#electable hes elegant hes crazy hes perfect

[gorillaxyz]

im so sorry (not at all) but i need to slap the glasses off his face and well. i cant say it ywt

[blossombriefs]

Legendary | Chapter Eight

Guiding us through the beautiful fields, The Grand Elder had two towering Namekian guards lead us to where we'd stay for the next while. Despite being quite close to The Grand Elder's home, we were secluded from the villages. With their direction, we were led to a white, domed, capsule-shaped house with a small garden outside. It was decorated with blue-leaved trees and various rock decorations dotted around in different shapes and sizes. The path in the garden led the way to an arched doorframe that welcomed the pair of us. I smiled to myself, the building looked quaint. After we took in the outside of the house, the guards gave us a password to use in Namekian that would allow the door to open for us and let us in and out. The guards bowed, their given instructions completed.

"The Grand Elder will expect you both at his home for a meal in a few hours. Please take this time to settle in and make yourselves at home."

We headed inside together, Broly gasping as he took in the inside. I was struck by its simple yet elegant decor and design. We decided to take a small tour of the house, noticing how strikingly spotless it was - almost as if it had never been lived in before. Walls were light grey, carpets were cream, and earthy-toned furnishings accented the room. The interior was bathed in a soft, ambient light that warmed the entire space. The bathroom was compact yet luxurious, the fixtures gleamed and the shelves were full of soft, fluffy towels. The spacious shower promised relaxation after our long journey and would prove to be perfect after any training we'd both endure on Namek. 

The bedroom was equally as gorgeous, proving to be a tranquil retreat. In the corner of the room was a large, comfortable bed adorned with fresh white linen and plump pillows. The small balcony had breathtaking views over the green and blue surroundings. Taking a step onto it, I inhaled the fresh air as I admired the gardens below.

Finally, the main living room had a cosy seating arrangement. Plush cushions arranged around a low coffee table for dining and a small couch was in the corner, decorated with lovely woven blankets featuring traditional Namekian designs. I settled back on one of the spaces on the couch, swinging my feet up before letting out a relaxed sigh. Having been hosted by The Grand Elder and his people, I felt so grateful. I felt an undeniable peace within these walls, despite the looming danger we anticipated.

Broly paced in the living space in front of me, his brows furrowed with his finger on his lip as he was clearly deep in thought, "Do you think the Grand Elder knows why we're here? Do you think he saw who's going to attack Namek?"

I shrugged, I had only considered the possibility briefly. "It's hard to say in all honesty. If he sent that distress signal, I'd assume he must have an idea of what's coming."

Broly nodded, his expression serious, "We need to be prepared for anything. I know you probably wouldn't mind but I'd love it if you could help train me. You're strong and smart. I'd love to learn how to be more of a soldier."

I observed his determination, I was admittedly impressed as his request elected his sincere desire to grow stronger and keep his strength more under control. His openness to learn from me felt like a testament to his trust. It was touching. With a simple nod, I acknowledged his request. I understood how important it is to hone your skills, especially when we are facing potential danger together.

"I'd be honoured to help you train, Broly," I replied, meeting his gaze with a reassuring smile. "We'll start with the basics and work our way up. Your rage is a huge factor. It terrifies even me. You're so soft and gentle with me but when you're angry you go crazy. I can try and help with that. Remember, strength isn't just physical. It's about strategy. adaptability and resilience too. I'll focus on all aspects to ensure you're prepared."

Broly's expression softened into a grateful smile, a sense of relief clear in his eyes. "Thank you, Flora. I know I have lots to learn, but with your guidance, I believe I can become a better protector and a better warrior."

We started off discussing training schedules and techniques, and the closeness between us was more and more evident. Despite how uncertain the future head, we found solace in a shared determination. We have to protect Namek and it's people. Our discussions went on for hours. We planned to train in Namek's fields for an outdoor training space. They stretched for miles are weren't close to the villages so it was safe just in case Broly went a little out of control again.

As one of Namek's suns began to dip under the horizon, a warm orange glow was briefly cast over the landscape. We both knew it was time to head to The Grand Elder's home for dinner. Once we had showered we both got ready, changing into the garments the Namekians had provided us. Broly dressed in a black dress shirt and pants and I was given a white dress with a black corseted waist. I had never worn a dress before. Looking at myself in the mirror, I smiled gently. I felt pretty. I helped Broly button up his shirt, looking up at him as I made sure he looked presentable. It was hard for him to leave Ba's ear behind, it was going to be cleaned while we were out. I stepped outside, looking up to Broly to catch a relaxed level of anticipation behind his eyes. 

"I've never been to something like this before," he trailed as he shuffled his feet in the fluffy grass below.

"Neither have I," I replied, approaching him slowly.

Together, we walked along a short path and up the hill that led to The Grand Elder's home. The air was filled with a gentle hum from the Namekian wildlife and the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. The towering trees cast long shadows over the path as we quickly approached the tall standing stone building. We were greeted by the two warriors who had shown us to the home, ushering us inside. I looked around in amazement as the entrance was decorated with soft lighting and intricate carvings, Namek's rich history was all documented through these impressive designs immortalised in the stone. As we followed them both up some stairs we were led inside the grand dining room. Broly stayed close by my side as we were greeted by the head of the long, polished, wooden dining table that was set before us, The Grand Elder. The table was decorated beautifully with small statues and candles, each seat had it's own fine china and cutlery arrangement. As always, I felt calm,

"Welcome, my wonderful guests," The Grand Elder said, his deep voice echoing in the sheer size of the dining room. "Please, take your seats at each side of me. Dinner will be served shortly."

As we settled into our chairs, the table would gradually fill up with more guests from the Namekian council who were invited along with us. The chatter was loud as gradually the table was laid out with plenty of freshly cooked dishes. Plates were piled high with native fruits and vegetables, steaming bowls of fragrant soups and platters of seasoned dishes added more colour to the room. Wine sourced from local vineyards was poured into everyone's glasses, everyone clinking glasses as the festivities continued. Broly took a sip, pursing his lips and flaring his nostrils upon his first taste. 

Throughout the meal I found that the conversation between The Grand Elder and I. Broly listened along, nodding as he filled his mouth with food and continued sipping from his glass. The Grand Elder was incredibly interested in the stories of how Broly and I crossed paths, our fight with Frieza's men and our brief journey through the stars before receiving his signal. When given the chance, Broly touched on his story too. He shared about his banishment to Vampa with his father, and the years he spent in solitude clearly reflected on him.

"May I ask my young boy, do you know what happened to your father?" The Grand Elder questioned. Sighing, Broly clenched his fork tightly as he looked down at his plate.

"I don't know," he responded. "One minute he was there, the next he wasn't."

The Grand Elder nodded, resting a hand on Broly's firm shoulder. I looked on, contemplating the mystery. I hoped it was something we would find out the answer to along our journey, for his sake more than anyone else's. He cleared his throat before issuing a response, "Just know your father would be proud of the strong man you are today."

He looked to me next, the discussion moving on. He placed a firm hand on my shoulder too. "My army is built of the finest kinds of warriors. Some of them exhibit unfathomable strength to protect our people."

His head turned to Broly, "But where would we be if we didn't also have guardians to overlook the planet's wellbeing?"

"My Namekian army is formed of warriors and guardians. The two roles cannot work in harmony without trust and understanding. I don't think I need to educate you both on that."

I looked across the table to see Broly smiling back over to me, I couldn't help but return it. I felt like an idiot for how wide my lips held my grin. His cheeks were warmed with a slight blush as he took another swig from his wine glass. The Grand Elder leaned towards me next, his lips near enough to touch my ear as he made a simple request.

"When the meal is over, would you mind staying behind? We have much to discuss."

Next Chapter Chapter List

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for koikoipond

For @koikoipond <3

Read on AO3

*****

Call it Crazy, Call it Meant to Be

The morning of the second day Wei Ying met his soulmate, he rolled out of bed and made it halfway to the bus stop before realizing he’d pulled on his bunny slippers, a gag gift from Jiejie, and left his slip-ons haphazardly discarded by the couch. He’d still made it to the bus in time, though just barely, and had to call in Mianmian to take over the newbie’s shift. All in all a normal start to any day he had to open up the coffee shop.

In short, the universe had not prepared his poor heart for the man who strode into Latte Mugs Cafe at five after six, riding the crest of the crisp December air like some sort of angel in a white wool sweater. The door’s bell rang far too muted than was usual.

Wei Ying stared for what his racing heart later deemed a good five minutes before his gaze, somewhat distorted by the glass of the display he was arranging, rose to meet the man’s golden eyes. Oh, crap.

He shot to his feet, waved nonsensically at the man, shouted some rendition of “We’ll be right with you!”, and bolted through the door to the back room, whisper-yelling for Mianmian.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, Wei Ying put a hand on his wildly thumping heart and paused to calm his breathing. Why is he here? When Mianmian emerged from the storage shelves (only one unit of which was used to stock non-perishables; the rest were filled to the brim with what the employees could only assume were the owner’s personal items, or else the remains of some poor, traditional tea shop, based on the sheer number of handmade tea sets), he ran up to her, putting on his best pout and swinging an arm around her shoulders. She glared at him and he carefully removed it and took a step back. Right. No touching.

“Mianmian!” he panted, eyes swimming with both remembered beauty and mortification equally, “The man- the bell- his eyes- and he just came in!” His voice was rising dangerously, and Mianmian thankfully stopped him before the taco place next door banged on the wall again, or worse, Lan Zhan, heard him.

“Wei Ying. Bi Disaster. Whichever you prefer,” her flat voice cut through his panic and grounded him, like a mother forcing her child into a life jacket against his will. Mianmian was great. “First off, my name is Grandmaster Luo, as per our agreement if I won the bet. Which I did.”

An exclamation of protest came from Wei Ying. It was ignored which was completely unfair because the bet had been who could last the longest without getting drunk, and sure, technically, Wei Ying got drunk first, but Mianmian had just been sipping the same cocktail the whole night!

“Second, who are you talking about and why does it involve me?” Mianmian had closed last night, too. Usually, she was much more pleasant than Wei Ying was in the morning, but today he’d taken one look at her and offered to work the counter. He’d rather not have to file a witness statement for a murder he’d seen committed at six in the morning, thank you very much. His memory was bad on a good day. He contemplated for a moment if Lan Zhan would be able to handle her and vice versa, but he hadn’t seen so much as a wince from him when the man was literally blackout drunk, so Wei Ying was willing to chance it. Who could get mad at such a perfect face anyway?

“Luo-jie,” he whined, “it’s Lan Zhan.”

“What, another ex?” She looked unimpressed.

“No! I haven’t dated anyone since the guitarist, you know that!” The guitarist—Wei Ying had blocked his name, which he remembered to be just as sexy as the rest of him, out of his mind—had been a mistake to begin with; a summer hope that turned out to be all riffs and no harmony.

She just looked confused, now. Well, guess she wasn’t lying when she’d said she tunes him out.

“No, no! Luo-jie, this is Lan Zhan . From the bar. Last week?” He winced at the memory.

“Oh. Your soulmate,” she said, as if this was common knowledge to the man waiting outside.

“Shh! Not so loud, what if he hears?”

The look she gave him this time was beyond tired, the sort of look his old government teacher used to give him when he derailed the discussion for the third time. Fond memories.

She appears to give up on the conversation entirely, brushing past him and moving toward the door. “Wei Ying, we’re talking about this. Later.” She pauses, and before he can embarrass her for caring about him, she says, “I saw him. A man that beautiful doesn’t deserve to be stuck with a soulmark he can’t remember. Even if it is to you.” Ah, there was that smirk he knew and loved!

Mianmian informed him when Lan Zhan left only a few minutes later. Apparently, he had asked for a lemongrass tea and nothing else. He hadn’t said a word about Wei Ying, or even The Insane Barista. Wei Ying was not upset by this, truly. All it meant was that the call he’d received the morning after their...escapades...had been honestly meant. His mind drifted back to Saturday morning as he mindlessly retook his position at the counter and finished his shift.

Wei Ying bolted up, his cheap twin bed creaking in protest as his phone blared the opening bars of Britney Spears’ Toxic—his ringtone—far too loudly. (If he let it keep ringing, it was just the first, really annoying bars, repeated over and over. He was unbearably smug about it.)

He reached over, trying to ignore his pounding head, and nearly dropped the phone before managing to accept the call. He mumbled out, “Hi this is-” before a deep, slightly groggy voice cuts him off.

“I have called to apologize for last night.” Apologize? Wait, was this- “I do not know what I said or did after drinking the alcohol-” Lan Zhan? “-but my brother informs me that you brought me home.” It must be. Though, technically, Jiang Cheng did the actual driving. He, after all, had not been drunk.

“Well, actually-” he was cut off again. Funny, Wei Ying thought sardonically, he remembered Lan Zhan being more polite than this. Even when they’d vandalized  the dumpster together, he’d insisted they leave room for future law breakers.

“I am grateful for that.” There was a pause, evidently for Lan Zhan to gather his thoughts. Wei Ying decided not to test his luck and gather his own as well. His brain typically didn’t wake up till at least nine on the weekends, but here he was—he checked his phone—at seven AM on a Saturday trying to have a conversation with a guy that refused to listen to a thing he said.

He didn’t remember much about last night, but that was normal for him. If past experiences were to be learned from, most of it would come to him later in flashes and pitfalls of regret. Still, he’d thought… He freed his left hand from where it was tangled in the sheets and—just sat there and blinked at it. Yeah, that was a fully-colored soulmark, to be sure. Which was—something he’d never had before.

Just yesterday, the twisting lines that covered his left palm and creeped though his knuckles were black and lifeless. Now, his hand looked like some sort of moving painting. The dull, monotone patterns had shifted, forming blue and white elegant clouds and delicate red lotus petals that swirled around each other as if moved by wind. He bent his fingers to trace the lines.

He hadn’t dreamed it then! He and Lan Zhan were soulmates and he was talking to his soulmate (or his soulmate was talking to him) and take that Jiang Cheng!

Lan Zhan was speaking, “-we should not contact each other again. Goodbye.”

No. No! Lan Zhan didn’t know! “Wait!” but the call had already ended.

He’d needed the whole weekend on his jiejie’s couch with ice cream and soup to feel better about the whole business. See, the thing was, he wanted to talk to Lan Zhan about it. Mianmian was right; it wasn’t fair that the man now had a soulmark and no clue who he was tied to for life—literally. Once found, soulmates lived and died together, unless a powerful enough rejection broke the bond.

Every time Wei Ying opened the contact he’d created on his phone, he found himself shying away, a knot of anxiety coiling in his stomach and threatening to boil over into panic as it bound his hands and prevented any communication with Lan Zhan. He’d studied soulmates before, had taken two elective classes on them his freshman year of college. He knew the fear of a severed bond was merely psychological, a flight reaction to rejection.

Severed bonds were permanent and caused by verbal or otherwise evident rejection of a relationship between soulmates. Physically, soulmarks kept their color but stopped swirling across the skin, an obvious sign which led to the Unmoving’s ever-shifting status in society. Emotionally, the soulmates often sank into depression. And so it was ingrained into the body that such experiences should be avoided. Wei Ying’s worry, the possibility of never seeing Lan Zhan again, the fear that his soulmate didn’t want him, pushed his body to such reactions. The whole thing made it frustratingly difficult to just talk to him.

Mianmian remembered to catch him just as he was leaving. She’d spotted him while on her way to her old mustang and had flagged him down like he was speeding in a school zone.

In typical Mianmian style, she gave him a once over, noted his stressed and slightly shaky appearance and declared, “You need to call him. I know you have his number.” Maybe she did listen, sometimes.

He sighed, a burst of warm air that puffed out before him and chilled, disappearing as surely as his prospects with Lan Zhan. “It’s not that I don’t want to.” A look. “I’m not being evasive! I really, really do want to tell him. I know he doesn’t-” a pause, and he continued quieter, “doesn’t remember me or our bond but he’s so kind, he might accept it anyway. He did seem enthusiastic when he was drunk. But…”

Mianmian’s eyes softened and her face looked completely different. “I know I don’t tell you because frankly your head is usually too large to make it through the door in the morning, but you’re not bad-looking or mean or stupid. I mean, maybe you are sometimes and you can’t expect to match your Lan Zhan for beauty, but it’s not like you don’t have a chance.” The last time he’d heard this tone from her was when he’d had a breakdown in their walk-in refrigerator. It was strangely calming, bringing to mind his sister and her gentle touches.

He smiled, chuckling softly. “It’s not that. I know I’m a catch! Though maybe a ten where Lan Zhan’s off the scale,” he joked, “But I just physically can’t confess or whatever to him. He- he almost rejected me once, though he didn’t know about the bond. And maybe it’s not fair, but I can only picture a still soulmark whenever I consider calling him.” He hated revealing that about himself, but he knew Mianmian. They went out for drinks most Fridays and she could sniff out a lie from him while drunk and flirting with a different dude. Besides, despite her thorny words and genuine annoyance with him, she did care. She’d even treated him to drinks on his birthday.

Mianmian looked at him consideringly and nodded. She understood. “You’re scheduled for most of the morning shifts now since those two students were hired. I’ll try to join you and work the counter for a while.” She turned decisively and got in her car, accepting his thanks with a nod. ”Don’t be late.”

*~*~*~*~*

During the following week, they established a routine. He and Mianmian would arrive at the coffee shop, baking and preparing together until six when they opened. Wei Ying would disappear into the back room, getting blends together and cleaning until Lan Zhan left at around 6:30. He showed up at 6:05 most days, give or take a few minutes. On one notable occasion, he had walked up (he walked! When it was literally freezing outside!) to the cafe at 5:55 and Mianmian had graciously let him in while Wei Ying made himself scarce.

Strangely, not once had Lan Zhan ordered coffee. In the coffee shop! Instead, he asked for infuriatingly healthy teas and protein bars which unfortunately did not include Wei Ying's prized creation: sweet habanero bars. Wei Ying had started to wonder why he even came. Their tea wasn't even that good! Not that Wei Ying liked tea, particularly, so he had to admit that he was perhaps not the best judge.

Still, he wondered if the punctual ringing of the bell had anything to do with the pull in his own hand, in his own mind, that wanted him to be closer to Lan Zhan. That wanted him to touch him, to talk to him, to accept him. Soulmarks, after all, did not care if one knew their soulmate or not. They were connected anyway.

One day, a week after the near-disastrous second meeting, Mianmian had to take off. She'd been applying for jobs recently, hoping to find a secretarial position with stable enough hours and pay to allow her to continue her schooling in law. A place nearby had allowed an interview and she didn't have time to take the morning shift.

So here Wei Ying was at six in the morning, working the counter as an exhausted student he wasn't letting within ten feet of the espresso machine stumbled around in the back room. He was stressed himself, but for once it seemed to work in his favor, tiring him out so completely that he'd fallen asleep while the clock was still on PM. He figured if he had to see his soulmate today, at least he wouldn't look like the zombie he normally did.

Wei Ying watched as a figure in a blue the color of his soulmark— their soulmark, as he'd learned the patterns and colors of pairs tended to be mirrors of each other—strode, sure and steady, through the door right as the grandfather clock in the corner struck 6:05.

A flicker of something passed through those golden eyes—surprise, maybe?—as he approached the counter. Just like before, Wei Ying's heart began beating wildly, echoing loudly in his ears and nearly deafening him. This time, however, he could also feel a slight tug, like a silk string had wrapped itself around his heart and was now gently pulling him closer to its other end. His soulmate.

A deep, quiet voice cut through his thoughts, and he quickly lowered the hand, his left one, that had been slowly reaching out. As he came back to awareness, he was suddenly beyond grateful for the gloves he'd decided to wear today. His mark would be a dead giveaway. "Good morning. Is there a certain tea blend you would suggest?"

For a moment, Wei Ying was taken aback, distracted by the man's voice and lost in his eyes, not completely comprehending the question. "Wh- What?" he stammered. "Oh, um, I'm more of a coffee guy myself, what do you usually get?" He spoke quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Was he revealing too much? Now Lan Zhan knew that Wei Ying knew he was a regular customer! Should he have just said Citrus! Tried and true ?

Lan Zhan's brow furrowed, a minuscule movement that would have been lost had Wei Ying not spent the last eternity staring at his eyes. He opened his mouth and Wei Ying decided that it was best if he focused on something else, in the interest of his own health. "I will take whichever coffee you prefer."

Wei Ying was speechless, a feat not many had achieved. Over the last week, he had used Mianmian as a spy, asking detailed questions about everything that Lan Zhan did. She was a surprisingly good sport about. The point was, Lan Zhan had always ordered tea, a different blend each day, and never anything else.

Lan Zhan turned around, unbothered by Wei Ying's confused and flustered state, and sat down at a two-person table next to the bookshelf. He pulled out a laptop from his bag and began typing away. Wei Ying squinted at the screen in disbelief, but couldn't make out the words from this angle.

He shook himself and went about preparing the mocha, opting to skip over the spice he liked to add. A memory of a truth-or-dare game in which Lan Zhan admitted disliking spicy foods provided a hazy warning. A shame, if you asked Wei Ying, but he hadn't. Wei Ying had told him anyway.

He paused before bringing the drink over to his soulmate. It just looked so sad, both the drink and Lan Zhan, sitting quietly in an empty coffee shop as the sky only just began to awaken. He still didn't think he could properly talk to the man if his performance earlier was anything to go by, but maybe he could...

He reached into the display case, wrapped his gift in a napkin, and delivered Lan Zhan's drink, a little addition tucked neatly beside it. He turned and just about ran to the counter, pulling out a rag and cleaning non-existent spills until Lan Zhan left.

When he finally heard the door close, Wei Ying straightened up from his bunker and drifted, dazed, over to clean Lan Zhan's table, finding only an empty cup. Wei Ying smiled. His heart-shaped ginger cookie hadn't been abandoned, despite the bold way it was offered. Perhaps he wouldn't be, either.

Emboldened by his success, Wei Ying called Mianmian and resumed his position at the counter, a plan formed and ready to be completed. He wasn't sure if it was caused by the civil and promising conversation yesterday or sheer eagerness, but he thought, just maybe, that he'd be able to get himself to talk to Lan Zhan. Hopefully.

*~*~*~*~*

At 6:05, Wei Ying was doubting his chances. He watched as Lan Zhan walked up to the counter, just as confidently as he had the day before, steadily getting closer. As Wei Ying had found tended to happen when one moved. His breathing quickened, the now expected response to his soulmate's presence, and he responded to the sharp tug in his chest by stepping back, just slightly. He was distinctly reminded of a prey animal trapped by a predator.

Instead of biting his head off, Lan Zhan simply stepped up to the counter and examined the fresh pastries sitting in the display case, for whatever reason ignoring the barista's slightly gaping mouth.

Wei Ying swallowed, stood up straighter than he did when he visited Madam Yu, and summoned up this morning's courage that had so suddenly abandoned his poor self.

"Welcome to Latte Mugs Cafe! What can I get you?" There, his voice barely shook!

Lan Zhan hummed—wow, that was way hotter than it should have been—and tilted his head just the slightest bit to glance at the menu on the wall. "I will have a mocha."

He'd liked it then! Wei Ying hadn't pegged Lan Zhan as a chocolate person, but he supposed he might have a secret sweet tooth. "No problem. It'll only take a few minutes. Would you like to make it a Mexican mocha?" He couldn't help but recommend it, not after he'd worked so hard to get it on the menu. He'd written an essay to the owner. Besides, he'd taken Wei Ying’s mocha suggestion and eaten his cookie. He wondered what Lan Zhan would do with something Wei Ying knew he didn’t like.

