hand and asked as they walked down the stairs where that little park was that they’d passed on their way back from the airport. He would’ve realised once they got outside that no, it truly wouldn’t have been enough to make even a decent snowball. But he would’ve stopped, quietly stared at the falling snow. That soft smile that he only had when he was alone with Arthur would appear and he would gently thread their fingers together and suggest they take a little walk instead.

But he couldn’t do any of it, because he wasn’t there. And pondering what Alfred would’ve, could’ve, or should’ve done if he was there was even more pathetic than getting wrapped up in his memories.

Arthur turned away from the window. He needed a drink, still too cold just thinking about the snow and eager for a string of thoughts that wouldn’t make his heart ache. He switched the kettle on, pottering about thereafter to find a suitable mug and whatever warm drink best suited him. He didn’t usually drink herbal or fruity teas, but his mother had sent him some odd spiced apple infusion thing and he decided that would do well enough for the time being.

The radio was still on, but he didn’t bother to switch it off as he carried his tea over to the living room and turned the tv on too. He didn’t watch much tv, but as long as his mind was so easily derailed he determined it was best to find something to focus on other than snow and Christmas songs and jumpers. He pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa, wrapping it about his shoulders as he settled down with his tea and resigned himself to channel surfing.

His flat was small; a little thing with only three rooms, including the bedroom and the bathroom. It was a nice flat, he liked it very much himself, but it was nothing special. The living room and kitchen were practically one room if not for the suggestion of difference in the open-plan space, which made it feel bigger, but Arthur still found his little love-seat sofa pushed quite close to the even smaller tv set; partly due in fact to the bookshelves he had about the room. Alfred had said he had too many books. At some point that season he'd made the effort to decorate for God knew what reason. There was some tinsel on the bookshelves, a tiny plastic tree beside the telly, and all the Christmas cards he’d received were lined up neatly on the coffee table beside his mug. But even so, Arthur couldn’t help looking at it all and thinking it just pathetic.

It was nothing like the Jones’ at Christmas Eve. They had a great big living room that seemed just the right size to fit the great big Christmas tree they bought every year, which they then decorated the same way every year. Mr Jones liked the pine scent; he’d told Arthur that every year as they bundled into the car to go pick one out. They had lights throughout the house and tinsel wound up the bannister, and a little manger scene on the island in the kitchen. And their picture-perfect fireplace wasn’t complete without the neatly placed stockings all in a row. Not to mention a couple of sneaky pieces of mistletoe, but Arthur wasn’t so annoyed by those as he was thankful now.

It was all so cliché, Arthur had almost wanted to laugh the first time he saw it. But Mrs Jones was so proud of showing him their home that he’d restrained himself; and to her credit, as she evidently did most of the decorating, it was all very tastefully done. But despite the stockings, which he still insisted were utterly cliche whenever he and Alfred were alone, that fireplace had become his favourite feature. It was real; that too he’d learnt on his first evening with the Joneses. Alfred had a great deal of fun setting it all up, ripping the newspaper and piling the logs. Arthur also eventually learned that Alfred cut a lot of the wood himself from smaller logs they bought, and expressed a keen interest then in spending some time with them in the summer when he would be doing so.

They always had the fire going during Christmas; but it was the night before that made it special. They made hot drinks, sat in front of the fire, and dragged Arthur into a game of charades that had started out painfully uncomfortable for him and quickly became one of the funniest things to happen each year. Not to mention, Alfred’s parents grew tired far faster than they and would soon retire to bed, and Alfred’s brother Matthew would eventually follow suit, leaving them alone in front of the fire.

The first year, being left alone at such a moment had left nervous sparks and quick goodbyes. But for the years after, they’d appreciated the time alone.

Alfred would declare he was making them another mug of hot chocolate each, even if Arthur protested, and when he returned with two mugs piled high with whipped cream and marshmallows they would sit on the floor with their backs against the sofa and pull the blanket around their shoulders. Alfred would finish his hot chocolate in practically a matter of seconds, and Arthur would laugh and kiss the whipped cream from his nose, and upper lip, and Alfred would cup his cheek and try to distract him from finishing his own mug.

“I’m not done.”

