#would. apparently. just. wear the same very distinctive cologne.

[whatthefishh]

Oxford Comma

Rydal Keener x f!Reader

Summary: You got into Harvard, based on your own merit. Rydal was a legacy kid and pissed you off every chance he could get. AKA the 90s University AU I spent two full days working on.

Words: 7k+

Warnings: NSFW, oral sex (m and f receiving), p in v, cream pie, Rydal is a cunt lmfao, a lot of run on sentences and overly describing situations because you just had to be there

Series Masterlist

———-

It all starts during homecoming. 

Well, sort of. 

That’s when you met him.

\\\

“I didn’t even want to go to school here, you know. Fucking bullshit,” you heard someone say. 

You bristled at the thought that someone would want to turn down the posh ivy university that you somehow managed to get a scholarship to. You had busted your ass for your grades and extracurriculars, balancing being on the school paper and being top of your class just for the chance to apply to Harvard. And here this prep kid was, complaining that this wasn’t his top choice. The privilege was pouring out of him like a faucet.

“Didn’t your dad bribe you though? He bought you a new car. Like, the exact car you’ve been whining about,” the taller boy said.

“It wasn’t a bribe–”

“And! Didn’t you get a custom licence plate? Something that had to do with Greek mythology or some shit–”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” the snooty boy sniffed. “He chose the plate. Wanted everyone to know who it actually belonged to.”

“Well– yeah. Still, we’re legacies. May as well use it to our advantage.”

You were listening so closely that when someone behind you in the crowd of students bumped you too hard, your drink spilled on the taller boy’s shoes. Not a lot, but enough to embarrass you in front of the clearly well-off duo. They both turned around to look at you at the same time, the shared weight of their accusatory gaze shrinking you even further, if that was even possible.

Chester, the taller boy whose name you had come to learn after hearing the snooty boy refer to him as such, threw a fit about the now dried cranberry stain on his crisp white Sperry’s, which he had apparently just purchased. 

The other boy, the one who didn’t want to go to school here, was watching you amusedly the whole time, his lids low as he slowly took in your appearance while you were stuttering out an apology to Chester. You didn’t notice how he was watching you until he interrupted you and said that it was fine. That he’d buy his friend another pair, to which you did a double take, catching his winning smile. That ten kilowatt smile probably got him out of a lot of situations, and he was aiming it at you now. For what, you didn’t know. He was genuinely very handsome. In a classic, old money kind of way. Sweaters around his shoulders, Ray-Ban wearing, summer in the Hampton's kind of way. To be honest, it just made you dislike him more. The uncomfortable feeling spreading over your body in goosebumps under his stare, most likely manifesting into a cringe-worthy blush across your cheeks. 

You needed to get away. Hopefully, this was a one-off and you’d never have to see or speak to them ever again. After an uncomfortable ten or so seconds of silence, you turned on your heel and walked into the crowd, not bothering to catch the other boy’s name.

///

The distinct smell of his expensive cologne hit your nose before you saw him again. 

Looking up from the list detailing the books you needed for your semester, you stopped short as someone cut in front of you in the aisle of the campus bookstore. The back of his head rang familiar but you couldn’t place him, until he grabbed something off the shelf – the last copy of The Communist Manifesto in his hands – and turned to give you a smug smirk when your eyes connected. You couldn’t help but flick your eyes back and forth between his eyes and the title in his hand, the same book you needed for your Perspectives of Politics course. And he’d just taken the last copy available.

“I…I was going to buy that,” your voice came out weaker than intended.

“Were you?” he was still smiling at you, infuriatingly. 

“Yeah, right before you jumped in front of me. It’s the last one in stock.”

“Hmm. Didn’t see you reaching for it. Guess you’ll just have to order it online then.”

You grit your teeth together, trying to go for polite but by the way his eyes lit up at your jaw clicking, you were having a hard time keeping it together.

“Come on, they’re like double the price online, I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt daddy’s wallet. Let me have this one!”

You grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth. They were ugly and not the way you wanted to carry yourself at a prestigious school such as Harvard, especially not to someone whose parent was a faculty member. 

He arches a brow and takes a deep breath in before tilting his head back and staring down his nose at you. He wasn’t much taller than you, not really, but he held himself with such distinction that you couldn’t help but feel three feet shorter. 

“Listen, I don’t know what backwater town you came from, but we don’t use those words around here unless you’re moaning about it.”

God, you hated him. You wanted the floor to swallow you up so you could disappear from this awkward fucking moment. 

Narrowing your eyes at him, your tongue once again got you in trouble, “Motherfucker,” you whispered incredulously. 

“No, my name is Rydal. But you were close.” 

He shook his head, the smug look back on his face as he walked away from you, leaving you to gape at the empty aisle trying to rewind time. 

\\\

You only realize he’s in your class when midterms come around, seeing him show up to write an exam for a course he’s never attended in person.

You avoid him, casting your eyes downward until you pass by him, too ashamed of your last conversation all those weeks ago to even look him in the eye. 

He finishes the exam quicker than someone should be able to for someone who hasn’t attended a single lecture. It’s almost questionable. Until you see several other students get up around the same time as him, leaving a good two thirds of the lecture hall still full. You’re still around the halfway point of the exam, and trying your best to remember what it was you read about capitalism and Marx, and but the moment from the bookstore comes to mind, your thoughts unintentionally drifting to Rydal again. His deep set eyes watching you from atop his aristocratic nose, lips parting curiously, temptingly–

You’re writing an exam, for fuck’s sake. Shaking your head and blinking rapidly to get rid of the thoughts (read: thots) you were having, you shifted your attention back to the papers in front of you. 

You double checked everything before handing it in, well before the last third of students finished. A small part of you bitterly wondered how he had managed to finish so quickly, but you again didn’t let yourself brood for too long.

///

You didn’t see him but you saw Chester in the library once, kicking the printer in an attempt to make it work after jamming for the umpteenth time. 

You made eye contact after he had just done so, your body freezing at the exact moment your eyes met inadvertently and making your library trip last half as long as you initially intended. If you were being honest with yourself, which honestly you were, way too often and mostly to your detriment, you high-tailed it out of there out of fear of running into Rydal. If Chester was around, you could safely bet that he was probably nearby, the two frenemies often spending their free time together. 

Planning on finishing your paper in your dorm, you made your way back, secretly hoping your roommate wasn’t there. You had no problems with her, she was actually really nice to you and often wordlessly gave you snacks if she saw you skipping meals. The thing was…

Your roommate started smoking weed and thought she was being slick about it. She wasn’t.

The smell of it followed her in the dorm, leaving its teeth marks in the sweaters she left around, in the bathroom where she would spend an hour in the shower washing it out of her hair, and in her bed sheets when she’d come back from god knows where smoking up. 

There was one night when she came back with some gummies for you to share, since she noticed you being on edge and wanted to help, bless her. You kindly refused, since you were in the middle of crying about your grades, but appreciated the thought nonetheless. 

Your midterm came back with a lower grade than you expected. Your project partner didn’t finish their part of the assignment, forcing you to do most of it yourself. You were going to get a lower grade than you wanted, than you needed to keep your scholarship. You had to get at least a 90% on the final to keep your average where it needed to be. How the fuck were you supposed to accomplish that? What with the stress of managing your finances and trying to blend in to this stupid crowd, most of the kids around you not having to even think about any of the shit that was on your mind. 

You couldn’t fail, you weren’t allowed the same slip ups half of the students around you were allowed. Not only could you barely afford your meals on campus, but you were skipping dinner some days, desperate to make it to the end. It’s not like you could ask anyone at home for help, that was a write-off. You were here off your own merit and volition. You and you alone. You thought about all your peers who had help getting here, jealousy rising like bile in your throat. You needed this more than them. And yet you felt hopeless when you thought back to the pre-requisite course you were failing.

Okay, fine. Not failing, just falling below the mark you needed.

Which you tried explaining to your roommate. Her casual suggestion made you stop crying immediately, turning to her in confusion.

“Why don’t you just buy an answer key?”

What. The. Fuck.

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah, like the answer key to the final. I’m sure someone has it.”

“Like… you mean like someone’s selling the answers to the exams we’ve been writing? Like… a student? Isn’t that against school rules?”

She laughed and looked at you like you’d grown two heads.

“Of course it’s against school rules, that’s why you have to be careful who you ask. Honestly, how have you been getting by this whole time? Don’t tell me you’ve actually been doing every single reading?” she asked you as if the mere thought of it was ridiculous.

You just stared at her in stunned silence, a little bashfully when you had no reason to be. 

“Oh honey, go ask Rydal, I’m sure he has it.”

Now you were going to scream.

“W-what?” you were struggling to wrap your head around it. The same Rydal whose father was a professor at the school, the same Rydal who left the exam early for a class he never fucking showed up for – that scumbag was cheating and still had the audacity to steal the last copy of the book you needed right out of your stingy hands. 

The sound of your roommate talking faded into noise as you were thinking about all the times you felt less than, and all the times you stayed up late in the library studying, trying to prove yourself to your professors and peers when all this time half the student body was probably buying their way through school and doing the bare minimum.

You realize she’s been droning on about how cute he was today, and how kindly he offered to roll her weed for her when she bought the dime off him and it occurred to you that she was still talking about Rydal. Her weed dealer, Rydal. 

A thought occurred to you. 

“Where’s his dorm?” you adopted a fake tone of cheerful curiosity. 

She adapted to your change in diction better than you could’ve hoped for really, giving you the information you were looking for and feeling altruistic about herself in the process.

He opened his door with an air of boredom, masking his surprise at finding you there – your eyes probably red from crying, hands wringing in front of you – and leaning against it with his arms crossed, looking you up and down before asking, “can I help you?” with a twist of his lips.

Taking a deep breath and trying not to literally twiddle your thumbs, you start explaining how you need at least a 90 on the exam to keep your GPA, trying to skirt around the topic of maintaining your scholarship. For whatever reason, you felt the need to hide your financial status in front of him, and you were already here groveling for his help. You didn’t need to hand over your dignity on a silver platter for him. 

Halfway through your monologue, he opens the door more fully for you, signaling for you to enter with a slight tilt of his head. Looking around his dorm, you take in the frames and posters lining his walls; the stack of books next to his extremely comfortable looking bed; his mostly cleared desk; an acoustic guitar half hidden behind it; and a hefty looking filing cabinet with a lock. It was much loftier than yours looked, even with the lived in state. His worn but expensive denim jacket hung off the chair at his desk, and you briefly wondered what the hell his deal was. Why was this rich kid with daddy issues acting out in a clear violation of several campus rules and regulations, pulling out a spliff from behind his ear to rest between his lips and light it up lazily in front of you? 

“D’you wanna hit?” he asks, blowing the smoke out as he watches you gingerly look around for somewhere to sit. You shake your head ‘no’, tugging at the hem of your Harvard t-shirt. 

“Take a seat, I have to find the copy,” he says gesturing to his unmade bed. 

So you do, you sit in the same place his body had been prior to you knocking on his door and you can tell by the traces of cologne you pick up as soon as you sit down.

You try not to stare as he’s bent over the heavy duty cabinet, rifling through the folders - criminally organised, this one – until he finds the one he’s looking for and turns around to catch you staring at his bum, your eyes widening as they meet his a second too late. 

"Y'know, you look good like that,” he says, leaning his hip against the cabinet and looking at you down his nose again, his lids laying low over his brown eyes. 

"Like what?" you ask, despite you already having a feeling where he was going with this. 

Rydal smiles, like you played into his hand exactly like he wanted you to.

"Sitting on my bed."

"Just give me the photocopies, Rydal."

"Alright, alright,” you stood up to grab them from his outstretched hand, more than ready to leave his cave of horrors. 

Except he doesn't let go when you grab them. 

"How much?"

He still hasn’t let go; you’re at an impasse with how to proceed. Looking up at him with a slight panicked look, he concedes, finally releasing the paper from his grip.

"For you? Nothing, for now.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Means you owe me one,” he said with an unethical twist of his pink lips. 

"I don't know how I feel about that."

"I have a feeling you'll like the way it feels,” he was ushering you out now, his hand on the small of your back raising goosebumps in its wake. Once in the hallway again, you turned around poised to dish it back but he didn’t give you the chance. Rydal winked at you before swinging his door shut in your face, leaving you half confused and half flustered at his blatant flirting and somewhat generosity. 

///

The next time you see Rydal is at a frat party that your roommate somehow convinced you to go to. She had insisted you needed a night out, a normal university experience she had called it, ever since she found out about your long study hours. Apparently, she had thought you were seeing someone and that’s why you were out late, not because you’d been holed up in the library this whole time. So she took it upon herself to throw some of her clothes at you, more expensive than anything you owned, albeit shorter and tighter. 

“This isn’t my size,” you tried to tell her from inside the bathroom you shared. 

“Yes, it is, stop being dumb and let me see,” she was being nice, you reminded yourself.

Groaning, you opened the door to reveal the kitschy micro pleated skirt she had lent you with the thigh high socks, to go with it. You felt ridiculous, but by the way her eyes lit up at the sight of you, you were made to believe that it was a good look, despite the irony of the academia look gone wrong, all things considered. 

Before she could drag you out any further, you managed to swipe your oversized denim jacket to throw on top for the chill November air, letting her drone on about how she wants to find you a guy tonight. 

The party was being held in a dated building on campus, hosting one of the many fraternities that Harvard has to offer, and of course, one of the many yearly gatherings where students come together to make terrible, horrible decisions together. The structure itself is historically beautiful from the outside, if one were to ignore the trashed students huddled together in swaying groups as the speakers from within the house blared out Hypnotize. There were shouts coming from inside the house, a constant stream of students going to and fro, and someone was most definitely throwing up in the hedge. 

Linking her arm through yours so she wouldn’t lose you to the throngs of people, your roommate pulled you through, ending up at the drinks table.

“Pick your poison,” she urged you, before turning and saying hello to a bunch of people you didn’t know, leaving you alone for a minute before he descended upon you.

“Step on me, would ya?” his soft voice was closer to your ear than you expected anyone to be. 

Your head whipped around and even his eyes widened at seeing your face, not having known it was you from behind. 

“Are you lost or something?” you scoffed at him. 

“Oh my god, Rydal! So good to see you,” your roommate swooped in at just the right time, stepping between you two to hug him, a hug that he returned though he kept his eyes on you the whole time. “You two know each other, right?”

He cleared his throat before smiling and nodding at her, answering all her socialite questions before seeing someone he knew across the room and taking his leave. You knew this outfit was a bad idea. 

“Babe, I’m gonna go dance with Sebastian over there, is that okay? He keeps smiling at me and– don’t look at me like that, I’ll be back soon, I promise, okay?” 

You felt bad, not wanting to keep her from having fun so you assured her you’d be fine, busying yourself with your drink and finding something to snack on. Which led you to search for the food table, it was bound to be here somewhere. Near the drinks is where they usually set it up, right? It should be here – 

He was already staring when your gaze landed on him, looking at you through his lashes from across the room, his index finger resting on his tongue as he licked off whatever food was leftover on it. You felt your cheeks heat as he didn’t look away, the pink of his mouth wrapping around his finger now and making a show out of cleaning it while he looked you up and down. 

Oh, fuck him, you needed some space. The back door was nowhere to be seen so you pivoted and took the stairs two steps at a time in your rush to find the bathroom. After brushing past some older, more inebriated students draped over each other in the hallway, you found an unoccupied bedroom, rather nondescript and clean to belong to this house, at least. Stripping yourself of your jean jacket, you tossed it somewhere near the door. Taking a few breaths to steady your racing heart, you tried to shake the tantalizing image of him and his perfect mouth out of your head, the way his lips wrapped around his finger and leaving behind a trail of spit–

The door swung open and you were about to apologize, presumably to the resident of whoever’s room you were occupying but the words died on your lips when you noticed it was him, closing the door behind him. 

You don’t have the energy to deal with whatever brand of crazy has him acting up tonight, his eyes drinking you in now that he has you cornered like a predator. Taking the moment to study the boy before you, to really study him, you notice he’s not really that tall and not really that imposing. The watch on his wrist looks old and worn, not like his flashy counterparts you thought he was similar to. His polo shirt, though obviously expensive judging by the material and the way it draped over his shoulders, was minimalistic in design. No logo, if any, was immediately visible, and you realized you wouldn’t have known about his ridiculous opinion of the institution if you weren’t eavesdropping that first day, and honestly? He’s probably someone you could have befriended upon first glance (or fallen for, but that’s neither here nor there).

You’re eyeing him with blatant distrust. He’s an asshole at times but his lips part as if he were about to speak and then thought better of it, cocking his head while searching for the right words and you’re waiting with baited breath, crossing your arms across your abdomen and inadvertently pushing your breasts up just enough, because why the fuck did he follow you up here?

He has the audacity to look a bit ashamed actually before deciding to press his fingers to his lips and not speak.

“You’re not going to say anything?” you manage.

He shakes his head and you can see the smile he's trying to hide behind his hand, “well I was going to, but I didn’t want to come off like a dick.” 

You narrow your eyes and sigh, “what? Just say it.”

“I wanted to cash in that favour, what with you looking like… well, like that.” His hand finally leaves his mouth to vaguely wave in the directions of your legs. 

///

So, you meant to put up more of a fight. 

Really.

You didn’t mean to give in to his stupid advances so easily, so wantonly, and you don’t even remember who moved first but you remember it being a damn good kiss. Rydal basically devoured your mouth, tongues fighting for dominance soon after your lips met with one hand cupping the back of your neck and the other pulling your body closer by your hip. You pushed his jacket off him while his hands reached under the hem of your top, fingers pressing into your skin. You finally had the opportunity to rake your fingers through his dark locks, causing him to moan into your mouth and bite your bottom lip in retaliation and you swore you could feel the vibrations in your fucking tonsils, your hips rocking into his and you could feel him–

Time seemed to blur, and suddenly you found yourself on your knees, his hands hurriedly unbuckling his belt while you looked up at him from below, his cheeks dusted pink. Massaging the head of his cock through his stupid corduroy pants, he whined under his breath, pushing your hand away to pull himself out of his briefs.

He’s so fucking thick. After unceremoniously pulling out his cock, he didn’t want to force you to do anything, his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides while you just blinked stupidly at it, watching the tip as it leaked out a drop of precum.

Rydal was watching you watch his cock, before you finally gripped the base and leaned forward to kitten lick the tip, and his hesitation flew out the window. His hand buried itself in your hair, not pushing but holding so gently, it was almost tender and it occurred to you that you wanted to wreck him.

Opening your mouth to let more of him in, you breathe in deeply through your nose until you feel him graze the back of your throat, hearing him stutter a breath when you do. Moving your mouth over him until the hilt, you repeated your movement, fingers tightly gripping his base and ignoring the way his thumb rubbed your cheek on every pass. You chanced a look up at him and saw his wild eyes watching you, groaning when your eyes met. His hips unintentionally thrust forward, hitting the back of your throat and causing you to swallow around the tip, both of you moaning at the same time. 

An ache is building in your jaw but you were determined to make him lose his shit, he drove you crazy and despite you being on your knees for him, you felt in control of the moment, taking pleasure from it. There was a throbbing between your thighs that you tried your hardest to ignore for the time being. 

He was whining now, and you continued to bob your head over his cock, obsessed with driving him further to the edge. Rydal made the prettiest noises, even his exhales were music to your ears and you were glad that you were completely sober enough to remember this, to remember how his head dropped back when you swirled your tongue around his fat tip, the sensitive spot underneath the head and you think he might come. You can't help but wonder if he'll taste any different having fed from a silver spoon all his life

Hes whining a lot now, please– so good j-just like that, God yes – you’re sure hes about to blow his load and you’re preparing yourself to take it as he starts bucking into your mouth but before he can the door swings open and none other than fucking Chester walks in and the moment’s diffused, dissolved, deflated, you’re on your feet faster than you realize and you grab your jacket from the floor as Chester guffaws at the scene. Your feet take you down the stairs and out of the house in a daze, you don’t hear Rydal calling your name behind you in your haste to leave and you see your roommate still with Sebastian, leaving her in his good hands as you make your way back to your dorm. 

Halfway through the Quadrangle you realize you weren’t wearing your own jacket, Rydal’s cologne wafting from it in the humid pre-rain atmosphere. Great, now you had a corporeal reminder of what just transpired. Out of everybody at that party to walk in on the two of you, it had to be his best friend, the one who he was probably going to dish all the dirty details to anyway. 

“Ughhhh!” you groaned once you reached your empty dorm room. 

The entire walk back was filled with images of Rydal, the way his hair felt between your hands, the way his thumb was softly caressing your cheek, the way he felt heavy in your mouth, the way his eyes looked at you like he couldn’t believe his reality. What a waste of your time, you thought bitterly. Neither of you even got the chance to finish what you started. 

Neatly folding the borrowed clothes on your roommates bed, you forced yourself to sleep, only able to nod off after several failed attempts to relieve the buildup between your thighs. 

///

The next two weeks went by uneventfully. Never mind you leaving your dorm for literally anything other than necessities. Classes ended a week before exams, the library was full at all hours, so you resigned yourself to studying in your bed and at your desk. Your roommate spent half her time at her desk and the other half at her new boyfriend’s dorm, Sebastian. That fateful night turned out in her favour, ironically.

She had actually asked you what happened and if you were okay, not having found you after your pathetic runaway stunt. 

“Uhh, I had a really bad acid trip. Ended up here, no memory of how.” 