His stomach turned a little at the thought that he was getting to know more about Lan Zhan and he wondered idly if he could really blame all of this on their soul bond or if he should take responsibility for his traitorous heart. He dismissed the thought. If anything, Lan Zhan should be the one taking responsibility merely by virtue of existing. That thought twisted his insides even more. Ugh .

Lan Zhan gave a little noise that Wei Ying chose to interpret as assent before sitting back down. He stared in surprise for a minute at his turned back before carefully preparing the drink. When it was done, he once again paused before rounding the counter. Surely, Lan Zhan needed to eat something with his coffee. Who knew if he'd even eaten breakfast? He bent down, scanning the available treats, and plucked one from the shelf, placing it carefully on a napkin before bouncing over to Lan Zhan's little table by the bookshelf, trademark grin in place. Courage, don't fail me now.

"Hello, Sir! One mexican mocha right here!" All of his best (and worst) decisions had been made by following his instincts. He pulled the chair around from the other side of the table, scraping it loudly across the rough tile, and decidedly sat down, holding out his bright red offering with only a moderate heart attack. "It's a habanero bar! I made the recipe and it pairs perfectly with the Mexican mocha, trust me. Oh, and I'll pay for it, of course." Technically untrue, but he didn't think he could steal something he'd made.

Lan Zhan looked a little surprised if Wei Ying had interpreted the meaning of that blink correctly. Was he regretting his spicy choices? Still, he reached out a hand and took the treat with an appreciative nod. "Thank you, Wei Ying."

What. "Eh? How'd you know my name?" Oh please for the love of all that is beautiful, don't bring up the bar. Lan Zhan had forgotten. He had! But if he hadn't, then...

"Your name tag."

Oh. Maybe the three coffees he'd had this morning in preparation had...altered his cognitive abilities. At least, that was the story he was going with.

"Well! You have me at a disadvantage, then!” Yeah, because he’s hiding a night of crimes and a soul bond from you. “What might the name of this handsome one be?" Should he be flirting? Where was the button to turn it off?? Then again, Lan Zhan was his soulmate . If there was one person in his life he was supposed to flirt with, surely it was him.

"Lan Zhan." Were his ears red? Was he hot? Was he blushing ? The rest of his face maintained its pale composure, but his ears were gently dusted pink. Lan Zhan had been inside too long to attribute it to the biting wind outside. Wei Ying's grin widened. Not even when the man had woken up wasted had he seen him blush!

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan," he rolled the well-worn name in his mouth, a teasing lilt to his voice as he tasted how his tongue completed a pleasant circle around the syllables. This time, their flavor was not regretful or drunken or stressed. Simply Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying did not leave. Instead, he just started talking about all sorts of things—his job, his siblings, Mianmian. As he fell into the familiar pattern of rambling for as long as people will listen, he found himself relaxing.

"You'd think we wouldn't be that great of friends. We're coworkers in a coffee shop! But even though she claims I'm an annoying gremlin who wouldn't know his head from a rock in a lineup, she still comes out to get drinks with me—at Marco's, a few minutes away—every Friday. Sometimes, she even brings her new boyfriends! Which is like taking your partner to meet the weird relatives. I think she might use it as some sort of test. I drink them under the table nearly every time, though, so I hope they failed." He realizes, belatedly, that he'd accidentally mentioned the bar. One of literally two subjects to avoid. He discreetly eyed Lan Zhan's face, but there was no reaction, no indication of familiarity, just two golden eyes, gazing at him with interest as his soulmate listened.

Wei Ying’s heart stuttered, dangerously close to giving out altogether.

Eventually, Lan Zhan had to leave, quick movements revealing just how late he was for music lessons—he taught children to play the guqin! For a living!—and Wei Ying smiled brightly as he watched him disappear down the street. See , he thought to himself, there was nothing to be worried about.

The plan had gone off without a hitch. Not only had he managed to talk to Lan Zhan, but he'd also been able to get several responses from him, filling up the part of his memory reserved for the man he wouldn't ever forget.

These new pearls of knowledge he kept close: Lan Zhan was a music teacher and occasional performer with a local traditional music group. He taught and played the guqin most often but had played the violin in his high school orchestra. During his studies for university, he had learned several other string instruments and the french horn. He had an older brother, Lan Huan. He liked rabbits.

During the course of the next week, he learned these things and protected them: Lan Zhan and his brother had been raised by their uncle. They were not religious, but his family was traditional. Lan Zhan had gone to a private school. He hadn't liked it. Lan Zhan's mother was dead. He spoke of his father in the past tense. Both of his parents were Unmoving, their soul bonds broken. Lan Zhan hadn’t known if they were meant for each other or not. He despised lying in all of its forms.

There were also these things which laid soft and fond in Wei Ying's heart: Lan Zhan did not, in fact, like spice. He enjoyed drinking tea and reading a book in the park when it was warm outside. He preferred mysteries. He did not mind Wei Ying's chatter. He adored his students, one of which had little natural talent but had gone to region-wide contests. He was a lover of poetry and a hobbiest composer. He said "Wei Ying" as if the world spun around his name.

Talking with Lan Zhan was an experience greater than words. Many things Lan Zhan meant, he did not say. None of the things he said were to be taken for granted. With him, silence was just as comforting a companion as the loud atmosphere Wei Ying tended to create. It settled peaceful and honest around them. They sat, drank, and ate together as if they were friends of many years and not relative acquaintances. Like there wasn’t a secret resting between them like a viper waiting for its prey.

*~*~*~*~*

A week after their first meeting, it snowed. Flakes drifted down beneath a grey sky, piling up in the cracks on the sidewalks, on the windowsills, dusting the beanie of a certain Lan Zhan that strode in slowly even as he shivered from beneath his coat. Rosy cheeks and ears adorned a normally pale, jade-like face, tousled hair falling down to frame it as he removed the beanie. Wei Ying fell in love a little more at the adorable scene.

Once he’d made Lan Zhan's spiced apple tea, Wei Ying drifted over with his own latte, a chocolate chip cookie in hand.

"Do you own a car, Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying was curious. Surely he could have simply driven here, or even gone straight to work and skipped the weather entirely.

"Mn. I have lessons all over the city and we often perform hours away from here." Then why , Wei Ying thought, would you come here when it’s below freezing outside? He did not voice the question, though, because Lan Zhan's jaw had shifted just slightly, the difference a clear declaration: his mind could not be changed about this. Fine. He’d let Lan Zhan live with his choices.

Wei Ying laughed and changed the subject, reaching out to draw patterns in the cream of Lan Zhan’s coffee with his straw . "When's your next performance?"

Lan Zhan sat for a moment, thinking. "We do not have one lined up. We've been practicing to release an album recently."

"Oh really? Why? Just earlier this week you mentioned that the group didn't have the resources for it." He really hoped they would, though. Maybe with a solo piece from Lan Zhan? He hadn't heard him play yet, a true shame.

"Mn. I found a sound artist." His voice was sure and steady as he stared at Wei Ying, who looked away and chuckled awkwardly.

"You should have told me that was all you needed! I would have done the job for free, as long as you played for me. I have a bachelor's in audio engineering, you know!" To be honest, Wei Ying was a little hurt that he'd not been considered, or else Lan Zhan had tuned him out during one of the times when he had just spewed whatever came to mind.

Before he turned around, he felt a hand on his through his left glove and he flinched at the sensitive contact on his mark. Still, he longed to grasp Lan Zhan’s hand and never let go .  "Wei Ying. It is you," he paused, and slowly removed his hand, the echoes of his fingertips burning trails on Wei Ying's skin even through the fabric. "If you choose to accept." He takes a breath, and says, quieter, "I would like it very much if you did."

Like a lightbulb turned back on, Wei Ying brightened immediately, an obvious flush of embarrassment darkening his cheeks. He leaned forward, throwing his arms around Lan Zhan in a hug both to hide his face and to just get closer. Wei Ying mumbled into his shoulder, "Of course. Of course I accept. Thank you so much!" He leaned back after a too-short moment, looking Lan Zhan in the eyes and smiling. "When do I start?"

They settled all the details. Wei Ying would be attending their 6 PM practice three days a week for a month before recording and editing the final tracks. He would, actually, be paid, though they couldn't afford the usual rates. That was fine with him. Really, he just needed to put something in the ‘Experience’ section of his resume. Well, plus his overwhelming desire to hear Lan Zhan play his guqin.

When Lan Zhan opened the door to leave, Wei Ying called out for him to stop. He stepped forward exactly one step, in a completely normal and not-at-all-nervous way. He opened his mouth, closed it, and blurted out before he could change his mind, "Doyouwannagetdinnerwithme?"

Lan Zhan gave him a flat look, but the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed his understanding. Wei Ying took a steadying breath, fought the urge to glare, and stated loudly and clearly, "Will you go out with me later tonight?” His face felt like it was on fire. “As thanks for the job?" No one would ever guess the stone-faced man had a sense of humor, but Wei Ying was living evidence of it.

Finally, after a beat of silence during which Wei Ying mourned his stolen heart, Lan Zhan nodded once. "I will pick you up at your house at seven. Where do you live?"

The pure excitement that filled Wei Ying at Lan Zhan’s acceptance prevented any protest about how he was supposed to take Lan Zhan out and gave the man his address. As the ever-present bell marked Lan Zhan's departure, all Wei Ying could think was that he had a date. That he had a chance .

His palm tingled in anticipation as he ran to the back room to tell Mianmian the good news, filled with all the details she couldn’t get while eavesdropping.

*~*~*~*~*

Five minutes after getting in the car, Wei Ying regretted letting Lan Zhan drive. He should have risked his unused license or else simply called a cab because they were nowhere near the restaurant he had suggested, and he didn't know what to tell Lan Zhan if the man picked a nicer place. A barista was only paid so much!

Still, Lan Zhan refused to turn the car around or even explain himself when Wei Ying asked. He simply kept his eyes fixed on the road, staring at it as if it might disappear if refused Lan Zhan’s attention (Wei Ying sympathized). That determined set to his jaw was firmly in place. His eyes narrowed, and Wei Ying had the distinct impression that he was a man on a mission. Wei Ying just wished he'd been given a briefing.

Cars passed in pools of red and white that blended well into the background of a late December metropolis. Only about a week was left until Christmas and the trees were adorned with brightly glowing lights that bathed the streets in a familiar mix of artificial fluorescence and beauty.

He liked this time of year, enjoyed how his apartment complex decorated its buildings, smiled when the granny next door brought him homemade cookies and hot chocolate. He didn't even mind the cold that much, not when branching frost framed the windows and Lan Zhan's cheeks flushed red.

They were stuck in Friday night traffic for longer than he suspected Lan Zhan had planned, based on the finger softly tapping on the wheel, but eventually, Lan Zhan drove into a parking garage a good distance away from any restaurant Wei Ying knew and got out.

They walked a few blocks, glad for the several layers of clothes (Wei Ying actually had a reason to wear gloves, for once), before stopping at the entrance to one of the city's parks. A stone path twisted through the trees, a canopy of a million white stars enclosing the area and welcoming the two of them.

He grinned, turning to Lan Zhan and teasing, "I think we skipped a step. Romantic walks through the woods go after dinner."

A drawn-out, "Mn," the one that meant 'ridiculous', was the only answer he received. Instead, Lan Zhan smiled , which—wow. Illegal.—and offered Wei Ying his arm with far too much confidence. He blushed, hoped it wasn't visible in the lighting, and took it, only feeling slightly like some sort of flustered Victorian maiden.

Did Lan Zhan know what he was doing? Did he take every friend and business associate out to fairy gardens when they asked him to dinner?

Thoroughly confused but aware that Lan Zhan wasn't going to answer any pointed questions, he decided to enjoy the evening and pester him about the food instead.

"Lan Zhaaan," he whined, staring at the way the lights gave Lan Zhan's face an ethereal glow, " “When are you going to feed your poor A-Ying?"

At this, Lan Zhan put his other hand on Wei Ying's where it was nestled in the crook of his elbow in a comforting gesture and reassured, his voice calm, "We are almost there."

Wei Ying spent the rest of the walk as he was accustomed to doing around Lan Zhan—talking his ear off. He admired the lights, expressed his appreciation for Lan Zhan's outfi—a dark blue coat over Wei Ying's favorite knitted white sweater—and asked about the songs his group had chosen for their concert.

He couldn't wait to hear Lan Zhan play. He suspected music was the quieter man's true outlet for expressing his feelings, a language without the burden of words.

Lan Zhan spoke too, not as often or as loud, but he answered and asked questions of his own. Did Wei Ying play an instrument too? He had—flute in high school, though he preferred the piccolo, all the better to annoy people with. Portable, too! Why did he like alcohol? It was the experience, more than the taste, especially at a cheap place like Marco's. Was he planning on getting his Master's? He wasn't sure. He wanted to pay off some of his student loans before getting deeper in debt.

The easy conversation made Wei Ying relax, happy as always to be around Lan Zhan. It was strange to think that a week ago, he’d never met the man. He didn’t think he could live without him now.

Finally, they took a smaller, branching path, and Wei Ying gasped at its end; a white gazebo bathed in soft purple lights sat like a fairy house among gleaming trees.

He released Lan Zhan's elbow and took a step forward before looking back at his companion with an open mouth.

"You...you arranged all of this?" he asked, wonder coloring his voice.

Another "Mn," accompanied by a self-satisfied tightening of the mouth.

Wei Ying had long since given up trying to understand any of Lan Zhan's actions, but he was hopelessly endeared all the same. He grabbed his arm again, this time pulling him up the wooden steps and squealing in glee.

To one side there was a table laden with all sorts of foods, including, he was overjoyed to note, many dyed deliciously red. On the other side of the gazebo, a long, low table sat, a intricately carved, dark guqin resting atop it. A cushion, metal heater, and blanket were laid before the instrument, ready for use.

Impressed, Wei Ying went to inspect the dishes closer, his growling stomach refusing to wait any longer. He wondered at what time today Lan Zhan had time to set all of this up. Had he canceled some of his lessons?

Sitting down, he voiced his question, mouth watering at the appetizing smells.

Lan Zhan filled both of their plates, picking out for him nearly exactly what Wei Ying would have chosen, and answered, "I reserved the gazebo, but my brother set this up less than an hour ago." Wei Ying was incredibly grateful for Lan Huan. His food was still hot!

The meal passed mostly in silence. Though Lan Zhan had no problem talking over tea, he did not like to have a conversation around bites of food. For once, Wei Ying was happy not to say anything, simply appreciating the companionship and good meal.

He tried not to think too much about why Lan Zhan was doing all of this. He wasn't stupid, was in fact painfully and adoringly aware of the romantic setting, but that fear he had thought long since gone crept around his heart, daring him to hope and be crushed in its vindication. So he swallowed his words and ate his food in borrowed peace.

By the time they finished, Wei Ying's stomach was pleasantly full and he beamed at Lan Zhan, thanking him for the meal. Lan Zhan nodded and stood up, helping Wei Ying to his feet and leading him to the waiting cushion and—Wei Ying hoped—the performance.

"You really prepared!" He teased, pulling the blanket over himself.

Lan Zhan turned on the heater—the quiet, expensive kind—and hummed.

Then, he lowered himself onto his own cushion (sans blanket) and reached out to his guqin, warming up for a moment before glancing at Wei Ying, a suddenly hesitant edge to his eyes. "Are you ready?"

Wei Ying's smile softened and he nodded, fondness for the talented man before him almost unbearable. Lan Zhan returned his focus to the instrument and began to play.

It felt like the constant tug around his heart, like the many words that lay behind them and the greater part left unspoken, like 6:05 in the morning and laughter that tastes like coffee beans.

He closed his eyes and let the music fill him, heart thrumming in time with the music and creating  streams of pure feeling that branched out through his body until it reached his left palm. Wei Ying curled his hand in on itself. He wanted to memorize the sensation, its slight pain magnified and singular, but still a pull, a tug on his very soul. The feeling that encouraged him, warned him around Lan Zhan, his longing.

Wei Ying opened his eyes, simply gazing at where Lan Zhan kneeled behind his guqin, the gazebo’s lights framing his form as his graceful hands plucked at the strings, playing a song straight from his soul. He breathed in the cold air, letting it calm him and douse the burning in his veins.

As he played, Wei Ying felt his fear melt in the face of the pure emotion Lan Zhan channeled through the strings, felt his guilt harden into resolve because Lan Zhan didn’t know.

He kept silent for the moment, though. He needed to let Lan Zhan finish the piece, not only because silencing those strings now when all of Lan Zhan’s soul shaped the notes seemed cruel, but also because Wei Ying was greedy, and selfish. He wanted to keep this last, perfect memory, wanted to lock it in his heart like a golden thorn, a stolen parting gift if his words were not welcomed.

And so Lan Zhan played.

Wei Ying could not say how long it was before the song ended, could only center his mind around the swirling clouds that he knew curled across his palm, hidden like a shame when they were anything but. Finally, the last notes faded like acceptance into the cold night, and Wei Ying breathed in, and out, and longed.

“Lan Zhan.” It came out as a whisper, a ghost of a declaration. He needed a barrier between the song and his precipice of honesty. “What-” he stalled, biting back the hope, the despair. “What did you name it?”

Lan Zhan raised his gaze from where it had been fixed on the instrument, seeking out Wei Ying. He stood up in one smooth motion and crossed to where Wei Ying sat, pinned beneath golden eyes filled with something . An emotion he hadn’t seen, hadn’t categorized.

Carefully, Lan Zhan lowered himself to sit on the large cushion. He slid his gaze to Wei Ying’s left hand clenched on his knee, lifting his own and gently taking it, seeming to gauge Wei Ying’s reaction, but he only tilted his head in confusion. Why..?

Lan Zhan began pulling off his glove.

Wei Ying yanked his hand back. He couldn’t- why would he? He was going to tell him about the mark, but why did he want to know? Did he suspect he was Unmoving? Would he hate him if he knew the truth? That Wei Ying had played him for a fool, too cowardly to tell him about their bond?

At the stressed, almost wounded look in Lan Zhan’s eyes, Wei Ying made an aborted movement, reaching to comfort him. “Oh, Lan Zhan…” he breathed. He didn’t touch him, but after a moment of hesitation, offered his hand to his soulmate, palm up. Lan Zhan had merely been braver than he had, after all. The result would be the same.

Lan Zhan’s eyes softened and he carefully tugged off the glove, revealing the incriminating, promising, honest pattern. Twisting designs of blue clouds and red lotuses covered both their palms, side by side, blurred together as his throat closed and breath hitched. He made to move away, to leave Lan Zhan with the knowledge of his lie, but his wrist was gently but firmly held in place.

He sighed. Lan Zhan wanted him to say it, to confess, and suddenly the courage of a few minutes ago seemed out of his reach.

“Lan Zhan, you’re so good. Too good. Too good for me.” His breath caught. “I- I’ve known. This whole time.” He looked Lan Zhan in his clear, gentle eyes. “Lan Zhan. We’re soulmates. We have been since you got drunk at the bar.” He let out a shaky laugh, the first tear making its way down his cheek. “Well, I suppose we’ve been soulmates forever, but I found you then, and fell in love a little. You don’t remember, but you said you were happy. You went around showing random people your mark.” He was rambling again, but he couldn’t stop and nor could he leave.

He released it all, all of the caged words he should have laid at Lan Zhan’s feet a week ago. “I was so excited when you called me that morning. I thought you wanted to talk, to form a real relationship, but then you- you wouldn’t listen and it wasn’t your fault , you’d been drunk for the first time in your life, had a killer hangover I’m sure. But I- I thought if I called you, you’d just do the same thing again and leave me but then we became friends and I didn't want you to leave so I didn’t tell you and-”

“I am not.” Lan Zhan cut him off, voice quiet and pained, but firm.

“What?” he sniffled.

“I have not left you. I am not abandoning you, Wei Ying.” His eyes were pleading, filled with sincerity. He looked—so earnest and Wei Ying froze, uncertain.

“But—you hate lying.”

“I do not like hypocrites either. Wei Ying-” He looked away for the first time and Wei Ying panicked for a brief moment, what did I do wrong , before Lan Zhan spoke again, ears a deeper shade of red. “I knew too. This whole time.”

“What.” What?? Whatever Wei Ying had been expecting, it hadn’t been this.

“My brother was there at the bar. He...told me the next morning, but I did not handle the news well. I am sorry. I was simply surprised, and nervous. I did not remember you.”

Wei Ying was reeling. Lan Zhan knew and didn’t tell him but that was unfair because Wei Ying hadn’t told him either, so they’d both known, separately, and here they were, taking each other on a date and Wei Ying laughed, crazed at first, and desperate, but then an exclamation of pure joy. The atmosphere was romantic, after all.

He laughed and laughed and like a guqin string worn from loving use, the tension broke. He threw himself at his soulmate, at Lan Zhan, and hugged him until Lan Zhan hugged him back, until their eyes stung from tears and their voices grew hoarse from repeating the other’s name.

Wei Ying pulled back, cheeks flushed in the cold and eyes shining as he looked up at a soft smile. He reached out, cupping Lan Zhan’s cheek and resting their foreheads together, the contact burning, melting the longing that had become a permanent fixture  inside of him. Breaths mingled, puffing out in this warm space between them for a timeless moment.

With confidence born not from instinct or daring, but rather a heart securely held, he closed the distance between them, brushing winter-chapped lips against Lan Zhan’s soft ones, his last confession a raw whisper, returned with the same gravity it was given.

From then on, he held this warm truth in his heart: Lan Zhan loved Wei Ying, his soulmate.

Breathless and overwhelmed, he entwined their hands, bared patterns moving against each other, together. Nothing lay between them now, no confessions and no secrets. Only these: a prayer, a completed promise, and a bright future.

Extra:

“So, how did you know?” Wei Ying asked, exploring Lan Zhan’s purse.

He hummed, amused. “You told me yourself.”

“I did not! I’m pretty sure that was, like, goal number one. ‘Don’t tell Lan Zhan!’” he recited, voice playfully serious.

Lan Zhan brushed the hair out of Wei Ying’s eyes and took his left hand, fingers tracing the evidence of their bond.

“You waved.”

“But I had on gloves- oh.” He hadn’t, not yet. He only started wearing them after Lan Zhan had walked in the first day. “So you walked into some random shop and saw your soulmate who immediately disappeared.”

“Mn.” Lips brushed the top of his head.

Wei Ying laughed at himself as he went back to the purse. You could learn a lot from what a person kept in theirs! He pulled out a piece of paper, a half-composed score, handing it to Lan Zhan and looking deeper. Some chapstick (no wonder his lips were so soft!), several pens, a book on music theory, and—what was this? He grabbed it and brought it to the light. One of the cafe’s napkins, something wrapped inside. What? He peeled away the months-old paper, a breath caught in his lungs as the object was revealed.

It was the cookie, the heart-shaped ginger crisp he’d given Lan Zhan the first time he’d taken his order.

“You! What am I going to do with you!” he laughed, the sound bright and joyful as he tackled his soulmate in a hug.

“Marry me.”

“WHAT?!!”

[1800gotspook]

The Death of a Millionaire

Summary: "If you were to ask Amity's teens about the house, most will tell you it's haunted. You will hear a hundred stories, a tangle of rumors about who lived there." A young resident of Amity park digs into Urban Legends and discovers the greatest mystery surrounding the town.