Arthur would mumble, turning away and lifting his mug again to make his point. Alfred wouldn’t say anything, just look back to the fire and put his arm around Arthur until he did finish his drink and rested his head on his shoulder. Alfred would turn his head and press a kiss to Arthur’s crown.

“Are you having a good Christmas?”

“How can I be having a good Christmas if we haven’t had it yet?” Arthur took Alfred’s free hand, threading their fingers together.

“You know what I mean.”

Arthur lifted his head, fixing Alfred with an unimpressed expression that melted away too quickly when Alfred smiled at him. He sighed.

“Yes, I am. It’s always good when you’re with me.”

“Good thing I’m planning on being with you for many more, huh?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, barely retaining a snort. But the sentiment made his heart skip a beat. They’d spent three Christmases together, two as a couple. They’d not talked seriously about the future exactly, but it had been hinted at, passed over mildly with talk of jobs and every I love you. They knew what was coming at the end of university, but they also knew that what they had wasn’t just some college-boyfriend thing.

“Quite.” Arthur mumbled, not giving Alfred a chance to work out what exactly he meant by that as he pressed their lips together in a kiss.

That kiss would lead to another, and another, melting into something deeper that would embarrass them both if Alfred’s parents suddenly decided they needed to come down for a glass of water.

But Arthur wouldn’t focus on the details, couldn’t allow himself to when his living room was far colder than the heat of the fire and Alfred’s embrace. It’s always good when you’re with me. Alfred wasn’t with him, and he wouldn’t be with him. It wasn’t just that Christmases were good with Alfred; Alfred was what made Christmas good. It couldn’t be good if Alfred wasn’t there. Arthur knew that. Arthur knew that and he hated how his eyes still stung despite his utter self-awareness and his determined focus on the tv and his angry sipping of the unappealing tea.

He was sad and pathetic, and he knew it.

And he jumped when there was a knock at his door.

Arthur frowned, blinking through the threat of tears and glancing in the direction of the sound with obvious confusion. It was far too late for anyone to be calling, all of his family was at home and his friends would’ve texted him to come over; unless of course it was one of his neighbours in need of assistance. The thought wrenched a sigh from his throat, and he carefully put down his still-full mug of tea to get up and answer the door.

“I’m coming.” He called as the person knocked again, and he did his best to straighten out his ugly Christmas jumper as he approached the door. He hated to think of his neighbours having to see him wearing the thing, but he could at least try to look a little more presentable and not like he’d just nearly cried alone on the sofa.

He unlocked the door with a little fumble (the lock had always been stiff), opening his mouth to ask whichever neighbour it was what exactly they wanted at nine o’clock on Christmas Eve only to stop still when his eyes landed on his unexpected guest.

There on Arthur’s doorstep, hair littered with melting snowflakes, glasses a little foggy with condensation, and cheeks rosy from the cold, stood Alfred.

Arthur couldn’t speak, for a moment couldn’t breathe. Alfred was standing there, on his doorstep, just grinning at him, just waiting for him to do something. He didn’t think, he just stepped forward and threw his arms around Alfred’s shoulders to bring him close. Alfred returned the hug, nearly crushing Arthur with the force of it. But Arthur didn’t care, he didn’t care that his jumper was getting damp with the melting snow, he didn’t care that it was late and he’d spent the evening moping, he didn’t care that his breaths were a little heavy and choked. Alfred was there. Alfred was there, in his arms, in his flat, real and whole and just as perfect as he’d left him.

“You, you,” He stumbled over the words, trying to think of something to say. “You git, you, why didn’t you tell me?” He hated the way his voice croaked out, but Alfred’s laugh was just as affected and breathy and he hadn’t moved his head from Arthur’s shoulder since he’d thrown his arms around him.

“Yeah, yeah I know. Not telling you wasn’t part of the plan.” He squeezed Arthur tighter for just a moment more, not letting go even when they finally pulled back to look one another in the eye.

“The plan?” Arthur repeated, not bothering to frown as he cupped Alfred’s face and ran his hands through his hair, reacquainting himself with every little detail he could. But Alfred grabbed one of his hands, still smiling as he gripped it and brought it up to his lips to kiss his palm.