She nodded at you solemnly, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder comfortingly as if you’d just told her someone in your family had died. 

Rydal’s jacket rests on the back of your chair, the smell of it lingering, both comforting and disconcerting at the same time. You’re bad at lying to yourself so you’ve come to terms with the fact that you enjoyed what happened between you two at the party and felt real regret that you couldn’t finish what you started, going home empty handed. Like a kid at the carnival with no prize, it was stolen from you at the last second and you had to leave before letting them see how badly you wanted it. 

And you did, you wanted him so badly. You almost hate yourself for acknowledging it but when you closed your eyes he was all you could see, his face moments before coming down your throat. Studying in a perpetual state of horniness wasn’t doing you any favours either. You had taken to going for early morning runs to get rid of the itch under your skin, having given up on trying to relieve it yourself. 

The answer key worked, flawlessly of course. You still studied, you weren’t completely undignified in your cheating. It’s not like you were behind in the course, so you did your due diligence and it turned out in your favour. You hung around after finishing, double checking your work and then handing it in with the first half of the class and leaving the examination room with a pep in your step. Once again your thoughts strayed to Rydal, and how you should thank him for his help but then memories of your thanks came to mind and you decided he already got his dues.

Still, you had his jacket. You should probably take it back, all things considered. You turned in your seat to check the tag, curious as to how much it cost him. No doubt that it cost more than half your closet – Balmain. 

Okay, upon first glance it was just a basic denim jacket, but now that you knew it was designer, you noticed the detailing, the strong hardware and clean top stitching that held it together. A quick google search told you it cost him nearly $3,000 and you’re rendered speechless that he hasn’t come knocking down your door and calling you a thief. 

Your leg starts bouncing under your desk, his cologne somehow more fragrant while the words on your laptop screen stop making sense, jumbling together as your mind screams at you to return the jacket at once.

///

Twenty minutes later you’re knocking on his door.

You speed walked here, his jacket in hand. Yes, it was cold outside, but you braved the wind and refused to put the denim on, based entirely on principle and fear that you’d be billed in case anything happened to it while you wore it. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you tried to listen to the shuffling behind his door. What if he wasn’t home? What if he was and didn’t want to see you? What if Chester was here? What if he had a girl over?!

Before you could drop his jacket and leave, the door opened to a shirtless Rydal, sweatpants hung low on his hips and he held a towel to his hair, drying it while looking at you with a clear question in his eyes. 

“Um, hi. I just came here to return this, since, well since I mistook it for mine. They basically look the same except yours cost you like, a lot more than mine did so it's okay if you don’t have it, I kind of ran away. Anyway, I’m gonna go–”

“You still owe me a favour, y’know.”

You pause in your turn, looking at him exasperatedly. He doesn’t even have the shame this time, there’s no pause in his words, no hand to cover his smirk, no, his mouth is twisted up crookedly and making his dimple jut out at you infuriatingly. Insultingly. You’re not staring at the water droplet making its way down his chest but you’re also not not staring. He’s gorgeous. 

“That’s not true, I think I remember–”

“Doesn’t count. I didn’t finish.”

Your eyes flash at his brazen response. Rydal licks his lips in response, staring openly at your mouth now. 

“If you wring my jacket any further, you’ll owe me two times–”

He didn’t get to finish his stupid threat with your mouth covering his, your body colliding with his almost violently and pushing him into his room in the process. He was quick to push you against the door once he had half the mind to close it, his body smothering yours and his hands ripping the jacket from your grip to toss it haphazardly behind him. It was somehow better this time, maybe due to him already being half undressed but you were enjoying the way his tongue was lapping at your bottom lip while your hands roamed his torso, running down his shoulders and lightly scratching him at the same time. His body shuddered and slumped against you as his forehead came to rest against yours, lips parting for air and sharing the same breath pointlessly. 

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you pant, his hands pushing your shirt up inch by inch as he explores your skin. 

“And what exactly is this, baby? Because it feels like more than a favour right now,” he said the last part while grinding his hips into yours causing you both to groan at the well-needed friction.

You glare at him, despite his face being mere centimetres away from yours and an irritating grin playing with his mouth, “You’re ridiculous.”

Flattening your palms against his bare chest, you push him back until the back of his knees hit and buckle against his bed, falling on it before your legs come up on each side of his hips, straddling him as your hands tangle in his hair again.

He’s volatile and sharp and unpredictable in ways that make you nervous and excited and you want to keep him you realize. Rydal’s hands rest on your hips, massaging the skin he can reach without pushing you for more but the desire is clear on his face, looking up at you with no mask. He presses your lower back so your hot core rubs his hardening cock through his sweats and you gasp and arch your back and press in a little closer, and his eyes are tracing your facial expressions. His hand comes up to cup your cheek again and you’re reminded of the last time he held your face like that, his thumb rubbing the same way as before and angling your face better for him to kiss you, stopping just before your lips connect.

You feel a little vulnerable until he says, “Yeah, I know.”

And then he’s kissing you and he’s not stopping and you’re grinding your hips down again, addicted to coaxing small groans and whines from him.

He takes a frightening amount of pleasure from seeing you come around his fingers, his lips wrapped around your clit and leaving behind a trail of wetness, just like you imagined all those days ago. His three digits curled and pressed on your sweet spot, your fingers tightening in his hair as he hummed into your mound, not letting up. 

When he rests the fat tip of his cock against your entrance, looking at you one final time before pushing in, you can’t bring yourself to plead with him so you kiss him instead, hoping your lips conveyed what you didn’t want to voice. He gets it, and enters you in one rushed thrust. Your nails dig into his meaty shoulders, eyes closing against the intrusion. 

You thought sex with Rydal would be competitive, as every exchange between the two of you usually is. You wanted to turn him inside out and devour the crumbs. It should’ve been aggressive, he should’ve fueled your violent tendencies, it should’ve been all bite and not soft brushes of his hand against your face, not him kissing your face as you gasp around a particularly deep thrust, not him religiously watching your mouth as you whimper and your cunt fluttering around his cock. 

He wouldn’t speed up. You already came twice, once on his fingers and once on his thick length as he stayed still inside you, holding off his own release until he reached some-inflicted goal to make you go cross eyed and cockdumb for him. He didn’t let you put your mouth on him before, claiming that you could ‘repay him for last time’ at another date, cheekily insinuating there would be a next time, without a doubt. 

You bite your lip to hold back from begging him to fuck you faster, harder, anything but this slow torture he was inflicting on your slick folds. There was no catch, he was gliding through you easily and he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about how wet you were. Pulling your lip free from your teeth, his thumb dipped into your mouth and caught your spit on it only to drag it across your cheek messily. You let out a high pitch whine at that, his cock hitting you deeply.

You turn your face to the side, scrunching your eyes closed as you feel your core building up again despite his agonizing pace. Rydal grabs your chin and turns you to face him again, holding your jaw in place.

“No, you look at me, wanna watch you come again,” he huffs into your face, lifting your leg to fold you in half. 

“I–” you start to choke, needing him to understand.

“What, baby? You owe me, remember?” he thrusts a bit harder at that, hard enough to make you snap and pull a guttural moan from you.

It happens before you’re ready; your spine feels exposed as your back arches into him, eyes unfocused and brain short-circuiting, and you gush around him. He’s still thrusting, albeit sloppy and irregular now, but he’s also talking a lot and you can’t focus on his words because your ears are ringing from how hard you just came.

“...fuck, baby, so pretty, love watching you come, fuckkkk, I’m gonna– ahhhh!” his hips buck wildly until you feel hot spurts of his come inside you and dribble out of your puffy pussy. His whole body flexes over yours as he all but empties his balls and slumps over you, your hands mindlessly running through his hair and petting his sweaty back. He had just showered before you showed up. Oh well.

The urge to keep touching him stays even past the time it takes for you to regain feeling in your legs, and Rydal has been nuzzling your neck for the time being. You don’t know how long you two stay like that, just basking in each other’s calm presence for the first time since knowing him. You feel like all the stress from the whole semester, let alone the past two weeks, had left your body, seeping out of you and into his sheets. 

You feel him smile against your skin and without thinking, you tug his hair to pull his face up to yours, wanting to see it. It’s not his regular smug smirk that he gives you, it's something else entirely. 

This smile is a bit gummy, not as dazzling as the one he turned on you on the first day you met, but sweet and genuine. His nose wrinkled a bit with it and you had to physically refrain yourself from kissing him silly.

Your bodies are sticky and clammy, no space to be found between you two until he pulls out of you, hissing as he does so. Taking a moment to slyly appreciate the mess between your thighs, he swiped a finger through it before you moaned in resistance, swatting his hand away. Rydal sniffed out a laugh, murmuring an apology before getting you something to clean up with. You were worried he’d be cold as soon as it was over, the tenderness he showered you with minutes ago was still present though and he seemed to share the need to keep touching. Useless and unnecessary touches, lingering hands and longing gazes hung around as he gave you something clean to wear, holding you close once you were decent. 

“Um–” you began.

“Can we talk about it tomorrow or something, for fuck’s sake, shouldn’t you be like super zen now?”

You choked.

He was right though, he had made you come, like, really hard. Plus, you did feel more relaxed so you let yourself laugh at his sassy remark, adjusting to his humour now that you saw how soft he really was. You tried to fake glare at him but couldn’t hold it since he was giving you the nose crinkling smile again, your own lips twitching at the whole situation. 

Burrowing yourself further into his chest, you remembered what you originally came here for.

“By the way… Can I keep your jacket since you lost mine?”

He burst out laughing at that. You find yourself loving the sound of it. 

//

tagging people who I think want to read this and if you don't kindly ignore lmao: @melodygatesauthor @360iris @xbellaxcarolinax @annautumnsoul @ninebluehearts @bit-dodgy-innit @moonknightly @luc-k-y @eyelessfaces @kittyofalltrades @romanarose @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @fandxmslxt69 @missdictatorme @loonymagizoologist

[neiptune]

IF CLARITY'S IN DEATH THEN WHY WON'T THIS DIE?

megumi x reader

a/n: angst, implied mental illness/depression. broke my own heart writing this. obviously a nod to my favorite song from midnights!

Megumi notices when you leave through the front door, jacket thrown over your shoulders and a cigarette hanging lazily from your fingers.

Of course he notices, he thinks angrily.

After all this time, his body still moves on autopilot when it comes to you. If you enter a room, the air still shifts, his head still turns. If you’re looking at him, he still feels your eyes burning holes in his very being, even if you look away right as his indigo gaze challenges yours. And fuck your voice, honestly. Still the one he hears so distinctly over any other noise, any other chatter, any possible beat of silence. He could be in the middle of the goddamn ocean, underwater, ears a second away from exploding from the pressure and he would still hear you laugh on any shore. It’s what love did to him, apparently. Each second spent together had your being carefully carved into each fiber and muscle of his.

And now, in a room filled with some of his closest friends and the beautiful woman holding his hand, he can’t breathe. Because, how dare you? Show up all of a sudden, have the audacity to appear surprised by his presence, spend half of the evening looking at him, at her, and now taking a smoke break because you’re what? Stressed? Why can’t you just leave, then?

Megumi needs a reason to follow you outside and he lets that reason be anger. It’s an anger that fades into something more complicated, something that encompasses both resentment and necessity. You don’t get to lead, he does for once. Even if leading means forcing himself to confront you.

Itadori’s porch only has two steps and sure enough you’re sitting on the first one, curled into yourself with your chin resting on your knees as the front door shuts behind you. Your back straightens up as if a shockwave was sent through your entire body and you’re only gifted with one second, just one entire second to hope for the person behind you to be Yuuta, or Maki, or even Itadori, the host himself. But he still wears the same cologne so your heart can only squeeze pathetically as he sits on the upper step behind you. A safe space, the perfect distance. A silent demand for you not to turn around but to still feel his presence, long legs stretched right next to you.

“Can you believe how old Yuuji is?” you speak casually but there’s nothing casual about the way your voice trembles.

He hums.

“Old enough to get drunk on his own birthday, apparently”

“Finally, you mean” the small laugh you let out sounds weird and you seal it by bringing the cigarette to your numb lips, inhaling as deeply as you can. Of course he doesn’t laugh.

“Did he invite you?” there’s no harshness embedded in the question but your eyes flutter shut for a second anyway.

“Don’t be mad at him, I’ll leave in a bit”

“That’s very generous of you”

You exhale slowly, take the hit quietly. The cruel contrast between how you feel for each other cuts the air from your lungs for a moment. “I know it’s not mutual but I’m happy to see you. To see that you’re doing fine”

This time he does laugh, a dry, mocking sound that crawls out of his throat and sends a shiver down your spine.

“Give me a fucking break” he mutters and you can’t see it but he’s adamantly shaking his head, in disbelief “you mean you’re happy to see I’m dating someone? Is that why you’re here?”

“I didn’t know” the reply comes out harsher than how you intended but you can’t help it really, not as flashes of long legs, blonde hair, pretty scarlet lips curved into an adoring smile play on repeat right before your eyes, so much that you have to blink the ghostly appearances away “but I am happy. If you’re happy”

“Stop trying to be the bigger person. You’ve been staring all night”

“Yes. Yes, I’ve been staring. You know why I’ve been staring”

You hear the distinct hitch of breath.

“Don’t” he sputters out.

The corners of your eyes sting and you’re thankful you get to keep the pathetic expression taking over your features to yourself.

“You know I’m still in love with you” it’s vile, unfair, but you let those words cut through the chilly air of the evening anyway.

Megumi’s nails painfully dig into his palms and he hopes blood comes out, he hopes a meteor strikes the garden and opens the biggest crater in recorded history, he prays Gojo Satoru will jump down from the fucking roof to grab the collar of his shirt and drag him away as his inopportune, hectic, annoying self often does. But nothing happens. There’s no calamity to distract him from the rage and the pain wrecking his body from within.

“You don’t get to say that” you can tell he’s gritting his teeth but what’s worse is the agony concealed in his tone. You recognize it, of course you recognize it.

He’s right, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to hurt him more than you already have. But haven’t you always been selfish? Haven’t you always put your needs right before his, up until the very end?

“You left me. No, even worse, you forced me to leave you. I begged, I waited at your door, you never even opened. You don’t know what love is”

With a shaky breath, you extinguish the cigarette on the same step you’re sitting on, then press your thumbs onto your eyelids in a weak attempt to stop the tears. It doesn’t work.

“I’m sorry” you murmur “you know it wasn’t because I stopped loving you. I just wanted to—”

“I don’t give a shit. Who gave you the right to make that choice on your own, for the both of us? Why didn’t I get to have a say in the matter?”

“Megumi…”

“Oh, I know why. You get off to that. You get a kick out of things going wrong, of the worst possible scenarios, you bask in any goddamn disappointment because it gives you the chance to think you were right. Something was eventually going to happen. And that’s how you always leave”

“You’re being cruel” it’s barely a whisper but it’s met with a sarcastic smirk nonetheless.

“Well, you broke my fucking heart, so maybe I get to be cruel”

You turn around at last and he can’t help the wince as he takes in the sight of your tear stained cheeks.

“You think I enjoy being like this? You think I like being so scared, never laying the armor down, no matter how much I love and trust someone? You think I get a kick out of being so broken?” you wonder if a person can even cry as much as you are as you speak angrily, conscious of how undeserving of that feeling you actually are. Why should you get to be upset when he’s the one who’s been hurting all this time?

Megumi almost, almost gives in to the impulse of gently wiping away your tears. He’s on the verge of doing what he’s done a million times: take you in his arms and hope it’s enough to keep you from falling apart right in front of his eyes. But years of trying and the end of your relationship have taught him that this is not something anyone else can do for you. You have to figure it out on your own, it hurts too much to keep trying only to keep failing and he’s still so worn out from all the useless love he has for you. Doesn’t even know what to do with it now, where to put it. No point in giving it to you, unthinkable to give it to someone else. It’ll just stay in his body, he believes, slowly eating him alive from within for god knows how much more time.

“I would’ve been there” he speaks slowly, eyes never leaving yours, not even attempting to control the desperation in his voice anymore “through the worst, I would’ve been there. You didn’t want me”

He'd been there so many times, after all. On the days you couldn't bring yourself to pull your head out from beneath covers, let alone leave the bed. Limbs as heavy as wool soaked with water, so inert he'd have to lift your arm himself whenever he'd slip onto the mattress right next to you, to hug and press you to his chest, a useless attempt to give you some sort of solidity. He'd been there on the days sobs would exhaust your body to the point of a numbness that scared him. He'd been there on the days he'd have to gently cradle you in his arms and shower with you, whispering sweet encouragements in your ear as his hands massaged body wash and shampoo and hair masks, not wanting to miss a single step. He'd hoped his love would be enough to fill you, whenever you transformed into an empty shell.

“It’s not the love you deserve” you beg him to understand, not to forgive. Living without him is hard enough but living knowing that he hates you? It’s excruciating. Possibly the worst pain you’ve ever experienced and man, did you experience pain. “You deserve someone healthy, someone who won’t be a burden. You deserve a love that’s bright and soothing, it’s all I ever wanted for you. It’s just unfortunate that I was never able to provide”

It’s been so long since he’s seen you in person, since he’s heard your voice. He shuts his eyes for a moment and there you are, an image burned into his retina so perfectly, so limpid even behind closed eyelids. You’re always there.

“I wanted it to be you” he whispers “I wanted it to be you so badly” and he doesn’t add the I still want it to be you that’s clawing inside his chest, begging to be let out.

You smile a broken smile as you sniffle and offer a shrug. “I wanted it to be me, too. We sure were something, huh?”

We were, Megumi thinks. We are, he mentally adds, picturing all the mornings he’d still spend in bed with you, the coffee cup left untouched in his cupboard, the hydrating tangerine hand soap he keeps buying just because it reminds him of you.

He gets up carefully, not fully trusting the steadiness of his legs. There’s not an ounce of anger left to keep him pieced together, stable. There’s nothing left to ground him.

“When it gets bad, you know you can still come to me, right?” it takes everything in him to let the words out and not because he’s too proud to still direct any form of affection your way. It’s because he knows you won’t do it. You’ve made up your mind a long time ago and Megumi knows you’ve decided to figure it out on your own, without the risk of hurting someone else in the process. He’s now the last person you’ll ever go to, when it gets bad.

“I know. I will” you’re considerate enough to lie and the only victory he gets is given by the sight of your shoulders relaxing ever so slightly, as if an invisible burden has been suddenly taken off your back. How many times can a heart actually break? Why does he survive the process each time?

You wipe your cheek with your sleeve, chest heavy from the realization that you stand defeated. Megumi is still your person. Even if you’ve pushed him away, even if you’ve given up on the love of your life to protect it, he only allows himself to let go to some extent.

He registers the same, painful feeling: it’s not permanent, it’s never goodbye, and your resolve alone has certainly never been strong enough to kill whatever is left of a love so stubborn. 

Sometimes Megumi finds himself missing the person he was all his life, up until you became part of it. He wonders if that version of him still exists somewhere, the one still foreign to the intensity of love, a boy content with spending his days hanging out with classmates, playing baseball after school and focusing on his exams the first years in college. Megumi misses the person who still thought love was a magical, exciting feeling sprinkled over shared strawberry ice cream dates, awkward first kisses and late night drives.

Then, just as suddenly as it comes, the feeling goes away and he wants to kick himself over it. Because yeah, it may hurt like hell right now but the time spent with you has given him so much the pain might even be worth it. If he could go back in time, he’d still choose to fall in love with you just as desperately. Even if he’s doomed, even if the tomb won’t close, even if he’ll never be who he used to be again. You’ll always be worth it.

“No matter where I am, who I am with. Come to me” Megumi insists, knuckles white in his pockets from how tight his fists are.

You offer a gentle nod and, as the front door opens and a tender voice calls for him to come back inside, he knows he’ll wait. As pointless as it is, he’ll wait.

[nagiru]

Oh, you're the thief without a name? That's fine, that's fine... just be warned that if you don't give me a name, I'll just keep calling you "The Cologne Thief" and that's going to be pretty embarrassing for you, just saying.

[cuddles-with-bucky]

My Face, Your Boxers

Bucky X Reader

Authors Notes: Written for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​​ and thank you so much for allowing me to combine these two amazing prompts together!!! Hope I did it justice!

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, pranks, language, sexual tension, talks of sex, implied smut.

Words 2,372

Prompts:

Y/N and Bucky have never got along and are always bickering. One day, he decides to prank her by changing all of her lace underwear to briefs with his face all over them.

Bucky has a date tonight and reader changes all of his boxers to “Pardon My Hardon” boxers.

The boxers:

“You’re putting way too much milk on your cereal, doll.” Bucky elbowed you, almost knocking you off the stool and spilling the milk everywhere.

“Fuck off and mind your own business.” You gritted through your teeth, wanting to knock that smug grin off his stupid face. 

“Ah, young love.” Sam teased as he walked casually into the kitchen that was thick with sexual tension, no thanks to you and Barnes. You shot him a glare, pouring your milk carelessly over your cereal.

“Y/N seriously, fucking leave some milk for the rest of us!” Bucky warned, reaching over and snatching the bottle from your hand.

“Stop being up my ass all the damn time Barnes.” You said, scooping some cereal up on a spoon and shoveling it into your mouth. “If you want me to fuck you up the ass doll, all you gotta do is ask.” 