For the DannyMay2020 prompt “horror” although it’s probably more “creepypasta” esque.

[Read on AO3]

If you drive south down Grimme Road you'll eventually reach the end of the street. Past the City Hall, past Casper High, past the power plant. At the end of the road, turn left and keep driving. You will eventually find a road that borders the woods. Follow that road. It slowly becomes less and less structured, lacking maintenance. Cracked by the roots of trees. Littered with potholes and chunks of concrete. Any street lights left are no longer powered by the city. You will regret if you came at dark.

Driving far enough down that battered road, the trees will thin out. Ahead on the right you will find a wide open property. A tall, intricate, wrought iron fence circling a vast, overgrown yard. Rolling hills of what was probably once lush green grass, now covered in unkempt bushes and weeds, stretching over a brick driveway, even more crumbled than the road you entered on. Weeds and vines peeking up through the cracks. No sign of human intervention in at least thirty years.

Keeping you from trespassing is nothing more than a pointy steel gate. Large enough for vehicles to pass through. The chains holding it shut are probably easy to pull apart. Break the rusty links and force the long-dormant hinges to whine. But you have no interest stepping on this property.

Looking up the drive, you can see the stone path just barely through the weeds. Winding up and around the land to reach its focal point: the house. You could even call it a mansion. Elegant brick laid outside. Once expensive drapery, now bleached a sickly yellow by the sun, sits in the windows. Even the front door, although dusty and rotted, exhibits an air of refinement.

If you were to ask Amity's teens about the house, most will tell you it's haunted. You will hear a hundred stories, a tangle of rumors about who lived there. No matter how peculiar, entertaining, or sensible the stories become, they never quite answer my question:

Why would a person like this, with so much class and so much money, choose to live in Amity Park?

During my research into Amity Park records, I discovered that the house actually belonged to a once renowned millionaire by the name of Vlad Masters. For most of his adult life, he resided in an even larger home. Not just a mansion, but a castle, you could say. This original home was in Madison, Wisconsin. In 2006,he suddenly decided to move to Amity Park, shortly after his election as mayor. That's right. A completely unrelated millionaire from Wisconsin, despite never stepping foot in Amity Park, was elected mayor. This brings up some questionable thoughts, doesn't it? Was he really, legitimately elected?

After his election, it appears he took no real action for the betterment of Amity, except to establish a myriad of anti-ghost protection measures. Long after his death, he was discovered to be involved in many scandals. All the more proving that his election wasn't short of the same. But how he could pull that off? That may never be known.

Investigators never uncovered his true intentions for becoming mayor. Was he just crazy? Power hungry? Was this all a part of some big plan?

The most baffling mystery, however, is what brought Masters to his death.

He lived alone. His body was only found after his several absences from mayoral duties. Nobody was able to contact him. A poor secretary found him eighteen hours later. She said he was covered in burns all up and down his body. Face barely recognizable.

Along with those injuries, scorch marks were peppered all over the study where he was. Investigators said each burn in the room showed signs of explosion on impact, as if someone had accidentally set off a batch of fireworks indoors. However, there were no signs of combustible material anywhere. No scraps or gunpowder. No ashes, no paper shavings. No chemical traces. No debris or fuel at all. The source of the explosions entirely a mystery. If Vlad Masters was attacked, the assailant's trails were expertly covered.

It must have been deliberate. Investigators were sure of that. Despite the scorch marks all over the room, his body was most prominently burned. He was clearly the target of the explosions.

Yet the burns aren't what killed him. According to autopsy reports, his heart had stopped, independent of the little fireworks. There were also no signs of Vlad Masters having previous heart conditions, yet arrhythmia was most likely the cause.

Some detectives in the papers considered the possibility that Masters was electrocuted. It could explain some of the burn marks on his body. But that fell through, as other damages to his body and room went unexplained.

Months after the electrocution theory, more information was uncovered. Because of his bodily reaction to the injuries, they were actually discovered to be chemical burns. They still couldn't figure out what exactly had burned him, as there was no sign of residue or foreign substances to be found.

Further investigation of his injuries was cut short. Curiously, the body could no longer be studied after the initial autopsy. For some reason, each time they tried, results grew more and more inconsistent than the last. Certain burns on his body from previous tests could no longer be found. Each time they tried to study his body, there was less and less to examine. It was almost like he was reverting back. Like his body was healing.

Some say that his body was completely back to a perfect condition by the end of the week. Some say that his funeral was open casket. They say if you went to the funeral, you could walk up and feel his ice cold skin. Not a sign of the burns. If you looked at his face, you could see the hint of a smirk, forever plastered there. Unable to be broken. Unable to be moved by his muscles. They no longer carried blood. No longer kept warm by a beating heart. Stuck grinning about his own mysterious fate.

They searched his house thoroughly in an attempt to uncover anything about his death. Any hint of a struggle. Signs of an ex-friendship. A piece of hate mail. Something to give them a lead. They couldn't even find evidence of an intruder in his house. Masters had security cameras surveying the yard, yet not a single one picked up another being. Not the day of the incident, nor for weeks leading up to it.

Despite all of this security, Masters only ever monitored the outside of his home. He was clearly a secretive man if he was willing to sacrifice safety for privacy.

Investigators searched for alternative entrances to his home and made a shocking discovery. A lever in the study. When pulled, the bookcase made a click, then slowly opened inward. Behind this new doorway, a staircase to the basement. With no other apparent entrances. Some old laboratory. Banged up equipment that once had various uses. Syringes and test tubes, all sterile and unused. Large contraptions with several sleek levers and buttons, never labelled. Investigators peeled the contraptions apart to discover each one empty. Core identifying structures like computer chips and motors were removed, leaving only a shell behind. Horrifyingly, some of these shells resembled guns. But they weren't quite guns. Some resembled household appliances. One looked like a high-end toaster. Its sleek exterior in porcelain white. No power cord, but a hole in the side where a charger might go.

There were also strange containment pods and large glass boxes, fit for an aquarium. They lined the walls at one end of the spacious room, also missing any identifying features.

At the other end of the room, a gaping cavern, easily twelve feet long. Lined with steel, and a few holes at the entrance. But once again, nothing could be derived but more confusion and open-ended theories.

Computer system: destroyed. File cabinet: empty. Fingerprints: besides Master's? Nonexistent.

Acidic substances littered the floor. Broken vials and common chemicals corroding away at the sleek tile. Some substances were entirely unrecognizable.

One common theory: Masters experimented with chemicals, and got carried away, getting himself killed in the process.

But I refuse to believe that after all his misdeeds there wouldn't be someone after him. Somebody to kill him. Somebody who learned the ins and outs of his mansion, and took every precaution. Someone who wanted to destroy his lab. Whatever work he was doing, it was unlikely to be for a good cause.

The police asked Amity for help. If someone knew anything about this case, they would be grateful.

Living in what was once the most haunted town, many people wondered if ghosts were involved in the incident. Local ghost experts who were old friends of Masters decided to help. After obtaining plentiful details and performing endless studies, the ghost experts concluded that spectral entities were not involved in the incident. It wasn't possible. Ghosts always announced their misdeeds. If ghosts were the cause, Amity would have known of Masters' death instantly, and exactly who was to blame. The ghost experts could not identify the unknown substances.

Is it possible that because these ghost experts knew Masters personally, that they chose to withhold information. Yes, it is a considerable theory. But still, why would a ghost target Masters specifically? Because he conducted anti-ghost measures for the city? Even so, it's no question that Vlad Master had a ghost shield on his property. It simply isn't plausible to assume a ghost could attack him that easily.

Some argue Masters' death was his own doing, whether an accident or not. Others claim the government, or a secretive organization, chose to eliminate him. Remove Amity Park from his clutches. Would the government really be involved but create such a baffling mystery? Why would the police beg the town for answers? Yet another addition to this elaborate mystery.

Angela,

Let me know how this essay reads for you. I've been studying urban legends of the town for a while now, and I compiled a lot of stuff to write this. I want to release it to the entirety of Amity (and the world) but I don't know where to post it and if it will be taken seriously. You know how much I love this kind of stuff. I trust you. So please please please do not share.

Riley

[7-wonders]

As the World Falls Down

Summary: You’ve stood by Duncan through thick and thin, but when the true intention of the app he’s been developing is revealed, everything crashes down around you.

Word Count: 2253

A/N: Wow, lots of angst in this one. Hope you enjoy; feedback is always appreciated, whether it be in the form of comments or asks. If you feel so inclined, I would love if you would leave a like or reblog this. Thank you for taking the time to read!

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Everything about the fateful day, that you will soon come to know as the day that everything changed, is just...odd. Not good, not bad, but odd. For starters, Duncan’s actually home when you wake up this morning. His arms are still wrapped tightly around you when your eyes open, and he’s placing soft kisses all over your face. You tilt your head up, smiling sleepily at him and gently scratching the stubble on his face.

“You’re still here? Did Washington shut down while I was asleep?” you ask quietly, not willing to disturb the comfortable silence of the morning.

“No, everything’s business as usual, as far as I’m aware.” Glancing at the clock on the wall, you notice that it’s already 9:00 a.m., which is unheard of for Duncan on a weekday. “Just...felt like working from home today.”

“Working from home? Okay, who are you and what have you done with my Duncan?” 

“I thought you would be more excited about this, considering your only classes today are online,” Duncan chuckles, rubbing circles on your upper arm with his thumb.

“No, no, I am, I promise. An unexpected day of having you to myself is a dream come true! I just haven’t known you to ever work from home before.”

That’s especially true with how hard Duncan’s been working on the Shepherd Foundation’s next biggest project, which you’ve started referring to as just ‘the app.’ The app, of course, is meant to be a new analytics app that will replace Politico in terms of tracking candidates and policies. Duncan’s nearly obsessed with getting everything perfect, including providing nearly to-the-second updates on Congressional votes, debates, and any sort of political news. It’s noble, what he’s doing, but you’re a little perplexed as to why this is such a big deal for the company. You had always been under the impression that a corporation’s R & D department was in charge of developing apps, not the person poised to take the helm when his mother steps down (which, most likely, won’t be until she dies).

“The app’s stalled, and I haven’t been focused on anything but that in so long, that I honestly have no clue what to do right now.”

“It’s stalled? Why?”

“Just...some problems with getting it online.” There’s more to the story, you’re sure, but Duncan distracts you by tangling his fingers through your hair and lightly pulling on it in the way that has your eyes fluttering. 

“It’ll all work out,” you reassure him half-heartedly, your voice breathy as you try not to melt from the small gesture.

“You know what would make me feel better?”

“Hmm?”

“If you would join me for a shower.”

“Well, I can’t say no to that.” Duncan picks you up in his arms, making you squeal and grasp onto him tightly. It may be a different start to the day, but it’s one that you don’t mind at all.

The rest of the day follows in much the same way after your thirty-minute shower (followed by fifteen minutes of mopping up all of the water that landed outside of the shower when Duncan had the bright idea to remove the shower head and attempt to get you off with it). Duncan’s extremely hands-on, holding your waist as you make a quick breakfast and making you sit on his lap while you both eat. You’re entrapped in his arms while you both catch up on the news, Duncan with his newspaper and you with your phone. He barely lets you out of his sight, following you around the penthouse apartment like a puppy whenever you get up to complete some task.

The affection that he’s showing you isn’t out of the ordinary, but it is pretty new. After the earth-shattering revelation that he was not his mother’s child, he was extremely lost and broken. He had nearly spiraled, and leaned heavily on you for comfort. You both agree that, were it not for you, Duncan wouldn’t have been able to go on. You were his rock, his reason to keep going even as his entire world changed. He still hadn’t been able to really talk to his mother, freezing every time he so much as looked at her when at the office. Still, he was slowly getting to a place where he could consider eventually sitting down and talking things out with her. 

He couldn’t imagine what would have happened had you not been in his life when he learned the truth about his parentage, and has tried to come up with any possible way to thank you for sticking with him and comforting him. Although you reassured him multiple times that he didn’t have to do anything and that was just what significant others did, you couldn’t stop the sweet little gifts from showing up on the bedside table every few days. Jewelry, books, flowers (oh, the flowers), and any other things that Duncan found that reminded him of you. His other way of thanking you, and your personal favorite way, is expressing how much he loves and appreciates you. 

You’ve picked up on the fact that Duncan’s so-called ‘love language’ is physical touch and words of affirmation throughout your relationship. He thrives when you tell him how much he means to you, and will absolutely bend to your every whim if you cling onto him. So, to have him holding you and telling you that he loves you and how important you are to him, is the norm lately. Today, though, it seems that he can’t go a full half hour without professing his love to you. He refuses to let go of you, always having a hand on some part of your body. He makes sure that you know just how central a figure in his life you are which, while nice to hear, is starting to concern you a bit. 

Is there some bad news that he’s waiting to tell you? Did his meeting with the president go wrong the other day? Although Duncan’s affectionate, this is a little excessive, even for him. It sets you on edge, and he can tell that you’re starting to question what he’s doing by the time dinner finishes and you’re both sitting curled up on the couch, a glass of wine and a glass of whiskey sitting on the elegant coffee table. 

“Is everything alright?” you finally ask, listening to the sounds of a regular D.C. evening outside your window. “You’ve just been...very touch-oriented today, like you did something wrong and you’re trying to make up for it.” The questions hang unspoken in the air: you still love me, right? You wouldn’t cheat on me?

“(Y/N), I would never do anything to harm you, physically or emotionally, and I haven’t.”

“But something is wrong?” You sit up, facing him now. His eyes shift around the room, looking from the kitchen, to the floor, to his alcohol, to you. He won’t, however, look you in the eyes. “Duncan,” you say firmly to spur him into speaking.

“Remember this morning, when I told you that production on the app has stalled?” He waits for you to nod before continuing. “Well, there’s a reason for that.”

“What reason?” Your eyes narrow, heart suddenly thumping in your chest. “Did goddamn Seth fuck something up again, because if he did I swear to God I’m not listening when you tell me that I’m not allowed to beat his sorry-”

“No, it wasn’t Seth’s fault!” Duncan interrupts you, taking your hands in his. “Unfortunately, this time the blame lies solely on me.”

“What did you do?” your voice comes out a mere whisper, and you almost don’t want to know what he’s going to say.

“I--the Foundation is currently under investigation. The authorities believe that the app sources user information, including their location, without the user’s knowledge, in an attempt to sway elections.”

“That’s ridiculous, obviously that’s not true. That’s, like, a huge crime. I’m pretty sure that would be considered treason.” You stand up, Duncan standing with you since he refuses to let go of your hands. “This has to be some sort of attack on you and your family by the president. She’s getting so fucking out of control. I mean, I’ve been a little wary of her recent declarations, but sic-ing the FBI on you just because she’s enemies with your mom is absolutely batshit crazy.”

“(Y/N),” Duncan attempts to get your attention, but you continue your rambling without even looking at him. “(Y/N).” He grabs your chin with his hand, forcing you to look at him.

“You have to do something. Can’t you speak to Usher and have him tell President Underwood that the app would never do that?” Your eyes fill with tears at the thought of Duncan being vilified for this lie that the White House is perpetrating.

“(Y/N),” he sniffs, trying to compose himself before he speaks, “it’s true.”

When Duncan would tell you about the moment his mother confirmed his fears about not truly being a Shepherd, about how it felt as if the very ground shifted underneath him, you hadn’t been able to grasp how that felt. It wasn’t something that you were familiar with and, as far as you were aware, there were no secrets that you would encounter to cause faults in the Earth to move against one another in the way that Duncan had experienced. Now, though, you understand exactly what he means. You gasp loudly, mind refusing to understand what you’ve just been told as your knees buckle. Duncan moves his hands so that he’s gripping your arms, keeping you from collapsing to the ground. The room seems like it’s spinning around you and, although you’ve never experienced an earthquake before, you’re sure that this is what it feels like. 

“You’re lying, you--you wouldn’t do that. Duncan, you couldn’t do that, not when you know the consequences of that shit.”

“I’m so, so sorry, darling.”

“Stop, I don’t--I don’t want to hear this anymore. I don’t care how funny you think this is, this is the worst joke you’ve ever told.” You’re clutching your chest, gasping for air as you start to panic. 

This can’t be happening to him, not after all he’s been through. Out of all of the less-than-legal things Duncan’s done on behalf of his family, there’s no way that any of them would even conspire to commit treason. What will happen if Duncan gets arrested, or goes on trial? It’s too painful to even imagine what will happen if he gets sentenced to prison. You can’t think about life without Duncan. What is life if I can’t live it without the love of it?, you think dimly.

“I wish it was a joke, (Y/N), I really do. Listen, we’ve gotten word that the FBI is possibly going to make arrests. I don’t know if they’re going to arrest me, or what’s going to happen, but I wanted you to hear everything from me before you hear it from the media.”

“Do you realize that you can be put to death if you’re convicted of treason?” you hiss, eyes widening. “Jesus Christ, I don’t understand how this is happe-”

Time seems to slow, while also continuing at the same speed that it has been. You hear a single crash from outside before the front door is busted off of its’ hinges. A strong voice shouts “FBI,” and agents rush into the apartment with guns drawn. You shriek as they swarm the room, yelling at you and Duncan to put your hands in the air. You both comply, Duncan making sure he’s still able to touch your skin by standing close enough to you. His touch comforts you for only a moment, before he’s roughly yanked away from you by an agent.

“Duncan Shepherd, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason against the United States of America.” Duncan looks shocked, as if he didn’t know that the federal agents would arrest him in his apartment, in front of you. His hands are forced behind his back, and the agent goes to work at roughly clicking a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.

“Duncan--,” you start, taking a step towards him before an agent is holding you back. “Let go of me!” Another agent stands in front of you, preventing you from breaking free and reaching Duncan.

“(Y/N), don’t worry, it’s going to be fine. Do whatever they ask of you, okay? I’ll try and get a hold of you as soon as I can, but just--call my mom, okay? She’ll know what to do.” Duncan’s voice breaks, and you futilely reach out a hand for him as they drag him towards the door. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too.” Tears blur your vision as Duncan disappears around the door, the agent releasing you when he’s been successfully removed.

You fall to your knees, your body not being able to support your weight right now. The FBI swarms the apartment, collecting anything they deem as evidence and marking off your home as a crime scene. An agent tries to ask you questions, but you just wrap your arms around your knees and pull them to your chest, staring at the ground. The apartment, filled with noise and people, has never felt emptier than it has in this moment as Duncan’s shoved into a police car and driven away from your home.

////////////

Tag List: @khaleesimel @sammyt @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @langdonslove @heda-mikaelson @readsalot73 @jimmlangdon @sebastianshoe @girlycakepops @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @pastel-cloudz @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dolceandchalamet @dandycandy75 @brieababy @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @divinelangdon @wroteclassicaly @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @trelaney @starwlkers @hexqueensupreme @hecohansen31

[sincewereahoe]

a star spangled banner

Hello friends. 

I’ve decided to rework these and post them with OC. I still really love some of the stuff I previously wrote and would love to work on them. Feedback and comments always helped moved me along with that, so it would be great to have that again. If not it’s gucci. If you still like this stuff please support. Yanno the drill, as do I which means I probably won’t get any but yolo.

Also, all the people who get heated over this story...

eat cake bitch. 

To Sam a black tie affair was more like a strangulation. He hated ties, and hated this bowtie even more, but that was the required protocol for such an event. However, there was something Sam hated more than bowties, and that was being disrespectful. So he wore the black bow tie and tugged at it every few minutes.

“Mr. O’Bray you are seated here.”

Sam took his place at the large circle table that was decorated with crystal and picked up his name card. Placing it down he check those seated next to him, wondering if he knew any of their names.

There was someone named Christopher, who he had never heard of before. Then he checked to his right.

Theadora Rose Simpson.

He’d never heard of her either.

Getting comfortable in his seat he played with his cufflinks when the guy who was Christopher sat down, and told Sam to call him Chris. He was a middle aged fellow, blonde hair that was slightly over gelled, but even Sam felt inferior with how good looking he was. Sam quickly found out he was with a congressman from a state he’d already forgotten but all Sam cared about was that it was a blue state.

They chatted for a bit making small talk as the room and tabled filled up when suddenly he felt someone on his right. Looking up his heart shattered.

Dressed in all black, she was sleek and elegant. Her hair smoothed and pinned on one side the other free, her lips draped with a strong red colour. To Sam she was pinnacle of classic dark American beauty.  

“Yes, Michael. We will have to do dinner soon.” She smiled politely as she gave a wave to the person she was saying goodbye to.

Snapping his mouth shut, Sam turned down and looked at his glass of liquor, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he reached for it.  As he continued to keep his eyes away he still could see out of the corner of his eye as she sat down, smoothing out her slim fitting dress and placing her little bag to the side.

“Hello,” she said to everyone at the table that was within speaking distance.

The person on her right quickly engaged in conversation and Sam was thankful because that meant he might have some time to prep himself for the impending interaction.

Wrong.

“Hello,” she smiled, extending her hand while exposing perfectly white teeth behind the matte lip. Quickly he took it and gave a nod as if she was royalty and returned a version of a greeting.

“I’m Theadora.”

“Sam O’Bray.”  

When he said his name he felt so average. Internally he cursed his mother for not giving him a more impressive name.

“Ah Christopher,” she smiled as her eyes drifted. “So good to see you again.”

Both of them exchanged a few words but then there was a chime at the front of large chandelier hung room, and everyone turned. Sam was turning over his chair to look when Theadora leaned in closely, speaking low because the room was already quite.

“I think they are punishing you by putting you in that chair.”

“Huh?” Sam said regretfully, because she was so perfect and all he could do was make grunts in reply. She smiled.

“Your neck. Be careful not to look over too much, you’ll be stiff tomorrow if you do.”

“Oh,” he breathed before she smiled and then turned to look with everyone else. He knew he was supposed to turn right away too but he just couldn’t help himself. He just had to take her in a little longer before he did, his eyes sparkling at her with caution and a juvenile amount of interest.

The next hour was filled with long speeches by people that Sam really didn’t know, but the one thing he knew was that they all were far more important than him. Not to mention, Theadora looked so absorbed and entertained by what was going on up front that he couldn’t help but want to be interested too. As if somehow that would make him more, interesting? Intelligent? Desirable? 

He hadn’t had thoughts like this in so long. He knew that paying attention wouldn’t be how she would grow interested him. 

Occasionally she would make a joke and Christopher would laugh and Sam gave his fake laugh that he’d perfected over the years. He didn’t understand the context of anything she said so he had to seem like he got the inside joke too even though he didn’t at all.

Sam couldn’t help but notice, however, when they all stood for most prominent man in the room to enter that Theadora turned and glanced at Christopher. The look wasn’t an obvious look, because Sam was still trying to figure if she hated him too.  

Finally all the long speeches followed by hollow clapping ended and everyone turned to their dinner plate as waiters came and placed their food. Everyone ate and drank at the table and Sam felt very out of his element.

“Oh boy,” suddenly Theadora said leaning to him, “we’ve alienated you from the conversation.”

She turned up to Christopher, whom Sam had slowly caught on had a very good relationship with Theadora, and looked for support. Christopher smiled and jumped in.

“We tend to do that.”

“Well,” Theadora said patting her lap before reaching for her tumbler, “what do you do Sam? You aren’t newly elected are you? I feel I should have kissed your ass more if you were?”

Sam laughed uncomfortably. Wishing he could have said he was newly elected to make himself seem more important. 

“Ah, no I’m just a reporter at T.I.M.E.”