“Yeah. My parents got me the ticket, they only told me today- uh, yesterday. God, timezones are confusing. Three days? I don’t know, I don’t care, they just gave me this ticket and I left immediately. I know I should’ve told you but I, the plane was so soon and I kinda thought it would be a cool surprise- unless it isn’t. Oh it isn’t is it? Did you have plans? Di,”

Alfred didn’t get to finish, Arthur surged up on his toes and kissed him firmly on the mouth before he could even think of speaking a syllable more. Alfred happily shut up, putting his hands on Arthur’s waist once more and kissing him fiercely until they both ran out of breath.

“You moron, you utter idiot.” Arthur muttered, stealing several more kisses from Alfred’s lips before he bothered continuing. “Of course I didn’t. It’s a wonderful, wonderful surprise. This, you here, this is all I wanted.”

Alfred grinned, uncertain smile swiftly replaced and he bit his lip for just a second as a slightly mischievous look crossed his features.

“So...all you wanted for Christmas was me?”

Arthur had half a mind to shut the door on him for such a joke. But he rolled his eyes instead.

“You haven’t been here five minutes and you have to make a joke.” He leaned up again, his smile still prominent as he stole another peck from Alfred’s lips. “Yes.”

“Good. You’re all I wanted too.”

The reply made Arthur’s heart melt, and by the look on Alfred’s face he felt just the same. But before they could get wrapped up again in embracing one another and professing their happiness, a draft rolled down the hallway, sharply reminding Arthur that they’d been stood on his doorstep for the past few minutes and Alfred still had his coat on.

“God, come in.” Arthur stepped aside, eager to move back into the warmth now he’d gotten over the shock. “How long are you here for?”

Alfred had a backpack and a wheeled suitcase, both of which they simply deposited in the hall for now to focus on getting Alfred out of his coat and scarf. They looked nice hung up next to Arthur’s own, but Arthur didn’t get to focus on that when Alfred turned around and wrapped his arms around his waist again.

“Two weeks. Unless that’s too long, I can sort something out if you-”

“Two weeks isn’t enough.” Arthur cut him off, but it was with a smile. “But it’ll do.”

Alfred grinned back, though his gaze flickered down for a moment before he looked up to meet Arthur’s eye again.

“I’ve been uh, I’ve been looking at postgrads in England. There are a couple of places I was going to visit while I was over here. They’re not really near you, few of them in London but I...I thought...It’s not a guarantee or anything I’m just looking right now and you-”

“Alfred.” Arthur interrupted again, feeling as breathless as he sounded. Alfred stopped abruptly, looking at Arthur again from where his gaze had strayed. He always rambled when he was nervous, too many thoughts to share and too quick to think of more. Arthur loved them. “I love you.”

Alfred softened, his muscles relaxing and he drew Arthur closer to rest their foreheads together.

“I love you too.”

Arthur bit his lip, his hands resting on Alfred’s arms just to run up his torso and cup his face again. Alfred’s smile was still as warm, his features still as handsome as they had been when he’d left all those months ago. He brushed his thumb over Alfred’s cheek, smiled when Alfred tilted his head to kiss his palm again.

“You’re wearing the jumper.” Alfred spoke again, his voice quiet and bemused as he looked down and tugged at the ugly clothing.

“It’s warm.” Arthur blushed despite his reply being the truth, though he couldn’t find himself embarrassed even if Alfred had meant to tease. “...I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too. Merry Christmas, Arthur.”

“Merry Christmas, Alfred.”

[luciola-reviews-anime]

Let’s Talk About Conspiracy Theories

So with this post I want to talk about conspiracy theories, or at least, what one needs to have for it to be viable. There are a lot of them out there, and I'm sure there will be more to come in the future. We have the earth being flat, 9/11 was an inside job, the moon landing was fake, and vaccines cause autism. Just to name a few. No matter what side you're on, usually your views are very strong, but no matter what you bring to the table. It's in my opinion that if the conspiracy cannot meet these three targets, it simply can't even be taken seriously.

The first is very simple. Who benefits? Remember, what we're looking at is a fact that has either been falsified, or a truth that has been hidden from the world for a specific purpose. Let's look at flat earth theory. Whenever I check out something about this one. They claim that NASA is the group to benefit from a round earth. They're given billions of dollars in funds to run experiments and studies, and even to send people into space. From what I've studied, most people that believe in the flat earth say that space itself is a lie, gravity is a lie, and the mathematics to support them is fake. Any images of space is just CGI.