“I’m out!” Sam announced, grabbing an orange and leaving quickly, leaving just you and Bucky alone in the kitchen which was always a very bad idea since you didn’t get along with the man. 

You’re not really sure why, ever since he came to the compound, he acted cold and distant with you despite your warm welcoming and months later, he became the biggest dick. 

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on earth.” You argued, loved pushing his squishy buttons. Despite him being an enormous asshole, he was so easy to piss off and you loved it.

“Hypothetical question, why?” Bucky pressed, taking a seat next to you and watched in amusement as you kept on shoveling the cereal in your mouth. 

“Well first of all; you’re always sweaty and disgusting and I imagine you grunt a fucking lot. And secondly; I repeat my first point. Thirdly; I’m best friends with my vibrator that always lets me cum first. Something I don’t see you doing.” 

“Aww, you jealous doll ‘cause you don’t have a man to know, lick you and fuck you into the mattress?” Bucky smirked, leaning his forearms on the counter.

“Jealous? HA. I actually feel quite sorry for any poor woman underneath you as you drip your disgusting sweat on her face. I’m GRATEFUL for that. Besides, wouldn’t want your dentures to fall out as you sucked the life out of me, plus, I’m a really nice person, now please, fuck off and have a great day.” 

“Whatever you say, doll.” Bucky chuckled, drawing the pet name out since he knew how much it annoyed you. He was getting up to leave and missed the spoon being launched at his head by seconds. 

“Sergeant Barnes?” The AI beeped as Bucky walked into the common room. 

“What is it, FRIDAY?” Bucky asked, looking up in the air. 

“A parcel has arrived and Mr Stark has left it in your room, sir.” 

Bucky laughed knowing exactly what the parcel was, and it was all planned perfectly since you would be out of the compound most of today. 

Bucky hurried back to his room and unpacked the parcel that was sitting on his bed, he cut the tape and laughed maniacally as he pulled the new custom ordered underwear out of the box. He spent hundreds of dollars on this and it had to go right. 

He put a few hundred into a separate bag and hid the box in his closet in case someone decided to barge in like they normally did. Bucky exited his bedroom, walking down to the other end of the hall where your room was, just as he was about to go in, you came out.

“What?” You asked confused, putting your keys and phone in your pocket. 

“I was- I thought you were out?” Bucky stammered, subtly moving the bag of underwear behind his back so you couldn’t get a peek. 

“God, what are you, my husband? If you really must know, I’m just leaving so leave your testicles in your pants and stay out of my room. I remember what you did last time and I don’t want another cleaning bill.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Bucky saluted. He was amused you didn’t even wonder why he was outside your door, or maybe you did and just didn’t care since Bucky always did go out of his way to annoy the fuck of you. Him being there was nothing to you.

While Bucky sneaked into your room, you had your own secret meeting with a friend in Brooklyn. You knew Bucky had a date tonight, because he’s talked about it non stop since last week and since he embarrassed you on your last date, you figured a little paycheck was overdue. Your friend had ordered you over 300 pairs of boxers. Boxers you were planning to plant in Bucky’s dresser so his date could freak the hell out. 

You were an observant person, and his sweatpants never hid anything that great. The man constantly walked around with a boner, it was so obvious so these boxers were true, but you know, they would excuse it for him when his date sees him. You couldn’t wait to see the look on his face. 

Bucky pulled all your lace panties out and threw him carelessly onto your bed, including your bras. He unpacked the new briefs and folded them neatly into the top two drawers of your dresser, snickering as he saw the print on them. It was probably quite a childish prank, but he was sure you’d get a kick out of it.

Once Bucky was done, he put your laced panties in the bag he brought with him and left your room undisturbed and went back to his to hide the panties and meet Steve at the bar for a few beers. 

You actually passed Bucky in the lobby, just as he stepped out, you were about to step in. He noticed a box in your hands, around the same size as the one he had delivered and snickered. How ironic would it be if you pranked with him the same underwear. 

“Whatcha got there dollface?” Bucky purred, adjusting his leather jacket. You couldn’t deny he looked smoking hot in his black outfit. “More dildos?” He teased.

You snickered and stepped into the elevator. “Why? Jealous they might be bigger than you Barnes?” You cackled, pressing the button to your. 

“STAY OUT OF MY ROOM!” You heard him yell just as the doors closed. 

If anyone was to blame for this prank, it would be Bucky for leaving his damn door unlocked and making it too easy. You had no problem breaking into his room and removing his tattered and worn boxers, some with holes where the wiener would be, why he had a fucking hole there was anyone’s guess, you’d like to think it was because he probably rubbed one out every time he was alone in this room. 

You replaced his ragged old boxers with some lovely new ones. They were red with a black waistband. The imprint on the front where his bulge would be read “Pardon My Hardon.” To now, you cackled like crazy every time you read it. You could imagine the look on his face, and also his date’s face. 

Apparently, he was hoping to get lucky tonight. With these boxers, that’s not gonna happen. This was their first date after all. Once you hid his old boxers under the bed, you proceeded with the second part of your plan to make sure he would wear these and not notice them; remove all lightbulbs from his room. You paid Tony in good faith to cut the electricity for tonight when Bucky would be in his room changing anyway, but to be sure Tony didn’t follow through on his promise for some reason, you needed to remove the lights just in case. 

You clapped your hands when you got the last light bulb out, also throwing them under his bed and left his room undisturbed. 

Now you just had to wait.

***

Bucky returned back to the compound around 8 p.m and already it was dark outside. The heavy rain clouds that lingered over NYC ended daylight quicker than expected. To make matters worse, the storm had cut electricity out in the compound. Candles were lit everywhere, except for Bucky’s room since he just needed a quick wash and change of clothes. His eyes had never let him down before and he knew his room like the back of his hand. 

He closed the curtains in his room and walked into the bathroom, washing his face and hands and patting himself dry with a towel he felt around for. 

Bucky could hear the distinctive chatter from his teammates down the hall as they sat in the common room talking about the storm. Thunder and lightning came suddenly and the rain pelted against the floor-to-window panes. This storm came suspiciously quickly. Considering he was aware Thor was in town.

But these thoughts never really crossed his mind and he didn’t piece it together. He was thinking about Dot and his date tonight. He whipped his black jeans off along with his boxers, opening the drawer, he felt around for a pair and grabbed them.

His fingertips traced along the waistband until he felt the silk label and slipped into them. They felt a little tighter than usual, but Bucky had been working on beefing up again. 

Bucky reached into his closet and pulled a clean pair of jeans off the hanger and slipped them on. He next removed his shirt and picked a button up off the hanger on the other side of the closet. When he was dressed and happy, he sprayed some cologne around his throat and neck, picked up his leather jacket off the bed and left his room. 

He walked a little down the hall when your door suddenly ripped open, scaring the shit out of him. He stumbled and put his hand over his heart.

“Did you seriously fucking change my underwear to your stupid face?!” You gritted through your teeth. 

“I did.” He shrugged, smirking as he now leaned against the doorframe. “Now you will always have me between your legs, doll.” Bucky teased, licking his dry lips. 

You huffed out a laugh and shook your head. You’d never tell him, but you actually really liked the briefs. They were exceptionally comfortable and you find them funny. You couldn’t imagine the look on a man’s face though as he peeled them off you.

“You have a date tonight right?” You questioned, the candlelight behind you just about makes out his features. 

“I do, so no need to wait up. I’ll leave some earplugs in the common room so we don’t keep you awake.” 

You laughed, there was no way he was getting any tonight with those boxers he was most likely wearing. 

“Enjoy the *squeak, squeak, squeak*” You teased, imitating his squeaky mattress that you heard often.

“Enjoy your vibrators that you had delivered today.” He retorted. You snorted and retreated back into your room, slamming the door unintentionally in his face.

***

You didn’t know what time it was when you fell asleep. Once Bucky had left earlier, you found Tony and Thor and thanked them with a hug each for their part in your plan. Let’s face it, without them, this wouldn’t have worked. But it seemed you were right and Bucky really was that naive. 

You’re not sure what woke you up either, you thought you heard a knock on your door but it must have been in your dream. You rolled onto your back and stretched, putting your arm under your pillow, you just started to doze off again when the knock came louder this time. 

You glared towards the door, rolling over to flick a lamp on and dragged yourself from the comfort of your bed towards it. You opened the door and on the other side stood a rather tired and unamused Bucky Barnes. 

“Barnes? Are you lost, you’re room is down the hall on-”

“What the fuck did you do to my boxers?” He seethed, his jaw and fists clenched. You rubbed your eyes and chuckled, angering Bucky more. 

“Oh, you saw them.” Is all you said, his eyes flickering down to his custom briefs. He couldn’t help but become aroused when he saw a slight wet spot and your nipples tenting underneath your tank top. 

“No, Dot saw them and she was fucking horrified!” 

“Poor Dot. You know, they are really funny and I’m sorry but if she couldn’t take the joke then maybe she isn’t the one for you.” You stated, folding your arms across your chest and resting them under your breasts, the swells of your breasts now threatening to spill out. 

Bucky said nothing as he took a step towards you. You remained still in your place, his breath fanned over your face. 

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe then I don’t want another man between your legs, on briefs or otherwise.” Bucky sighed. Your arms dropped down by your side and Bucky took the opportunity to reach out and take on, guiding it to his hard bulge. Your hand squeezed him and he moaned quietly. 

“If you want this, if you really want me, then I suggest you get in here and get your face between my legs for real.” 

“If I knew planting briefs with my face on them would make me fuck you, I’d have done it months ago.” Bucky chuckled, his hands on your waist as he walked you backwards. He kicked the door closed with his foot, guiding you two back towards the bed until your knees hit the side of the mattress. Bucky kneeled on the floor before you, his fingers hovering on the waistband of the briefs. 

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked, needing to hear you say it. “I know we hate each-”

“I don’t hate you. And I’m sure. Please…” 

“Good, me neither. Once I start, I’m not gonna be able to stop.”

“Then don’t stop.” That’s all Bucky needed to hear. Once those words left your lips, your briefs were ripped from your body and your legs thrown over his broad shoulders. His tongue diving in between your seeping folds.

[whitecatindisguise]

Blood in My Veins

I decided to do a thing. This story was inspired by this post. Sooo.... let’s see how it goes.

P.S. @honeyxmonkey, I told you I will do it if you tell me no lmao

------

At first Varian didn’t suspect the thing. So what, his jail-mate seemed to be more awake during the night than day? It didn’t even disturb him how he always scooted away from the daylight pouring through the small window. After spending months in the darkened cell he, too, started to show symptoms of photophobia.

It was after their escape and taking over the kingdom he started to notice it wasn’t just Andrew. All of the Saporians tended to stay away from the daylight. They ordered to cover the windows with dark curtains, basking the interior of the castle in darkness. They never came out during the day, unless it was cloudy or raining. Varian couldn’t fathom, why all of them shared such peculiar dislike to sunlight.

Then, it started to get weirder. Whenever he worked in his lab, which was situated so low there was no windows inside, pushing him to use candles to even see anything, one of the Saporians was there. It wouldn’t bother him that much, if not how they always trailed after him, keeping too close for his own comfort. One time, he was quite sure he caught Clementine sniffing him.

But it wasn’t until few months after their escape that he finally learned, what was wrong with Saporians.

He just finished work for today, deciding to rest a little. His eyes were closing on their own and he could barely keep himself steady, as he walked towards his bedroom. Andrew trailed behind him like a shadow. It still sent the chill down the alchemist’s spine, no matter how much time has passed.

He finally managed to drag himself to his room and pushed the door forwards, making way towards his bed. The door behind him closed with a loud clank and he turned, surprised to see Andrew turning the key in the lock.

“What are you doing?” He asked confused.

The Saporian turned to him and the look he gave the boy was nothing like he’d ever seen. Andrew’s eyes bore into his small frame, assessing him, almost EATING him. It was disturbing, to say the least.

“I have no idea, what you’re doing in this lab of yours kid...” Andrew said, stepping closer, a sinister smile on his lips. “... but whatever it is, the smell of your blood is just breathtaking.”

“What?” Varian blinked and stepped back, tripping over the leg of the bed. He lost his balance and fell backwards, landing on the plush blankets.

Before he could react, Andrew closed the distance and was looming over the terrified boy. He licked his lips in delight and leaned closer, sniffing on  Varian’s neck.

“Yes... I’ve never smelled something like this before.” He murmured, hands gently but firmly pinning the alchemist to his bed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to held myself any longer.”

“What do you-?” Varian’s question was cut as Andrew lunged forward and he felt something sting his neck.

He let out a startled gasp. He tried to push the man away, to escape the grasp, but he couldn’t. He felt weaker by the second, his vision fogging. Finally, the pressure on his neck disappeared, followed by unpinning him from his bed.

Andrew pulled away and licked his lips again, a drop of red trailing down his chin.

“Ah, I knew you were special, kid.” He grinned and Varian could swear his teeth were sharper than they should be. The man reached out his hand and gently cupped the alchemist’s cheek. “Sleep now. We’ve got so much time before us.”

Varian tried to argue, tried to get the man explain himself. But his clouded mind refused to cooperate. His vision blackened and he passed out, two bite-marks visible on his pale neck.

~~~~~~

After that night, it became a somewhat usual occurrence. To Varian’s dismay, it wasn’t only Andrew. All of the Saporians shared the same trait and he started to find himself pinned and bitten in the neck more times than he would like. It came to the point he was constantly on edge, watching over his shoulder, trying to spot red eyes in the darkness of the hallway.

No matter how much he wanted to find another, scientific explanation for their behaviour, he was painfully aware of who exactly were they. Vampires. The creatures he only read in fairy tales, never believed to truly exist. If it wasn’t for the constant pain in his neck, his growing paleness and developing anaemia, he wouldn’t believe it either.

Somewhere along the time, he started to wear a coat with high collar, to hide the sickening sight every time he looked into the mirror. It helped a bit, but the marks were still visible, so he purchased a bandana, which successfully managed to cover his neck.

It was only for show, he knew. So that he could pretend everything was alright. Pretend his allies weren’t bloodthirsty creatures preying on him. Pretend he wasn’t getting more and more tired as the days went by...

~~~~~~

When Rapunzel came back, at first he was furious. It was the first emotion he felt, seeing the woman who destroyed his life, made him a criminal.

After the Princess and her friends were pushed away from the castle, Andrew didn’t even bother to wait until Varian was back in his room. He sunk his teeth right there, earning a moan of pain from the boy. The man murmured something about how anger made his blood even more enthralling. It was hard to pay attention, as his vision swum once again, his limbs losing strength.

He awoke in his room, neck hurting from the bite. He curled on himself, weeping silently over his fate. 

Then, the Princess came back, sneaked inside right under their noses. Apparently, she was found crying in Cass’ room, holding her dress to her chest. If it wasn’t for that, Varian wasn’t sure she would be found and caught.

But there she was, stuck behind the bars as he once was. The irony of the situation was laughable, to say the least. He bantered to her how she made his life miserable, how he’s going to fix it up himself, because he couldn’t count on her. And then, everything went south.

The Saporians revealed they were planning to use the unstable Quirineon to blow up Corona. Varian was furious. Not only they used him a their personal food source, the thought of which sent a chill up his spine, but they even refused to listen to one request he had, that no one got hurt!

In a spur of a moment he tried to trap them, throwing a bomb in their direction. But, of course, nothing ever goes like he wants it too. The bomb turned out to be a bathbomb, useful when you want to take a quick bath, but useless to use AGAINST someone.

Andrew laughed, his eyes glinted red, and Varian shivered, backing away.

“Bad move, kid.” The man stepped closer, licking his lips. The alchemist could see the teeth sharpening.

“Don’t you dare hurt him!” Rapunzel cried from behind him. If Varian wasn’t frozen in fear, he would have laughed. So NOW she’s concerned about his well-being, huh?

“Oh, don’t worry, princess.” Andrew was now so close, the boy could smell the cologne he used. The man leaned forward and sniffed, letting out a pleased sigh. “We would never hurt our favourite snack, would we?”

Before the princess managed to process what he said, Andrew pulled away the bandana from Varian’s neck and sunk his teeth. The alchemist cried out, as the man was more forceful than usual. His teeth sunk deeper, he was sucking blood with more strength.

Varian’s knees buckled, his eyelids started to close. Andrew pulled away and watched the boy fall to the floor, wiping the blood from his mouth.

“Consider it a punishment for your disobedience, kid.” He said, kneeling next to the alchemist, the hazy blue eyes staring at him through the fog. “You are mine now.”