“Oh,�� she breathed, reaching for her wine, “I really should have been kissing ass then.”

Her and Chris laughed.

‘I’m not that kind of reporter,” Shawn quickly clarified. “I do more photography than anything. I’m pretty new to the gig too. So I don’t have much important to throw around.”

“How did you get a job there?”

“Ah well, I was free lancing at TIME magazine. I wasn’t really doing much but I always was trying to get in and do something worthy. Just waiting for my little break. I managed to be at the right place and right time, with my camera of course.” 

She was listening deeply with her hand under her chin, but softly smiled to let him know she was listening before he turned away again to the group to speak. 

“I managed to be inside the protest last June. I got some pretty cool shots, and showed them to my manager and he knew right away someone should see them. It happened pretty fast but the following issue a couple of my pictures were in the article.”

There was a couple hums of impressment around the table, and Sam waved his hands.

“It really wasn’t much and I was on a temporary contract at first, but it was my small little break, and since then they’ve had me out doing a lot more. Slowly falling into political stuff? So I guess that’s how I ended up here.”

Someone across the table then jumped in speaking to Sam. At first Sam was careful, listening and trying to absorb everything he was saying but then no question came and he realized his limelight within the conversation had been hijacked towards someone else. 

When the  attention had no longer been on Sam for quite some time he felt Theadora lean in, making sure not to be rude.

“So you’re still at TIME then?” Her eyes were twinkling again but the look on her face was amused, as she conveyed she didn’t care for the person rudely taking over Sam’s moment and boasting about themselves at the other end of the table. She instigated their own little secret conversation on their side of the table.

“Ah, yes. They gave me a position. Nothing big, but it was really nice to be offically hired.”

“That really amazing Sam. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll have to get a copy of that issue. I’d love to see what you did.”

Sam perked up, way too overeager. Not because of his print issue, but because she wanted it. “Would you like one? I can get you one. I swear I have probably twenty copies sitting in my apartment. I got really excited every time I saw it on a stand and I just had to pick one up every time I saw one on the street. Which is a lot in New York, like a lot.”

She laughed. “I would love to have one.”

Suddenly someone at the front of the room took a microphone and the conversation was forced to be over, but Sam looked over to say one last thing.

“I’ll send you one.”

Giving a soft smile as their eyes connected she mouth the words ‘thank you’ before turning to the speaker.

Once dinner was over the official dance began and soft jazz began to play from the band on stage. Sam continued to remain at his table to talk as did Christopher, but most importantly Theadora too.

Throughout the night, through the last few speeches, Sam had been catching her eyes on him. The first few times she looked away quickly and smiled, trying to pass it off as just a glance and not stare, but after the fourth time she stopped. 

Instead she just softly smiled before looking down and nervously fiddling with something. Sometimes it was her dress, other times the jewelry on her wrist, or her hair, but every time she did Sam felt himself drawing to her. The low elegant candlelight romanized the room

Or maybe he was just crazy? The idea she would be looking at him in any capacity other than the person sitting next to her at dinner seemed one fabricated from his own desire, rather than reality.

As conversations at the table kept going he cared less and less if he was wrong.

They were in the middle of another one of Christopher's wild stories when someone approached from the back. The voice was deep.

“Theadora.”

For whatever reason Sam felt as if he has watched Theadora tense up. “Todd.”

“Would you like to dance?”

She looked up and smiled. “I’d love to.”

Sam couldn’t help admire how pretty she was, even as he felt a pang of jealousy that he hadn’t thought of asking her to dance first.

Trailing off she linked arms with the man to the dance floor. Sam watched on for a few moments.

“Not going to ask anyone to dance?” Christopher asked.

Sam shrugged. “I wouldn’t even know who? What about you?”

Christopher shrugged too. “I don’t really feel the need anymore? You do this long enough and you realize every single one of those dances are nothing more than a negotiation.”

“Oh?”

Christopher tipped his glass to Theadora as she turned like grace around the room. “I bet you more than anything Todd is talking her ear off about the CTRA Bill we will be voting on next week. Trying to swing her vote, or confirm it. I never know with her.”

“Oh?” Sam said again, wishing he’d at least brushed up on something before coming tonight. Christopher caught on.

“This is all gibberish to you isn’t it.”

Sam gave an uncomfortable laugh. “Pretty much, yeah. I wish I knew more. I feel really out of place.”

Christopher gave a warm and understanding smile. “Ah don’t worry. You’re been the best company we’ve had in a long while. Problem is we don’t even know how to have conversations outside of work. That’s our fault.”

Sam smiled.

“Well don’t worry if you don’t understand. You’ll see by the end of the night.”

They exchanged a look and smile before he looked back to Theadora only allowing himself to watch her chatting and smiling as she looked up at Todd before it became too weird.

Sam then realized he still didn’t know exactly what Theadora did. It was obvious she was political member, but a young one so what could she possibly be voting on? He wanted to find out but without looking like an idiot. He knew he could probably pull out his phone but he worried about someone seeing over his shoulder. He said if he didn’t figure it out within the hour he would sneak off to the bathroom.

Chris and Sam eventually joined another conversation at the table before the dance was over and she returned.

“What are you three jabbering on about?” Theadora suddenly said as she pulled up a chair and sitting down so close she was almost on Sam’s shoulder with the angle.

“Phones” Sam said softly as Chris and someone else he’d already forgotten.

“Phones?” She laughed. “Of course. They finally let us use something other than Blackberry. Who is team who?”

“Well Chris is team iPhone and he is an android.”

“Ah, of course Android.”

“So I take it you’re iPhone.” Shawn asked and immediately she scoffed. 

“Oh no. I can’t handle that little SE they allowed. S6 is far superior. Bigger screen too.”

Sam peered down. “Bigger screen? Can you even hold it in those tiny hands?”

She laughed as she held them out and examined them. They too were flawless. 

“And what does your big hands use then?”

Sam chuckled as he held up his large iPhone, latest model. She shook her head at him in a playful before the argument between the two across from them picked up. Her eyes went large at how silly they were being by yelling over something so trivial.

“Only grown men with nothing better to do would fight over this.”

Sam was about to make a comment but he noticed a new figure creating a shadow over her shoulder. He looked up which caused her to do the same.

“Theadora.”

“Anderson.”

And then with a few more words she was standing up for another dance, and that’s what happened for the rest of the night. 

It became musical chairs for her. She would come back after the dance and would sit down only for a few moments before another white man, way too cocky, or way too old was asking her to dance.

It reached the point Sam would watch her being approached on her way back to the table, unable to even make back and sit down. By that point Sam knew it was useless to even bother.

“Wow that Bill C3C or whatever must be really pressing tonight.” Sam commented as him and Chris sat again alone at the table. Chris laughed

“Ahh, well as much as it is pressing, that’s not the reason they surround her like vultures?”

Sam laughed. “Chris you gotta know I don’t understand your vague observations anymore.”

Chris gave threw his head back and nodded. “Okay, okay, fair enough. Okay, well not to be crass, but… look at her.” Chris turned and as did Sam, even if he didn’t need to. He knew how stunning she was.

“Now, add that with being the youngest woman in congress.”

Sam nodded slowly finally getting his answer on what she did. It shocked him because congress was huge, and rare - extremely rare with how young she looked. He got it now.

“Smart, beautiful, successful,  in power- ”

“Single.” Chris added.

“Single?”

“Oh yeah,” he laughed almost with a tone of mocking. “ Why do you think they circle her like vultures? I hate to say it because she’s so much more than it, but they only look at her as a cute thing they can flirt with. She plays the game well, but trust me she knows they would use and toss her, the married ones in particular for obvious reasons. She knows, and that’s why she plays the game the best because they think she’s the same sorority girl from college they played with.” He paused firmly. “She’s not.”

“She’s serious about this. The most serious person in this entire room, and that includes that disgrace of a man up front.”

Sam turned to watch as Chris admired her from afar. His words flowing absentmindedly from an honest daze, almost as if Chris had forgotten he was speaking out loud.

“All those stupid men, passing her off like she’s nothing but a hot piece of ass. Fucking fools dancing with Lady Lazarus. What did Sylvia say? Eat men like air. She will that’s for sure, she was bred for it.” He paused for a few moments, still lost in his own thoughts. “She’s already something, but one day she’s really going to be something.”

Sam listened intensely before Chris turned and looked him dead in the eye. 

“That woman is going to be president one day.” 

Sam didn’t answer and he didn’t have to as Chris turned away to look again. “And I think it’s going to be sooner than anyone thinks.”

Sam waited to answer, the topic so intense that there wasn’t any doubt even though the light daze of alcohol he was skimming along. “You think?”

“Oh yes.”

“I don’t doubt you, but why do you think?”

Chris smiled before reaching for his drink. “Because even I would want to vote for her.”

Sam’s brow furrowed together, confused. “Would? Why wouldn’t you?”

There was a small pause and for some reason, the tension in the air was suddenly thick. A rush of anxiety, for no logical reason it came through Sam’s whole body. He felt whatever was about to be said wasn’t something he wasn’t ready for, and the smirk on Chris’s lips only added to the feeling.

“Because she’s a fucking Republican, Sam.”

[eurosong]

Undo my ESC ‘19 (semi-final two)

Good morning, folks, and welcome to part two of Undo my ESC, the feature where I look at the year’s songs and make a change – as small as altering a minor detail like a lyric or a small staging decision, or as big as going for a completely different national final song! Again, it’s just my opinion and is often delivered in jest. Generally speaking, there are fewer things that need drastic changing in this semi-final, but there are always exceptions...

Armenia: When I first heard this song, I was a bit non-plussed. Cut to a few days later, and there was a constant stream of “walking out, aooooo” in my head. I fear that it’s a song that takes a while to win people over – and that it doesn’t help matters that it’s difficult to completely understand what Srbuk is singing. I’d be tempted to shift the verses into Armenian.

Ireland: I was underwhelmed initially by this effort, but it ended up charming me with its low-key nostalgia. It seems like Björkman has done his level best to kill of Ireland’s chances, and RTÉ have done the rest with the garish, Liechtenstein comics meet 50s Americana staging. I’d change this to something a bit more low-key and elegant.

Moldova: As if to detox from 2 years of crazy staging and outlandish songs, Moldova have sent something incredibly dull and beige, which now they’re trying to cover up by using a decade-old Ukrainian gimmick. There were better songs in their national final, particularly “Sub pămint,” a rocky-folky effort with a lot more to hold my interest than “Stay.”

Switzerland: The Swiss were another country to abandon their national final – no real surprise after the years of mediocre entries it produced. I’d take Stones, Apollo and even Last of our kind over the cringeworthy, self-satisfied Justin Timberlake meets Despacito meets Fuego infernal blend that was “She got me.” I’m going to have a laugh with this one and have it so that Switzerland accept “Sister”, which would have been a passable Swiss entry, instead of rejecting it and having it end up in Germany where it screwed a perfectly good national final.

Latvia: Latvia, like its northern neighbour, Estonia, have gone from having one of the most promising and avant-garde national finals to one that has lost its shine, albeit not só much as Eesti Laul did. Credit where credit is due, they picked by far the best of a lacklustre bunch for me – a lovely, understated, saudadic effort. I wouldn’t change much about it at all.

Romania: Whilst it seemed that almost everybody and their mongoose wanted either the creepy poperatics of Laura “No to marriage equality” Bretan or fueclone #382 from Bella Santiago, by far the song that intrigued me the most was “On a Sunday.” I’m glad this delectable and dark tune won and couldn’t be happier for Ester, who was such a lovely person when we met. What I would change, if I could, would be the bizarre voting system that led to her victory – I’d have had her win by a clear margin in the public vote so as not to be the unfair recipient of hate for the way her song was elected winner. I’d also ensure the oddities on stage with her, pretending to play instruments, were relegated far out of view!

Denmark: Speaking of unpopular opinions, I also didn’t think much of “League of light”, a song so dull that the fact that it incorporated Greenlandic still didn’t quit its beigeness. I found the nicest song of the night to have been “Love is forever”, though I would replace the song’s English lyrics with Danish ones, teach Leonora how not to stare into the viewer’s soul and cause an existential crisis, and trim some of the tweeest excesses away such as the sashaying on the top of that massive chair.

Sweden: Another year, another edition of Melodifestivalen where the all-powerful juries have a real fear of anyone without the Y chromosone representing Sweden. “Too late for love”, at least, breaks the chain of self-satisfied boys singing empty pop songs. Instead, we have a barely soulful soul song sung by a more mature man. I would have gone for “Torn” or “Not with me” any day, though.

Austria: Austria’s labyrinthine internal selection came up with a little-known electro artist and I didn’t have the highest expectations, but I was intrigued. It ended up being an unexpected highlight, a true pearl of emotion and exquisite vocals. I don’t know what PÆNDA’s staging will be, but at the minute, I wouldn’t change anything except for her pronunciation of you as “Hugh/hue”!

Croatia: Oh, Croatia. Returning to a national final after Serbia and Montenegro did last year, and having enjoyed Beovizija and Montevizija respectively, I had hopes. Maybe not high hopes, but medium hopes. It was a collection of dated songs, bizarre songs, and then the eventual winner was both bizarre and dated: a screaming angel shrieking out a maudlin ballad that would have been dated even in the early 90s. I don’t have much of a horse in this race – I think my personal favourite was “Tebi pripadam”, which was harmless but pleasant, but I might go for the colourful “Brutalero” as the most likely to make an impact in Tel Aviv.

Malta: Malta bringing something interesting to ESC is one of the Four Horsemen of the Europocalypse, but before the other three come, I’m living for it. I worry how well a young balladeer with static performances will adapt to the sass and sizzle of Chameleon, but for the moment, I wouldn’t change anything other than remove the letters that overshadow the wild and colourful MV.

Lithuania: Lithuania’s NF is another for which life is too short to follow, especially since it takes the best part of 3 months to come up with – well, songs like this. One wonders how something can be both weird and dull, but this is, in turns. As pretty much the majority of folk rewriting this, I guess I would opt for “Light on” instead, though I’d be tempted by the quirky fun of “Mažulė.”

Russia: I can’t begrudge Sergej’s return to try to win after he found himself losing at the juries’ hand in 2016. I won’t even join those criticising him for not bringing another “banger” and instead returning with something a bit more solemn and musically complex. It’s not in my favourites but there’s not much I’d change, other than make the tune a little less repetitive.

Albania: Albania had another good Festival i Këngës – one of my favourite NFs in keeping an orchestra and maintaining national language throughout. My pick of all the songs to win was Ktheju tokës, and I wouldn’t change a thing about this powerful cri de cœur, except, perhaps, change it so that the second verse had different lyrics and was not just a repeat of the initial verse.

Norway: One of the absolute scandals of the season for me. In the red corner, we had one of the best composers to have represented Norway in the past 20 years with a sweeping, moving, classical tune, “En livredd mann”. In the blooo corner, we had a “what if Aqua moved to the woods, discovered they had animal spirits, thought they could joik and created this forgotten b-side in 1998?” Somehow, the latter won, but I feel the former really ought to have.

Netherlands: Though I cannot understand the fuss about this compared to other downtempo songs that I see being forgotten at best, slated at worst, it’s a decent track. I’d change the video so that it didn’t hinge so dramatically on gratuitous nudity, so that we could see who’s praising this for the music and who’s just in for a good looking lad’s bare arse.

Macedonia: It’s a nice, sincere effort from Macedonia – it feels a bit of a step back from me from the experimentation in the past two entries, but at the same time, I think it has a better chance of doing well than them. Not sure what I would change, other than the video. It’s very melodramatic and reminds me of an even more extra version of Bebe’s “Ella”; no small achievement given how extra that is.

Azerbaijan: I’m no great fan of AZ at this contest, but for the second time in 3 years (let’s try to forget the disaster that was “Delete my heart”), they’ve brought a decent song with some local character. My change would be to forget about the overproduced official music track and go instead for the delightfully understated unplugged performance, where Çingiz’ voice and the poignancy of the text come to the fore.

And the automatic qualifiers of this semi:

Germany: Because of my mischievious change for Switzerland, Germany would be free of the non-sisters perversely called Sisters and would have dodged the hole that they keep falling into – including unexperienced wild card artists in the national final that folk vote for out of sympathy, landing them in or near the bottom for several years, except last year, the one time they didn’t. There were plenty of good songs in the German national final, making the choice of S!!$Ŧ4ZZZ! even more perverse. I really enjoyed “The day I loved you most”, but, despite a somewhat dodgy live, I’d have to give the nod instead to the atmospheric, brooding “Surprise.”

Italy: This song and its artist are utter perfection to me. I wouldn’t change a single second. Unfortunately, Eurovision’s rather arbitrary 3 minute rule means that I would have to excise several seconds from the original. Mahmood’s actual solution seems to have been getting rid of the repetition of “[sai già] come va, come va, come va”, which for me sounds odd and wrecks the flow. I’d instead probably remove the “non ho tempo per chiarire, perché solo ora so cosa sei” line. It’d still be a change I wouldn’t ideally make, but I feel it’d be a bit less abrupt.

UK: The UK came onto the scene this year with a massive fanfare about a new format where YOU DECIDE in song duels which version of a song was better. Except, as it transpired, You the Punter didn’t decide – a dubiously qualified trio of “““experts””” did instead. The whole element of intrigue of the new format – finding out which version of a song is best – was taken away from the viewer and in doing so, all they got to decide between was 3 songs, 1 version of each. In the process, they eliminated the best version of “Bigger than us” – opting for the bombastic, X factor winner version by Michael Rice instead of the low-key but likeable country version by Holly Tandy. I’d have picked that instead. I’d have also not gone for that stupid format and instead tried to find at least 6 decent songs instead of 2 versions of 3 mediocre ones.

BONUS ROUND!

Ukraine: When I was doing SF1, I forgot that another country should have entered that semi who were under my imaginary purview. I’m talking Ukraine, of course, whose broadcasters instigated the scandal of the year by humiliating its artists with political questions on live TV, and then basically forced the winner to nót represent Ukraine by giving her a scandalous contact that didn’t offer any help with the financial burden of going to Israel and putting on a show, would shackle her to patently unreasonable terms, forbade her from speaking out of turn or improvising on stage, and threatened her with massive fines for the slightest unauthorised change.  Part of me really wants to say that I’d deal with the mess by ensuring that Tayanna (who should have won in 2018 with Lelja) wouldn’t withdraw, thus leading to the inclusion of Maruv at the last minute who ended up winning. But no �� a bigger wrong must be righted and, even though her bizarre burlesque is not to my taste, I would have undone poor Maruv’s poor treatment and let her go to ESC with “Siren song” like the majority of voters wanted.

[tomfuckinhardy-blog]

Smoke Mate (Tom Hardy x OFC)

First part of LOVE IN MOTION

Genre: Smut

Author’s note: This is pure fictional work. So please, don't be offended by the inconsistencies with reality. Plus, my English is not perfect because I'm French but I'm working really hard on it so you ever want to suggest any corrections or help, or just talking you're welcome.

I've messed up with the Peaky Blinders show too and Lord knows how much I love this show exactly as it is, so please apologize for this too. ENJOY.

I would like to thanks the sweet @they-are-not-just-stories Kayla you are so precious. You’re the best bétâ reader, the most supportive and patient friend ❤️

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The first time Tom met her, was at the Old Granada Studios in Manchester. It was a few days before the Peaky Blinders season two filming started in late Fall. All the cast, the writers, and the producers had a table reading session for the next three days. Tom has just joined the cast and was talking with Paul Anderson and Cillian Murphy, whom he was close with for having worked with them in the past. When his dog, Woody, suddenly ran to a woman who was coming towards them. The young woman stopped and squatted as she welcomed Woody with a big smile, scratching between his ears and then broke out into giggles when the animal licked her face. Tom was really surprised by his dog's behaviour. Tom had rescued him some months ago but he'd never seen Woody going up to a stranger like this before, it was like the dog already knew and trusted her. This feeling was shared by his owner because Tom had never met her before but of course, he knew who this woman was. Her name was Sasha Whitley, an actress who was half French from her mother's side and half English from her father's. Sasha was known for her breathtaking beauty, she was of average height with a perfect body and amazing curves with legs for days. With long brown wavy hair, a perfect doll face, and big deep blue almond-shaped eyes. She was emanating something unique, a mix of confidence, class, sexiness and elegance. Tom could easily understand why she'd been elected several times for the most beautiful, sexy or stylish woman in the world. Sasha was also recognized as a great and talented actress and had won many prestigious awards. She'd already filmed with the greatest directors, even though she was not yet 30 years old. She starred in the Peaky Blinders as Victoria Shelby, Tommy's twin, and the only sister among the Shelby brothers, but at least was as badass as them.

Despite her superstar status, she was approachable, unassuming and authentic, talking easily with everyone. On the set, she was a killer, focused, talented and very professional, but behind the scenes she was gorgeous, always dancing and singing or kidding with the boys. Everyone loved her, only saying nice things about her.

During the table reading sessions, it all started with short eye contact between Tom and Sasha. It gradually evolved into a playful flirt as they were both being able to hold the other one's gaze easily, smiling to each other like it was just the two of them in the crowded room. The sexual tension increased each day, Sasha would act innocently and the moment after she call him teasingly Mr. Hardy, flutter and bite her lower lip, Furthermore, Woody was literally stuck to Sasha, following her even to the toilets and guarding the door.

Tom and Sasha quickly became the best smoke mates at the Studios, and he never missed a chance to make his De Niro's face since he noticed how hard it made her laugh and how hard he loved to hear her laugh. They were becoming more and more flirtatious, talking a lot about their respective movies, about cars, motorcycles, music, and sports. They found out they had a lot in common and that they could spend days and nights talking and smoking. They were both sharing interest for animals, and especially of dogs, for charities and political commitments, and the list was endless. Tom was really impressed when he discovered Sasha got a black belt in Krav Maga, and when he wanted to know how she got to martial arts, Sasha explained that she'd always been very athletic, involved in dancing or surfing but that she also grew up with four brother's, so fighting and sports came to her easily. It was kind of a survival impulse.

Their lives had been so far relatively similar, except that she lost her mother when she was only twelve years old. As for Tom, she had done modelling after she played in a movie that was a huge box office hit when she was just a kid. They also both struggled with demons in the past, having an addiction to drugs, but got over it after all. She managed to establish herself as a great actress thanks to her amazingly talent, and always making the right choices for her career. Of course, her incredible beauty and femininity had something to do with her success, although she defined herself as a tomboy because she grew up among men.

Tom had been delighted to discover the show production housed him in a typically English house, separated in two, like all the cast members, and that luckily his neighbour was none other than Sasha. He often smiled when he heard to the music she was listening to through the wall. Her music tastes were rather eclectic but were mostly rock, hip hop and rap. He couldn't help but laugh when she started to sing along while he pictured her dancing like a teen. During the first shooting days, Tom was roaming on sets even if he didn't have a scene to shoot while Woody always found a way to get close to Sasha to get some attention from her. Tom was fascinated and couldn't keep his eyes off her, he was analyzing each of her movements, watching her taping on her phone. He was wondering who she was talking to and what she was thinking about when she wrapped a strand of hair around her finger with a thoughtful look. Tom frequently met Sasha doing her daily run in the mornings around the studios when he was walking Woody. Her sport tight pants left no doubt about her sharp, physical shape and was giving him systematic hot flashes.

Tom couldn't help but always looking around for Sasha at any moment, and his weakness for her has been quickly noticed by all the cast, so when Tom asked Paul Anderson if he knew if she was single or not, he started to get teased all the time.