Here's the problem. NASA did not come up with the idea of gravity, nor did they originate the claim that the earth was round. The discovery of gravity was made in 1687, and since that point the scientific community has used the math and theories of gravity in a number of different ways. For over three hundred years, gravity has been subjected to the scientific method. Many a flat earther will remind people common believes have been disproved before, but they forget that they were disproved thanks to the scientific method and community.

Then we have the discovery of the earth being round. Again, this was not a NASA development, but proven when Magellan circumvented the globe. He did this in 1519 with a fleet of five ships to discover a western sea route to the spice islands. Though he did not survive, the trip was a success. We're close to five hundred years of knowing for a fact that the earth is round. The only counter acting of this argument is that what we know of history, is a complete falsification, for five hundred years, for no plausible benefit to anyone.

But this brings us to the second target of a conspiracy theory. How many people are in on it? Remember it just takes one person in the know to mess things up. You can argue that it's easy to silence one person, but why don't you tell that to the NSA and Edward Snowden? Or even the number of leaks that are in the current Trump administration? The fact is that the more people you need to have to be in on the theory, the less plausible it becomes. I picked on the flat earthers before, and I can just mention that it would take… Literally millions of people to be in on the conspiracy though history, science, sailing, flight, construction, and astronomy to name a few to have to be in on this.

So let's take the anti vaccinations. They say that Big Pharma benefits from hiding the truth that vaccines are dangerous. Because obviously when a product doesn't work properly, instead of fixing it, it's easier to just lie to the population of the world. Look, in the end it's still a business. If there's a hint that something is wrong with a product there will be studies and tests to determine if that's the case or not. These are independent studies done by people who want to make money off the failure of said product. Have you ever seen an advert about filing a mass law suit because a certain drug or procedure was found to be unsafe? In other words, you need the medical community of the entire world in agreement to hide this one little detail. Because if it got out? Let's face it, we still need vaccines to live. I don't want polio. I don't my kids to get polio.

And this takes us to the third target. Can you prove it one way or another? Let's face it. The reason that something is placed in the category of a conspiracy, is because we're being fed a false truth to cover up the real one. The problem is that you shouldn't be able to prove a false truth. You shouldn't be able to circumvent the globe if the earth is flat, and there should be no way to see or prove the curvature of the earth. Doing either of these things instantly busts the argument. (sorry flat earthers) Studies by independent parties shouldn't be able to say things like "There is no evidence that vaccines cause autism."

Now you might say. But Lucio, those are the false facts being fed to you! The problem you're running into in these goes in three fold, first we have the second point, how many people are in on it? And we can add in, how credible are the people we're trying to discredit? Remember in the anti vaccine argument, we're not trying to discredit one group of people making one specific product that cannot be recreated. We're trying to discredit the entire medical community, and people who make and study diseases and medicine. If there was a problem with vaccines, there would be another group that would be working night and day to make a safe working version of them instead of just giving out a faulty product.  Finally we would have to ask. Where does the truth end, and the lies begin?

Let's look at it this way. Say I offer the theory that the anti smoking campaign is actually a false organization. They've spread out fake medical reports about cigarettes to get people to quit. They actually make nicotine patches, they're behind vapping, and they also collect funds from organizations like Truth. I can support this much like a flat earther. I mean, I've seen people in their eighties that claim to smoke every day and they're fine. I can support this like an anti vaccine supporter and say that the medical facts and studies that we have been given are just lies, or even state that these are the same people who are telling me that vaccines are safe. So when should I believe them, and when shouldn't I?

This is why you must look into how credible the other source is, and how able the world is to be able to prove something. With a flat earth, we have so much mathematical and scientific evidence that you must say is simply a lie in order for you to have any ground to stand on. There have been countless studies on vaccines and if they cause autism, but far too often there simply isn't any proof. Most commonly what I hear from these theorists is that they just have a feeling. They have a feeling that they're right, despite the evidence. Another excuse is something along the lines of "You shouldn't just take everything people tell you as a fact." Yes it is good to ask questions, this is how we learn. But there's asking questions, and there's ignoring the facts. Most people within the conspiracy theory are not actually open to the truth, kinda ironic, right?