Varian’s eyes closed, world turning black. He didn’t hear Rapunzel crying out his name, begging the Saporians to let him go. He didn’t feel Kai pick him up, sling over his shoulder and take him away. He didn’t hear the cling of metal, as he was chained to the floor in the airship.

~~~~~~

“-an... -rian...” His hazy mind picked out, but he was too out-of-it to understand what was being said.

He felt so weak. His neck hurt, and so did the rest of his body. He just wanted to sleep.

“-rian...! Varian!” This time the words sounded clearer. Someone was calling him, voice concerned. “Varian, please. Open your eyes.”

Easier said than done, he thought, feeling as if his eyelids were made from stone. After several attempts he finally managed to pry them open, even if only slightly. His vision was blurred, but he spotted something distinctively familiar and purple just in front of himself.

“Eugene, he’s not waking up!” Someone called, voice trembling as if they were crying. Eugene... he knew that name... And purple meant...

“Rapu.....nzel...?” He managed to breathe out, voice hoarse and barely audible. The purple moved and something yellow and very bright appeared before his eyes.

“Oh my god! Varian!” It was truly her. She leaned down and he was pulled into a bear hug. “I thought we lost you! When they all started to...” She trailed off, not letting him go yet. “You were so pale, we could barely feel your pulse!”

“You gave us quite a scare, Goggles.” He heard a male voice. Eugene.

“Wha...? Where...?” Varian’s mind was still hazy, barely registering what Rapunzel was talking about. What has happened? Why was he so weak? Why did his neck hurt so much?

“The Saporians almost killed you, kid.” Eugene spoke up. Varian moved his head to the dark-blue blur which seemed to be the man. “They were all sucking up your blood like maniacs. Crazy, if you ask me.”

Varian tensed at the explanation. Usually it was only one of them that... drunk. And they gave him time to rest and his body to refill the lost blood. If they all tried drinking so shortly after the situation in jail...

He trembled and subconsciously reached out to grab Rapunzel’s dress. He almost died. He almost died. He almost-

“Varian, calm down.” Rapunzel called out. He didn’t even notice when he started hyperventilating. “Deep breaths. You are safe now. They are not going to hurt you anymore.”

He gripped her dress tighter, burrowing his face in her chest. Tears stained the purple material, dumping it. His whole frame shook, as he cried and hiccoughed, Rapunzel gently stroking his back.

You are safe. You are alright. You are not alone.

She spoke quietly, whispering into his ear as he trembled and weeped. And, this time, Varian believed her.

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating John Bender

(Not my gifs)(Requested by anonymous)

(Some of these are sort of sad and mention abuse so warning to anyone who is uncomfortable with that subject matter)

- You met Bender in detention. When Vernon left all of you alone, he began to badger you about how you got there. Finally, you’d had enough and just told him the boring, slightly embarrassing truth: you were just late to class too many times.

- You shyly glanced over at him after you said it, only to find a small smirk on his face.

“Oh that’s adorable,” he said and you could feel your face turn hot. “No, that’s really cute. I mean it’s just so-”

“Alright Bender.” Andy interrupted. Bender glared and turned on the wrestler, something you were quite thankful for in the moment.

- Throughout the entire detention, he tried to get you to pay attention to him. He moved his seat next to yours, played with your hair, toyed around with how close you would let him get to you.

- For whatever reason you actually began liking him. Under all that dickhead behavior and dirty jokes he was actually entertaining …or maybe just hot.

- Later in the day, the two of you went through each other’s stuff. He told you about his girlfriends and you sort of lost your interest in him. And yet, he seemed to rope you back in every time he flipped his stupidly gorgeous hair. It was a ...confusing detention.

- After a few hours of flirtation, you finally agreed to one date. He didn’t really have a plan when the two of you met up but once you told him you’d never been to one, he took you to a demolition derby.

- You were surprised by how much fun you had with him. You were also surprised by how okay you were with; lightly, making out with him, pushed against a chain link fence after the show was over.

- As much as you enjoyed the time you spent with him, you couldn’t get it out of your head that he had other girlfriends. The idea of him going out after the two of you parted ways and fucking some other chick after kissing you, well, it made you sick. And so, you began to actively ignore and avoid him.

- He wasn’t a fan of your silent treatment. He’d tasted you, gotten so close to winning you over, and you’d pulled the rug out from under him for seemingly no reason at all. It riles him up, makes him think you’re completely insane and yet, he can’t just let you go and be the crazy bitch that you apparently are. He has to have you.

- Meanwhile, you trying to ignore how you feel about him just seems to make it worse. So now, the two of you can’t stop thinking about the kiss you shared and how much you actually want to be together.

- Finally, after a chunk of time spent trying to distance yourself as much as possible, the loudspeaker comes on during one of your classes.

“Good afternoon Shermer High School~ this is John Bender coming to tell all of you that there is little lady out there by the name of Y/n Y/l/n who is your favorite assholes girlfriend. From now on, anyone who so much as looks at her will get their teeth kicked in by yours truly. Have a nice day.” Beep.

- You immediately felt the urge to melt into the floor as the entire class turned to stare at you. Finally, you just got up and dashed out of the classroom, on the prowl for the jackass who didn’t know when to quit.

- He’s halfway across the school when you find him, lazily walking as though he’d done nothing wrong.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” You have to stop yourself from screaming the words.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look hot when you’re angry?” He asks, stopping a foot or so away from you.

“What are you trying to pull here Bender? Are you trying to make my life hell?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” he replies. “We go on a date, we kiss, we have a jolly good fucking time and then you ignore me. Now I’m sat here wondering what the fuck I did wrong, like I should even give a fuck about what you think of me.”

He stops for a moment before continuing. “Well for some reason, I do. And so I thought about it and I figured it was those girls that I was seeing. So I got rid of them. You want a steady little monogamous boyfriend? Fine. But that means you don’t touch other guys, you don’t even look at them. You’re mine now.”

- You take a minute to process what he said and try to cool off. The two of you stand there, looking at each other like you’re both waiting for the other to strike. Finally you open your mouth and give him a response.

“Fine. I’m yours. But I’m gone the minute you try to play me for a fool.”

“Wouldn’t even dream of it baby.” He grins.

- Constant pda. He loves showing off that you’re his and getting that sweet, sweet physical contact.

- Messy kisses on the cheek from him. It’s usually when he’s being a sarcastic ass but you can’t help but love it anyway.

- He requires a lot of attention. If you don’t give it to him he’s bound to do something stupid to get it.

- He’s so surprised by your innocent affection. He doesn’t know how to react when you just brush his hair from his face or hug him. What are you trying to do? Why did you do that? ...Why does he like it so much?

-You’ll snuggle into his side while watching a movie and he’ll just stiffen up with his arms held away from himself trying to figure out what you’re doing. (Kind of like when a kid hugs the big tough guy of a film.) He gets better at it later in the relationship but it’s still a bit awkward at times. Just rest assured that he does; in fact, like it.

- His hands are almost always on either your waist, hips or ass. Depends on his mood and the situation. Contrary to popular belief, he isn’t a total asshole and respects that different places call for different grips.

- With that in mind, he’s a pretty sexual person. Hickeys, groping, smacking your butt; you name it and he’s doing it.

- Making out ...a lot. His tongue is basically roommates with yours at this point.

- Rough and passionate kisses. I mean, teeth clashing, lip biting, moan inducing kisses. If you didn’t like him as much as you do, his kisses would probably be enough to convince you to stay.

- Playing with his hair. You aren’t allowed to braid it so don’t even ask.

- So many sexual innuendos and jokes. He is; in general, a horny little bastard man, so expect him to be sexual with you.

- He is constantly smirking at and trying to get you flustered.

- He’s a cocky little shit but he makes it look attractive; most of the time.

- Most of his compliments consist of him calling you hot and other less than romantic names.

- Compliments fuel him so expect him to act tough and do tricks to try and impress you.

- Stupid dancing in the privacy of your own home or his. You’re usually blaring the radio or his mixtapes.

- When he’s at your house, he’s usually wearing much comfier clothing; things he would never actually wear to school like sweaters and sweatpants. He looks surprisingly ...cute in them.

- Sometimes, he can get genuinely sweet and thoughtful, even if he refuses to admit it.

- He carries you on his shoulder a lot, usually slapping your butt or holding you by it when he’s carrying you around. 

- He sneaks into your room through your window a lot; sometimes when he just wants to see you and sometimes when he just has to get away from home.

- Definitely has had your name tattooed on him at some point; probably even gives it to himself at home or something equally dangerous and slightly stupid.

- If it wasnt for that, you would probably feel like he doesn’t know your real name; what with the amount of pet names he gives you on a day to day basis.

- He shows you off all the time. He’s so proud that he managed to snag a girl like you and actually have you fall for him. He rubs it in everyone’s face that the ‘delinquent’ got such a hot girlfriend.

- He feels like such a badass with you under his arm while he smokes. The two of you will sit in the back of the school, his arm wrapped around you and you curled up into his side while he lights up a cigarette. 

- He probably steals gifts for you, even if you tell him not to. He’ll say he bought it but deep down you kind of know he just swiped it from a shop. It’s the thought that counts right? 

- Both of you wearing mismatched earrings with the other wearing the second of the two pairs.

- It’s a huge turn on when you wear his clothes. He can’t help but stop and stare wide eyed as you come out wearing his shirt or one of his jackets; especially if there little underneath.

- Wearing his jackets. They always have a very distinct Bender-like smell: faint hints of gasoline, cigarettes and cheap cologne or maybe even your own perfume.

- He would never really admit it, but whenever he’s at your house or messing around with your bag, he sprays himself or his car with a little of your perfume. It always comforts him in a way he can’t really explain. You’ve caught him maybe once or twice but you always think he’s just dicking around with your stuff while he’s bored.

- He gets clingy sometimes but a lot of the time, he’s just annoyingly nonchalant. It’s usually all an act, pretending like he doesn’t care means he doesn’t get hurt; at least not in the eyes of other people. Thats all that matters to him; that he stays being the delinquent who doesn’t give a shit about anything. 

“ Yeah sure, whatever. Do what you want. I don’t care.” Newsflash: he cares a lot.

- You know him a lot better than he thinks you do so a lot of his actions don’t bother you any more. You know the reason behind them so you can understand why he does what he does and try to work around or through them. 

- His parents are probably never home but when they are, he never takes you to his house. He doesn’t really think that they’d try something with you there but he wants to make sure there’s never even a chance that something could happen. The truth is, he’s sort of embarrassed that he “let’s” his father beat on him.

-You definitely try to persuade him to tell somebody about his home life, but he doesn’t think anyone would believe him (like everyone else) and makes you drop the subject pretty early in the conversation.

- Occasionally, you’ll go hang out with him in detention but you’ve also managed to keep him out of most of the trouble he tries to get himself into. Sure, you let him have his fun, but he isn’t in detention everyday now; you would never see him if you let him do all the shit he wanted to.

- You’ve also gotten him to stop fucking around with random people; for the most part. You explain to him that it really isn’t fun or funny to watch him bully and ridicule people who don’t or can’t fight back.

- He’s sorta insecure. He often wonders why you would want to date him of all people, especially if you come from a good family. He thinks of himself as the dirtbag of the school so it really just doesn’t make sense that someone like you (Someone who he thinks could quite possibly be perfect) would want him.

- Your parents hate him of course; mostly because of his reputation and the fact that they’ve seen him kiss the everloving shit out of you in front of the school.

- You make sure he knows that you’ll always be there. He’ll brush it off but he likes that you actually give a shit about him. Your words will stick with him and he’ll find himself thinking about them late at night, feeling comforted at the idea.

- You patch him up after his father hurts him, both physically and emotionally. If he needs you to clean him up, you’ll do it. If he just needs to sit with you in silence for a while; you’ll do that too. Whatever will make him feel alright.

- He has trouble being completely open with you and sharing his feelings. He’s very closed off, having built up a wall over the years. You let him take it down when he thinks he’s ready to; you don’t want to try to break it down and end up chasing him away. You know that deep down, he’s really just scared of letting people in and getting hurt more than he already has been.

- It takes a while for him to fully trust you but when he does, it’s worth the time you spent trying to get him to.

- He’s a pretty jealous and possessive guy. He doesn’t have much but he has you and that means a lot to him so anyone who tries to take you away from him is in for an ass kicking. Plus, it’s just common knowledge that you don’t try to mess with Bender.

- He’s seen firsthand how terrible people can be so he’s sort of intent on making sure you aren’t treated the same way he is. His parents may not hold the same sentiment but he would never let someone hurt the person he loves.

- Fights are usually loud and filled with curse words and name calling. He definitely storms off, either in the middle of it or towards the end when things aren’t exactly over but slightly calmed down from the full blown war you were having.

- To him, he can ignore you but the instant you do the same, he’s pissed off. Before you decide to ignore him, you’ll probably try and get him to talk to you but he’ll just give you the silent treatment. That’s when you finally give up and do the same, instantly turning the tables.

- No ones ever really put him in his place like that. They lash out, yell at him, maybe even hit him; but they never give him a taste of his own medicine. After a while of you ignoring him, he starts to do everything in his power to make you talk to him, even if he’s still pissed. He hates it, seeing you play his game; maybe even playing it better than him.

- He doesn’t necessarily apologize, he just; usually willingly, forgets which one of you actually started it and what you were fighting about in the first place. Or, if he does remember what you were fighting about, he sort of resolves it, explaining why there’s no reason for either of you to be upset with each other/why you don’t have to be angry with him.

- He doesn’t say he loves you but you know he does from the way he acts. He never treats anyone quite like he treats you and you can tell there’s something different in his gaze whenever he looks at or talks about you.

- He thinks you’ll leave him at some point so he always tries to make the most of your time together. You always reassure him that he’s not getting rid of you that easily which brings a little smile to his face. 

“Even if you did leave me, you’d never get over me. I’d spare you the pain and take you back, you know? I’m not cruel.”

“Gee thanks babe.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

- He may be an annoying asshole at times, but you love him and will stand by him through thick and thin, and him you.

[breanime]

Helpless (Part Three)

Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the encouraging feedback I’ve gotten for this series. It really means so much to me! So here’s part three! Let me know what you think!

*gif by @banditthewriter*

Billy Russo was your security detail. No—correction: Billy Russo was your bodyguard. His job was to protect you, watch over you…guard your body. You licked your lips. You had a lot of very serious business to take car of, you couldn’t afford to get distracted by…

…the hottest man you’d ever met.

You were in the back seat of an all-black car with tinted windows, staring at the back of Billy’s head as he drove. His hair looked nice; styled to perfection, and you could smell his cologne from your seat—not too overpowering, subtle, but distinct enough that you could enjoy it even if you weren’t close to him. Even if you weren’t in his arms, rolling around in bed with him. You turned away, opting to look out of the window instead. It was just you and Billy, Agent Stein was driving ahead of you in his own car. Billy hadn’t said a word to you since you’d left the hotel, just opened the car door for you, got in himself, and started driving.

 The silence was killing you. Every second that passed without conversation brought an image to your mind; Ronnie’s bloody clothes, Joe’s wild, angry eyes, Khalil’s excited, naïve smile before the job… Images of Billy flashed through your mind as well. You saw his eyes, soft and warm in the morning light when he woke you up, body curling into yours, or his back as he walked around his apartment, naked, the lines of his body hard and inviting. You closed your eyes and saw his smile that first night, a drink in his hand as he regarded you. “You’re my kind of girl.” You opened your eyes and looked out of the window again. It was dark, cloudy, and you watched the sights pass you by. Suddenly your mind flashed back to the night of the truck robbery, you could almost feel the wheel in your hands, the hammering in your chest that always came with a job…It breaking as you held Ronnie’s lifeless body. You turned. This couldn’t last.

“So,” you said, eyes locked on the back of Billy’s head, “this is what you do for a living.”

You could almost feel Billy tense up at the sound of your voice. That was probably not a good sign… “And pulling high profile heists is your job,” he said coolly.

You sat back, arms crossed around your chest. “It was,” you answered, “Now my job is state’s witness.”

“Until you outlive your usefulness.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Billy glanced back at you through the rearview mirror before looking back at the road ahead of him. “I said: ‘until you outlive your usefulness’,” he repeated, “You’re only safe until Homeland is through with you.”

“Yeah, but… They’ll be through with me once this is over.” You paused. “Won’t they?”

He shrugged, eyes still on the road. “Yeah,” he answered, “But who’s to say it’ll end with his arrest? If this goes to trial like they want it to, then you testify, but that doesn’t guarantee he’ll be convicted. He could get off.”

Your heart sped up. “But he’s guilty.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s guilty of a lot of things, been tried a handful of times, and never gotten more than a slap on the wrist,” Billy explained, voice level and calm—bored, even, “And once that happens, Homeland will dump you on the streets, and you’ll be easy pickings.”

Shit. You looked down at your arms, tightening your grip around yourself. Joe could get off? He killed your brother, Jamal, and the truck driver, but he could go free? No way. “He’s a murderer,” you said, looking back over at Billy, “He killed three people—”

“—More than that, actually,” Billy corrected you. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flickered to you in the mirror. “You really didn’t know?”

You shook your head, feeling cold all of a sudden. “No… Who… Who else did he kill?”

Billy shrugged again, turning the wheel as he did so. “A couple of low-level mob peons, an innocent shopkeeper or two,” his hand tapped on the wheel, “Including the three men he killed this time, he’s got a dozen bodies tied to him. Twelve confirmed, proven homicides, several arrests, a handful of cases that actually went to trial, and zero convictions,” Billy reported, “And—fun fact—every single key witness in those cases, every inside man or eye witness, ended up dead a few days after he was declared innocent.” He glanced back at you. “Not that it mattered to Homeland, or the cops, or whoever. Once he was a free man and out of police custody, they cut the witnesses off. No help, no connections,” he looked back at you again, “No protection.” He looked back at the road, and there was a tint of anger in his otherwise calm voice. “They died bloody, and they died alone. Some of them even died during the trials before they could testify. I’m not saying he killed all these witnesses personally, but they did all die. Every. Single. One.” He was quiet for a moment. “You ready to do that?”

You blinked again. Your heart was pounding, and your skin was ice-cold. Your brain was trying to process all that Billy said. Joe killed 12 people, including Ronnie, and no one ever stopped him? “He killed women?” You asked instead of answering his question. “Children?”

“He killed two women,” Billy answered, and you wondered where he was getting his information from, “His youngest victim was only 17.”

Khalil. You sat up, dropping your arms and letting your hands ball up into fists. “I don’t want to die,” you said slowly, “But if it means taking Joe down…I will.”

Billy nodded, not looking at you. You sat back, and the two of you spent the rest of the ride in complete and utter silence.

Billy pulled the car up to a random house in a random neighborhood, and you stared out at the suburbs. He opened your door for you, and though you had questions, fears, and anxieties, all you could think about when you got out was how close you were to him, and how much you wanted him to hold you.

“This is the safe house,” he said, going to the trunk and grabbing your bag. He slung it over his shoulder, and you walked up to the door with him. Agent Stein was standing at the end of the driveway talking on his phone. “It’s secure, but we won’t be here long.”

“We…” You looked around after he let you in. It was an ordinary house, nicely decorated, spacious. “…Who’s we?”

“You and me,” he said, walking to the couch and sitting down. He put his hands on the back of it, and your eyes wandered over his body; long and lithe and sleek. He was wearing a suit, and damn did he make it look good.

“You… I thought you were the boss,” you said, standing in the doorway.

He smirked, and you wanted to fall to your knees then and there. “I am. I decided to take this case for myself.” He tilted his head, eyes moving up and down your body. “For personal reasons.”

You swallowed. “Right.” You nodded. “Right…”

“You want to sit?” He asked. You could see his long fingers tapping against the back of the couch.

“I…” Man, you wanted to feel those fingers on your skin, wanted to suck them into your mouth. “…I’m good.”

“We need to get you a few things,” he drawled on, “Before we go. You’re going to need clothes, underwear, toiletries… I’ve already got you a burner phone.” Billy looked up, and you turned when you heard the door open and shut. He didn’t move, and his inaction actually put you at ease. If Billy wasn’t concerned, you weren’t concerned.

Stein came in, shoving his phone in his pocket and running a hand through his hair. “Dinah’s on her way,” he said, sitting on the chair across from Billy, “She wants to go over a few things before she fully hands over the reins to you, Russo.” Billy nodded. Stein turned to you. “Why don’t you have a seat, Y/N?”

“I’m good here.”

“We’ll sleep here,” Billy said, getting up and going to the kitchen, “It’s been prepped by my men and is completely safe.” He sat at the kitchen table, long legs stretched out under him. “It’s fully stocked, so there’s food and water and all of that. Tomorrow we’ll head out to the next location.”

“What location is that?” You asked.

“Agent Madani will have that information,” Stein answered, “We’re trying to keep your whereabouts secret, so the less people who know, the better. Even me.”

You moved and sat on the couch, sinking into the same spot Billy had just been in. “Is she coming with us?” You asked, talking to both men.

“No,” Stein answered at the same time Billy said, “Absolutely not.”

Hm. You had…mixed feelings about that. It wasn’t like Agent Madani was your best friend or anything, but you felt safe around her, and you knew she was serious about catching Joe. You licked your lips. So it really would be just you and Billy. You opened your mouth to ask another question but stopped when you saw Billy’s head turn towards the door. A second later, you heard the front door open and shut again. Billy was like a damn cat.

Madani walked in, wearing one of her intimidating pants suits and a frown on her face. “Good,” she said, standing in the middle of the living room, “You’re all here.” She turned to Billy. “Did you get my text, Russo?”

“I did.”

You saw her clench her jaw. “So why didn’t you reply to me?” She asked. She gave him a glare, and you could only imagine how her subordinates probably felt around her. She was an imposing woman. You liked it.

Billy, however, didn’t seem at all phased by her icy glare. He regarded her coolly, comfortable and calm in his seat at the table. “I don’t work for you,” he replied.

Madani bristled. “I hired you on—”

“—You asked me to take this job, and I accepted. You’re a client,” he said, “And I don’t answer to clients.”

Your eyes were wide as you watched the exchange. Madani crossed her arms, and she looked like she wanted to say something, but instead, she shook her head and turned to Stein. “Everything’s ready,” she said, “We’ve got clearance to go on ahead and proceed with this operation,” she gestured to you. You, apparently, were the operation.

“Good,” Stein sighed out, closing his eyes for a moment, “I was afraid we’d make it this far just for them to shut us down…”

“Why would they shut us down?” You asked, looking between the two agents. “I thought this was all taken care of.”