________________________________________________________

After a tough day on the set, Sasha had spent more than two hours on the phone with her best friend. She was driving Sasha crazy, dating an asshole and Sasha couldn't make her see reason about the predictable failure of this relationship.

When she hung up, Sasha decided that she needed some fresh air so she wrapped a soft blanket over her short black dress, put on her grey Ugg boots, grabbed her cigarettes, a white wine bottle, and some mozzarella and goat cheese sticks that a guy on the tech crew offered to her before she headed outside on the porch. She sat on the highest step before lighting a cigarette, took a long sip of wine and finally laid back on the floor. All was quiet and she started to sing softly along to the music coming from inside. She appreciated being alone for a while.

After a few minutes, she suddenly felt something wet against her naked leg and sat up straight in surprise. She finally laughed with relief when she found out it was just Woody licking her skin. She looked up and saw Tom standing just in front of her, all smiling: «I think he has a real crush on you, you know.»

«Like owner; like dog, huh Woody?» Her voice was teasing him as she reached a hand down at Woody and scratched.

Tom shyly smiled: «Are you having a lil' party? Can I join you?»

«Sure.» She smiled still petting Woody as Tom sat down next to her on the steps and cleared his throat: «Your panties are showing, smoke mate.»

«I was not expecting to have an audience.» Sasha snorted and held up the wine bottle: «Want some?»

«No thanks.» Tom laughed.

Sasha frowned and finally understood: «Are you sober? I'm sorry... so do you want some cheese sticks?» Sasha asked as she grabbed the paper bag.

«I was wondering what was in that bag when I saw this technician give it to you.» Tom confessed.

She was not surprised he'd notice she received this little gift from another man: «You're not really good at spying on me.»

Tom laughed: «Can I have one?»

She goes to hand him his stick and realized that the cheese ran down her fingers, hand and arm: «Shit, here take this. Fuck, I don't have any napkins.» She laughed and Tom took it from her and held her small hand tightly by the wrist, never taking his eyes off her, he licked from her wrist to her hand and took her fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. She wasn't laughing

«There...» Tom said quietly, his eyes still on her: «All better now.»

«Fuck that was so hot, Mr. Hardy!» She thought out loud. Tom laughed quietly before he swallowed his cheese stick.

«If I did get messy, you could always clean me off in return...» He said with an impish grin.

She threw her head back and laughed loud as Tom laughed with her. He was so good natured about teasing her. She slid closer to him to give him another stick. Sasha could feel this weird anticipation in her stomach. They spent at least an hour eating, smoking and talking. She was really enjoying him. He made her feel safe and comfortable. Sasha found herself hoping maybe it could turn into something. So she finally decided to make a move. Tom was sitting with his hands wrung together resting between his knees. She started to run her fingers on the six bracelets he was wearing on his opposite wrist. Then, she slowly slid up her fingertips into his hand which made Tom open them instantly and he started interlacing his fingers with hers too, smiling shyly. Her hand was so small into his. Tom wrapped his free arm around her shoulder and pressed her against him before he kissed her forehead.

«Damn! You smell so good.» Sasha whispered.

He snorted, all his senses were alarmed. He could feel her heat against him. Her free soft hand stroking around his thigh and he took a deep breath to inhale her sweet scent too. Sasha's lighter suddenly flipped from her hand and rolled down some steps. As she bent over to grab her lighter, her skirt slid up and Tom couldn't help but watch at her ass and legs and discovered a small tattoo at the top of her right back thigh. He could see it clearly. A small pink bow. Sasha caught his gaze and smiled as he looked away shyly.

«Don't worry. I'm just enjoying the view... nice tattoo by the way.» Tom said looking back at her with his impish smile: «Do ya have any others?»

Sasha smiled back: «Yeah, I've five others. Let's come inside if you want to undress me.»

Tom and Woody followed her inside and she removed her boots and the blanket from her shoulders.

Tom pushed her up against the corridor wall which made her gasp in surprise and pressed his forehead against hers: «Fuck! You drive me crazy.» He used his tongue to lightly swirl the skin of her neck as she bit her lower lip in delight. Tom took her face between his hands, brushing her soft skin and locked his gaze with hers. They suddenly kissed each other. Passionately. A sensual fight started between them like kissing would be the only way to cure this fever sweeping through them. Sasha finally pushed him forward slightly before she lost control and before she tore his clothes apart to lay him down right here in the corridor: «Okay, let me catch my breath. Easy, Mr. Hardy.» Challenging Tom's gaze playfully with an evil grin, Sasha softly giggled and Tom could swear this was the cutest sound he'd ever heard. She couldn't hide that she loved this dominant side of him and her desire for him was growing up like a fire, but she had planned to torture him a little more to catch him at his own game.

Tom sat on the couch and Sasha offered him something to drink. His gaze was locked on her fully displayed amazing curves, into her perfectly fitted short black dress and his heart melted when he saw her bringing a water bowl to Woody who was already sleeping on the carpet.

«If I show you my tattoos, are you gonna show me yours?»

Tom nodded so she started the tour and showed him first a small Eiffel Tower below the ankle, inside her left heel and on her right one, a little Tower of London. She commented: «Half French, half English.» Then, she lifted her dress to show pink ballet shoes on her left side ribs. She explained to Tom that was to the memory of her mom who was a ballet dancer. Tom looked carefully at each tattoo, trying to focus his attention on anything than her partially nude body in order to keep his self-control. Sasha turned on herself and lifted her dress again to show an old-school-style swallow on her right ribs. She told him this one was about her dead brother.

Tom reminded her that she showed him only four tattoos. She gave him a mischievous gaze and sat next to him: «If you wanna see the last one you would have to undress me, Mr. Hardy.»

«I can't look at ya without wanting to kiss ya!» Tom whispered against her lips after another deep and intense kiss, his hand under her chin, she gazed up at him as he rubbed the curves of her face in slow and soothing circles.

«You were so hot in that movie in which were you a stripper.» Tom teased.

Sasha snorted: «It was a nightmare. I had bruises all over my body due to training on the dancing pole. Looked like someone was beating me.»

Tom smirked: «It paid off! Really convincing.»

«Well, thank you... Wanna private dance?» She winked at him.

Tom slowly nodded with a little grin: «Hell yes!»

Sasha smirked to herself: «Okay, Mr. Hardy. One easy rule: You can look but you can't touch.» Tom nodded again as he wriggled and settled back into the couch.

Her body started to move in time with the rhythm of the music. Her gaze fixed on him, she was teasing him with a grin. Tom felt his heart racing like a cavalry charging. He had never seen anything like this before. So much sex appeal as this, yet she was still truly beautiful. He shook his head and soon started to sweat and to gasp for some air as he saw her sexily removing her dress. Her amazingly toned body was dressed in black, satin lingerie. An exquisitely lacy tailored, balconette bra and thong set. It was stylish, classy, and elegant. She seemed to glow and light up the room, with a charismatic glamour and beauty that was out of this world. Tom was breathless and just clapped his hands folding it on his mouth at the second she took off her dress. The situation in his pants was critical and almost painful when she sat on his lap, her body sexily undulating, she stroked on Tom's chest and frowned: «Are you shaking Tom?»

Tom's eyes went wide but kept silent and he swallowed hard squeezing her thighs.

Sasha frowned worriedly: «Are you okay?»

The question seemed to distract him for a second. His eyes softened and he shook his head in a snort: «Yeah, yeah, I just...» Tom blushed: «I'm just going to embarrass myself in a second if ya don't stop moving like that in my lap.»

Sasha got closer again from him, a grin crossing her face: «So? Tell me what you think. Does it turn you on?» Tom kept silent again, totally amazed by the beauty in front of him and by the little game she's playing. She turned her back to him and put her hands on his thighs to hold herself while her hips sway sensually on his crotch. Sasha chose this moment to finish him: «How about this? Can you feel my wet pussy through your pants, Mr. Hardy? I've never wanted anyone to fuck me this bad.»

Tom's head was buzzing, his blood pressure increasing, seriously he couldn't help but groan. His eyes were focused on her. Her ass was spectacular, toned and tight: «Damn. That feels great, you're so hot. Your ass is fucking amazing. You are fucking amazing.»

She giggled: «With all the time I'm working out, it'd better be.» Tom was too focused to even smile. It was so hard for him to think about anything other than grabbing her ass with both hands. Such perverse thoughts and yet he felt no stress at all, finally playing her game: «I will kill anyone that looks at you the way I look at you right now.»

Sasha stood up smiling victoriously and eased her panties off before she turned back to face him. Tom opened his wide eyes with a devilish grin. She squatted before him, her delicate hands reaching for his crotch. Tom's heartbeat growing faster as she unzipped his pants and took hold of his hardening cock. «Fuck, I can't believe this is happening.» He whispered, his blood boiling through his veins.

«Just sit back and let me take care of you.» Sasha kept her eyes locked with his. Tom thought those eyes were irresistible as she started to lick from the bottom on his cock, from the base to the tip, very slowly but firmly. When she got to the tip, she flattened her tongue and circled around his head. She took more and more of him in her mouth whilst massaging his balls with her hand. Then, she licked back down to the base and put his balls in her mouth. She went back to sucking his huge dick while Tom tangled his fingers in her silky hair and remembered he couldn't touch her. Every movement of her lips and tongue sent another wave of pleasure through him. She was so gentle and caring. She stopped to breathe for a second and then deep throated him. She didn't stop until her lips were around his base. She could feel him in her throat and his hips thrusting a little. He was grunting, groaning and breathing heavily. Sasha gave him one last long suck all the way down his length before pulling away. She wasted no time in straddling him: «Please Mr. Hardy, I want it so bad. I'm so horny for you right now.» She breathed out on a moan against his lips. Tom squeezed her inner thigh, pulled her upper body so tightly against him that she knew how much he wanted this too. His lips found hers again and she kissed him hard, grinding his fat cock into her warm tight cunt. Tom smirked and nodded, then she slid herself all the way down, enveloping his cock between her legs, finally released to feel his cock inside her.

«Shit, Mr. Hardy, you're so big, it feels so good! » Sasha moaned.

Tom swallowed hard and took a large breath trying to stay cool-headed but with Sasha raising herself just a few inches, enough to let him see her juices covering his cock, it's was just impossible: «Fuck, you're so tight.»

Then neither of them said a thing. They simply locked their gazes and enjoyed that moment of pure pleasure. It was gentle and passionate, lovely and hot.

Sasha picked up the pace as he was doing his best to not touch her. The way she moved her hips was intoxicating. She leaned into him, stroking his hair, kissing his forehead and moaning with a voice strained by the pleasure: «You feel so good Tom.»

It took a moment for him to mumble: «Release your breast for me, beauty.» He kissed her softly on her shoulders and neck. That was certainly a request she could fulfil. Reaching around her back she undid her bra but acted the teased and kept it in place, making Tom beg to see them. Finally, she answered his plea and pulled off her bra, revealing her perfect ample breasts, and a rosary tattoo underlining her left boob. Tom's mind was blown away and he took a chance to feel her such wonderful curves when suddenly, this all became too much for him. It was such a turn-on to see his dream girl enjoying so much to fuck herself on his cock, her hard nipples tracing up and down against his skin chest. It was too much for him to stay still. He needed control. So, he jumped off the couch, still inside her, holding her very cautiously. Her arms tightly wrapped around his neck and her legs around his hips. Tom sighed at her: « Alrigh', you win but I'm not playin' anymore. You want me to fuck you? »

Sasha nodded, bit her lower lip and chuckled: «Yes, please!»

Tom groaned and brought her up to the bedroom while she kissed his neck frantically, all moaning and chuckling, as she continued to roll her hips to feel him deeper inside. Tom suddenly slipped out which made her gasp and laid her down on the bed with caution. He took a moment to look at her, «You're a fucking masterpiece.» He couldn't believe how perfect she was. His hands moved slowly along her sides, down her chest and her stomach to between her thighs, her skin felt like silk under his hands. The way he tightened and loosened his grip made her shuddered and more excited. Sasha bit her lips watching Tom's gaze moving all over her body. She reached up to kiss him, it was short and wild. then He slowly bent her over the bed again and grabbed her ass tight, squeezed and groaned. Then, he traced his fingers underneath her to feel how wet she was and she can't help but moan. He roughly removes his clothes and she lifted to help, they were standing so close they could feel their body heat making them sweat.

«Wow, Mr. Hardy! You're... impressive!» Her eyes shone like the stars and her mouth began to water as she stared at his incredible muscular and tattooed body. She was in awe of him.

Tom groaned with a grin and suddenly flipped her back on the mattress as he smirked at her urge. She could feel his hard dick between her thighs as he bent down against her, his hands running all over her body as she begged for him to fuck her. So, he started to tease her, sliding his cock tip against her clit and back again, kissing her neck. Tom went down on her, he spread her legs apart and put two fingers in her really slowly as deep as he could so she moaned loudly as he felt her pussy dripping. He started to eat her pussy, sucking gently whilst his tongue flicked against her clit. His beard scratched deliciously against her skin as his face rested between her thighs, he mumbled: «You taste like heaven, but God knows you're built for sin.» He was even more turned on and used both of his hands to grip her thighs harder. Sasha arched back, her hands sensually running up her own body to finally stroked her hair. She was moaning and giggling. Tom couldn't look away from her, amazed and thrilled: «You're so fucking beautiful all naked and sweaty.»

Sasha's body was oscillating, her shapes magnetically wiggling. She was getting so much pleasure, feeling things she'd never felt before. It simply felt incredible, that she couldn't help but laughed. And That made Tom so harder and making him groaned: «You're so damn hot. I love when you laugh.»

«That's 'cause you make me so happy, Tom.»

He made his way up on her and kissed her hard. She could feel her taste on his lips. Without warning, he grabbed her waist and flipped her on her stomach. Which made her gasped again in surprise. Now, he was in the position of power and Sasha obviously liked it, begging for it: «Please Tom! Fuck me. You want to make me scream, huh? I'll bet you can...OHHH!» The shock gave her such a high, the sudden action of him shoving his cock into her pussy. She straightened, her back against his chest, sliding her hands behind his head, and gently stroked his hair as his beard tickled into her neck. The sight of her flexible body, his point of view on her arched back curved, pearls of sweat trickled down to her ass, drove him crazy. His hands were running all over her body like an octopus. Sasha whimpered: «Give it to me, Mr. Hardy! Please.»

Tom was more than happy to comply, her choked voice sent shivers down his spine. Going in and out of her was a level of pleasure he never even imagined he'd achieved. He was so aware of every single movement he made, even the tiniest detail was tremendous and he just wanted more. Thrusting deeper, faster and rougher. Clutching her even stronger against him, his arms over her chest and breast. The sound of her skin slapping against his lower stomach forced him to tighten his grip on her hips: «Fuck, I'm gonna cum, please baby girl cum for me too.»

«YES! Please, Tom... don't stop. »

He slid two fingers into her mouth that she licked with a sultry look turning her face to him. Tom grunted and started to rub hard her clit in harsh circles. It was a whiny mess and he felt like he was going to lose his mind.

«Damn! TOM! It's so fucking good, you're so fucking good!» She arched her back more than possible, increasing her body counterweight against his: «Ohh fuck yeah, Tom, TOM.»

All it took were those words and a few more crazy hip bounces until a moaning mess screamed out of each other's names. Tom didn't even need a moment to think: «That was the best fuck I've ever had.» He laid down on his side facing Sasha, their bodies tangled, she smiled at him slowly coming back: «It was incredible, Mr. Hardy.»

«You're the most amazing creature I've ever seen.» They both smirked and he tenderly kissed her nose: «And I love your secret tattoo.» He traced with his fingers along the string of pearls tattoo under her breast giving her goosebumps. Sasha closed her eyes totally relaxed and contented as he stared at her in total bliss and kissed her forehead. «May I stay for the night, divine creature?»

«You may but... you're on my side of the bed.» She said keeping her eyes closed.

Tom shook his head and smiled: «No. This is my side now.»

Sasha opened one eye: «'Cause it's the closest side from the door?»

«Yes and that goes for each bed we shall share.» Tom answered with his low and husky voice as she gave him a broad smile: «Does this mean we're into a relationship?»

Tom shyly nodded: «Unless you don't want to?»

She propped herself on one arm and looked at him cautiously as he rolled a little bit onto his back. She stared at him like she was memorizing every detail of his face. She softly smiled, giving him a kiss before she whispered: «You had the lead role at the first sigh, Mr. Hardy.» Tom snorted and showered her head, which was resting now into his neck, with kisses before they finally fell asleep while cuddling, their bodies still tangled together.

__________________________________________________________

Sasha's head was resting on Tom's chest but she suddenly jumped in the bed when she realized there was a loud pounding on the door and that someone was yelling her name while Woody was barking. Tom groaned as she looked for her phone to check the time.

«Shit! Tom! Wake up it's 9:30 p.m., I'm soooo fuckin late!» Sasha said and ran naked to the bathroom. «Please, go down and tell them I'm almost ready.» She asked before she turned the shower on.

Tom finally reached the door and opened. Paul was facing him with a fake surprised look and quickly checked he'd knocked at the right door before he started to laugh: «That shade of lipstick is all wrong for you bro. Sasha's here? They're waiting for her on set for make-up.»

«Yeah, she's taking a shower.» Tom answered rubbing his lips.

Paul grinned and pointed his finger at him: «Promise me to tell me all 'bout it.»

Tom shook his head with a cheeky smile.

«Hurry lovebirds!» Joe yelled as he left.

__________________________________________________________

When Sasha finally turned up for makeup, she sat down next to Helen McCrory and sighed.

«You're glowing today sweetie.» The make-up artist thought out loud.

«Tom Hardy's effect.» Helen commented giving a broad smile to Sasha through the mirror and winked.

Sasha looked offended for two seconds before she snorted: «Paul is such a gossip! I'm going to kill him!»

[riddleblack246]

Elizabeth “Ginger Ale” Hopkins

For @sassafrasx and @kingsmansecretsanta

Prompt: Tell me more about Ginger: What’s her background/life story?

I wasn’t entirely sure about what was meant by this, since it was in the “other prompts” category, so I figured I would make a mini-aesthetic set and talk about my thoughts on Ginger’s back story. Head canons below:

She is from Bloomington, Indiana

She is a Cancer

Her family consists of her mother, her father, and her older brother

Her family calls her “Lizzie” and the nickname stuck with her until college

She had a twin sister (Abigail), but she passed away when they were in middle school due to an accident

They were both proficient at the violin, but Ginger always believed Abigail to be a lot better. When she died, Ginger stopped playing and stuck to scholarly interests

She wasn’t unpopular in school or inherently closed-off. She just was never great at making and maintaining friendships. Her sister had really been her only friend during her childhood and when she died, Ginger grieved and didn’t feel capable of finding friends to have as a support system. People comforted her, but she didn’t really have anyone to talk to about the loss. She didn’t want to talk to her family because the pain was still fresh to them too. She wasn’t comfortable talking to teachers or other adults because they always took her words too seriously and would call a counselor or her parents, which was something she didn’t want. So, she ultimately decided to deal with it on her own and grieve by herself. Eventually, she was able to find interests outside of school. She joined science clubs, built robots for fun, went to movies by herself on the weekend. She learned to be her own friend. And she didn’t see anything wrong with that. She had a couple of people she became close to in high school, but once they graduated, they all drifted apart

She initially just wanted to study biology in college, but her love of tech stayed with her. She fought tooth and nail to keep science electives where she could, even though she was already taking such a heavy load. She loved college. To her, it was perfect. No parents asking her why she didn’t go out more. No counselors asking about her social life. No one that remembered the sad girl that wandered around looking lost. No more “Lizzie”, just “Elizabeth”.

She was halfway through medical school when she created a skin graft that could heal tissue damage in half the time. She submitted the studies she’d done when they were intercepted by Statesman. Champ immediately asked to meet with her, offering to pay off her student loans if she came to work with them after she finished medical school

Statesman logistics are a bit different than Kingsman. Initially, Champ was just looking for medical personnel to take over at the agency and Ginger seemed to have really great ideas. However, he soon learned about her tech knowledge and her proficiency for mathematics and decided to move her to the role of quartermaster. She’s basically in charge of everything except mission assignments. He acts all gruff about it and will rarely compliment her upfront, but he genuinely thinks she’s a great leader and a good influence on the other agents

She was the youngest member to join the agency until Tequila joined the ranks. She is still the youngest member of the tech/medical team

Her family thinks she provides the cyber-security for Statesman and created the biometric security system that protects the whiskey (she did, but she lets them think that’s all she’s done), which is how she has so much money to send home

As she got older, she kind of became aware of her own sense of loneliness. She never really addressed her sister’s death and now that she has a sense of stability and isn’t running around in preparation for the next thing, she realized that she didn’t have anyone to turn to when she was feeling low. She and her family weren’t super close. They love each other, but they’re states apart, and they all dealt with losing Abigail in different ways, so things just... never quite healed right. She wants to get back out there and make friends, but it’s hard when your time is limited, you can’t even be truthful about what you do for a living, and you can be called away to work at a moment’s notice. That, and because she never quite got down the unspoken rules of maintaining friendships, she isn’t super great at meeting new people.

She gets into her own head too much. When she’s able to just speak and not think about everything she’s saying, she does fine.

She’s one of those people that would love a boyfriend, but she isn’t going to go out of her way to get one. Dating apps bore her, singles mixers make her uncomfortable, and she tried an online service once, but deleted her account when she got a dick pic (”You pay $9.99 a month to do this? How dumb are you?”)

She so desperately wants to be an agent. She wants to go out in the field and experience missions hands on and learn about the world outside of coding and firewalls and medical enhancements. She wants to experience her gadgets to the tasks she makes them for (AND THE ONLY REASON WHISKEY HAD VOTED AGAINST HER IS BECAUSE SHE REMINDS HIM OF LELA BECAUSE I REFUSE TO LET VAUGHN MAKE WHISKEY INTO A SEXIST FUCK)

When she is able to become a part-time field agent (Because Whiskey didn’t die because he didn’t betray everyone), Tequila ends up being the one training her (”As a thanks for savin’ my hide, Ginger- I mean, Agent.”)