I can give a quick glance at the other two theories I mentioned, so they don't feel left out. The moon landing was staged. We have a clear benefiter. The USA and Russia were in the cold war, and anything one could do better than the other would be a clear win. The space race was, in a way, a proxy war. The people that needed to keep the conspiracy secret would not be too unreasonable either. It would have to be all of NASA at the time, a select number of US governmental and militaristic figures, and the people who staged the show. The great thing about this as well is that the people in the know, can grow smaller and smaller in numbers as the years pass. And finally. I mean, how can you prove it one way or another? Go to the moon? And why haven't we been there since then?

Sounds like something we can, oh wait a minute… So question? What about Russia? I mean. There's no way they would just give us the win if they knew it was false. And you have to believe they wanted that win. So we'll have to add in an enemy nation into the people that need to keep it secret, at no benefit to themselves. This can also actually answer why we haven't been back to the moon. Do you know what's on the moon? Nothing. I've read some articles on how the next great business idea is to send a rocket out to mine a comet for minerals. This could be a trillion dollar idea. And there's the moon. Right there. Where we can see it, we've been on it. And that's how we know there's nothing good on it. We beat the Russians there, mission accomplished. Going back is just a dangerous waste of time and resources until we can colonize the bastard. Or attach lasers…

Well at least 9/11 was an inside job right? I mean again we have a clear benefactor in the US. Stage a terrorist attack, get the perfect excuse to go to war, get that delicious delicious oil. You don't really need a lot of people to be in on it either. Just the military personnel who planned it. Hell, let's even go with this. The US knew it was going to happen, and they let it happen. They didn't think it would be such a disaster, but when planes crash into buildings, things happen. And it's not like we can prove one way or another that the US didn't know about it and just let it happen. I mean, look at Pearl Harbor. Shit, I might have to look into this one more sometime!

In the end though, the thing that makes it a conspiracy theory, is that you can't prove it. It might be brought into light later. But you shouldn’t chose to distrust or hate the government or an organization because of a plausibility. There's already too many reasons for that as it is.

I hope this helps you in your future! Remember those three proofs when you hear about any crazy theories out there, and have fun. Please try not to take any of them too seriously though, because in the end a belief is a tricky thing to change, and often enough that's what they turn into. I'd rather take the advise from the Thirteenth apostle, Rufus, and instead just have a good idea.  

[theres-no-paradise]

Sorry not Sorry

Chapter 5

Summary: A random number wakes you up early on a Saturday morning. But it doesn’t stop there. The stranger keeps on sending messages, and you have no idea what is happening, when you start to develop feelings for the unknown person.

Pairings: Tom Holland  x Reader [submit your name: How it works]

Y/N your Name

Y/F  your friends name

Word Count:  2159

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 6 

Warnings: There will be swearing for sure, lots of sarcasm

A/N: Here we go with Part 5 of Sorry not Sorry. Its getting more personal between Reader and Tom and we are slowly working ourselves to the middle of the Story. So dont worry, there is still plenty to come haha  Thank you all, for liking, reblogging and sending me all these nice comments about this fic. It really motivates me to write more :) 

The last couple of days have been a huge pain in the ass for you. Not only did Tom barely Text you, but you also had a tough time at work. Earlier, it was Tom’s Birthday and you sent him a message, that you wished him a good time and that all his wishes may come true for him. You know, just the usual stuff you text when its someones birthday. He did thank you for that and asked for your day too, but his answers were bare and short. He seemed to be either busy or wasn’t interested anymore in texting you and since you trended to be a pessimist, you thought that he might have had enough of you in the first place.

That was until you had a breakdown once you arrived back home from an awful day at work, which made it even worse when you had a fight with Y/F and lost your Oyster Card. You chose to text Tom because there was no one else you wanted to rant about your problems right at this time.

You:  Do you sometimes have these days where you wanna throw everything away and leave the country?

You sent the message and dropped down onto your bed. It wasn’t late and the sun shone brightly through your windows this afternoon but it didn’t light up your mood. You’d be down for some dramatical rain right now, but the weather decided against it as if it tried to tell you not to worry about it. As you lay there, your mobile buzzed and you grabbed it immediately, still being on the bed.