“It is,” Madani assured you, “It’s just… Do you remember what I told you? About procedure? There’s not enough in the budget to put you in the Witness Protection Program, but my bosses did approve a personal bodyguard, and Anvil’s…” She glanced over at Billy, and it looked like she was swallowing glass as she spoke. “…Anvil is the best in the business.” She looked over at you, and her eyes were warm as they looked into yours. “We’re doing everything we can to keep you safe, Y/N.”

“Are you?” Billy asked. There was a silence then; Madani was frozen, and Stein looked…embarrassed? Guilty?

Madani glared over at him. “Russo…”

“Because, it seems to me,” he got up and walked into the next room, hands in his pockets, “If you were really trying to keep her safe, you’d be honest with her and tell her that her life is in danger.”

You looked from Billy to Madani and back again. “What?”

“Agents Madani and Stein here,” Billy answered you, his dark eyes still on Madani, “forgot to tell you that you’ve been getting death threats sent to your cell and email,” he said, “and that someone already set your house on fire. If they were really interested in keeping you safe,” he went on, “They would have told you that, would have warned you that you were in danger.”

“We didn’t want to scare you,” Madani said, taking a step closer to you on the couch, “You’re perfectly safe here—”

“But you won’t be,” Billy interjected, “not for long. Homeland can’t protect you, and they don’t even have enough concrete evidence to build a real case, not without you, anyway. And who knows how long the trial—hell, even the pre-trial—will take. You’re in danger every single second that Joe Yakavetta is alive.”

You stood then, feeling like the walls were closing in on you. “I—I—I—” your hands were shaking. “You can’t—you can’t keep me safe?”

“They can’t,” Billy said, stepping over to you. He put a hand on your shoulder—just one—and your hands stopped shaking. “But I can.”

You stared up at him, eyes wide, and knew you could trust him. Billy would keep you safe. Slowly, you nodded. “So what’s next?”

Madani explained what Homeland was able to do: pay Billy’s retainer for “as long as needed” while he got you somewhere safe until the trial. Once the trial started, he’d bring you back to testify, and guard you during the process. Madani and Stein were confident that Joe would be convicted, and then your criminal record would be expunged, and you could go about your life… Whatever that means. Billy, efficient and professional, called…someone…with a list of things you needed for the trip, and they were delivered to the safe house within an hour of him making the call. Billy and Madani went over a few things before she left with Stein, and you knew they were making contingency plans in case the worst happened. For you, the worst already happened. You took a shower and retired to your room—a room with no windows and just one door—and started repacking your things. Everything that Billy had gotten for you fit perfectly, oddly enough. You stopped and stared at the last outfit. It was the exact same thing you’d been wearing that night…the night you met Billy.

He remembered.

Billy didn’t sleep well that night. He wasn’t worried about your safety in the house; he knew it was secure. But he still couldn’t fall asleep, and he knew why. He was so close to you, yet you weren’t with him. You couldn’t be. He lay on his back, one hand resting on his stomach, the other behind his head, as he stared at the ceiling. He was right to tell you what he’d read in the files—that you’d been getting death threats and attempts on your life. It pissed Billy off to know that Homeland had planned to keep that from you, that their plan—at best—was to dangle you, your life, like a carrot in front of Yakavetta to get him to come out and show himself. You didn’t deserve that. You deserved… Billy sighed. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he signed himself up for, but he was sure that he was in the right place. He sighed. He needed to rest, needed to be sharp. Tomorrow the two of you would set off, and he’d be alone with you. The thought both terrified and excited him, and Billy smiled to himself. He heard his own voice in his head, saying the words he’d told you earlier: “you and me”. For some reason, that thought, the two of you together, all the cards—more or less—out and in the open on the metaphorical table—made Billy feel…whole, in a way he’d never really felt before, not at war, not at Anvil, not even with… He closed his eyes. You and me.

Billy woke up early the next morning. He was too much of a perfectionist to sleep in, so he made sure everything was in order. He was upstairs in the study—the room across from your room—working, when he heard footsteps. He looked up, waiting, and saw you open the door.

Shit. You were beautiful. Billy remembered your early morning look well; the sleepy eyes, the adorable little yawn, the way you shuffled when you walked, too tired to lift up your feet. He pictured it a lot in the last year, your sleepy look, dreamt of it almost just as much. But now he was seeing it for real, in real time, and it was breathtaking. He had to physically stop himself from getting up and sweeping you into his arms, had to put his hands on his knees and press down to keep himself in his seat. “Morning,” he said, his voice low.

You put a hand in the air, your way of a greeting, and walked downstairs. Billy kept working, sending and replying to emails while he had the time. Soon he’d have to gather you and your things and hit the road. Again, he felt scared and eager at the prospect of spending so much time alone with you. He had…questions. Chief among them being: if I get to know her now, really get to know her, will I still feel the same way about her?

“Billy!”

Billy was up on his feet and down the steps in a matter of seconds, heart pounding. He almost ran into you as he descended down the last few steps. “Fuck!” He hissed, hands on your sides as he nearly ran you over. He felt you freeze, and now his heart was pounding for an entirely different reason. “Are you okay?” He asked.

You nodded, your pretty eyes wide as you stared up at him. His hands were still on your waist, but you didn’t move away, so neither did he. “Yeah, I’m fine, I—” You blinked, and you stepped back, out of his reach. That was when he noticed what you were wearing…one of the outfits he’d ordered for you—a pair of jeans and basic red Henley—with an apron over it. “I made breakfast.”

“You what?”

“Yeah, bacon, eggs, hash browns, coffee, of course,” you turned and walked into the kitchen, and Billy followed you. “You were right about the kitchen, there’s so much food, I didn’t want to waste it…”

“Huh.” Billy stared over at the table, already set with full plates and steaming cups of coffee next to a pitcher of orange juice. He looked back at you. “You did this?”

“Mm hmm,” you answered with a smile that made him want to kiss you, “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” he sat at the table, “I am…Thank you.”

The next hour was like a dream. You sat across from Billy, and the two of you ate breakfast together. It was like old times—almost. Except back then, Billy would have been much closer to you, and after breakfast, he would have kissed you, picked you up, and carried you back to the bedroom. You didn’t talk much during breakfast, but the silence was comfortable instead of awkward, and Billy felt strangely at ease. He had to mentally remind himself as he helped you put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher that he was working. He was on the job. This wasn’t a date, or one of his dreams or fantasies about you—this was his work. You were his work, and that was all.

He had to remember that.

Billy tried to remind himself of that as he packed your bag in the trunk of the car. He saw you reach for the handle on the backdoor. “No, I need you to sit in the front,” he said.

“Oh, okay, sure…” You said back, sliding into the passenger seat.

Once again, Billy wondered to himself if this was how things could have been. Instead of being your temporary bodyguard, he could just have been… yours, taking you on a vacation instead of taking you to a hiding place so you wouldn’t get murdered. His grip tightened on the wheel. He was being ridiculous. He was Billy Russo, he was a Marine, a Scout Sniper, CEO of his own company. He didn’t get vacations, didn’t get breakfast served to him with a warm smile—he never had and he never will. And yet… You made him want those things, and he didn’t know why. After all, you hadn’t even known each other for that long, and even in that time, he hadn’t known you, he’d had no idea about your life, or what you did for a living, or your family…and you hadn’t known anything about him. That was the unspoken agreement between you two, after all. You hadn’t broken it, and neither had he.

“So…” Your voice took him out of his thoughts. “You own a security firm now?”

Billy glanced at you. You were looking at him curiously, head titled a bit to the side. “Anvil,” he told you, “It’s called Anvil.”

You nodded. “Looks like you’re doing well.”

He swallowed down a smile. You had no idea how much you saying that meant to him. “I am… I actually started Anvil a few weeks before we met,” he told you, unprompted, “It wasn’t where it is now, but I was getting steady business.”

“What exactly do you do?” You asked. “I mean, besides private security detail.”

“I actually don’t do this often…” He answered. “…or ever, really. I sometimes lead a team or take point on surveillance, maybe set up a sniper’s nest if needed, but I have staff to do a lot of these kinds of jobs now.”

“So why are you here?”

“I told you,” he glanced over at you again, needing you to know that he was being honest here, “It’s personal.”

“Ah…” You looked down at your hands, clasped in your lap. “Are… When did you first look me up?”

“When Agent Madani called me asking for help on this case.” He shrugged. “It never even occurred to me that you would be in the system, so I never bothered to look you up… Not that I even could,” he added, “I didn’t even know your last name.”

“I thought it’d be easier that way,” you said, unrepentant, “I mean, it’s usually easier that way, you know? The less you know the better and all.”

“I knew less than less,” Billy said, a small note of irritation clear in his voice.

He felt your eyes on him. “It’s not like you were an open book yourself, Russo,” you said back, arms crossed now, “You weren’t tripping over yourself to try to talk about your past or what you did or anything like that either.”

“I didn’t want to talk,” he said, eyes on the road, “I had other things on my mind.”

“Other things—oh.” You looked away, turning to look out of the window.

You were both quiet then, and Billy was glad for the silence. He thought about those other things and willed his body not to react. Man, he wanted to feel you again, to taste you, to hold you in his arms. The need was almost unbearable, and he felt like a horny teenager again. He felt like an asshole. Here you were, on the run, life in danger, probably scared to death, and he was thinking about having sex with you. Except it wasn’t that simple. He didn’t just want to sleep with you, he wanted to hold you, comfort you—even though he was totally unfamiliar with the concept of comforting another human being—he wanted to just… be close to you.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

What the fuck was wrong with you?

Here you were, in some kind of witness protection limbo, a wanted woman, in all kinds of trouble with the law, and all you could think about was jumping Billy’s bones. You stared out of the tinted window at the trees and bushes as Billy drove, thinking about those “other things” he mentioned. Neither of you spoke for nearly two hours, and you ended up dozing off for the rest of the ride. You dreamt of Ronnie’s smile, Billy’s eyes, and Khalil’s soft “I’m sorry”.

“Y/N.” Billy’s voice pulled you from your slumber. “Y/N, wake up. We’re here.”

You opened your eyes. The car was stopped, and Billy was standing at your door, gently shaking you awake. You were parked in front of some sort of cabin in the middle of the woods, and it was dark out. The stars were bright in the sky, and you stared up at them as you got out. “Where are we?”

“Safehouse,” he answered, slinging your bag over his shoulder easily, “We’ll stay here for a while, give Homeland some time to get their ducks in a row or whatever, and just lay low.”

“Here?” You asked. “Isn’t this, like, the exact cabin from Cabin In The Woods?”

“What are you talking about?” Billy motioned you forward with his free hand, following you to the door. “The code is 3-7-2-6-5,” he told you.

You saw a small keypad by the lock and typed it in. There was a soft buzz, followed by a click, and you turned the doorknob and walked in. It was modestly furnished, with a couch, a fireplace, and an armchair in the living room. You poked your head around the corner to see a small kitchen.

“Laundry room’s in the back,” Billy said, walking around the property and checking the locks on the windows, “There’s a half-bath around the corner, rooms are upstairs.”

“Is there food?” You asked.

“We got a fully stocked fridge and cabinets,” he answered, “Are you hungry?”

You nodded. “But I want to see our rooms.”

Billy chuckled, leading you up the stairs. “There are several exits,” he told you, “including the windows and back door. I should be with you most of the time, but if I’m not, remember the code: 3-7-2-6-5, it’s the only way to get in and disarm the security system.”

“There’s a security system?” You trailed your hand on the bannister; the staircase spiraled as you walked up, and you thought that the cabin was bigger than it looked on the outside.

“Yeah, and it’s pretty aggressive. If the system ever goes off, it alerts me, Madani, her partner, and the local police department. There’s a lockdown mechanism that you can employ, and I’ll show you how to use it after we eat.” Billy stopped once you got to the top of the stairs. There were three doors, all closed. He pointed to the one on far-most left. “Full bathroom,” he said, “Everything you need should already be in there, and anything that’s not is in your bag.”

You followed him into the next room. It was pretty spacious, with a large bed in the center, a huge dresser with about a hundred cabinets, a vanity mirror, and another bathroom off to the side.

“This is your room,” Billy said, dropping your bag on the end of the bed, “This phone,” he picked up a phone that was beside the bed next to a digital alarm clock, “only dials my number, my office number, Madani’s number, and the cops.” He shrugged, putting it down. “Sometimes witnesses are tempted to call someone, family or loved ones, and they end up compromising their position,” he explained, “So we took that option away.”

“Won’t be a problem,” you said, turning to further explore the room, “I don’t have anyone left, anyway.” Billy was quiet, and when you turned back to face him, you saw him staring at you, dark eyes unblinking. Your breath hitched at his gaze, so intense, so unwavering. You wanted to drown in those eyes. “So,” you cleared your throat, “Where’s your room?”

“Across the hall,” he said, leading you out into the hallway again, “It’s not as big as your room, but I don’t need the space…” He opened the door, and you peered inside to see…

…an office. There was a desk, a window, a bookshelf full of books, even a computer. But no bed.

“Shit,” Billy said, hand still on the doorknob beside you.

“I’m guessing this isn’t right?” You asked, still looking at the room.

“No, it’s not. This room is supposed to be a second bedroom. Someone fucked up,” he answered.

You looked back towards your room, and decided to say what both of you must be thinking. “So…

…there’s only one bed.”

*******************************************************************************************

THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED! Gaaaasp! Please tell me what you thought of this chapter, as you know, feedback of any kind really helps me write! So what do you think? What’s gonna happen next? Did anything stand out to you in this chapter? Did you ~notice~ some things that I did here? (I was trying to be subtle, but ya’ll know that I’m not lol) Thanks for reading!

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[vamchqud]

The Suit and the Photograph

What did August Sander tell his sitters before he took their pictures? And how did he say it so that they all believed him in the same way?

They each look at the camera with the same expression in their eyes. Insofar as there are differences, these are the results of the sitter’s experience and character — the priest has lived a different life from the paper-hanger; but to all of them Sander’s camera represents the same thing.

Did he simply say that their photographs were going to be a recorded part of history? And did he refer to history in such a way that their vanity and shyness dropped away, so that they looked into the lens telling themselves, using a strange historical tense: I looked like this. We cannot know. We simply have to recognise the uniqueness of his work, which he planned with the overall title of “Man of the 20th Century.”

His full aim was to find, around Cologne in the area in which he was born in 1876, archetypes to represent every possible type, social class, sub-class, job, vocation, privilege. He hoped to take, in all, 600 portraits. His project was cut short by Hitler’s Third Reich.

His son Erich, a socialist and anti-nazi was sent to a concentration camp where he died. The father hid his archives in the countryside. What remains today is an extraordinary social and human document. No other photographer, taking portraits of his own countrymen, has ever been so translucently documentary.

Walter Benjamin wrote in 1931 about Sander’s work:

“It was not as a scholar, advised by race theorists or social researchers, that the author [Sander] undertook his enormous task, but, in the publisher’s words, ‘as the result of immediate observation.’ It is indeed unprejudiced observation, bold and at the same time delicate, very much in the spirit of Goethe’s remark: ‘There is a delicate form of the empirical which identifies itself so intimately with its object that it thereby becomes theory.’ Accordingly it is quite proper that an observer like Döblin should light upon precisely the scientific aspects of this opus and point out: ‘Just as there is a comparative anatomy which enables one to understand the nature and history of organs, so here the photographer has produced a comparative photography, thereby gaining a scientific standpoint which places him beyond the photographer of detail.’ It would be lamentable if economic circumstances prevented the further publication of this extraordinary corpus … Sander’s work is more than a picture book, it is an atlas of instruction.”

In the inquiring spirit of Benjamin’s remarks I want to examine Sander’s well-known photograph of three young peasants on the road in the evening, going to a dance. There is as much descriptive information in this image as in pages by a descriptive master like Zola. Yet I only want to consider one thing: their suits.

The date is 1914. The three young men belong, at the very most, to the second generation who ever wore such suits in the European countryside. Twenty or 30 years earlier, such clothes did not exist at a price which peasants could afford. Among the young today, formal dark suits have become rare in the villages of at least western Europe. But for most of this century most peasants — and most workers — wore dark three-piece suits on ceremonial occasions, Sundays and fêtes.

When I go to a funeral in the village where I live, the men of my age and older are still wearing them. Of course there have been modifications of fashion: the width of trousers and lapels, the length of jackets change. Yet the physical character of the suit and its message does not change.

Let us first consider its physical character. Or, more precisely, its physical character when worn by village peasants. And to make generalisation more convincing, let us look at a second photograph of a village band.

Sander took this group portrait in 1913, yet it could well have been the band at the dance for which the three with their walking sticks are setting out along the road. Now make an experiment. Block out the faces of the band with a piece of paper, and consider only their clothed bodies.

By no stretch of the imagination can you believe that these bodies belong to the middle or ruling class. They might belong to workers, rather than peasants; but otherwise there is no doubt. Nor is the clue their hands — as it would be if you could touch them. Then why is their class so apparent?

Is it a question of fashion and the quality of the cloth of their suits? In real life such details would be telling. In a small black and white photograph they are not very evident. Yet the static photograph shows, perhaps more vividly than in life, the fundamental reason why the suits, far from disguising the social class of those who wore them, underlined and emphasised it.

Their suits deform them. Wearing them, they look as though they were physically mis-shapen. A past style in clothes often looks absurd until it is re-incorporated into fashion. Indeed the economic logic of fashion depends on making the old-fashioned look absurd. But here we are not faced primarily with that kind of absurdity; here the clothes look less absurd, less “abnormal” than the men’s bodies which are in them.

The musicians give the impression of being uncoordinated, bandy-legged, barrel-chested, low-arsed, twisted or scalene. The violinist on the right is made to look almost like a dwarf. None of their abnormalities is extreme. They do not provoke pity. They are just sufficient to undermine physical dignity. We look at bodies which appear coarse, clumsy, brute-like. And incorrigibly so.

Now make the experiment the other way round. Cover the bodies of the band and look only at their faces. They are country faces. Nobody could suppose that they are a group of barristers or managing directors. They are five men from a village who like to make music and do so with a certain self-respect. As we look at the faces we can imagine what the bodies would look like. And what we imagine is quite different from what we have just seen. In imagination we see them as their parents might remember them when absent. We accord them the normal dignity they have.

To make the point clearer, let us now consider an image where tailored clothes, instead of deforming, preserve the physical identity and therefore the natural authority of those wearing them. I have deliberately chosen a Sander photograph which looks old-fashioned and could easily lend itself to parody: the photograph of four Protestant missionaries in 1931.

Despite the portentousness, it is not even necessary to make the experiment of blocking out the faces. It is clear that here the suits actually confirm and enhance the physical presence of those wearing them. The clothes convey the same message as the faces and as the history of the bodies they hide. Suits, experience, social formation and function coincide.

Look back now at the three on the road to the dance. Their hands look too big, their bodies too thin, their legs too short. (They use their walking sticks as though they were driving cattle.) We can make the same experiment with the faces and the effect is exactly the same as with the band. They can wear only their hats as if they suited them.

Where does this lead us? Simply to the conclusion that peasants can’t buy good suits and don’t know how to wear them? No, what is at issue here is a graphic, if small, example (perhaps one of the most graphic which exists) of what Gramsci called class hegemony. Let us look at the contradictions involved more closely.

Most peasants, if not suffering from malnutrition, are physically strong and well-developed. Well-developed because of the very varied hard physical work they do. It would be too simple to make a list of physical characteristics — broad hands through working with them from a very early age, broad shoulders relative to the body through the habit of carrying, and so on. In fact many variations and exceptions also exist. One can, however, speak of a characteristic physical rhythm which most peasants, both women and men, acquire.

This rhythm is directly related to the energy demanded by the amount of work which has to be done in a day, and is reflected in typical physical movements and stance. It is an extended sweeping rhythm. Not necessarily slow. The traditional acts of scything or sawing may exemplify it. The way peasants ride horses makes it distinctive, as also the way they walk, as if testing the earth with each stride. In addition peasants possess a special physical dignity: this is determined by a kind of functionalism, a way of being fully at home in effort.

The suit, as we know it today, developed in Europe as a professional ruling class costume in the last third of the 19th century. Almost anonymous as a uniform, it was the first ruling class costume to idealise purely sedentary power. The power of the administrator and conference table. Essentially the suit was made for the gestures of talking and calculating abstractly. (As distinct, compared to previous upper class costumes, from the gestures of riding, hunting, dancing, duelling.)

It was the English gentleman, with all the apparent restraint which that new stereotype implied, who launched the suit. It was a costume which inhibited vigorous action, and which action ruffled, uncreased and spoilt. “Horses sweat, men perspire and women glow.” By the turn of the century, and increasingly after the first world war, the suit was mass-produced for mass urban and rural markets.

The physical contradiction is obvious. Bodies which are fully at home in effort, bodies which are used to extended sweeping movement: clothes idealising the sedentary, the discrete, the effortless. I would be the last to argue for a return to traditional peasant costumes. Any such return is bound to be escapist, for these costumes were a form of capital handed down through generations, and in the world today, in which every corner is dominated by the market, such a principle is anachronistic.

We can note, however, how traditional peasant working or ceremonial clothes respected the specific character of the bodies they were clothing. They were in general loose, and only tight in places where they were gathered to allow for freer movement. They were the antithesis of tailored clothes, clothes cut to follow the idealised shape of a more or less stationary body and then to hang from it!

Yet nobody forced peasants to buy suits, and the three on their way to the dance are clearly proud of them. They wear them with a kind of panache. This is exactly why the suit might become a classic and easily taught example of class hegemony.

Villagers — and, in a different way, city workers — were persuaded to choose suits. By publicity. By pictures. By the new mass media. By salesmen. By example. By the sight of new kinds of travellers. And also by political developments of accommodation and state central organisation. For example: in 1900, on the occasion of the great Universal Exhibition, all the mayors of France were, for the first time ever, invited to a banquet in Paris. Most of them were the peasant mayors of village communes. Nearly 30,000 came! And, naturally, for the occasion the vast majority wore suits.