One would think because she is “geeky”, she would like to read. She’s actually more of a movie buff. However, her movie taste is almost exclusively rom-coms and animated flicks, with maybe a few sci-fi ones thrown in

When she meets Merlin, her instinctive thought thought is that he looked like Picard from Star Trek. And then he talked and she thought about the Muppets (It is in the novelization and it is honestly the cutest fucking thing)

She personally adores super fancy lingerie. That’s what she buys for herself. Since most of her money goes to her family, expenses, and medical research, what she has for herself goes to elegant teddies and lace panties

The first time she and Merlin have sex, he thinks she prepared for it, only to see her closet. All of her every-day clothes are stuffed into drawers or tossed aside, wrinkles by damned, but all of her fancy underwear is hung up, pristine

Her corgi is a gift from Merlin. They’d been going out for a while when she learns that Kingsman recruits get dogs and she gushes over the concept. That gives him an idea. He gets her a corgi for Christmas that next year. She takes to him instantly and names him Rowlf after the Muppet

In recent years, she had started to teach herself to play the violin again. She’s not great, but she does it almost as a form of self-reflection. However, she only plays in front of the full length mirror in her bedroom, because even though her sister never got to grow up, it feels like they’re playing together again

She prefers tea over coffee, but when Tequila accidentally introduces her to those bottled Starbucks frappuchinos, there are always a couple empty bottles lying around the lab

Her eye sight is super poor and while Champ offered to pay for her to have LASIK, she refused because “I look cute in glasses”

She bites her nails and is trying to quit

Her favorite movie is a tie between “The Fifth Element” and “Bridget Jones’s Diary” (One of the reasons why she found Harry so charming was because he reminds her of Colin Firth ;) )

She likes alcohol that is crazy and probably illegal in some places. I’m talking the ones with dead bugs in them. She wants to try all the weird shit

She decides to go with the code name “Ginger Ale” because when Champ asks her what she wants to go by, she says that because it’s bubbly, sweet, and goes great with most alcohols. He laughs so hard he nearly cries and insists she stick with it because it suits her perfectly <3

[roumeos-blog]

♛      ┆      TASK OO1   »   elections.

spotless black shiny suit abreast a burgundy silk dress shirt wrapped his tall frame in a blanket of elegance and unandulterated confidence, almost threatening, idle impulses scratching the line of narcissism. there was something dark around him, as if the soul of a leonidas leading his 300 spartans and 900 helots to a war against the persians who threatened to reduce the greece they called home to ashes had decided to merge with his own, as if an almighty god decided to reside in him and enjoy the show. dangerous, determined, with his prey right in front of his eyes, teasing his fingertips in a way it made him feel thrilled, the euphoria triggering through his veins chained up by nothing more than simple resolution, the will of a final goal interlocking fingers with the immense pleasure that comes with the promised result, and maybe, he had a bit of greed for power in him. just for this once, let’s sink into the sin that is lusting for power.

out of all the occassions, today’s wasn’t one he plastered his immaculate threaded mask of perfect appareance on his semblance  ───  he had nothing to hide, his honed but saccharine & sly tongue was naturally implanted in him.

sharp jaw was pressed tightly together, hickory hues holding an ominous blaze deep within them. patient, yet with a thirst that had him gulping harshly. composed, yet with an eagerness he hadn’t been met with in a long, long time. yet his confidence & conviction didn’t falter for a second. as easy as stealing candy from a kid, whether he wins or not. he was born for this, to entertain an audience with his twisted but velvety tongue. in more scenarios than one, he felt like a young god  ───  unstoppable, untouchable, with the olympus casting a cocoon of unconditional blessings & protection upon him.

this one time may have been one of them.

digits itching with ambition smooth the cuffs of his blazer, halting to dart his eyes with a raised eyebrow to the person calling him to step forward. his tongue clicks as hands reach for the bottle of water standing beside the front legs of his chair, uncapping it to take a long sip, adam’s apple bobbing slowly. the water-filled plastic was left behind atop his seat the moment he marched with long legs to the podium. he stood there like he already owned the place, slender fingers caressing the border of the pristine wood with love-filled touches followed closely by his eyes & a raised eyebrow that only accentuated the smug smile stretching his plump, pink tinted lips, head slightly tilted to the side. the confidence radiating from him was nothing short of maddening. intimidating for some.

sharp hues didn’t take long to fix themselves on the small audience, smile only growing bigger, more menacing as they ran from left to right, the faintest scoff shaking his frame. the devil was standing next to him, hand on his shoulder and contract splayed on the firm surface of the podium  ───  ‘ make them sign it. ‘

the smug smile turned into a sweet giggle, the soft shaking from side to side of his head making his neatly styled hair sway a bit, chin resting on his right hand as he took a more relaxed pose.  “ it’s hard to believe i’m running for president this year, isn’t it ? it’s hard to believe it myself. “  a beam is resting on his lips as he raises his eyebrows, wiggling them once. shaking his head as he looks down, hands reach to fix his tie, he lets the set of words spill.  “ i would say i’m nervous standing here, but if i were to start my speech with a lie, it would take away every bit of veracity from what is yet to be spoken, right ? “  with digits done playing around with the fabric, he stares back into the eyes of those in front of him.  “ so as always, i’m going to remain honest, for the sake of the society, and in the place of those candidates who may choose toying with you over being a honorable person as the best resolution. “  his hands hold tightly onto the borders of the podium, that lopsided smile he got from lucifer plastered on his face as he leans forward in a small push up, arms flexing with the motion.  “ hm, so here we go. “ he resumes to a straight position, index finger tapping against the food.  “ staying on this line of utmost honesty we are walking together, it’s not a secret that outside of my formal duties i am known for being a bit too troublesome, a bit too crazy, and going the extra mile, an absolute asshole. some of you more likely think i’m stupid. why lie ? “  a shrug and raised arms follow his words, a hint of playfulness hiding in the corners of his lips.  “ that’s what a great majority of you know me for: the way i choose to be in my private life. but it isn’t a secret that outside of this building, and once i step a foot outside my private daily life, i hold an untarnished reputation built on fine manners, a composed and calm personality, a selfless attitude and an excellent academic career as old as i am myself. in short, i am seen as a respectable person and a model student who commits to his studies and responsibilities, never once failing to adhere to his duties, adored by teachers and the higher-ups in this university. “  with teeth biting softly on his lower lip and head tilted, soft eyes trail over the audience.  “ the society can benefit immensely from this, and inadvertently, it secures that i am a responsible candidate  ─  for if i’m chosen as the new president, the society will become one of my most important liabilities. “

“ were any problems to arouse, we would have the certitude of being guarded by my father’s buffet, composed by the best lawyers only, included my father himself. “  there was a bitter taste lingering in his tongue left by the spoken words, acknowledging his parent for what he is never a favourite for romeo. “ it would be my  B  I G G E S T  pleasure to be elected as the next one in our line of past eloquent presidents that have made diadem imperium what it is today  ─  a society for the generations chosen to make an impact in the world, a remarkable change worthy of our names. “  the flow of words fall down the brims of his lips accompanied by the hand resting on his chest, almost a reverence aimed at the spectators.  “ aware of the importance of this role, and raised by parents who always aimed for the best in every minuscule aspect, i am more than confident i am qualified to take our society in the direction it deserves, with the collaboration of  e v e r y  member taken into consideration, and not in the one a single greedy individual thinks will benefit them best. this is run on a democracy  ─  let’s start treating it like one. together. “

it is with a satisfied smile bringing out the light in him that he lets out a long sigh, body swaying promptly.  “ i urge you to place all your bets on me and honor me with your faith  ─  for, this once, i won’t be leading you into the wolf’s mouth. thank you for gifting me with your time and ears, and i hope to meet you as your new president soon. “

[jordan202]

The Journey - Part Thirteen

Previous chapters are HERE.

thank you @omelialover​ and happy birthday!

Timeline for Part 13:

This chapter sets entirely between 11x16 and 11x17. After Omelia’s last scene on 11x16 (when they are again interrupted in the on call room), Derek arrives home. Since it’s not mentioned on the show when exactly after this last Omelia scene he arrived, I let my creativity take over. I didn't plan to end this chapter right where it did, but I had to, otherwise it would be too long. All I can guarantee is that, as always, I am not changing anything that happened on the show :)

The Journey – Part Thirteen

Amelia hurried from the Neuro ICU to the OR, trying her best to get over with what was left of her work obligations so she could make it back home in time. She hadn’t scheduled any elective surgeries for that Thursday, hoping to have an early finish at the hospital so she could get properly dressed and ready to go on her first date with Owen later that evening. But much to her dismay, not only she had been paged to the hospital at an ungodly hour earlier that morning, an MVC with four victims had also extended her workload, jeopardizing the entirety of her plans.

At first, Amelia had realized she was probably not going to have any time to even take a nap before the event like she’d planned right after her pager had buzzed at four am. But as the hours progressed, she started to wonder just how much time she’d have to actually get ready for the dinner party.

Men had no idea about this, but getting ready for such an event demanded a lot of time and energy. Unlike Owen, who would probably just shave, shower and put on a suit, Amelia had a lot to work on. He had told her he’d meet her at the front porch of Derek’s house at eight thirty and it was almost past seven when Amelia finally arrived home.

Going straight to the bathroom, Amelia showered and washed her hair in a hurry, blow-drying it right afterwards. She carefully inspected her legs to see if there were any missing spots from the waxing session she’d gone to a couple of days before and quickly moved on to work on her make up. She had just finished putting on her dress when, through the window, she saw her boss crossing the yard towards the house.

Looking at the clock by the nightstand, Amelia realized it was eight thirty on the dot. Damn Owen with his military punctuality. She made her way downstairs, wondering about her looks. The neurosurgeon believed to have made a very satisfactory job with the little time she had to pull off an evening look, knowing she could have done a lot better had she more time.

“Hey…” Amelia opened the front door before Owen could ring the doorbell, excited to see him.

Owen opened his mouth to reply but after seeing her, every word instantly vanished from his mind. His eyes lingered a little longer than usual, obviously in appreciation. Amelia was barefoot, wearing an amazing midnight blue long sleeve dress. The cleavage was very modest, with a mid rise V neck that exposed her shapely neck. She had on a discreet single pendant necklace, giving the neurosurgeon a classy look. The soft fabric of the gown outlined her waist, suggesting her feminine forms without actually exposing them, adding a sexy touch without any traces of vulgarity. And as she turned slightly to the side, Owen noticed the exposed skin on her back, small enough to be discreet, but big enough to accommodate the touch of his hand. He thought she’d never looked more perfect.

“You look amazing.” He managed to say, encouraged by her bright smile.

“Thank you,” Amelia felt like a silly schoolgirl, something she’d never felt before. Not even when she had been a schoolgirl.

The neurosurgeon turned her neck inspecting the room behind her, trying to make sure no one would see them. The reason why she hadn’t let Owen ring the doorbell was because her sister in law was at home. She knew her niece and nephew had recently been put to bed and not long before she’d seen Meredith disappear into the kitchen, in the back of the house. Amelia still needed to put on her shoes and give her make up a final touch. Her initial plan involved asking Owen to wait a couple of minutes, but she couldn’t risk letting Meredith see him, or else too many questions would arise.

“Is that… Is that Derek?” Owen frowned heavily, distractedly looking at the entrance of the land across the yard where a cab had just pulled up.

Amelia narrowed her eyes, trying to get a clearer view, but a sudden noise of the coffee maker interrupted her thoughts.

“Oh, shit!” She inadvertently exclaimed, pulling Owen by the hand. Before he could realize what was happening, Amelia was sneaking up upstairs, dragging him along the way. “Don’t make any noises!” She contained a fit of laughter as she pushed him inside her bedroom, noticing the smile on his face.

“What is happening?” He chuckled heartily, trying to figure out the confusing situation. “Are you… Are you hiding me?” He asked with an amused tone, unable to believe it, fully expecting her to deny it.

“Of course I am hiding you!” She shamelessly confessed, looking at him like he was the unbelievable one. “I can’t risk letting Meredith see you, let alone my brother.”

“I didn’t know he was back,” Owen casually commented, completely ignoring the importance of Meredith knowing or not about them.

“Shh!” Amelia put her forefinger on her own lips, making an adorable scowl as she asked him to be quieter. “I didn’t know either.” She confessed with a whisper, swiftly making her way to the corridor.

Through the stairs’ banister, Amelia spotted Meredith sitting on the couch, with a couple of notepads surrounding her as she drank coffee from a large red mug. Her sister in law was obviously engaged with what she was doing, explaining why she seemed startled when the front door lock tried to be opened from the outside, undoubtedly by Amelia’s brother.

“Damn it, even when Derek doesn’t want to he gets in the way! How are we getting out of here?” She walked back and forth in the room, grabbing a pair of stilettos and skillfully putting them on under Owen’s fascinated gaze.

He had sat on the edge of her bed, looking at everything around. This was the first time he’d been in Amelia’s bedroom and he had to admit everything inside looked just like her.

“How about we walk out the door, like two adults?” Owen raised his eyebrows, playfully reprimanding her.

“Hm, how about no?” Amelia rebelled, still looking at him like he was out of his mind. “Are you crazy? If my brother and Meredith see you here they will obviously think that we are…”

“We are.” Owen interrupted her.

Amelia stopped walking around to get her lipstick and turned around to face him. The certainty with which he said the words was seductively confident and slightly alarming. Seeing the change of expression in her eyes, Owen explained:

“We are two adults, Amelia, we don’t owe anyone any satisfactions.” He smiled, changing his voice to a gentler tone. “I know you probably don’t want to draw too much attention, especially from Derek and Meredith who live with you, but we are not doing anything wrong. There is nothing to be ashamed of, or to hide.”

Amelia picked up on the trace of insecurity in his voice and rightfully assumed he feared she wasn’t serious about what was happening and therefore was treating him like a disposable fling.

“It’s not that. Of course I am not ashamed.” She explained, walking in his direction and offering one hand for him to hold. “It’s that if my brother sees you, he will start to ask questions, and I am not sure we have the answer to them.” She explained. “I agree with you that no one has any business in our lives,” She smiled affectionately. “They really don’t. So how about we keep it just to ourselves for the time being?”

Owen took a deep breath. The idea of having to hide or lie every time he went to see her at the house didn’t please him that much. Derek was his close friend and of course it felt a bit awkward to tell the guy he was dating his baby sister. But Owen was fully invested in dating Amelia regardless of how Derek took the news.

“Alright.” He tried to sound convinced. If left up to him, Owen would go down the stairs, say hello to the couple in the living room and leave with Amelia. But he wasn’t the one who would have to come back home to a bunch of questions. So, for her sake, he agreed to the plot. What Owen wanted least was for her to feel uncomfortable with anything regarding the two of them.

Amelia saw the consideration in his eyes and it totally won her over.

“We already knew you can pull off the suit and tie,” The neurosurgeon bit her lower lip, gently letting go of his hand. “But tonight, you’ve outdone yourself.” She added in a lighthearted tone. Whenever Amelia felt like she was getting close to being too emotional, like seconds before when she realized the way Owen had been looking at her, it was automatic to resort to humor and bantering as a defense mechanism.

He let out a chuckle that widened her smile. Without paying much attention to what she was doing, Amelia moved forward to where he was sitting on her bed and stood between his legs, gently fixing an almost imperceptible wrinkle on his tie knot. She always felt like whenever Owen was around, there was this strong invisible force that pulled her nearer, and it became nearly impossible to not touch him.

“Can we go now? We’ll be late.” Owen commented casually, smiling when their eyes met. His hand swiftly traveled from her arm to her shoulder, gently touching the few brown locks that were let loose. She was wearing her hair up in an elegant messy bun, with a few loose locks hanging from the sides. Amelia’s dark hair created a vibrating contrast to her fair skin and magnetic silver blue eyes, and Owen couldn’t get enough of how beautiful she was.

“Yes,” Amelia smiled, looking at the clock and realizing it was already eight forty five. She looked at the window suggestively and then back at him. “I guess this is the only way out…”

“What?!” Owen asked in disbelief.

“We can’t go downstairs without the risk of being seen.” She calmly explained.

“Amelia, I am not going out the window.” Owen looked at her with fierce determination.

“Well, what do you suggest, then?” She defied him, obviously not finding her initial idea as absurd as he did.

Owen approached the window, giving her the impression that he had changed his mind and was about to embark on her plan, but before Amelia could stop him, he grabbed a toy duck that had been left on the floor by one of the children.

“Don’t touch that, it’s gonna…!”

Amelia didn’t have time to finish her sentence because the toy started to squeak incessantly. The neurosurgeon had stolen the yellow duck from Zola and Bailey’s play box earlier that week, after spending a full afternoon having to listen to the insanely annoying electronic gadget playing repeatedly, making a scandalous quacking sound.

“Did you see what you just did?” She frowned heavily at Owen, trying to figure out why he looked so calm. “That damn thing won’t stop playing for hours!”

“I know,” Owen smiled with the corner of his mouth, and seeing the surprise in her eyes, he clarified the situation. “I was the one who gave it to Bailey for his first birthday.” He noticed the shock on her face and explained, “but of course I had no idea that it was this annoying.”

“Are you crazy, why did you throw it there? They’re going to hear it!” Amelia pointed out, obviously talking about her brother and Meredith.

“Good.” Owen simply stated, grabbing her hand and taking her from the room, like that had been his plan all along.

Only after they’d snuck down the stairs and left through the back exit of the house, Amelia fully understood the plan. By throwing the loud duck out the window into the front porch, Owen had caused an uproar outside, making Meredith and Derek leave the house for a few seconds to check what was going on. That gave them the opportunity to go downstairs and leave through the kitchen door without being seen.

“You know…” Amelia still pondered about the quick, intelligent move as Owen drove his car through the city streets toward the Hotel. “That was actually pretty strategic.” She frowned harder and then looked at him, almost as if she should be surprised but really wasn’t. “Do they teach you that kind of stuff in the army?” The neurosurgeon added provocatively.

Owen chuckled and gave her a quick look before turning his attention back to the road.

“Only after they make sure we know how to properly exit through the window.” He teased in a lighthearted tone.

Even though she knew she was being made fun of, Amelia laughed along, contaminated by his mirth. Soon after, they arrived at the prestigious hotel, and she watched as Owen handed the car keys to a valet before turning around and taking her hand in his as they walked inside.

.

“Gee, this is a fancy place,” Amelia casually commented with a smile when they reached the Hotel’s lobby. Everything around them was luxurious. She was particularly marveled by the chandelier inside the main atrium. The enormous structure was not only wide and large, but was filled with hundreds of tiny crystal prisms, matching perfectly well with the twin staircases and dark marble floors.

“Yeah?” Owen didn’t realize his voice sounded hoarse. He was delighted that she seemed to have approved of the place because unbeknownst to Amelia, he planned to have them stay there until the following morning.

The main lobby was particular busy that evening, undoubtedly due to the charity event. Amelia was just about to explain why she’d liked the place so much when, as soon as they entered the bar area to the right of the front desk, a familiar face came to greet them.

“Mr. Pratt,” Owen politely offered his hand, which the man took for a firm handshake.

“I’m glad you could make it, Dr. Hunt.” The company director replied, obviously satisfied. His eyes then traveled to the woman standing beside Owen and a smile grew on his lips. “Dr. Shepherd! What a pleasant surprise!”

Amelia instantly recognized the man who had donated an insane amount of money to her department. She gracefully greeted him back, before asking the guy about his two year old granddaughter.

“Bella is doing amazing,” The senior replied with an affectionate smile. His granddaughter was the light of his life and he couldn’t imagine anything worse than losing her. “She will be three in a couple of months and is living and learning like any other kid her age… And all thanks to you, Dr. Shepherd.”

Amelia blushed, embarrassed with genuine modesty.

“Actually, it’s all thanks to you Mr. Pratt.” The neurosurgeon replied with an encouraging grin. “You never gave up on Bella and it was your stubborn wish to see her cured that made you find me.”

The man seemed genuinely touched by her words and quickly made both surgeons follow him to the bar area, where a few other men stood with their scotch glasses around an elegant counter. One by one, Oliver Pratt introduced them. Amelia noticed how the company director was treating the duo of doctors like they were his guests of honor. The three other businessmen were obviously close to Mr. Pratt personally, because they all seemed to be aware of his granddaughter’s brain tumor operation when Pratt explained who Amelia was.

“Well, Dr. Hunt, before we talk business, let’s get you two set up.” One of the men slightly waved with his head, to which a waiter instantly materialized in front of them. Owen joined the men in their choice of drinks; Amelia asked for a club soda. “Dr. Shepherd, not much into scotch, I see. ” He noticed with a polite head nod. “Are you sure you’re willing to endure this,” He used his ability to easily point out things with his head and signaled towards the conference room where the auction would soon be taking place, “without a single glass of alcohol?”

“I’ll take my chances,” Amelia smiled brightly in return. “Might be a rookie mistake, I know.” She added, making the atmosphere lighter around them.

Amelia was the only women among four important businessmen and the chief of surgery of Seattle’s most prestigious hospital. She knew she should feel intimidated and out of place, but she felt strangely confident. All of the guys around them were in their sixty or seventies, but Owen’s full head of strawberry blonde hair stood out amongst the grey of their suits, ties and thinning hair. Amelia had to contain a smile when she realized what a great metaphor that was.

Ever since he’d walked into her life, Owen had brightened her days with a lot of color. The biggest reason why Amelia had moved from Los Angeles to Seattle had been to focus a little more on her career. For the past two years, her personal life had been so messy that Amelia had neglected her passion for surgery a bit. But once in Seattle, working in a big hospital with a busy influx and so many challenges in her everyday routine, slowly she’d come to rediscover the pleasure that operating and teaching gave her. Her job had become an important source of happiness for her, and her new status had been extremely important to help her feel established in the city, giving her life some much needed stability. Amelia now felt like she was moving forward and that she finally had some control over her life after a couple of hectic years.

But then there was Owen… With his warm smile, his tender touch and the way he would simply look at her and make her feel understood. With Owen, she didn’t feel so in control anymore, but instead of feeling unnerving, the new-found situation felt strangely… balanced. The way he had been there for her several times in such a natural, compassionate way made Amelia see him as one of the most decent and humane people she had ever met. And those feelings inspired her to allow her true self to blossom, often putting down her walls and giving back to him as much as she got.

“So, Hunt, Pratt has told me many good things about Grey Sloan, but I’d like to hear it from you. Tell me…” One of the guys in the group took a long sip of the amber liquid in his glass before asking. “Why should I invest my money in your hospital?”

Even though it hadn’t been more than fifteen minutes since they had been in the company of those men, Amelia had already noticed how they lived and breathed business. Even when a casual comment was inserted into the conversation, it quickly ignited a new topic to discuss money, investments, firms and corporations.

“I think the real question is, why shouldn’t you?” Owen replied with the same easy confidence as the man who’d started the conversation. Amelia turned her head and noticed his chiseled profile as the man who caused so many different emotions inside her heart casually carried on with his impeccable line of thought. “The only certainty in life is that at some point, we are all going to die. At some point, everyone will get sick, or suffer an accident, or even see a beloved one going through those.” Owen spoke brutally, making Amelia frown. But the lack of such a scandalized reaction from the other men let her know that it wasn’t a coincidence that Owen was taking such a rough approach. Those guys standing next to them were business sharks and probably didn’t have a lot of respect for people who appeared to be soft. “And when that does happen, when you’re at your most vulnerable, who would you like to have treating you?” Owen looked around, on purpose making eye contact with each man, one by one. “Some random ordinary team…” He took a pause on purpose, letting the information sink in. “Or a service known by its excellence? At Greys Sloan we think not only about the patient who’s there with us, but also about the ones yet to come. Our residents not only learn from the best,” He suggestively nodded his head in Amelia’s direction, making her bite her lower lip to hide an amused smile. “They also become the best. And it’s not a coincidence that they do.”

The guys exchanged silent looks, but Amelia could read in their eyes that they were obviously impressed. By their startled expressions, it was clear none of those men had ever dared to think about that subject. They were used to being in command of every aspect of their lives. So to hear from a chief of surgery that they were susceptible to death and disease just like any other ordinary person must have really shaken their minds.

“And what do you think, Dr. Shepherd?” One of them stopped conjecturing with the others, giving Amelia a challenging glance. “Dr. Hunt here has made absolutely obvious that injecting money into the health care business might turn out to be good a investment later in life.” He summed up with grace and gave Amelia a smirk. “But I’d like to hear it from you. Why should we be convinced that Grey Sloan is indeed the best choice of hospital if we do decide to venture in the business?”

“Well,” Amelia crossed her legs, surprised at the question. She really didn’t expect to be included in the conversation, at least not in a topic like that. Keeping a straight face, she stared back at the men, who were obviously delighted to be looking at her. “For instance, we have the best coffee.”