Not Tom Hardy :(: You need a one way ticket to Cambodia?

You smiled softly at his response and typed as quickly as you could. You really needed to get out this negative energy that had been building up in yourself.

You: absolutely. I’ve been having the worst day ever and I don’t know who to talk to… except you. So, I’m sorry to bother you with my problems, but I really need to get it out

 Not Tom Hardy :(: don’t worry about it. I’m sorry you’re having a bad day. What happened?

 You: I just messed up everything today. The whole week has been terrible so far anyway but today was the cherry on top. I had an argument with a client, that kind of ended bad and I think we lost this person as a customer for future bookings. And afterwards I totally forgot to meet up with my best friend and I let her wait for me for an hour and she called me and I didn’t hear her calls because my phone was on silence and when I called her back later, she was furious and mad at me. I couldn’t even explain myself for having a bad day. And to top it off… I even lost my oyster card. Only realized that, when I left the train station today and couldn’t sign out. I hate everything

 Not Tom Hardy :(: Calm down Y/N everything will be alright.  Just because you had an argument with a customer, doesn’t mean you do a bad job at work. I bet your boss appreciates you and your hard work. Sometimes, people can be shitty and we all do mistakes, don’t forget about that. And about the fight with your friend: Apologize. Invite her over for a movie night and dinner. If she’s your friend, she’ll understand. 

And Oysters are replaceable. It’s annoying that it happened, but you can get a new one and even if you had an amount of money on it, it can still be transferred as far as I know.

Reading this immensely long reply from Tom made you feel so much better. It was like a relief, that he told you all these positive things. It didn’t solve your problems, but it made you see clearer through them. And he was right. People tend to make mistakes and it’s natural, you shouldn’t be so harsh on yourself. You re-read his message a few times, tears welling up in your eyes only because you were an emotional mess right now.

 You: Thank you, Tom. Thank you so much, you’re right. I shouldn’t have freaked out in the first place but you really helped me.

 Not Tom Hardy :(:  Don’t worry about it, as said. We all have bad days from time to time. And if you ever need to rant again, I’m here and I’ll listen. Or read. Either way is fine lol

 You: Thank you.

After the little talk with Tom the other day, you felt a lot easier. You kind of accepted the fact, that he was busier than before since he was up with something. There was a weird feeling in your gut about this guy but you shrugged it off whenever your brain decided to think about it. You got your Oyster replaced the other day and also apologized to Y/F. She was still mad when you showed up at her apartment, but couldn’t hold it for long as she saw you apologize. You explained your day to her and she understood and hugged you. “Next time just check your phone more frequently. You did that with the Tom guy too”, she scolded and you laughed it off, promising you wouldn’t miss any of her calls again. The stress at work settled down as well, especially after you had a long talk to you boss about the other day, where you just got off and stormed out the building. He wasn’t mad at you or the circumstances, he just wanted to make sure that you were alright and he’d be taking over the problem with the customer. You were so grateful for his understanding, that you nearly started crying. You kept a straight face but you could tell your eyes were watering up quickly. As you got off work early that day, you decided to stroll a little through the centre of London. You haven’t been at Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus for a while and you kind of needed the busy and crowded place to clear your mind from the past few days. As you got off the tube, you walked up the stairs following the masses of people as they all exited the station. Once you came out of the building, you turned right and walked to the public place, where people from all over the world were hanging out. Leicester Square had many cinemas and you wondered, which of these had the most visitors. You’ve only been to the Vue once with some friends when the Maze Runner movie was out in Theaters. Other than that, you’ve only been at some premiers here, to glance at some of the actors who walked over the red carpets.

 You got yourself some Ice Cream from Haagen Dazs and kept on strolling over the Leicester Square as you finally realized all the film posters, spread out over the whole place with the same picture on it over and over. ‘Spiderman’, you read and smiled. You were happy to finally see the new movie soon, but it would only come out in a few days, so you had to be patient. Somebody didn’t seem to have that treat as your phone buzzed.

Not Tom Hardy :(: Have you seen the new Spiderman yet?

 You: No Tom. It’s not out here yet.

 Not Tom Hardy :(: Aw man you gotta tell me how you like it!

 You: Such a Fanboy

 Not Tom Hardy :(: Let me be

 You: Ill make sure I grab Tickets once its out

 Not Tom Hardy :(: Good girl!