The working classes — but peasants were simpler and more naïve about it than workers — came to accept as their own certain standards of the class that ruled over them — in this case standards of chic and sartorial worthiness. At the same time their very acceptance of these standards, their very conforming to these norms which had nothing to do with either their own inheritance or their daily experience, condemned them, within the system of those standards, to being always, and recognisably to the classes above them, second-rate, clumsy, uncouth, defensive. That indeed is to succumb to a cultural hegemony.

Perhaps one can nevertheless propose that when the three arrived and had drunk a beer or two, and had eyed the girls (whose clothes had not yet changed so drastically), they hung up their jackets, took off their ties, and danced, maybe wearing their hats, until the morning and the next day’s work.

1979

[blurry-fics]

Chapter Twenty One

Prove Me Wrong | Series Masterlist

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 2027

Author’s Note: All I have to say is that this series absolutely flew by. I hope you enjoy the chapter :)

Tyler: Officially out of Columbus

You read the text, but decided not to answer, at least for now. The message was simple, but sent a pang of sadness through your chest nonetheless. He was officially on tour and each passing minute would only put more distance between the two of you.

You tried not to think about it too much.

“Carter!” you called as you walked out of your room.

“What?” he answered, matching your volume level.

From the sounds of it, he was in his room. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise, now that you thought about it. You backtracked and grabbed your phone from the bed before shuffling down the hall to his door, knocking on it twice.

“What do you want?”

“Carter, please!” you whined. It was dramatic, but it would get your point across.

“Fine, you can come in.”

With a smile, you pushed open the door and confidently walked into his room, stopping right at the foot of his bed. He rotated in his desk chair so that he could face you, just in time for you to flop face-first into his mattress and let out a dramatic groan.

“Alright, what happened?” he asked.

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and handed it to him without another word. The power button clicked as he turned it on to read the message.

“Tyler’s gone,” he said plainly. It was a statement, not a question. You nodded into his comforter. “How are you feeling?”

You rolled onto your back so that Carter would be able to hear you clearly. His hearing was bad enough as it was, so there was no way he would be able to tell what you were saying if it was muffled by the bed.

“I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Yeah. It’s like if all the emotions were on the edge of a circle, I’m right in the middle of it.”

Carter’s eyebrows furrowed, but he seemed to mostly understand what you were saying.

“Well, maybe I’m leaning a little more towards sad,” you added.

“Because he’s gone?”

“Yes. It’s like - I’m not really sure how to explain it, Car, but these last few weeks with him were different. He was different. For awhile there I thought he might even feel the same way about me, but now he’s gone so I guess I won’t ever really know.”

“Y/N, you’re acting like he’s gone forever. You two are probably still going to talk every day and before you know it, he’ll be back again.”

“Yeah, you have a point.”

“I know I do,” Carter smiled. “I’m really good at that.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Carter reached over and gave you a light punch in the shoulder, “What do you say we make some lunch and play video games to keep you distracted? I wouldn’t want you leaning too far towards sad.”

You sat up and turned to face Carter, “What are we going to make?”

“Whatever you want.”

“How do peanut butter and jelly sandwiches sound?”

“I think they sound delicious.”

You practically jumped off the bed and went running down the stairs, temporarily forgetting about the fact that Tyler was gone. At least for now, you could just pretend that Tyler was only away for a weekend and he would be back before you knew it. The reality of it all would set in - especially when school became particularly stressful - but for now you would ignore it all as long as possible.

“You want anything else besides sandwiches?” Carter asked once he finally caught up to you in the kitchen.

“Can you grab some juice from the fridge?” you asked.

“Sure thing.”

While Carter grabbed your drinks from the fridge, you collected all the things you would need for the actual sandwiches and laid them out along the counter. 

“Hey, Carter?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

“Car,” you laughed. “You know what I mean.”

He grinned, “I know. Go for it.”

“Do you think that - um, maybe - Tyler felt the same about me?”

“What do you think?”

You shrugged, “I could never really tell. Like, last night, he said that he liked me laying on his chest and, I don’t know, it felt right. But maybe that was just me.”

“I think Tyler is a complicated guy. There’s probably a lot more going on in his head than he lets on.”

You shot Carter a look, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Honestly, Y/N,” he sighed. “I think that’s a question that can only be answered by him.”

“I can’t just ask him, Car. Especially now that he’s gone.”

“Then I guess you just have to wait three months.”

Your jaw clenched, even though that was the answer you should have been expecting. Carter had a point.

“Sorry, that’s probably not the answer that you want to hear.”

You shook your head, but tears were already welling up in your eyes. Apparently your wall against everything that was happening was crumbling faster than you had expected it to.

“It’s ok,” you said, but your voice cracked on the last syllable.

“Oh, hey, no, Y/N. I’m so sorry. Come here.”

Carter walked over and pulled you into his chest. You wrapped your arms around him tightly and squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that it would keep you from breaking down entirely.

“I’m sorry, Carter,” you murmured. “I was trying to stay positive about this.”

“No, no, it’s ok. It’s hard to have someone that you care about leave. You can be as upset as you want.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “I just don’t know what I’m going to do without him. We’ve never been apart for this long before and - I don’t know - what if things aren’t the same when he comes back? What if he likes Josh better? Or what if he gets distant again? Carter, I’m so scared. I don’t like growing up.”

Carter gently rubbed your back. “You’re going to be ok, Y/N. I know things are hard right now, but everything is going to fall into place. I’m sure Tyler won’t be any different when you get back, especially if you’re talking every day. Feelings or not, it’s easy to tell that you mean so much to each other. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people care about each other as much as you two do. That’s not going to change in a matter of months.”

You turned a little so that you could at him, “Do you really think that?”

“I don’t think a lot of things, but that’s one of the few that I do,” he laughed.

“Shut up,” you laughed.

Carter held you at arm’s length, “I know I’ve told you this before, but I’m going to keep telling it to you until you get it through your head. I’m always going to have your back, no matter what happens, ok? Even if I don’t understand you in quite the way that Tyler does, I’m always going to take care of you. You’re my little sister and you mean the world to me.”

You pulled him into another hug, “Thank you so much, Carter. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After a couple deep breaths, you finally stopped hugging Carter. He smiled and gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before returning to pouring out two cups of juice. You wiped away a few tears with the back of your hand and looked at all your sandwich ingredients.

“Car?” you asked.

“Yeah?”

“Can you make the sandwiches? I kind of want to just sit for awhile.”

“Sure thing. Here you go.”

Carter handed you your drink and you took a seat on one of the stools. The juice tasted good, despite the fact that your nose had started to run a little bit from crying. You were glad that Carter had let you cry, it had released a little of the tension in your chest.

“How many sandwiches do you want? Just the one?”

“Yeah, one is fine.”

You watched Carter as he carefully spread out equal parts peanut butter and jelly on the bread. He had always been very specific when it came to sandwich ratios, although you had never entirely understood why. All you knew was that Carter was the best at making sandwiches out of all the people in your family.

“One peanut butter jelly and sandwich for Ms. Y/L/N,” he said, sliding a paper towel topped with your lunch over to you.

“Thanks,” you smiled, picking it up and taking a bite.

Carter made himself two more sandwiches while you finished off your own. Once your lunch was made and all the materials were back in their places, the two of you headed upstairs to the den. Your heart still felt heavy, but Carter was doing a good job at keeping you from spiraling too much.

“When are you seeing Marenna next?” you asked.

“Tonight,” Carter answered. “I’m taking her on another date.”

You groaned and leaned your head back against the couch cushions, “When are you two going to be official again? I want to see her.”

Carter’s mouth curled up into a smile, “Soon, Y/N. I’m trying to think of the best way to ask her.”

“What if you took her on your first date again? You know, get food and go on a picnic, but instead of a kiss at the end, you get a girlfriend!”

Carter nodded, “That’s not such a bad idea.”

“I know. I’m full of great ideas.”

“What did you and Tyler end up doing for your not-date yesterday, anyway?”

“We went out to the lake and hung out for awhile, then got our favorite thai food since he won’t have it for three months, then came back here and ate ice cream out in the backyard.”

“Is that how you managed to snag his sweatshirt, then?” Carter asked, gesturing to you.

You looked down at your torso, as if to confirm that you were, in fact, wearing Tyler’s sweatshirt that he had given you. It just seemed like a fitting thing to wear on the day that he was leaving, especially since it would lose his distinct cologne smell before long.

“I was shivering!” you said, growing a bit defensive. “I offered to go get one of my own sweatshirts, but he insisted on giving me his. Then he just said to keep it while he was gone.”

“That was very sweet of him.”

“That’s because Tyler’s sweet. Well, most of the time, at least.”

“Hey, can I ask you a question now?” Carter said.

“Sure.”

“If you think that Tyler shares your feelings, why don’t you just ask him?”

“I have.” You picked at some loose strings on your jeans. “That’s what caused our big argument the other week. I almost asked him again last night, but it just seemed like bad timing with him leaving and I really didn’t want to cause a huge argument between the two of us before he left.”

Carter nodded, “That makes sense.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “I’m just hoping this time apart will actually let us clear our heads. If something is destined to work out, it will work out.”

“That’s a good philosophy to have.”

“Yeah, I just have a hard time sticking to it,” you laughed. “I’m impatient.”

Carter started to stand up, patting your shoulder as he did so, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

You swatted at Carter’s arm before he got too far away for you to do so. Once he disappeared around the corner, you leaned back on the couch so that you could stare up at the ceiling. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite seem to keep Tyler out of your head. Not that it was anything new.

Three months felt like a long time, but, just like everyone said, it would be over before you knew it. Tyler would be back, and things between you would be - well - you weren’t entirely sure yet. You would just have to wait and see about that part.

END OF BOOK ONE.

*     *     *     *     *

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[plaguedparadox]

Anything You Want - Chapter Seven

The Lover

Hissing slipped through me as I pulled myself over to the edge of my usually comfortable bed, and I’m sure it was comfortable as always but I couldn’t feel it with the numbing in my lower half, burning sensation and the overall feeling of being roughly and thoroughly fucked. A giggle fell out of my lips as arms wrapped around my waist and soft lips gently pecked their way up my neck. His name was practically ingrained into my brain after I spent the night saying it like it was a prayer, but it left my mouth so naturally as I called out to the man who looked up at me from my shoulder with half lidded eyes and a lazy but proud smile curling his lips.

“Sleep well, my love~?” Daemon purred out in his usual tone, his beard gently tickled against my skin, helping bring home the reality of it all. I had slept with Daemon, my bizarre roommate who is now my boss. Tired words left me and I wasn’t quite sure what I said but apparently it was enough to warrant the man in my bed pulling me into a blistering hot kiss, waking me up almost instantly as my hands found their way to his hair. A grin on my lips as we hastily slipped into another round of a wonderful time.

Eventually, I found myself making my way to the bathroom, Arthur’s old top now back on me. I was glad that he never asked about the guys stuff I owned, but then again he probably just assumed that I was into a lot of that stuff and considering my gaming hobby, I could see why he’d assume that. I doubt I was ready to talk about my most likely dead first love, I hadn’t even grieved the loss properly but it was nice to know that my heart was finally moving on and someone that clearly was going to treat me right or at the very least, I hoped he would. I shook my head, stopping myself from focusing on the past and instead began to focus on the present. My sore body.

Pleasantly sore, that’s how I’d describe my body felt at that moment, the aches and burning didn’t bother me as I used the sink to hold my body up. The mirror reflected a me that looked as if I’d finally gotten a decent night’s sleep, my skin had a nice glow to it despite the red marks and purple bruises that littered my neck. With a curious tug, I pulled down the edge of the top down to reveal the initial bite mark, it seemed to have darkened, it now almost flat to the skin as a bruise took over but you could still see where each tooth sank in. My fingers gently ran over the bite mark, a moan slipping out of my lips as my sensitive skin seemed to send a jolt through me. I was going to have a harder time covering my neck for work since he aimed to cover it with marks. I let out a sigh and decided to do my morning routine.

Only after drying off and changing back into the comfortable top that I remembered about the cake that I had left out on the side. My feet slid across the floor as I rushed to rescue the baked good that was drying out only to skid to a halt as I watched the very naked man that I live with decorate said baked good. Crimson painted cheeks were a shared trait at that moment as he caught sight of me but his embarrassment quickly disappeared as he sent a half lidded grin my way, beckoning me over. Once I was by his side, he gave me a peck on the lips before joking that he saved the cake and that we were going to have it for breakfast.

I knew that Daemon had a ton of money but I didn’t expect him to buy and get the brand new car delivered so shortly after we had woken up. We had just got changed and left the building and we had spent most of our spare time kissing or eating cake. I looked between him and the car which was a black Tesla, at this point I think he’s just trying to show off. I look up at him once more as he looks down at me, a smile on his lips as if he’s waiting for me to say something about the expensive car. After a few blinks, I just turned and began to walk my usual journey to work. If I didn’t want my boss to drive me home, I certainly didn’t want him to drive me to work even if we did sleep together.

Having sex doesn’t mean he wants to be with you romantically. He’ll find someone else now that he’s satisfied. The cynical part of me chirped in, dampening my once good mood. Arthur left. SHE left. He’ll leave too. It sang out, making me silently plead with it to shut up as I reminded myself that I was the one that cut ties with my friend. I didn’t want her thinking I was crazy if I brought up that a monster attacked me in her apartment. I shook my head and practically ran to work, tripping slightly every now and again as I had chosen to wear a skirt and heels.

It took until the lunch break for me to feel better again, as I watched Thomas and Nate sing and dance around, their food long forgotten on the table. Tyler and I were talking, sharing about the struggles of the different departments, the angers of having to fix the mistakes of other people and just the typical complaining of office work. The area used for lunch was filled with talking as plenty of people preferred to each lunch outside than the alternative. Cubicles weren’t exactly friendship and conversation friendly.

Tyler was joking about something before his voice slowly faded into silence as I felt someone sit right next to me, our legs brushing together and their arm discreetly going around my waist. I didn’t need to look at him to know it was Daemon, no one else had such a distinct and expensive smelling cologne. I heard him greet Tyler before introducing himself, acting as if he gave a damn which was already much more different than our previous boss. Nate and Thomas were quick to make their way over once they realised the situation. Daemon introduced himself to them, his leg purposely brushing against mine as he gently pulled me closer.

The boys tried to have a conversation with their new boss, asking questions ranging from his age, his previous profession and to questions like if he was married. Daemon showed them a graceful smile, a seemingly wistful and dreaming look painted in his eyes. “I’m not married, no. I’m currently trying to pursue a relationship with my roommate though but I fear she’s worried about my intention.” Was his answer, his fingers gently digging into my side as if he was trying to give me the classic comfort squeeze but the fact we were being watched meant he couldn’t make it obvious. A gently flush covered my cheeks as our eyes met, even for just a moment.

The questions seemed to remain fairly innocent until Nate asked: “What happened to your secretary? She didn’t come in today and she’s known for coming in insanely early, and she hasn’t called in.” He always liked keeping an eye on other coworkers even if it wasn’t his job. Nate’s words ripped through the once happy atmosphere as if it was nothing but a thin sheet of tissue paper that was being cut with a overly sharpened blade. From comfortable to uncomfortable in a few simple seconds. My eyes flickered over to look up at Daemon, his lips in a thin line while his eyes became cold and harsh, for a moment I thought I was looking at a complete stranger and not the man I had known for a year and made love with just last night. I chirp in, suggesting something must have come up, recalling a time that another coworker had Nate worried that they hadn’t come in or called in and it turned out that they had broken their leg in an accident, their phone breaking at the same time which left them with nothing to contact the office.

Attention was now on me as I told the story, concluding it quickly enough while reiterating my point. A proud look on Daemon’s face while there was a oddly betrayed look on Nate’s, I sent my friend a hurt look back before turning my attention to the boss as he cleared his throat. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. I found her behaviour around me to be inappropriate, especially in a work environment, so I told her to stay at home today as her services are no longer needed.” Inappropriate? What does that make our ‘relationship’ then? I should be fired too. Of course I could actually say any of that, but I wanted too. He could have just made her work in the offices. Tyler seemed to think the same way as he brought it up. “I could have sent her to work in a different department but nothing guaranteed that she wouldn’t simply just come into my office to harass me. This was the simple solution to any problem that could occur.”

Something felt wrong about the answer but none of us could work it out, not even after he left and we began to discuss it. Was it the tone? The words used? The fact he was clearly angry with the questions? The boys slowly but surely started to come up with their own theories. Ranging from very plausible to dark but that was the case for most conspiracy theories. I elected to stay optimistic and it simply being like Daemon had said, he didn’t like her advances so he told her not to come back in. I had mentioned what I witnessed her doing when I was called up there and that seemed to fuel their theorising fire which made me grateful that a fellow coworker by the name of Mat hadn’t overheard us. He’d probably say something more outlandish than the theories the boys came up with.

Thomas was the most grounded as he liked to be optimistic as well, bringing up that he could have possibly just wanted to change the secretary, preferring to hiring his own rather than dealing with the one the old boss had left behind. Turns out he had heard some gossip that the married old boss was having an affair with the now missing secretary and gave his job position away because his wife was forcing him to move out of state, which did add some credit to his theory. Daemon could have known that once he was given the position by the board. The gossip also gave credit to Tyler’s theory.

Tyler’s theory hurt my heart and practically made me panic at how plausible it was, he believed that Daemon fired the secretary so they should have sex and it wouldn’t be a problem if the board found out and he seemed angry because he still wanted it kept quiet. The fact that the secretary apparently had a thing for the previous boss, fueled this theory as it could show that she had a type for people with power and being a wannabe socialite that we knew her to be, it did make sense that she’d quickly forget her ‘feelings’ for the previous boss and practically try and jump the new boss’s bones to show him her worth in other areas outside of work. A part of me did feel a tad smug knowing that I had him in bed before her but that was a small, petty side of me that I didn’t want to give away to.

Nate went for the darker route, where Daemon actually killed her and he’s angry that someone is questioning him about his victim, the other two jokingly joined in with their own cliche lines about why he would of decided to kill someone who he seemed to have barely even known - Thomas joking about that being the reason, Tyler commenting about his anger once again probably being the reason while Nate went for the classic sexual gratification. And unfortunately, it did make sense to me that it could happen. Daemon did mention that her actions would put her in danger and the odd sounds I heard in the parking lot came to mind, as well as the fact Dae’s old car smelled horrendous after the sounds occurred but I didn’t mention those things. I didn’t want to explain that I had been living with the boss.

Out of the three, I personally subscribed to Thomas’s theory as I couldn’t see my roommate as a murderer and I couldn’t bare the thought of him wanting someone else no matter how selfish it may seem. I just didn’t want to lose him in any way.

Soon lunch was over and the daily grind hit us once again. Thomas seemed to be flooded with work while I barely had any once again. It didn’t take a genius to work out that a higher up was meddling with things so I didn’t need to work and exhaust myself but I wasn’t going to let him shift that exhaustion over to Thomas. With a kind smile I ask Thomas to send me half of his work load and we spent the rest of the work day as a team to get everything done so he wouldn’t have to worry about overtime. It was about half an hour before we were set to leave for the day when I got a message from Daemon saying that he wanted me to meet him by his car in the parking lot when it was time for me to leave, I sent him an ‘okay’ before finishing up on the last of my half of the shared load, sending it back to Thomas so he could organise it the way he would.

Luckily, nothing creepy happened this time as I made my way through the parking lot so I could focus on finding and chatting with Daemon who was happy to show his expensive toy off, as if it was going to impress me. “Your friends are something else…” Daemon muttered as we walked through the door to our apartment, I started to slip my coat off only for him to help me and hang it up. I ask him what he means by that as I slip my heels off, my poor feet crying in relief once they were off. “I mean I’m not used to such calm and happy people, most people I’ve dealt with at work are cranky and look like they’re going to kill someone.” Explains you. Dae sends me a smile. “That’s why I like coming home to you.” I raised an eyebrow as he made his way over, his hands automatically taking their place on my hips. “The woman I love.” Cue the insane blushing and giggling. I squeak out a response just a moment before his lips pressed against mine, tingles flying across my body as our kiss quickly deepened.

Pulling away for oxygen was difficult as his insistent lips kept capturing mine with each attempt, it felt as if he was scared to stop kissing me. When I did pull away, I rested my head against his chest, that familiar purring sound following soon after. I flashed him a grin as I felt his hands run through my hair but it just as quickly left my face as I noticed the far off look in his eyes. “Everything alright?” I ask softly, he nodded distractedly in reply and began to lower his lips towards mine before I placed my hand up, blocking his advances. “Not so fast, Romeo. What’s up?” He tried to say nothing was wrong but I told him that I was being serious and practically forced him to sit down on the couch. I asked him once more before he gave in and answered.

“Wilford wants to meet the woman who has captured my attention for over a year now. I’m worried because he’s extremely eccentric and a known womaniser and I fear, despite his wife calming that side of him down that a beautiful woman like yourself would just make him relapse.” Daemon admitted, grabbing me and pulling me onto his lap, his nose gently brushing against my cheek as if he was asking permission to get close to me. With a nuzzle of my nose against his, I let him know that I wasn’t going to let Wilford steal me away, I loved him and not a man I never met. A pleased growl slipped through his lips and with a quick yank, he pulled me under him. “Good, because otherwise I’d have to lock you in my room with me until I was your favourite again~” With a purr, his lips began to attack my neck, teeth running over that bite mark and sinking in once again, sending jolts of what felt like electricity coursing through my veins.

Knock, knock, knock! Went the door which quickly received death glares from the man in front of me. A giggle slipped out of me as I made my way to the door, pulling it open to greet whoever was there only to pause as I noticed the pastel colours the man wore and the bright pink curled moustache on his top lip but what I really noticed was the heavily pregnant woman that I didn’t expect to see anytime soon as I had basically cut contact with so I didn’t break down in front of her. I was frozen in place as a sad smile raised on her face.