Her unexpected reply completely swept them off their feet, inadvertently causing a general round of laughter. Contaminated by the lighter atmosphere, the neurosurgeon added with a wide smile:

“I promise you, this might not seem like a relevant information, but hear it from someone who’s lived in the four corners of this country,” She glanced at them sideways and gave a quick, almost imperceptible wink. “You won’t find better coffee anywhere in the States.” Her effusive joy and charismatic smile completely won them over and seeing she had their full attention, Amelia continued, under Owen’s amused watch. “Okay, I have to be honest now…” Her grin slowly faded but she maintained a captivating sympathetic expression on her face. “I don’t know the first thing about finances, business or even about running a hospital.” Amelia quickly looked at Owen with admiration before resuming her speech to the men who carefully listened. “But I do know a lot about treating patients.” She humbly added. “And I can assure you that you won’t find a more humane or dedicated surgical service than ours.” Amelia explained. “Not only is our boss extremely committed to making sure of that,” She and Owen exchanged a warm smile that meant much more than anyone else there could ever know, “I can assure you that every single one of the employees in his team follow his good example.”

The four men once again nodded in approval and resumed talking among themselves, but Owen was too fascinated with Amelia to pay any attention. Soon after, Mr. Pratt’s wife came looking for them and after warmly greeting Amelia and telling the others about how the neurosurgeon had been incredible to their family, which only added to the good impression that they already had, the small group was escorted to the main conference room, where the auction would take place.

As the evening went on, the gentlemen resumed talking about business and Owen was introduced to more people. Just like he’d expected, it didn’t take long before the guys swiftly started a polite conversation to disguise the competition they were sneakily proposing to boast about their wealth. He heard about golf fields, ownerships of large corporations, yachts and racing cars, things brought out with the obvious intention to impress.

By his side, Amelia remained in silence, paying attention to the items in display at the auction. After noticing her focused expression and delighting himself with a vision of her slim neck and feminine shoulders, Owen was instantly reminded of the way she’d joined his cause just minutes before. Amelia didn’t have any obligations to withstand boring business conversations, and it wasn’t her job to try to get more funds for the hospital. Nonetheless, she had loyally shown her support, quickly figuring out the intentions in Owen’s speech and partnering with him at his own game.

The more he discovered about her, the more fascinated he became. Owen wasn’t very used to having people standing by his side, especially not at their own initiative. Amelia was different to anyone else he’d ever met and every day more, she proved that with actions instead of empty words. Those guys surrounding them that night could have as many digits in their bank accounts as they wished, but as the minutes progressed, Owen became more convinced that he was actually the one holding the biggest treasure that night. And Owen wouldn’t trade her for any of the things those guys seemed to so highly value.

“What is it?” She asked with an affectionate smile, noticing the way he had been staring at her for the past seconds.

“Nothing,” Owen dismissed her concern with a warm grin and gently took the empty glass of club soda from her hand, putting it on top of an empty tray. Slowly, he walked beside Amelia, studying the items that were soon to be auctioned.

“Look at this thing,” Amelia pointed to a small painting framed by a faded gold metal. “It’s horrible.” She whispered in his ear, giggling at his mortified expression. “Who would ever buy that?”

“Apparently, it dates back from the Civil War and was painted by a soldier who died in the field.” Owen read the small box that contained information about the item. “He painted it in his dying bed once he realized he wasn’t ever going to see his lover again, and asked that it was sent to her.” He finalized the tragic story, bringing his eyes back the picture and slowly analyzing it. A large cow was depicted in front of what was supposed to be a farm house, next to a piano. “But I have to give it to you,” Owen admitted with grace. “Horrible doesn’t begin to define it.” He added, obviously talking about the painting. “Maybe the guy was hallucinating when he painted it?”

Amelia’s laughter intensified as she strode beside him, feeling the warm comfort of his large hand gently guiding her lower back, exactly on the spot where her dress exposed her skin. One by one, they inspected the remaining items, and the neurosurgeon had an amazing time making fun of most of them for Owen’s delighted amusement.

“So, you never told me why exactly Oliver Pratt invited you here,” Amelia casually commented, noticing Owen’s gaze was fixated on a sculpture made entirely of onyx. “Did you keep in touch with him after he donated all that money to my department?” She asked, obviously interested.

The way Owen slightly hesitated made Amelia know he was carefully measuring his words.

“Not exactly…” She heard his evasive reply and raised her eyebrows in question. “Okay, but you have to promise you’ll be discreet about this…” Owen informed her, making Amelia even more curious. At his insistence, she quickly promised not to say anything, driving her boss to finally confess. “He came to the hospital looking for me a few weeks ago.”

“What was wrong with him?” Amelia asked, picking up on the hint that the visit had been caused by a medical reason.

“He had a rectal bleeding.”

“He what?”

Amelia’s words had been spoken in a louder tone of voice, attracting a lot of attention. Owen reprimanded her with his eyes, waiting until everyone went back to what they were doing to patiently explain:

“Hemorrhoids.” The trauma surgeon informed the diagnosis, obviously not too pleased to be talking about it. “I booked an OR late at night, had a team and a fellow from proctology joined me and we took care of it.” He added, leading Amelia to finally understand why the guy had been so interested in helping Owen back, after all.

“Really?” She asked, obviously amused. Owen glanced over his shoulder, noticing the signature childish grin on her face and anticipated the bunch of jokes that were about to come. Against his will, he laughed when she fired the first one. “That must have been a pain in the ass.”

“Amelia…” Owen playfully rolled his eyes, seeing where that was going.

“I bet surgery turned him into a perfect asshole.”

Owen struggled to keep a straight face.

“Ok, that’s just…”

“It was a good crack, wasn’t it?” She interrupted him, laughing at her own joke.

Owen gave up reprimanding her and just laughed along, having too much fun to care about anything else other than the gorgeous smile on that incredible woman’s face.

“Wait, I got one more,” She informed him just as Owen thought they were done talking about the subject. “I bet he couldn’t take the news sitting down.”

Owen laughed even harder and watched as she finally kept a straight face.

“Ok, now I am done.” She smiled mischievously at him. “We can put this ‘hole’ thing behind us.”

“Will it ever end?” He gave up trying to tame her, too overwhelmed with the obvious joy shown in her eyes. Leaning forward, he smelled the fresh scent of vanilla shampoo on her hair, feeling completely seduced by her witty humor, gorgeous figure and sharp intellect.

“Did you say ‘end’ on purpose?” She pestered him. “Because if you did, this officially makes you the worst player at this game.”

Owen was just about to reply when a guy in his mid thirties went up on the small stage nestled on the back of the room, obviously with the intention to start the auction. The chief of surgery then led Amelia back to the seats they’d been assigned and she had a lot of fun casually talking to him while people placed their bids.

Amelia didn’t realize exactly when it had happened, but before she could even think about it, her chair was already a couple of feet to the left, closer to his. His right arm was lazily wrapped around her shoulders as the upper part of her back rested against his solid chest.

The neurosurgeon was too immersed in her own thoughts about that cozy proximity that it took her a while longer than usual to realize that, when the horrible cow painting was sold, Owen had been the one to place the highest bid.

“I can’t believe what you just did!” Amelia playfully smacked his arm minutes after the auction had ended and he received the item he’d purchased. “You actually bought this horrendous thing?” She chuckled, too amused to care to hide it. “I mean, I get that its charity, but really?” She frowned.

“I got it for you.” Owen teased her, noticing the laughter in her eyes. “Now you’re going to have to take it home and hang it on your bedroom wall.”

“Why?” Amelia defied him with a teasing tone.

“Because,” Owen leaned over and took advantage of the darkness inside the room to gently brush his lips on her cheek before whispering in her ear. “This is the first gift I ever got for you and first times have a whole special meaning.”

Amelia held her breath at the sound of his words, feeling Owen’s free hand skillfully wrapping around her waist. They were standing in a corner inside the hotel conference room, and a lot of people were coming and going, making them almost imperceptible to the other guests. The moment she slightly turned her head, Owen lips brushed on hers with such contained intensity that her knees felt instantly weak.

“Is this over?” She eagerly asked, referring to the event. Amelia wanted very much to finally have him all to herself.

“I think so,” Owen nodded in approval and then stared straight into her eyes. Amelia noticed how he took a deep breath and kept his passionate gaze upon hers. “I have to tell you something,” he confessed, hoping she would be on board with his plan. “Let’s not go home yet, Amelia.” Owen bent forward and slowly breathed her in, delighted by her fresh smell. His lips hovered over the smooth skin and he gently kissed the column of her neck before finally confessing. “I have a room upstairs booked for us if you want to stay…” Owen intensified the grip around her body, possessively pulling her closer. “I am tired of interruptions,” his hoarse voice along with the trail of kisses his lips were tracing on her neck completely convinced Amelia that they should definitely stay. Her face was captured between his strong hands as Owen looked deeply into her eyes and confessed into her ear, “I want you.”

Amelia felt a shiver running down her spine at the sound of his words. Owen was bold and he didn’t waste any time with games or empty provocations. Judging by what she’d seen in him, including the purpose of that evening there, her boss was a guy who went after what he wanted and claimed it as his own. To have him do the same thing to her, seductively whispering in her ear that he wanted her made Amelia completely on board with his idea, too turned on by the display of masculine possessiveness.

She looked into his eyes and smiled very suggestively before standing on the tip of her toes to steal a kiss without any reserve. Owen smiled against her lips, feeling her delicate body pressing against his as she forced her way into his mouth. Her answer had been better than his highest expectations.

“Let me just go to the restroom,” Amelia said with a smile as they pulled apart. “Go check us in. I’ll meet you at the lobby.”

The last thing she noticed was the anxious and delighted expression on his face as she went inside the ladies’ room. Amelia used that time to compose herself, fixing her hair and cleaning the stains of lipstick that Owen’s kisses had caused around her lips.

Less than five minutes later, she made her way to the front desk, quickly spotting Owen. Amelia noticed the heavy frown on his face. In a matter of minutes, he had gone from charmingly anxious to obviously cross.

“What?” She looked into his eyes, searching for an answer. “What happened?”

Owen let out a heavy sigh before explaining with frustration:

“Pratt was just here while you were inside.” Amelia noticed he didn’t seem too happy about it. “He insisted that I join him and the other guys for drinks back at the hotel bar.”

“Owen, that’s good!” Amelia smiled effusively, doing her best to encourage him. The businessmen had listened to Owen’s points a couple of hours before and if they insisted on talking to him again, it was obvious there was more to unfold where a potential investment was concerned. “They were probably convinced by what you said and want to hear more about the hospital because they’re interested,” Amelia rightfully predicted. “Of course you should go.”

“The problem is,” Owen hissed between his teeth, controlling his anger. “Now is really not the best timing.” He added, suggestively looking at her and descending his eyes across her face all the way to her neck.

Owen planned to thoroughly explore that wonderful slim neck with his lips during the next minutes, until she was melting in his arms and asking him for more. But of course that wouldn’t happen if he had to join four senior guys in boring conversations about finances at that late hour.

“Look, don’t worry,” Amelia considerately rubbed her palms on his chest, trying her best to make him see it was actually a good thing. “You go see what they want.” She proposed with practicality. “And I will go upstairs and wait for you.” She promised, gently playing with a button case on his shirt. “Don’t worry, I am not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Owen was really in a sour mood but her words made him regain some of his good mood.

“Alright,” He was finally convinced, mostly by her wonderful smile. “We’re in room 802,” he took a keycard from inside his pocket and handed it her. “I brought a small case in the trunk of my car and asked to have it sent up to our room. Feel free to make yourself comfortable,” He gave her an apologetic smile, gently holding her chin with his free hand. “If you’re hungry, order anything you like.”

“Owen, go,” Amelia smiled contagiously at him, too touched by his considerate thoughtfulness.

“I don’t want to.” He affirmed with conviction.

“I mean it,” She chuckled, nearly pushing him. “You have the hospital to think about.” She reminded him. “I’ll still be here when this whole thing is over.”

“You better be.” He touched his forehead to hers, gently nudging his nose against hers.

“Go,” Amelia splayed her open palms on his chest, knowing soon enough she would have to be convinced to let him go if Owen kept looking at her like that. “But wait, first give me my painting!” She chuckled, stealing the forgotten wrapped item from his hand.

“Oh, so now you want it?” Owen teased her, delighted to see the happy expression on her face.

“I said it was ugly as hell,” Amelia informed him with a smile. “I never said I didn’t want it.”

“Fine,” Owen chuckled and finally relinquished the object. “I knew you’d eventually acknowledge my grand romantic gesture.”

“Romantic?” Amelia raised her eyebrows in defiance.

“You can’t have romance without a stomping cow playing the piano in front of a farm field.” Owen informed her before stealing a kiss. He then took a deep breath, watching as she slowly moved in the direction of the elevators. “I promise this won’t take long.” He whispered, knowing that Amelia could still hear him.

She smiled and gracefully entered the elevator, carefully turning to face the Hotel lobby while holding the ugly painting. Owen caught one last glimpse of her face before the elevator doors finally closed, reading on her lips the answer that made his blood run faster inside his veins:

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

--

[peckhampeculiar]

Nunhead Nick

Words Seamus Hasson; Photo Lima Charlie

In a classic case of the chicken and egg scenario it’s uncertain whether the Old Nun’s Head was named after the area or if it is in fact the other way around. While historians can argue about which came first, there’s no debating the charm and elegance of this local boozer which has a history dating back to the 17th century.

Although the original pub that stood on the site has long-since been replaced; the present Tudor-style bar was built around 1934. Inside, its classic wood panelling and comfy snugs have offered refuge to generations of local residents.

The current custodian of this much-loved Nunhead establishment, Nick McNeill has been at the helm for the past six years. It’s a role he clearly relishes. “I always describe my job as basically inviting the general public to come to my house and have a good time,” Nick tells me.  

“It’s my job to show them a good time, whether it’s through the selling of really nice drinks, really nice food, the entertainment we do or just the general atmosphere and the staff. You know, I want people to come to my house and have a good time and there’s genuine job satisfaction in that.”

I arrive at the Old Nun’s Head on a Wednesday evening to find Nick and Ludo - his two and a half year-old Miniature Labradoodle mingling with the patrons. Nick’s convivial nature and laid back charm is clearly popular with locals but it’s obvious who the real star is.

“Everyone knows Ludo.” Nick says. “He’s lived here since he was a baby. The minute he sees a regular customer his tail starts wagging and every time someone opens a bag of pork scratchings he’s their new best friend.

“We’re a very dog friendly pub and I love having all the different dogs coming in here. And it’s nice to have our own resident dog.” Whilst I distract Nick with questions about the bars food and entertainment, Ludo takes on the role of the perfect host, attracting the attention of passing customers.

His residence in the bar (he lives upstairs with Nick, Nick’s girlfriend and the bar manager Monica) perfectly sums up the establishments sense of fun and irreverence. The bar’s function room hosts a number of regular events including comedy nights, drag queens and queer cabaret shows.

Later that week, Nick informs me they are getting ready for a ‘chilli karaoke competition.’ “Basically you start singing the song,” he explains. “Then after 30 seconds they stop the song and you eat a whole jalapeno chilli pepper. Then you have to finish signing the song. I think it suits this place, it’s silly and we try not to take ourselves too serious.”

And what about the drag queen nights, are they traditional acts like Danny La Rue? I ask, channelling my inner David Brent. “Oh no no no no no definitely not, no,” Nick politely but firmly corrects me. “It’s much more modern, gender fluid, non-binary, arty. Some of it’s political; some of it’s just fun. There’s some stand up, some of it is just dancing and lip syncing. There’s also some quite poignant poetic stuff.

“There aren’t many places in South East London where you can see drag queens and drag kings and stuff like that. We do it because we like it and because it’s fun, not because we’re trying to send any particular message or capture a certain market.”

Comedy nights at the Old Nun’s Head are run by piñata and are described as ‘DIY comedy at its very best.’ “It’s a really varied off the wall comedy show with a real mixture of stuff going on,” Nick says. “It’s not just here’s a bloke with a microphone telling jokes.

“You can go and see that in 100 places and that doesn’t excite me. What excites me is the kind of event where you walk through the door and you’re not quite sure what you’re going to see. We don’t want to be predictable.”

Predictability isn’t something The Old Nun’s Head could be accused of when it comes to entertainment. The bar also hosts drag bingo once a month and even the weekly quiz night is hosted by a stand-up comedian.

On top of all this the confederation of lady arm wrestlers hold events at the bar three or four times a year. “That’s another quite high concept comedy slash sports entertainment show.” Nick laughs.

The bars culture of fun and flippancy extends to their social media accounts which are full of satire and clever memes. When Donald Trump was elected president they offered a free pint and a hug to distraught American customers who showed up with their passport. Then there’s the rather bizarre preoccupation with Ryan Gosling.

As well as being the pubs Wi-Fi password, the website proudly states ‘The Ryan Gosling of Pubs.’ “The guy who hosts the quiz nights used to work here,” Nick explains, “and every time the phone would ring he would answer and say something really stupid.

“One of his favourites was ‘hello, the Old Nun’s Head, the Ryan Gosling of pubs.’ “I’m not sure of the exact thinking behind it but it just sort of stuck.” No doubt if Gosling ever turned up at The Old Nun’s Head, he would be made feel very welcome (if a little freaked out).

Not everyone however buys into the pubs ethos and one slightly uncharitable reviewer on Trip Adviser called them “smug, self-satisfied hipster scum.” “I was like whoa,” Nick says elaborately. “I mean our most regular customer is a guy called Eddie who sits at that bar stool over there. He’s a local legend, everyone knows Eddie, he’s the elite hipster, he’s in his 70s and drinks Kronenberg.”

Nick says that that they’re very passionate about the choice of beers and that they rotate, particularly local breweries as much as possible. Just don’t mention the F word (Fosters) or the C word (Carlsberg) or indeed the S word (Stella).

“We do sell some of the more mainstream stuff as well. I don’t like it if you go into a pub and everything is just exclusive crafty. You know, we’re a pub for everyone so yeah you can get a pint of Kronenberg or a pint of Guinness,” Nick explains.

Food at the Old Nun’s Head is provided by a number of outside caterers who show up on different nights. While I’m there it’s the turn of the hugely popular Garden of Edun, famous for their authentic Nigerian street food. (During our interview pub regular and Nigerian food enthusiast, Vijay turns up for his weekly take-away).

On Monday and Tuesday nights, it’s the turn of Burger Bear who also provide their award winning burgers on Saturdays. Tiger Bites who make Bao buns with fried chicken and vegan fried ‘chick’n’ are currently filling in on Thursday and Friday nights and on Sunday’s traditional roasts are served from the kitchen. It’s fair to say that Old Nun Head’s menu is a cut above your typical hackneyed pub grub. “I always quote that it’s been a good five years since a portion of fish and chips were sold in here,” Nick tells me.

Nick’s passion for the pub and the area is infectious. He first came to South East London 15 years ago when he was a student at Camberwell Art College and has worked in and managed a number of local bars since.

Being in the trade he has kept his finger on the pulse when it comes to change. “When I was living with art students in Camberwell the idea of going into Peckham back then for any reason was crazy. I think Bar Story was the one cool place in Peckham and that was it.

“How it’s changed in those years is amazing. I like Nunhead because we’re that one step away from Peckham. There’s a lot happening in Peckham, It’s a little bit slower in Nunhead and that suits me.”

“What I love most about it is the long running family businesses that have been here for decades. I’m glad that we’ve still got some of that old Nunhead mixed in with the new bars and shops.” When it comes to the pub, Nick is a big advocate of serving the local community.

He considers the staff to be his extended family and when he was told that our photographers were coming out to take his picture he insisted that everyone would be in it – including Ludo of course.

“We try not to be a destination pub,” Nick says. “This is a pub for Nunhead or people who live in and near Nunhead. We want this to be a local pub to be really proud of. My main job isn’t to get people from across the river to come here; I want the people of Nunhead to adore this pub as much as I do.

“We’re not really trying to be cool here, there are cooler pubs in Peckham we’re just about having fun really.”

[mermaidinstereo]

LIST: 10 of My Favorite Dark Music Videos

What you probably couldn't tell from my ongoing Christina Aguilera project is that I love dark shit. No, you probably won't find me at the local goth club nights (in suburban Florida, we don't have those), or crying to Sisters of Mercy, or blowing an entire week's paycheck at M.A.C. just for eyeliner (because ya girl is broke). Still, I enjoy a good vampire flick (and a lot of bad ones), prefer to rock a good dark lip, and one time blew $50 at Hot Topic on a coat that makes me feel like a tragic Edgar Allan Poe heroine. I guess you could say I'm barely a low-budget goth, but that's okay. That's just my vibe, I guess.

So today, I thought I'd count down 10 of my favorite music videos, that are all at once super totally goth and not at all. In no particular order, of course. (Because of Tumblr’s rules, I can’t embed more than five videos at once. So I’ll link to the bottom five, and embed the top five.)

10. "Mine" - Kim Jae Joong If the former TVXQ member was looking to make a name for himself, other than being just a K-pop prettyboy, well, he did it right. He was already a bankable actor, racking up views on both the big and small screens. And even after departing from TVXQ, with fellow ex-members Park Yoochun and Kim Junsu, formed the group JYJ, also successful in their own right. However, Jaejoong was not content with staying the course of K-pop typicality. In response, Jaejoong tapped into his inner rocker, unleashing "Mine," off his first solo mini album I. In this video, he runs through dark forests, plays with snakes, and struggles to break free from a wall, before appearing at the end of the video as a vampire that looks straight out of a J-rock band. One can only argue that this is Jaejoong's final form. Or is it?

9. "Hyde" - VIXX While VIXX started playing with darkness in "On and On," it was "Hyde" where they really hit their stride. Telling the story of a man struggling with a Jekyll-and-Hyde-esque duality in a relationship, images of the band's six members are juxtaposed--wearing white as cute, loving, boyfriend material, and black as horrifying, nightmarish, even abusive monsters. I gotta give an award to Leo for looking a little too into it when he strangles his lovely lady, shortly before black angel wings burst from his back. Dude is scary. And so is the setting of this video! It appears to be a vaguely decrepit mansion crawling with macabre decor...and some classic creepy crawlies. It's no wonder VIXX are pegged for K-pop's go-to goths. (For more creepy craziness from VIXX, there are a lot of videos to choose from, but perhaps nothing is more terrifying than “Voodoo Doll,” a video so gory it was banned from TV! Don’t worry, though--there is a clean version.)

8. "Election Day" - Arcadia When Duran Duran temporarily split in 1985, they birthed two side projects. On one side, the pop-friendly Power Station, led by powerhouse vocalist Robert Palmer, along with drummer Tony Thompson of Chic, and Duran's own John and Andy Taylor. Then there was Arcadia, the artsier goth-influenced group, comprised of Nick Rhodes, Simon Le Bon, and for a short period, Roger Taylor. In this video, Le Bon just looks like he got a nice dark dye job, but it's Nick Rhodes who got the full goth makeover, because of course Nick Rhodes did. I'm not exactly sure what's even happening in this video--leave that to anything Simon Le Bon did in the 80s--but the image of Nick Rhodes dancing around with a candelabra is pretty goth, if I do say so myself. Also, it's just a damn good song. And album.