You giggled and stuffed your phone back in your pocket, eating your Ice Cream and making your way over to Piccadilly Circus. Summer in London was amazing. But to be honest, every season was beautiful, as you could experience them all for a few weeks.

 It was dark outside as you exited the Cinema together with Y/F. The sky black with a few dots of stars shining as bright as possible over the city lights of London. “Even though he’s so young, he did an amazing job”, you heard Y/F say and smiled. While she kept on talking about the things she liked and disliked about the film, you took your phone out to send a certain person a message. He was probably waiting for it anyway.

 You: It was good

 These were the only words you typed into your device as you walked to the train station to drop off your best friend who lived in a different neighbourhood. “I still can’t believe, that Tom made you this present. It was such a nice surprise”, Y/F said, walking at a faster pace because she knew her train was about to arrive soon. “Yeah, I still can’t believe he got me two tickets for this movie. I don’t even know how to thank him”, you explained and checked your phone once again for an answer. You couldn’t believe your eyes first when you got a confirmation SMS from an Odeon Cinema, saying that the Screening for Spiderman Homecoming was successfully booked. You thought at first, that it could be a scam or some stupid advert, but then Tom messaged you, telling you to not forget to send him your opinion about the movie. Now, you just wanted to be a little mean again with the text you send him minutes ago and it seemed to work when you got the answer back after Y/N has said her goodbyes. Your friend walked through the Ticketmachine and left you, shouting a loud ‘bye’ as she took the stairs to the platform.

 Not Tom Hardy :(: Good????  Only Good??

 You: I liked it. But I’m not used to such a young actor playing Peter. I also miss Tobey though…

 Not Tom Hardy :(: He’s 21…

 You: Oh, your Age! Lol

Not Tom Hardy :(: You’re just old and bitter

 You: Excuse me? I’m not old

 Not Tom Hardy :(: I bet you have grey hair already

 You: Yeah, because you get on my nerves every day

Not Tom Hardy :(: omg

You: brb. Gotta count my grey strands of hair

Not Tom Hardy :(: I wanna see that lmao

You: Let me know when you’re in London and I’ll arrange something

Not Tom Hardy :(: That was easy. Just booked my flights

 You stopped in your movement and stared at your phone, as your mouth fell open. Was this a joke or did he really book a flight from wherever he was back to London? You didn’t believe him. He was probably joking, right? Right??

You: youre shitting me?

 Not Tom Hardy :(: Does this look like a joke?

 And then the next second suddenly a file was sent to your mobile. A Screenshot of an online booking for an upcoming flight to London. You could see his Name on it but he drew over the Last Name, so you couldn’t get his Identity. You didn’t care about that, though. You were shocked as you saw the ticket number and date and destination, as well as his name.

 You: Bloody Hell, I think I need that ticket to Cambodia now

Not Tom Hardy :(: See you next week!

 You: You ARE joking, right?

You were still hoping for this to be a gag but it seemed that Tom really meant it when he said he was coming home. A few days ago you thought, you wouldn’t mind if you’d meet him somewhere in town by accident but now as this thing seemed to become a reality, the thought of meeting him made you nervous.  

 Not Tom Hardy :(: No :)

 You: How long are you staying?

 Not Tom Hardy :(: Couple of days. Have some appointments to attend and need to spend some family time as well. Will definitely be some busy days and I might not be able to answer much

 You didn’t know if you were relieved that he was so busy or if you were lowkey jealous that he couldn’t talk to you on a regular basis. Especially now since you both shared the same piece of earth underneath you. You tried to play it cool but your heart jumped a little, once Tom answered your next text.

 You: That’s okay. I don’t want to force you to keep me entertained every day

 Not Tom Hardy :(: Oh you’re not forcing me. I’m actually enjoying it quite much

 You: You shouldn’t. You’d miss my sarcastic shit probably

 Not Tom Hardy :(: That’s true. Anyway I have to go. Ill talk to you later

 You: bye.

 With that, he was gone for the day and you arrived at your door, with a pounding heart and red ears. You felt so warm, and your chest was moving heavily in excitement. Tom was coming to London and you had to admit, even though it made you nervous and terrified, there was also a little spark of excitement.

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