“Hey… best friend…”

[ernmark]

Fragment of Memory (part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“What do you mean still happening?” Juno demands. 

Maybe that would have sounded a bit more intimidating if he hadn’t waited until Evelyn had escorted him back to his room, but this is a conversation he isn’t going to have out in the hallway. Not while that… thing… is out there.

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn says. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“The fuck you shouldn’t,” Juno snaps. “What did you mean? Did this happen before?” She hesitates, but he beats her to it. “I have a right to know.”

She bites her lip. “I don’t know,” she says. “You said– but I didn’t think–” If she bites any harder, she’ll be tasting blood soon. “I didn’t think it was real.”

“What, were slamming doors and exploded light bulbs too imaginary for you?”

“Anybody can smash a lamp,” she snaps back. “Especially when you were too drunk to walk straight half the time, and you were always shouting at nothing–” She curls into herself, her knuckles rising to her lips. “But I saw you. Just now, I saw you. I came running when I heard the slamming doors, and I saw the lamps, and I–” She looks like she’s about to cry. “Oh god. It’s actually real.”

So he’s not going crazy. Juno isn’t sure if that’s better or worse.

“Has it always been like that?” he asks. “Breaking lights and slamming doors?”

“I don’t know,” she says, and then shakes her head. “You– I thought it was all in your head– you said– you said you were being followed. Haunted.” She puts a sharp emphasis on the word. “You said you were haunted.”

“How long was I like this? Before you knew me?” 

There’s a dip in Juno’s stomach. He already knows the answer.

You’ve always been reckless, Juno, but in the weeks before you took the Lotos, your behavior turned erratic.

“Almost a month ago, I think?” she says. “It was– you were always kind of broody, but then–” 

“Something happened,” Juno finishes. She nods. “And I talked to you about it.”

“You were drinking a lot.”

“And apparently you don’t drink enough.” Juno digs the bottle out from his mattress and offers it to her, never taking his eyes off her. This is the closest he’s come to answers– there’s no way he’s letting her run away now. 

She takes the bottle reluctantly, unscrewing the top like she’s not sure what to do with it. All at once, she puts it to her lips and throws her head back, getting a mouthful of scotch. She sputters and chokes, but manages to avoid spitting it up.

“What was it?” he presses. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know,” she says. “You wouldn’t say– but I think– I think somebody died.” 

“That’s usually where ghosts come from, right?” Juno says grimly. “Did I tell you her name?”

Evelyn frowns. “His.”

“What?”

“You never told me his name. You just kept saying ‘he’s gone’.”  

But that can’t be right. 

Because Juno can still feel that faceless presence– that definitively female presence– walking beside him in the steel hallway, sloshing through the sewer. When he closes his eyes, he can see flashes of an old woman’s face rippling like a membrane over her liquefying body, of a little girl surrounded by tentacles made of ice-cold steel.

He doesn’t remember their names, but their pronouns are distinct– like jagged edges in his fractured memory. 

He tries to apply the same pronouns to the presence that’s been stalking him through this mansion, but his mind rebels at the thought. Those aren’t right for it.

For him.

His head is throbbing. He needs a drink of his own, but Evelyn is clutching the bottle like a lifeline. “Who was he?”

“You wouldn’t tell me,” she says. “You said it was a secret.” 

“That isn’t helpful.” He rubs at his temples, trying to dull the building migraine. “Did I tell you anything else?” 

“You said it was your fault he was gone,” she says. “I thought that was why you kept seeing him everywhere. That it was the guilt. I thought if you could just forget, you’d be okay again.” Her mouth clamps shut just as Juno’s head snaps up. 

“You gave me the Lotos,” he says quietly.

She hesitates. “You asked for it, and I thought it would help you calm down. I thought if you could just forget– you were– I thought you were going to do something–” 

Juno’s thumbs dig into his temples. “Yeah. I wasn’t in a good place. You said that already.” 

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. 

He squeezes his eyes shut. He needs to lay down before his head splits open.

“One last thing,” he says. “That room. The one you didn’t want me going into. What’s in there?”

“I don’t know exactly,” she says. “It’s above my clearance. Only you and Mister O’Flaherty were ever allowed inside.” 

Juno washes down painkillers with a gulp of scotch and buries his face in his pillow until he can think in the rough direction of a straight line. 

The ghost– he has to be a ghost– has been leading him to that steel-walled room.

Why?

Is there something down there that Juno’s supposed to find? Or is he hoping he’ll get himself killed in all the heavy machinery that’s supposedly down there?

Is this a vengeful ghost, or is he the type that wants to be laid to rest?

Who was he? How did he die? 

And what does he have to do with Juno?

When Juno sleeps, he feels tentacles slithering around his limbs, wet with their own ichor. They’ve been cut and shot to gore but they keep coming, they’ll never stop coming, and his strength is running out. He doesn’t have much left– just this– just enough to hold out a little bit longer.

All the while he can hear pounding on the door behind him– on metal? or is it wood?– and a voice shouting for him.

“Open this door! Juno! Juno!”

And then: blinding light.

Juno’s eyes snap open.

The smell.

It’s distinct enough that he’d notice it right away, and foreign enough that it wouldn’t show up just anywhere. Only ever where the ghost has been. Because that was his cologne, wasn’t it?

Juno rolls out of bed and practically dives into his closet, pressing his face to each of his shirts in turn. 

If he was there when the man died– if he was the one who killed him– then maybe he got close enough that the man’s cologne rubbed off on him. Maybe he’ll be able to tell what clothes he was wearing when it happened. And sure, it’s not much of a lead, but maybe he’ll be able to get some other clues from that outfit. A bit of lint, a stray hair, some kind of residue left in a seam. It’s a weak lead, but right now it’s all he’s got. 

But as he buries his face in one shirt after another, he realizes where he went wrong: all of these smell like detergent and fabric softener. They’ve been freshly laundered, and thoroughly. There won’t be a shred of evidence here. 

Goddammit.

He should have known. He should have remembered. 

He trudges into the shower. His head still isn’t doing great; maybe some hot water will help. Snuffling at his own laundry like a goddamn dog isn’t exactly doing him any favors.

But when he steps into the bathroom, he stops short. 

In his medicine cabinet, there’s a bottle. It’s small. Discreet. Maybe two-thirds full. Just a stupid little glass bottle nestled among all the other toiletries. 

A bottle of cologne.

There’s no label on the bottle, no distinctive shape to identify the brand. There’s nothing at all special about it, except for one thing: he doesn’t wear cologne. So why the hell would he have a bottle of the stuff just lying around?

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just as much a dead end as the closet.

There’s only one way to know for sure.

He spritzes some of it on the inside of his wrist, and then he brings it to his face and inhales.

It smells like sharp teeth and bright eyes, like deft fingers over broken skin and words that can pick locks. It smells like a fluttering in his stomach and a longing for things he can’t have.

He staggers back against the mattress, and he’s hit by a second wave of déjà vu: lips like silk against his own, a mattress dipping under a knee, a world gone sideways before it turns upside down.

His tongue presses against his hard palate, tracing the first consonant of a word he shouldn’t say. Muscle memory completes it, but there’s no breath behind the word. How long has he been shaping that word in his mouth without ever saying it aloud? 

He drags himself to his feet and across the bedroom, his hand falling on the door.

The ghost can open doors. Juno’s seen that firsthand. Walls probably aren’t much of a problem for him, either. So why did he always stay out of this room? Why did he never come inside?

It’s a question that Juno’s been avoiding for days. Every time he came close to shaping it, the made-up answers would creep around the edges of his sanity: that maybe there’s some kind of rule to ghosts to keep them past a threshold, that maybe he’s toying with him, that maybe he’s been in this room all along and Juno just wasn’t aware.

Now the answer seems obvious. 

The ghost never came inside because Juno was afraid of him. Because Juno needed one last place to feel safe. 

Juno steps into the hall and shuts the door behind him, resting his back against the sturdy wooden frame, surrounded by a pool of light. 

He takes a deep breath, then puts sound to the syllables that have gone silent for so long.

“Nureyev.”

It feels like a summoning.

Ice curls around his shoulders and clenches around his ribs, pulling the air from his lungs in a sharp gasp, but he doesn’t move. Not even when the light flickers out overhead and he’s plunged into near-absolute darkness.

This time he can recognize the feeling of arms wrapping around him. A chest crushed against his. A face buried in his shoulder.

The only light seeps through the crack under the door. In the time it takes Juno’s vision to adjust, the arms release him and pull away. He can make out a figure, tall and lean, barely visible in the refracted light. His face is soft, almost cherubic– and so very sad that it makes Juno’s heart hurt to look at him.

“Juno, please.” Nureyev reaches out, brushing Juno’s face with frozen fingers. 

Instinctively Juno raises his hand to cover them, to bring some warmth back into them, to keep them close.

There’s nothing there but his own cheek. 

“Nureyev?” Juno says. And then louder: “Nureyev?”

There’s no answer. No whispering voice, no echoing footsteps, no cold fingers on his skin. The ghost is just… gone.

Juno doesn’t call out again. He doesn’t understand why, but before he took the Lotos, he wasn’t willing to say Nureyev’s name out loud, and he’s got the feeling he had a good reason for keeping his mouth shut.

He checks the time– a little past ten in the morning doesn’t seem very significant, but he marks it down anyway, just in case it’s part of a pattern– and he heads out.

He marches past the boundary of the lights without hesitation and without the light of his comms. He still has it with him, of course, but he keeps it in his pocket, only touching it to run his thumb over the cracked screen. Waving a light around won’t help him find Nureyev any faster.

The first few corridors past his room are fairly familiar, after all this time marching up and down their length. Then it’s up one staircase, four doors to the right, down two sets of stairs, then left– or was it right?

When he turns around to backtrack, he hears a second set of footsteps echoing his own. Yesterday the sound made his spine crawl; now his shoulders slump with relief.

“Nureyev?” he whispers.

A cold hand touches his arm.

“Mind telling me what happened back there?” Juno asks. “You’re sending some real mixed signals my way.”

There’s a moment of silence as the light overhead flickers and goes out.

“I’m sorry, Juno.” Nureyev’s voice is barely audible, not even a whisper so much as the suggestion of words.

“For which part?” Juno asks. He doesn’t want an apology, he wants an explanation. “Why did you run off like that? What’s with the light show? Why won’t you just talk to me?”

Overhead, the lights come back on, flickering and sputtering in dizzying patterns until Juno had to squeeze his eyes shut against them.

“I can’t.” They’re only two words, but each one is dragged out of Nureyev kicking and screaming. The lights have stopped flashing, and now they’re blazing like miniature suns, even through Juno’s eyelids. There’s a sudden crack, a tinkle of broken glass, and one of the ligths goes out. Another. Another. “It hurts–”

"Okay, okay,” Juno says quickly. “Message received. I didn’t know. I didn’t know! Just stop!”

All at once the remaining lights go out, so abruptly it’s as if somebody flipped a breaker.

“Nureyev? You still here?” The words are out of his mouth before he realizes what he’s doing. “No, wait. Don’t answer that if it’s gonna hurt you.”

He feels a cold squeeze at his shoulder.

“That’s great,” he says. “That’s all I needed.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to concentrate.

“Does that– does touching me like that– take anything out of you? Is it like talking?”

What the hell is he doing? How the hell is Nureyev supposed to answer that?

He holds up his hand, close to the grip at his shoulder.

“I don’t know if you can see me any better than I can see you, but my hand’s right here, okay? I’m gonna try something.” Hopefully he doesn’t sound like a complete idiot. “I can feel you, right? So just… touch this part of my hand– the pinky, that side– if you mean no, and the other side if you mean yes. Can you do that?”

There’s a moment without response, and then a cold finger brushes over his thumb. Yes.

“Does it– I don’t know– does it hurt you to do that?”

No.

“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.” With his free hand, he runs a hand through his hair. “Let me see if I’ve got this right– you trying to talk to me, that fucks with the lights.”

Yes.

“And the same thing happens when I can see you?”

Yes.

“But you disappeared after that.” He stops himself. Gotta put that in a yes-or-no question. “I’m guessing that you have to take a break if you overdo it?”

Yes.

“So you–” Jesus. “It wasn’t random then. You weren’t just going bump in the night to fuck with me or something.”

No. The fingers on the blade of his hand repeat the gesture a second time, insistent. No.

“You scared the shit out of me, you know that?”

He feels soft, cold lips press against the knuckles of his hand. They didn’t agree on a meaning for that, but he can guess.

Juno reaches out to him, but where Nureyev’s face should be there’s nothing but empty air. Nureyev can hear him, but he can’t be heard; he can touch Juno, but he can’t be touched.

“I don’t remember you,” Juno says quietly. “I’ve got bits and pieces, but not…” There’s no question there, and so there’s nothing for Nureyev to answer. “I think I was in love with you.”

Still no answer.

He wants to ask if it was true– if Nureyev loved him back– but he doesn’t. 

There are other questions he needs answered first.

“Am I the one who killed you?”

No. Nureyev paws frantically at Juno’s hand. No no no no no.

“Was it somebody else, then?” Juno asks.

The strokes are more decisive this time, more deliberate. No. No.

An accident, then? Or–

The realizaiton hits him like a slap across the face.

“Nureyev, are you dead?”

No.

Juno’s hand feels a little frostbitten, but his nerves are alight. “Can you come back?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before Nureyev answers. Yes.

“Not on your own,” Juno infers. “You wouldn’t be wasting time haunting me if you could, could you?”

No.

“You need help.” And without asking, he knows. God, how could he have been so stupid? “You need me to go to that room.”

[renatorizzuti]

Food To Put You In The Mood, That’s Amore!

By Maria Rizzuti 

William Shakespeare once wrote, “If music be the food of love, play on.”  I say, “If certain foods are the foods of love, then let’s eat them!”  All in moderation of course! 

It is a scientific fact that certain foods stimulate blood flow and in turn stimulate amorous responses in the person that consumes the food.  Make your Valentine’s Day extra special this year by designing a meal consisting of “the foods of love.” To use cooking terms, allow your passions to simmer slowly, then slowly turn up the heat and eventually boil over! 

It is said that Italians are great lovers…or let’s say very very passionate people.  The Italian diet contains “foods of love” such as garlic, basil, pine nuts in pesto, chili peppers used as a spice, and truffles used in risotto and pasta dishes. The number one Italian food that could be considered a “food of love” is of course the tomato. 

The tomato may be, in effect, the cause for a healthy “love” drive. A tomato’s colour is significant because it’s red, and red is the colour of love. Tomatoes are often called the “love apple” and have been scientifically proven to be a “superfood.” Tomatoes are rich in lycopene, especially when they are cooked, which is believed to reduce the risk of cancer and they also contain Vitamins A and C. So they are very good for maintaining our chemical balance and in turn, good health leads to good romance. So get that tomato sauce on the boil and have a romantic dinner for two with Spaghetti al Pomodoro! 

Garlic has been one of the most popular ancient aphrodisiac remedies. It increases the blood flow, stimulates the secretion of gastric juices and aids digestion. It is said to stir amorous desires.  It is okay to put a little extra garlic in your tomato sauce on Valentine’s Day, however, too much garlic can be a turn off if both parties smell too strongly of“garlic breath!” 

Basil is also said to stimulate the romantic needs and boost fertility after the passionate desires have been consummated. It is said to cause a sense of general well being for the mind and body. So if you are feeling fine, you are more likely to be in the mood for love. Basil can be used in your tomato sauce, pesto and Caprese Salad which is vine ripened tomatoes with fresh basil, extra virgin olive oil, salt, pepper and buffalo mozzarella. Let basil give you the “green” light for romance! 

Pine nuts are rich in zinc. Zinc is a key mineral necessary to maintain males in a functioning mode for romance.  They have been used to stimulate desire as far back as medieval times. That is probably why there are medieval stories of lovers being out in the forest and becoming overwhelmed with mad passion. They had been snacking on pine nuts!  Now you don’t have to trek out to the forest with your lover, just use the pine nuts in your pesto and serve the pesto on top of pasta or pizza! 

For the hot Italian lovers who use chili peppers in their cooking, there is a reason things get heated up on the love front.  Spicy foods are generally connected to heat. The link is made between the heat of the food and the ensuing “heat” of passion.  Chili peppers increase the body’s metabolism, including heart rate and blood flow therefore supposedly increasing the flow of fascination. Heat things up with some chili peppers and you’ll be feeling, as the song goes, “hot, hot, hot!” 

Truffles are a rare and delicate type of edible mushroom. Truffles grow underground among the roots of elm, chestnut, oak, pine and willow trees.  Truffles’ musky odour is caused by a combination of the pheromone androstenol and the steroid androstenone. Apparently, this musky odour can have an amourous effect on pigs.  This is why they are also found in a spray called Boar Mate which is used by farmers to help calm the sow and get her more in the mood for artificial insemination.  I guess old McDonald knew exactly what do on his farm, that is fine if you are a pig farmer, but what about the truffle effect on humans? One theory is that the smell of musk which is a popular cologne ingredient has commonly been associated with romance and that love induced by truffles is a phenomenon which is part of an established behavioural link between musk and romance. White or black truffles are high priced and have a very pungent taste. Truffles are among the most expensive foods in the world.  Depending on the size of the truffle, they can sell for $300 to 500 US dollars, hence this is why they are to be used sparingly and are generally served raw, and shaved paper thin over various foods. So if you want to impress your mate add some truffles overtop your risotto and then watch the sparks of romance fly! 

There other foods that are considered “foods of love.” Some other examples are bananas, oysters and, of course, chocolate.

Bananas are rich in potassium and B vitamins which are necessities for “love hormone” production and function. So you can literally “go bananas” and perhaps make Bananas Foster for dessert.  Its made with bananas, vanilla ice cream, with a sauce made from butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, dark rum and banana liqueur.  The butter, sugar and bananas are cooked, and then the alcohol is added and ignited.  The bananas and sauce are served over the ice cream. You can impress your better half by performing and preparing this delectable dessert as a flambé.  But whatever you do don’t wear too much hairspray that evening otherwise your hair will go up in smoke and that would not result in a romantic ending to your evening! 

Oysters have the distinction of being the most widely considered “love food.” The actual truth is that oysters are high in protein and are very nutritious. Oysters are rich in zinc and iron. Iron is very important for the transport of oxygen through our systems. You certainly need lots of oxygen if you are in store for a romantic evening! Zinc is an essential element for stimulating our metabolism which in turn stimulates our desire for close personal amorous contact. Oysters also contain on average 18 micrograms of Vitamin B12 which is a Vitamin that plays a key role in the normal functioning of the brain and nervous system and for the formation of blood. All these must be operating normally in order for any “love” responses to happen automatically. So go ahead, have an oyster feast and then have a love feast! 

What woman in their right mind would say no to chocolate?  Aside from the wonderful taste of chocolate, it contains phenylethylamine, the same chemical that is released in the brain when you fall in love. The sweetness from the chocolate also triggers the release of endorphins.  Other stimulants present in chocolate are dopamine and serotonin, which alleviate pain and encourage a good mood.   No wonder we love chocolate so much! Get me a box of Lindt Lindor Truffles and I will agree to cook you anything! 

The “foods to put you in the mood” can be used as a prelude to romance….That’s Amore.  Have a happy Valentine’s Day to all you lovers out there and buon appetito!

[antisemitism-eu]

Europe: Anti-Semitism in Europe: new official report

Via Gatestone Institute (Bruce Bawer):

To some of us, it is hardly a secret that anti-Semitic violence is on the rise in Europe, or that the chief perpetrators are Muslims. But many politicians and news media have been so indefatigable in their efforts to obscure this uncomfortable fact that one is always grateful for official -- or, at least, semi-official -- confirmation of what everyone already knows.  

It is a pleasure, then, to report that a new study, Antisemitic Violence in Europe, 2005-2015 --written by Johannes Due Enstad of the Oslo-based Center for Studies of the Holocaust and the University of Oslo, and jointly published by both institutions -- is refreshingly, even startlingly, honest about its subject. Enstad notes that while anti-Semitic violence has declined in the U.S. since 1994, it has been on the rise worldwide. That, of course, includes Europe -- most of it, anyway. 

Examining statistics from France, Britain, Germany, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, and Russia, Enstad points out that one of these seven countries "clearly stands out with a very low number" of anti-Semitic incidents despite its "relatively large Jewish population"; the country in question, he adds, "is also the only case in which there is little to indicate that Jews avoid displaying their identity in public." In addition, it is the only one of the six countries in which the majority of perpetrators of anti-Semitic violence are not Muslims. Which country is Enstad referring to? Russia. (...)

Nearly 10% of French Jews say they have been physically attacked for being Jewish during the past five years; in Germany and Sweden the figure is about 7.5%, in Britain nearly 5%. Asked how often they "avoid visiting Jewish events or sites" for fear of danger, 7.9% of Jews in Sweden say they do so frequently, followed by their coreligionists in France, Germany, and Britain (where the number is only 1.2%). Asked if they "avoid wearing, carrying or displaying things" in public that would identify them as Jews, 60% of Swedish Jews say they do so "all the time" or "frequently," with, again, France, Germany, and Britain following in that order.

Almost 50% of French Jews have considered emigrating because they feel imperiled in their own country; for Germany the figure is 25%, and for Sweden and Britain it is just under 20%. 

Enstad weighs official statistics from all of the countries under examination, but finds that while those from most of the countries essentially jibe with the results of independent studies, those published by both Germany and Sweden are fishy, in some cases betraying an apparent effort by officials to massage the numbers to avoid certain uncomfortable facts. While an independent survey, for example, concludes that right-wing extremists make up a small minority of perpetrators of anti-Semitic violence in Germany, German police statistics blame most such violence on just right-wingers. (...) Another problem is that German officials categorize some incidents -- including the fire-bombing of a synagogue -- as anti-Israeli, not anti-Semitic. 

Of course, the exclusive attribution of anti-Semitism to the far-right is ridiculous, as is the distinction between "anti-Israeli" and "anti-Semitic." But this kind of wordplay on the part of German officialdom is not surprising. Such fiddling with semantics and statistics in order to avoid pointing the figure at Muslims is thoroughly consistent with the current practice by both the German government and media of downplaying the extent of Muslim sexual assaults and other crimes -- most notoriously, of course, in the wake of the New Year's Eve 2016 mass sexual assaults in Cologne, after which, as the commentator Ezra Levant put it, not only did Cologne's police chief lie about the extent of the atrocities, but "[t]he media lied. The Justice Minister lied too. The mayor lied." It is also consistent with German Chancellor Angela Merkel's administration's fierce determination to stamp out criticism of Muslims. 

The Swedish government's numbers are also dubious. While attributing a "minority" of anti-Semitic incidents to "right-wing extremists," official Swedish reports prefer not to say who is responsible for the majority of them. The closest they come to doing so is to state that many "expressions of antisemitism" are "linked to... conflicts in the Middle East." It seems clear that this is a euphemistic way of indicating that the perpetrators in question are Muslims. In any event, anecdotal evidence overwhelmingly supports the conclusion that most of the people who commit anti-Semitic violence in Sweden are, indeed, Muslims. For example, Judith Popinski, a concentration-camp survivor living in Malmö, told the Sunday Telegraph back in 2010 that she had begun experiencing the same "hatred" in that city that had once been directed at her by the Nazis, only this time, she said, it "comes from Muslim immigrants. The Jewish people are afraid now." (...)

read more

The New Antisemite: http://ift.tt/2vjRJQ7

[leonmckennedy]

the morning after

characters: prompto/ignis + noctis

warnings: just some blatant innuendos ;) as in does it count as an innuendo if you’re just stating facts

SO it figures the first thing i decide to write about in this witch universe is something that’s not really about magic. this was like, a scene that came to mind that i absolutely wanted to write and i guess i’m just hurting for some simple promnis

guess i’ll write scenes and pieces that come to mind? i’ll probably get some sort of multi-parter for this universe out eventually

let’s just call this “the one where noct learns his friends are now boning each other” because that’s exactly what it is

the first thing prompto discovers when he wakes up is that ignis’ apartment is definitely on the wrong side of the city. the blinds are closed but the sunlight still manages to sneak in, slithering through the spaces and managing to hit him perfectly in the face. it becomes strong enough that, even when hissing and turning away, the light has unfortunately already done it’s intended damage. he’s awake now, and no amount of groaning and rolling over in the bed will change that.

prompto rolls over to his stomach and buries his face in the sheets, taking in a deep breath. what he gets is a multitude of scents, all of them unmistakably ignis; he recognizes lingering bits of the cologne ignis wears, along with a strangely sweet earthy scent, probably belonging to one of the many herbs or roots ignis often uses in some of the more old-fashioned spells (the ones prompto isn’t nearly at the level yet to learn, apparently.) it’s comforting, feeling drowned the scent of the other man, and he loses track of time just lying about, lightly dozing but not quite falling back to sleep.

he can hear little sounds outside of the bedroom, and assumes ignis is cleaning. ignis likes to be up early, prompto quickly learned, and while he would love some early morning cuddles, he understands. the man has a schedule he likes to keep to, whether he’s going to work or not, and that’s fine. prompto is content for a moment to listen to the sounds of his boyfriend (and his heart still does a little flip just thinking that. his boyfriend) doing vague things in the safety of his apartment.

and it’s fine, up until he hears something tumble to the ground and shatter in the other room. followed by two different speaking voices, muffled but definitely different people. it’s enough to startle prompto to full attention, abruptly sitting up in the bed.

prompto throws back the sheets and walks over to the door, throwing it open a little quicker than necessary. the voices ceased not long before he opened the door, the conversation apparently replaced by the sound of sweeping and clattering glass. he makes his way down the hallway and into the main living space, peeping his head around the corner. “iggy?”

“—ah, prompto,” ignis says, right at the same time he hears someone else go “prom?” and ah.

prompto stands in the entryway, watches as ignis, apparently finished cleaning up, stares at him with unreadable eyes. leaning against the kitchen counter, with an expression crossed between unhidden shock and muddled confusion, is noctis. and prompto is suddenly very aware that he went to bed last night only dressed in his boxers and one of ignis’ rather large shirts. and that is still all he’s currently wearing.

“uh,” prompto says, rather articulate, and continues to just stand there.

“prom?” noctis tries again, his voice this time going for a little less than outright surprise. “you—” his confused gaze takes in the sight of his friend, and then slides over to ignis, who’s trying to distract himself by tying up the trash, and then. then his eyes widen in a subtle bit of sudden and complete understanding. “you and specs?”

“ah,” prompto tries again, shoulders shrinking a bit because, wow, he can feel his face heating up and he’s sure it doesn’t look good. “well—”

“not exactly the way i imagined you finding out, but yes.” ignis turns to look at his friend, slash colleague, slash boss, and regards him cautiously. “we’re… involved.”

well that’s one way of stating it.

noctis folds his arms, frowning. or rather, pouting. for a twenty three year old man noctis certainly still pouts like he’s five and recently discovered he couldn’t have something he wanted. his gaze flips between the two of his friends for a moment before ending up on a spot on the floor. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“we were going to!” prompto says, laughing a tiny bit awkwardly. because this is a bit awkward. “but like, at first we weren’t sure how because we had only gone on a few dates and weren’t really sure where it was going and then you were gone all week because of your dad and then last night—”

“please,” noct says suddenly, eyes pleading. “please don’t tell me you guys had sex.”

prompto stutters to a stop, face sufficiently red, with his freckles standing out even stronger against his heated skin. “w-well…”

“oh my god,” noctis says, covering his ears. “i can’t believe two of my best friends just had sex.”

prompto laughs, ever so slightly nervous. noctis is his friend, one of his only friends and he knows he’s not angry. yeah, sudden dating within their admittedly small group is probably a shock, but noctis is a chill guy. chill and apparently freaking out that his friend, slash personal assistant, has been making out with him, the best friend.

prompto fidgets with his fingernails, watching his friend closely. “well… it was good?”

noctis makes a sound startlingly close to blowing a rusty trombone and sits himself down on one of the kitchen stools, ears still covered. “don’t tell me that!”

prompto hazards a few steps forward and, after seeing how noctis is probably not moving any time soon, sits next to him. “but it was. it was fucking great, pun intended.” noctis groans. this is good, prompto thinks. joking around is good. “like, ignis is so… big, and the things he can do with his tongue is—”

“prompto for the love of god—”

ignis clears his throat, no longer content to simply listen to the conversation. prompto looks over at him and is that a slight blush he sees on the man’s cheeks? somehow, in the whole of this weird situation, that feels like a sort of victory.

“come now, prompto. he doesn’t need those particular details.” ignis moves to stand right across from his noctis, who risks peeking up at him. “he doesn’t need to know how… captivating you look wearing nothing but—”

“i’m leaving!” noctis nearly jumps out of his seat, all but running out of the kitchen.

meanwhile ignis gives a little chuckle and prompto honestly believes he might fall for this man.

“iggy!” prompto leans over to punch his boyfriend in the arm lightly, and the man just laughs again. it makes him feel all warm. in a good way.

shaking his head, prompto abandons his boyfriend in favor of walking into the living room, where noctis is entertaining himself by holding two throw pillows to either ear.

“noct,” prompto tries, but noctis doesn’t hear him. “noct!”

“I want you to know that if you’re here to tell me about ignis’ dick again i will spontaneously combust. like, right now.”

prompto laughs and walks right up to the couch. after a slight moment’s hesitation he takes a seat right next to him, as close as they usually sit, and noctis seems to relax at his presence. “don’t worry dude. i won’t destroy your innocence.”

noctis looks at him and pouts again, removing the pillows slowly. “you better not,” he says. after a moment his pout turns into a genuine frown and he turns fully towards his friend. “i’m not mad or anything, you know.”

prompto swallows. “yeah?”

“it’s a little….weird,” noctis wiggles his nose and prompto gets the distinct idea that he’s conjuring up images in his head he’d rather not be seeing. “but i’m happy so long as you guys are so… uh. congratulations?” by the end noctis has already averted his eyes, scratching the back of his head in that all too familiar gesture of embarrassment.

prompto can’t help the absolute joy that suddenly claims him, warming him from the inside out. he smiles, all wide and nothing but teeth, as he leans over to touch his friend’s shoulder. “aw, noct.”

“just. don’t start making out in front of me. i’ll scream. i’m not joking.” noct is smiling himself when he says it though, playfully pushing prompto on the shoulder when the blond begins to make obscene kissy faces. “i’m mostly surprised i didn’t figure it out sooner. makes sense, with you two hanging out so much lately. thought it was weird at first but… guess it all comes together now, huh?”

prompto wants to laugh and go, ‘yeah no this was a recent development we’ve actually been performing witchcraft this entire time’ but he figures that might actually go down badly. so he says nothing.

after a few minutes, their conversation dies down into more comfortable territory. eventually ignis does come into the room, carrying a tray with food and drinks. prompto thinks it’s kinda cute in a way. sure, with noct here he can’t exactly just cast a spell and make coffee magically appear (he’s been privy to that specific phenomena actually), but there’s something about ignis, magical extraordinaire, just cooking like a regular fella that gets prompto’s goat.

“sorry for the wait— we’d have had this sooner if a certain someone didn’t insist on breaking my dishes.”

“i was just trying to help,” noctis says, rather weakly.

prompto blinks. “oh yeah— why are you here anyway, noct? i mean i love you and all but i’m pretty certain it’s before noon. how are you even alive?”

noctis groans and his answer is just some sort of vague hand gesture and “my dad made me work today. at like, 7am.”

“well isn’t that rather inconvenient. sir noctis caelum, only son and heir to the influential regis caelum, has to do things other than sleep til 2pm.”

“exactly. i’m a tragic hero, ignis. you understand.”

prompto picks up his cup from the tray ignis brought in and resigns himself to sitting there, slowly sipping the herbal tea (sweetened just the way he likes it, how does the man do that?) and watching two of his favorite people bicker. he decides right there, with noctis complaining like a baby and ignis making savage jokes and the man’s shirt, tucked comfortable around him, that this is probably one of the most perfect moments he’ll ever experience.

[noscentsatall]

Quercus

Alright, so today’s scent is Quercus, which is another Penhaligon’s scent and one which I think I originally made a note of “smells like a quirky dad in a sweater vest” for some reason when Erika and I first smelled it a few years ago.

I like it! I don’t really know why but it conjured up the colors yellow and green when I smell it. It starts out smelling like fancy men’s deodorant, which is not a bad smell at all.

As it dries, there’s something a little.... almost absinthe-y that is coming through? I’d say anise but it’s not that licorice smell. Fennel? I didn’t know fennel was in absinthe but I just Googled it and apparently it is in absinthe, which honestly makes me feel very proud of my nose! To be fair, I once chewed on fennel seeds so I feel like I will never forget what it smells/tastes like.

It’s a nice scent! It’s supposed to be a masculine fragrance and I get that, but it’s luckily not the type of ~*~*~*masculine*~*~*~ scent that would clash with me too bad? 

Here’s what Penhaligon’s says about Quercus:

More restrained than a traditional cologne. But with just as much va-va-voom. Not as stiff as an evening shirt but as strong as a pre-dinner drink. Not as instantly recognisable as a citrus, but with just as much zest. But pray, what lies behind the confusion? Could it be basil? Basil! Bright as day, and fresh as a sun-warmed mountain stream. Accompanied by clean white floral notes (jasmine, lily of the valley) and cardamom, here lies the most singular freshness - without any of the discomfort of the unrecognisable and the new. The moss that cushions the transition of this olfactory journey (into almost sunny amber depths) meets patchouli to take us back to familiar ground. Quercus, as everyone knows, is Latin for oak, and the British national tree. It’s familiar, but terribly strange.

okay first of all I just need to address the fact that every single Penhaligon’s description is about as pretentious and British as you could ever get. AS EVERYONE KNOWS oh my GOD Penhaligon’s calm down!

I’m bummed out that they don’t mention fennel in the description because I thought my nose was getting Fancier and Smarter but, no, apparently not. I guess it was something else that I smelled but whatever. Maybe it was basil or something. What does basil smell like? I can’t remember unless I’m actively smelling a basil leaf.

Honestly I feel like, based on the description, this is what BPAL wanted Wilde to smell like--a lot of the same notes, but done more effectively. Which is like. Fair because this is also significantly more expensive? 

All of Penhaligon’s scents smell so freaking clean, which is very nice!! But, also like the rest of them, Quercus is very subtle and I doubt its lasting power. Ah well.

I like this scent a lot but I also feel like I probably won’t wear it a whole lot (although maybe after I run out of Endymion but before I decide whether or not I want to invest in a full bottle?) Side note: it’s a real bummer that I am so consistently a fan of Penhaligon’s scents because they are also so expensive outside of sample sizes.

One of the great things about Penhaligon’s scents is that the little samples that I got with the scent libary make very nice presents for friends. I have already given Erika Opus 1870 and I gave Keaton Artemisia, and they have both gotten some pretty great use out of them as gifts! I’m not sure which friend would rock this scent best, so this is just going to be an open invitation to any friends who would like to try out a nice, masculine-of-center unisex scent that smells a little citrus-y and a little herbal and a little floral.... message me and this is Yours.

Quercus is a very fresh laundry sort of scent. It’s getting a little more floral, I think, and maybe even a little soapy? But not bad soapy. Just... clean. This is the sort of fragrance I’d wear while running around in white linen on an English estate while harboring a homoerotic crush on a friend. What? yeah. 

It feels very spring/summer (which is kind of stupid distinction for me to make because literally it’s always spring/summer in Florida so.... okay.) and very daytime to me. It’s a bright scent. I guess I could also see it being worn at nighttime if you were also, like, drinking absinthe? Mmm, actually, if I was going to pair this with a drink and a time of day, it would be a gin and tonic in the afternoon. Maybe this is a scent for Keaton to inherit.

I just lost a few paragraphs of writing because my computer became unplugged and died suddenly, so I’m going to do my best to remember the following quotes my parents supplied:

My mom described it as a masculine scent that reminded her of “a sexy night in New York City” with “a play and then dinner at a dark restaurant.” She went on to say it reminded her of dinner at a candlelit corner table. I definitely didn’t get that vibe from it, but I like her description anyway!! She says she really likes it. 

Speaking of my dad, he said it was “somewhere between clean and floral... a clean floral.” Worth noting that, unlike my mom, he had listened to me read my review of it so that could have influenced him!

I need to stop sniffing my wrist because idk if it’s actually fading so quickly or if I am just getting used to it! Also I definitely want to ask my parents what they think of my fragrances more because it’s very fun to hear people’s different experiences with scents! 

update an hour later: yeah once I stopped actively sniffing my wrist, it became easier to smell again! a good note to self: calm down and just live your life?

Final update: the longer you wear it, the more floral it gets! which is neat!

[presta-hero]

Things to Wear on a primary Date: strategies for solitary Men

Things to Wear on a primary Date: strategies for solitary Men

It really is unquestionable, all severe relations begin from a date that is first. I want to be antique for an additional, however the date that is first such as the first impression, is considered the most aspect that is important development of a relationship between your set. You need to make your self look good, therefore, it’s vital that you be precisely dressed for a romantic date. Don’t genuinely believe that it does not matter, “what is this, date garments for dudes? Why must I care?”. A superb style and range of garments is fairly an essential aspect of “success”|factor that is important of. Today, we’ll speak about some things, which can help you select things to use. There isn’t any distinction you are familiar with if it’s a blind date or this whole thing that is dating. The right clothing should be selected for a night out together.

You think that in the event that you got a lady along with your charm that is charismatic by her regarding the very very first date – then this might be it, you’ve done it?! Nope, generally not very. Maybe you’ve had the oppertunity getting her phone and forced to cave in to your Invitation to a restaurant or cafe, but this can be simply an excuse and an possibility to see you again. Nothing more. With all that stated, what is the art of selecting very very first date clothing?

selecting very first date clothing

Things to wear on a laid-back date that is first

Therefore, to start, how exactly to gown date that is casual? While attaining your objective (somebody has got to find an individual , some body has got to locate a woman to pay an night and per night), the less mistakes – the higher, simply because the opportunity that is second never be provided. Where do you begin? First, the accepted host to date should be selected. We will perhaps not give my own tips, that is better, go to a restaurant or get skating. But, in My opinion, going to the movies, for example, is not the option that is best. Sitting for just two hours, chewing popcorn and wanting to ridiculously destination a hand round the girl – this is basically the plot comedy that is classic.

Secondly, these pointers and also the design that we will protect shouldn’t be a strict arrange for action. We wish that it really is apparent for your requirements that the skill of appropriate design should really be slowly developed. Hence, if one or another an element of the wardrobe doesn’t fit you, you need to switch it. The Most thing that is important being cool, relaxed and collected! But we will talk about it only a little .

Everyone else decided to go to a park with , at least one time within their life. Each teenager, lacking a lot of cash, in 90% of instances, arrange park conferences ( considering my “brainstorm” data, terribly dependable resources of information). In more youthful years, walking together under lights seems evening To be something out of this world, picnic is the place that is wisest reasons for having one another. But these are very different times, you aren’t 14 any longer. Issue of “how to dress for the very very first date” is regarding the agenda.

The decision that is wisest be to select casual and practical clothes for outside dates. You don’t have actually any clue what your location is going? Usually do not choose soft and clothes that are white-colored. In the event that you take a seat on the lawn or workbench, put a bit of fabric or paper under your buttocks. The best option will likely be dark blue or jeans that are indigo in addition to dark-colored jeans: blue, dark blue, dark-sulfur. As for top, i might advise putting on a light t-shirt and make certain to take a sweater as well as better – a cardigan. If it becomes cool outside, you can easily protect your girlfriends’ shoulders and prove your self a gentleman. When it comes to footwear, it is advisable to select classic brogues or monks. Will your date include a lot of walking? Wear light-colored sneakers.

Therefore, we were holding the rules of how exactly to gown for a night out together of the type that is casual. These mostly covered the fundamentals of casual date garments, but just just what about formal garments to put on on a night out together?

selecting very first date clothesWhat to put on on a first date to supper

Therefore, gown for the supper date, or any formal variety of a date? There are situations if it is convenient to appoint visits in a ordinary cafe. It goes something similar to this, you are going having a classmate to a cafe and possess some coffee and a bit of dessert.

In this instance, i would suggest to lighten things up with an even more outfit that is casual. The effect would be nearly a casual and outfit that is smart where you can also go directly to the club with a lady.

Whenever planning to visit a movie, stay glued to the rules that are same garments in terms of a cafe. Additionally it is worthwhile considering that it could get cold within the cinema, so a light jacket or windbreaker will never be superfluous. In basic, try to dress in line with the climate. Shorts and sandals throughout the autumn Season shall look ridiculous you, in addition to woolen socks in a thirty-degree temperature. In case your date is prepared in the wild, then it won’t be away from location to find out of the weather forecast and, , to just take an umbrella to you. For me, an umbrella could be the only accessory of clothes that won’t ruin the look of a person. The rest regarding the date is of no use.

Consent, a fanny pack appears stupid and ridiculous. Enormous bands and silver chains are also more straightforward to be studied down. Actually rich and people that are serious will not show their wide range with such “cheap trinkets”. Among other things, clothes must certanly be combined in color. Whenever taking place a night out together, don’t appearance like a absurd peacock, attempting to fit a lot of the colors and colors of the rainbow. The dark colors should be along with other the colors that are dark. Then it is desirable that they are if your clothes have light colors duplicated at the very least two times. Night there are no certain rules of date garments, I think.

Any clothes should smell pleasant – a slight aroma is better, not really a mile-long stink. Consequently, you don’t need to put fifty per cent of a container of cologne on yourself. Last but not least, garments should fit you entirely. No rolled-up jeans and sleeves are permitted. In a suit or jeans, shirt or jumper, you need to feel as comfortable and confident as feasible.

Very first date at a great restaurant:

If you’ve made a decision to talk with a woman at a restaurant that is good is occasion that is serious your looks should express it. Please do purchase one classic suit on your own. Vintage footwear too. In addition, things like cufflinks, connect or can be recommended for also usage.

Other Recommendations

Check out other recommendations on what things to wear in a night out together:

Usually do not wear things that are pure black colored or of any bright color. When you yourself have actually any special occasion – a very very very first date possibly, don’t appearance like you arrived funeral. Colors that effortlessly get noticed may destroy your partner’s experience by being therefore cranky. Suggested colors: dark colors, dark grey, brown, white. I wouldn’t select: bright blue, green, yellowish and red. Some colors may merely fit you, as an example: dark green, burgundy, dark purple.

You need to look fine and clean. Your shirt has got to be precisely ready. Pay focus on your footwear too. first conference, choose what you in. The exact same applies to things to wear on a date that is first cold weather. Never choose brand brand brand new clothing if you don’t “trust” them. New footwear may maybe maybe not fit you completely, being uncomfortable. A suit that is new just be too big or too tiny for you personally.

Individual care:

An crucial information that can never be ignored is caring for your self.

Rule number 1 – hair should be trimmed and properly washed. The finger finger nails must be trimmed. That it is neatly trimmed if you have a beard, make sure And looking that is fine. You should try to not cut yourself if you shave. I am hoping that people don’t need certainly to remind one to just take a bath before a night out together?

Rule quantity two – purchase a good guy’s perfume, by having a light fragrance. As we’ve stated currently, try not to overdo it! You’ll find absolutely nothing even worse than a person, that stinks of some nasty perfume that is horrible.

selecting first date clothesRule number 3 is fresh breathing, but ideally without nicotine gum.

Rule – place an ordinary cotton handkerchief in the rear pocket of jeans or the inside pocket of the suit. Believe me, often, an inside time offered handkerchief .

Simply speaking

Then think about what if you do not know what a guy should wear for a date your motives are. If you need a lengthy and delighted relationship with a normal girl, then be normal and stress it with your option of clothing. Of course, it is advisable to make use of the style that is classic of, but it all hinges on the host to conference. The style that is classical stress your status, he wants that you are not a simple boy, but a man who knows what from life.

But should you not just like the classic form of clothing, then it’s perhaps perhaps maybe not necessary, its better, although not necessary, due to the fact most significant Factors in the choice of clothes are your comfort and confidence. Select garments artistically, don’t to check like an easy to get at man whom|guy that is easily accessible is perhaps not enthusiastic about relationships. Dress in such a way that your ex sees that you respect her and your self. Any wellness certain aspects, like, skin Arrhythmia or irritation should be thought about and never be ignored, you cannot sweat such as an idiot throughout your date.

Utilize the type that is same of, where you continues to show through to your times. The logic behind it really is this: if you’ve currently interested a woman, and she consented to a date that is second she currently likes both you and your fashion feeling. An outfit that is extremely sloppy end up being the last argument russian brides in usa against further relationship if it came to a second date, you are fine with you, so. Be yourself and don’t worry about it anymore, because garments aren’t the absolute most important things.

Things to add

To conclude all the information above, i do believe you have got comprehended the primary areas of dressing properly and never appearing like an idiot. The absolute most essential requirement from it is always to keep in mind that it isn’t that which you are putting on, instead the method that you make it. In the event that you’ve never ever worn a suit, then you definitely must not consider putting on it for the very first & most essential conference. It’s an undeniable fact, it may be seen through the glance that is first a guy has not used a vintage suit in past times, it really is apparent. 1st conference isn’t the time that is right for experiments in garments, therefore it is essential to hear the detailed words of knowledge.

We want you luck that is good your own future times!

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