7. "Married to the Music" - SHINee As K-pop acts go, SHINee have not always been the group that goes with the flow. Instead of ripping off T-shirts in music videos, they play with unusual concepts, sometimes freaky ones. Among those was 2015's "Married to the Music." While not exactly elegant, "Married" boasted a quirky, camp-horror concept, inspired equally by Rocky Horror Picture Show, and Michael Jackson's "Thriller." In the video, the five members visit a wacky house party in which, throughout the night, they find themselves having various body parts removed in bizarre methods. Key gets his head hacked off while spinning on a giant roulette wheel. Taemin's eyes pop out when he gets smacked in the back of the head by a baseball bat. A phantom hand in the sink rips off Onew's nose. Jonghyun's mouth comes off after some kind of kiss of death. Then, Minho's entire body is sacrificed in a birthday cake incident gone wrong. All this culminates at the end, where our mystery woman uses the discarded parts to build the perfect FrankenSHINee. Like Mary Shelley, but with more BB cream and an Off the Wall beat.

6. "Beast and the Harlot" - Avenged Sevenfold Unlike SHINee, A7X have always toyed with the darkness, but in a similar manner, do it their own way. This cut from 2005's City of Evil is actually a track describing the fall of Babylon, in incredible detail. The video, however, tells of a Faustian tale, through a lens of rock 'n roll excess. A visually striking video, and I'm not just talking about Zacky Vengeance's eyeshadow. Careful what y'all are getting into when signing contracts, guys.

5. "Call Me When You're Sober" - Evanescence I could list nearly any Evanescence video, really. In fact, I kind of owe a lot to Evanescence, since they kind of helped me discover my artistic identity a bit. That said, I picked this cut from 2006's The Open Door. In it, Amy plays Red Riding Hood, on a pretty bad date with the Big Bad Wolf, played by dashing British actor Oliver Goodwill. He cuddles up to the plaid-clad Amy, who is clearly uncomfortable with his advances. Somewhere there is an awesome scene with Amy surrounded by black-clad dancers as they float above the ground, and this is honestly the coolest thing I've seen in an Evanescence video (though, truthfully, "Good Enough" was pretty cool, too). But nothing tops Amy walking toward her douchey wolf--across the table, as dining utensils go flying off the table. Very Once Upon a Time. Regina would be proud.

4. "Out of My Mind" - Duran Duran

This is an obscure cut from their 1997 album Medazzaland, a period in which the beloved New Romantics got suuuuuper experimental. It's hard to find this video in HD on YouTube, so you kinda take what you get. The then-trio of Rhodes/Le Bon/Warren Cuccurullo traipse around a creepy house, are sometimes ghosts haunting a library, or sometimes--in the case of Rhodes--are Rococo gothic drag queens. Also, Simon rocks a choker at some point. Totes 90s. Also, the setting and cinematography recall Marilyn Manson's "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)." Hey, wasn't that by an 80s band, too?

3. "Frozen" - Madonna

I was maybe around seven or eight when Ray of Light was released. Maybe. But I vividly remember seeing this video on VH1 when my mom left it on. I was freaked out by it at the time, but of course, I was a child, of course I would be. A solitary, black-clad Madge dances around a barren wasteland, cuddling nothing but her flowing gown as ravens surround her. I think she was playing with Indian motifs at the time, considering her hand gestures and tattoos (also, Ray of Light boasted "Shanti/Ashtangi," never forget). This was probably the beginning of the Kabbalah thing, too, but it wasn't quite as big a story as it would become years later.

2. "Within Me" - Lacuna Coil

I'd be betraying myself if I didn't include a Lacuna Coil video in all this, another group that, with Evanescence, led me down an aesthetically dark path. A mellower cut from 2006's Karmacode has vocalists Andrea Ferro and Cristina Scabbia at odds, with Andrea sitting lonely in some kind of elaborate chair or throne, as Cristina crawls the desert, producing these creepy black tendrils for some reason. It's just a pretty video and song.

1. "Sayonara Hitori" - Taemin

For his first Japanese solo single, SHINee's Taemin pulled out all the stops. None of the cutesy image that was cultivated during SHINee's early period, instead, Taemin fully embraced his darkness, portraying several different characters. The first looks like he walked out of Inuyasha, dancing around a piano (no, I don't know why either) as blue flowers grow around him. The next scene finds him clad in the edgiest black garb possible as samurai spar behind him. Perhaps the most goth thing, however, is Taemin laying in a black coffin as very fabulous mourners lay blue flowers down. Not bad for a kid who somehow loses nearly everything he touches. Gotta keep it relatable. Of course, I subscribe to the belief that Taemin couldn’t have gothed it up without Jaejoong paving the way. 

Now, a few honorable mentions. Okay, a lot of honorable mentions:

Stone Temple Pilots, "Sour Girl"

Sunmi, "Full Moon"

4Minute, "Volume Up"

XIA, "Tarantallegra"

Rihanna, "Disturbia"

Taeyang, "I'll Be There"

Depeche Mode, "Walk in My Shoes"

30 Seconds to Mars, "The Kill"

Christina Aguilera, "Fighter" (I wanted to save this for the Xtina project, whenever I manage to get to this video)

Keane, "Disconnected"

FT Island, “Pray”

INFINITE, “Bad”

2NE1, “It Hurts (Slow)”

[nerdgurl22]

Election Night 92′ - Part 13

Only 2 chapters left. :(  I hope you like this one.

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Hillary is sitting in warm lavender scented water in this large private bathroom and if she wasn't freaking out by their surroundings she certainly was now.  

The bedroom is massive, the private bathroom elegant and the President's private study was something to behold.  Hillary didn't want to go exploring the new surroundings without Bill, no she wanted to just soak in the bath and relax her aching legs.  She may have drifted off for a few minutes too before for her assistant knocked on the door.  "Ma'am we need to start getting your hair done and makeup started.  The West Wing called to inform us that the President will be another 20 minutes before he makes his way up to the residence."  Hillary smiled at the words, he wasn't refereed to as her husband any longer, in this house he was the President or Mr. President.  "Ok I will be right out."  She emerged just moments later in a fluffy white bath robe and sat down in a chair while the hair stylist worked on her hair and then the make up specialist worked on her make-up.  Bill was going to be changing in another room so as not to see the dress Hillary was wearing.  She wanted to surprise him.

"Mr. President, this is not Saddam Hussein posturing.  He is going to launch an attack against the Iraqi people soon.  Tonight if he can."  Chairman of the Joint Chiefs stated.  "Will he accept a phone call from me?"  Bill said being totally serious.  "Sir, I highly doubt it.  When he finds out we are spying on him and know of his plans it will only enrage him further."  CIA director trying to understand Bill but also wanting Bill to understand.  "So you are telling me there is nothing I can do to save these innocent people from a madman who wants to slaughter them for thrills until after he does it because you don't want him knowing we are watching him!"  Bill was furious, this was not acceptable by any means to him.  He was not willing to sacrifice the lives of hundreds of innocent people because these guys didn't want him to call the Iraqi President.  

Bill with his right hand stretched across his forehead rubbing his temples, looks at Al.  "Al, what if we call him together."  Al a little confused.  "Sir?"  "What if you and I call him together accepting his congratulations message for our Inauguration and we someone go a round about way of getting him to hold off on this attack that will give the Generals more time to come up with a plan to prevent this genocide he has planned.  I know it sounds crazy but I can't sit here and do nothing when I know what he is planning to do.  This might just buy us some time."  Al looking at Bill trying to process the plan and nodding a bit then the Chairman breaks the silence.  "It is worth a try sir.  I agree with you at least we will have tried."  Bill smiles and nods at his Chairman.  "Get the Iraqi President on the phone gentleman."  Bill gives the order and so it begins.

"Ma'am if you don't mind can I ask you a somewhat personal question?"  Her very young adorable hair stylist asked.  "You can ask Debbie, I can't promise I'll answer."  Hillary laughed.  "When you found out your were pregnant after the President won the election... you kinda had to have been slightly freaking out right?"  Hillary let out her big laugh.  "Honestly, I was a bit.  But we both wanted another child so badly that that freak out went away and we were just so blessed to have this healthy miracle to get ready for."  Hillary said with her eyes almost tearing and placing her hand on her stomach.  "I think it is so cool, the First Lady having a baby at the White House... it's romantic and hope for our country."  Linda the make up artist chimed in.  "We are so happy for both you and the President, you are going to change the world."  Linda continued.  "Thank you Linda, we are going to do our very best to make sure we make this country better for all."  Hillary responded and she was really enjoying talking to these two young ladies, filled with hope of the promise of a new beginning.  

"Mr. President, we have President Hussein on the line for you."  A young Army captain came in and announced.  "Thank you son."  Bill and Al took a deep breath and put the phone on speaker.   Bill:  "Mr. President, it is wonderful to be able to speak to you this evening.  I am here with the Vice President." Saddam:  "Hello Mr. President and Mr. Vice President it is an honor to speak to you both, we here in Iraq were excitied to see your Inauguration today." Al:  "Thank you sir, it was quite an amazing and awe inspiring day for myself and the President." Saddam:  "Indeed, we could see it and Mr. President your wife looked radiant today.  When is she due again?" Bill:  "Thank you Mr. President, she is due end of June and we are really looking forward to meeting our son." Saddam:  "I can understand the excitiment, I have 2 sons myself and I was very proud at the day they both came." Al:  "I have one son myself sir, we almost lost him a few years ago in a car accident.  But he is stronger now than ever." Saddam:  "Sorry to hear of the terrible accident but praise Allah he is now safe." Al:  "Yes indeed." Bill:  "Saddam, I have a request I would like to ask of you for today." Saddam:  "What can I do to be of assistance to you Mr. President."

(The Generals, Intelligence Officials and Al looked at Bill with a slight bit of worry.  They just hoped that Saddam went for it and if not the balls tonight might be cut short.)

Bill:  "I have been calling many world leaders and asking them to just try and make sure that everything in their countries tries to remain peaceful and calm just for tonight at least.  We want the American people to really be able to finish the days celebrations with these balls and feel a true sense of new journey tonight.  I have 11 to go to (Bill laughs to try and break the tension that may have formed.) I never should have let the First Lady talk me into to having all these balls, tuxedos are only so comfortable for so long."

(There was a slight bit of silence.)

Saddam:  "Mr. Vice President do you also have to wear tuxedo?" Al:  "Yes indeed, the cummerbund is a real bitch."

(Again small bit of silence.)

Saddam:  "Ha...Ha... Ha... Ha... (He was laughing very deep and sincerely)  Of course Mr. President and Mr. Vice President, I will make sure everything in my country stays peaceful this evening.  It is a joyous time for the people of your country with your administration coming in.  We look very much forward to working with you both to maybe begin to bring our two nations together in peace."

(Almost everyone in the room let out a silent breath.)

Bill:  "I look forward to that Mr. President." Al:  "Absolutley sir." Bill:  "Mr. President thank you again for your understanding and help with this matter.  Al and I have to now go change into our tuxes and hope that our wives are dressed and ready." Saddam:  "Gentlemen don't forget your cummerbunds." (Al, Bill and Saddam all laughed and then they ended the call.)

"Just between us fellas."  Bill said before walking out of the Situation Room.  "I wasn't entirely sure that would work... Mr. Chairman?"  Bill looking commanding.  "Sir?"  "You have 12 hours to come up with a plan to save those civilians."  Bill put his right hand in his pants pocket before he turned to leave the room.  "Understood sir."  And with that Bill and Al left the Situation Room.  

"Mr. President I'll see you shortly."  Al shook Bills hand.  "Yes indeed Mr. Vice President."  And Bill turned to walk up the stairs to head through the West Wing to make his way over to the residence.

Bill enters the room where his tux is and he begins to change but his mind is wandering back to the information that his security team just told him about.  His first day and he will have to come up with a way to save innocent civilians from the madman that is Saddam Hussein.  When they were talking on the phone it didn't seem like the Iraqi president was like how he has been portrayed, but Bill has seen the intelligence and proof of what this ruthless dictator has done... to his own people.  That was the part that stuck in Bill's head, his own people, he murders his own people just to prove a point of his dominance.  The reality of being the Commander in Chief had just punch him right in the gut, and now he has to dress up and twirl his wife around at 11 balls but all he can think about are those innocent people that need to be protected.  

Of course he understands this is all part of the job, parties, smiles, waving and in the shadow the potential of a crisis.  2 knocks on his door break him out of his thoughts.  "Mr. President, the First Lady is almost ready sir."  He finishes tying his shoe.  "Thank you, I'll be right out."  He stands up and grabs his coat opens the door and a few staffs members are there.  

Hillary emerges from the bedroom in a violet beaded lace sheath gown with iridescent blue velvet silk mousseline overskirt she also wore beaded shoes by Bruno Magli and carried a purse designed by Judith Leiber.  Hair wrapped back into a braided U shaped tight bun and her bangs perfectly done up on the right side and make up perfect.  When she walked down the hallway to meet Bill she didn't see him at first.  Bill was hunched over speaking to Mack his Chief of Staff and she stood there looking at him in his tux and he turned his head to the right to catch a slight glimpse of her violet silhouette.  He stands up tall and turns to her he is besotted beyond all measure, she is the most beautiful thing he knows he has ever seen.  Eyes sparkling as he walks toward her, she is blushing.  "Mr. President you look very smart and handsome."  He is walking toward her, he can't take his eyes off of her, was it the dress, was it the make up, was it her pregnancy glow?  He wasn't sure but he couldn't speak all he could do was look deep into her eyes and walk to be directly in front of her.  

She looked at his chest to see if his breathing was as heavy as hers and it was, he takes his left thumb and pointer finger and places it on her chin and gently tilts her head up to look at him.  She blinks a few times overwhelmed, she feels like she's being picked up by her prom date, she stares into Bill's eyes.  "Mr. President your bow tie is crooked."  Bill says nothing and he leans down to take her soft lips upon his, there have been 2 other times that Hillary Rodham Clinton had rendered him speechless.  The Yale Law library in 1971 but she wasn't a Clinton yet but he knew after that encounter that she would be soon and the second time was in that little house in Fayetteville on October 11th when he saw her in her wedding dress.  After their lips part he whispers to her.  "You looking stunning my love, absolutely stunning."  She just smiles and straightens his tie.

The relaxing bath that Hillary was able to have just before getting ready for the balls really paid off, she was able to go to every ball and she felt no discomfort at all.  At the 11th and final ball she hadn't gotten tired of being wrapped into his arms for the 'First Dance', Bill was very tired after playing the saxophone at about 4 of the balls and the speeches at each one and then the dancing.  She could tell because his grip on her hand was less and he was beginning to slur in exhaustion, just before they went on stage for the last ball she whispered in his ear.  "Honey this is the last one and then we can go back to the White House and pass out.  Make it great."  Bill just smiles at her as they head up the steps to greet the excited people in the ballroom.

Back at the White House they make their way up to the private residence and to their bedroom, just to tired to really explore their new home.  There would be plenty of time to do that later today after they sleep.  Right now it is 3am and they are ready to drop.  Bill hadn't seen what the private bedroom looked like so when he first walked into the room he was taken aback.  Hillary just giggled at him and then turned to the secret service agent that is too stand guard outside their bedroom door.  This was not something that Hillary was all too thrilled about, she was grateful for their protection but now they were in their private bedroom and she wasn't to keen having someone outside the door being able to hear what might be going on inside.  "Carl,  do you really have to stand guard outside the bedroom door?"  The agent looked at Hillary confused.  "Yes ma'am I do, what if the President has a heart attack in the middle of the night.  I need to be ready for anything."  Hillary just shook her head.  "He is 46 years old, he isn't going to have a heart attack he is great shape."  Carl didn't know what do say. "Ma'am..."  "Carl could you just maybe head to the end of the hallway instead?"  He had thought about it for a minute and realized it wouldn't be too much for him to move to the end of the hallway.  

"Of course ma'am I can station myself at the end of the hallway."  Hillary smiled and placed her hand on his arm.  "Thank you so much Carl I really appreciate you understanding."  Carl just nodded and made his way down the hallway. 

 Hillary shut the door proud of herself, Bill was in the bathroom getting changed.  When he emerged he noticed Hillary slipping her shoes off and he was just staring at her back and that little opening on the top of her back. He came up behind her and kissed the back of her neck and Hillary softly moaned.  Bill's kisses were soft and gently she still smelled like vanilla with a hint of lavender and he couldn't stop himself.  Yes he was exhausted and ready to drop but he couldn't let this chance slip away.  His hands softly touched her arms still confined inside the beaded dress, rubbing his hands up and down hers before he moved to her shoulders and she could feel were chills.  He slowly moved to the clasp at the top and unhooked it slowly and as he did he began to trail kisses down her spine.  Hillary kept her eyes closed and her breath was getting quicker and her heart was thumping so loud.  "Hillary, you are so beautiful."  His words sang across the room like a beautiful symphony and she clenched every word as he slowly released the zipper of her dress and it slid all the way down to her lower back, and Bill kissed all the way down.  He then gently moved his long soft fingers up her back and slipped his hands under the material covering her shoulders removing the fabric down to just the top of her breasts.  

Kissing her shoulders Hillary began to pull the arm out of the material where he wasn't kissing, and then the other and now her bare arms were free.  He pulled the bodice over her growing stomach and his hands rested there for a moment, he was waiting for his son to kick but since he didn't feel anything he knew he was soundly asleep.  Bill kissed her collar bone up her neck and along her jaw line that was amplified tonight by her hair being up and the makeup that he couldn't stop staring at it or her for that matter, he now was at her ear and he whispered.  "I need you Hillary.  I need you like I need oxygen."  She could feel the blush move from her chest up into her face, no matter how many times he says those words to her she never gets over it and it makes her lose control.  Only he can do this too her, just like the very first time they ever made love.  She wasn't nervous or scared like some tend to be, she just knew he would be sweet and gentle and she relaxed into his arms.

Just like 22 years ago she was doing that now, trusting that he would be tender, sweet and gentle and she always knew he would be.  Bill moved his hands to her now perked up pink nipples only gently rubbing them with the pads of his large gentle hands that she was crazy about.  This actions almost caused her knees to buckle and then her hips to sway and she pushed her ass up against his pelvis and at that point it was harder for Bill to take his time and make this slow erotic dance continue at this pace.  "Mmm... baby if you keep moving like that this is going to end sooner than we both want."  When Bill and Hillary are alone in these moments no one in the world knows just how wild she can be and is, they just think she is this cold and reserved woman but she is anything but and the fact that Bill is the only person on the planet that gets to see it... He realizes just how lucky he is.  

He takes Hillary's hand and walks over to the bed he sits down on the edge and helps her out of the rest of the gown and she is now standing before him in just her indigo lace panties.  No matter how many times he gets to see her like this he is always awe struck by how breathless she is.  She is his goddess and he cannot get enough of her.  She reaches down and pulls his tee shirt over his head, if there is one thing she loves almost as much as her husband's hands it would be his bare chest, there have been times it has even made her animalistic.  Bill then reaches to her hips and gently slides down her lace panties and as he does he kisses her hips as she places her hand on his shoulder to slide out of them.

She places her hands on his shoulders while he has his hands rubbing her hips and she is moving them slightly and without thinking she moves her hands to his chest and pushes him back onto the bed so he is laying looking up at her.  He grins as she climbs her way on top of him, as she does she starts to kiss at his belly button and travels up to his lips.  Bill is struggling against his pajama bottoms, he knows he will not last long with her doing this and as she moves herself upward she rubs against him and he moans.  Hillary smiles and looks at him.  "My, my Mr. President you seem a bit tense."  She now wiggles on his rock hardness and he growls almost like a lion, his head was tilted back and then he pulls it forward and looks at her with pure lust in his eyes.  Truth be told she loves when he looks at her like this.  "Mrs. Clinton that is not very nice to do to your struggling husband here."  

She runs her finger nails up the insides of his arms as they are above his head and holds her face over his.  "I know... but it's so so so much fun."  He clenches his jaw and resists the urge to lift his head slightly to kiss her.  She rests her forehead on his and looks in his eyes.  "Do you need help honey?  Do you need to be unleashed?"  Bill cannot talk his breath is so rapid now, heart is beating faster than it may have ever beat he looks deep in her eyes and he just nods in the affirmative.  Hillary reaches back and slides her hand into his waist band and slowly slides his pants down and as soon as his hardness is released he squints and lets out a pleasurable sigh.  

She leans back down to his face and kisses his chin then places her finger on his lips, she slides back a bit and her ass is rubbing up directly on him and he is trying so hard to steady himself but then Hillary makes it even more difficult.  "Oh, Mr. President you certainly do have big assets."  Bill can't take it any longer he needs to be inside her, so he grabs her hips and lifts her up and places his hardness at her extremely wet opening and slowly lowers her down.  

Hillary tilts her head back when he is all the way inside and he takes his hand and slides it up in between her now growing breasts up her breast bone then her throat to the right of her neck and places his thump on her lips while his hand is stretched out.  "Baby girl, look in my eyes."  He breathlessly pleads to her, he leaves his left hand on her hip and then Hillary lowers her gaze to his eyes.  "Ride me slowly, don't think about anything just look in my eyes baby."   She does as he requested and they never break eye contact, slowly moving her hips like a rhythmic ocean... back and forth... she wanted to go faster and Bill sensed it in her.  "No, nice and slow, feel me inside you.  There is no rush."  

God his words went through her like a reverb of stereo sound, when he felt her rhythm again he took his right hand and his left and wrapped it around to grab her supple creamy ass.  His goal was to hold her position in place and then lightly thrust himself in and out at the same pace she was riding the ocean waves.  This only caused her to tighten around him, he knew she was so very close as was he but he was trying with all his might to wait until she was there on the edge of pleasure.  Her moans were enough to break anyone, so seductive, so passionate, and only he would every be the one allowed to hear them.  

She bucked a slight bit and grew tighter around him and he knew she was right there.  "Yes, yes baby girl, go ahead and release yourself."  That was it, the last thing her salutary deep southern sexy accented husband had to say.  "Oh, oh, oh, Bill... Bill..."  He took his hands off her ass and wrapped his into her hands and let her ride the rest of this wave out holding his hands, she then looked down at him to make sure he was looking at her.  Truth is how could he not this was so sexy.  "Mmmm, yes Hillary... don't stop it baby let the waves keep coming."  

He lost count after her 3rd but once he finally allowed the wave to over take him he was panting out of breath and his head was spinning.  He lifted his legs up to bend at the knees so Hillary could lay back on them while she came down from the high she was experiencing, her chest was rapidly falling up and down almost like she might be hyperventilating.  Bill propped himself up and placed his hand on her beating heart.  "Easy baby, easy, deep breath in and then out... that's it deep breath in and out."  He stayed like that for a few moments to make sure Hillary calmed her breaths.  He put his hand on the mid of her back and then he slowly moved her down on the bed and slowly and gently pulled himself out of her.  "Let me get you a glass of water sweetheart."  

He rolled out of bed and walked naked into the bathroom the cold tiles on his feet actually felt good because his whole body was on fire after that.  He came back into the room with the glass of water.  "Here baby, sit up a bit and drink this."  He was so gently with her before and during but after their love making sessions he was always so caring, he always took care of his queen after.  

He climbed back into the bed next to her his right hand on his abdomen and his left hand across his forehead.  "So Mrs. Clinton?"  He turned his head to look at her, and she was looking down at him.  "Yes."  Eyelashes batting with the mascara starting to dry a bit.  "So, what's it like to make love to the President of the United States?"  Hillary giggled and leaned down to his lips.  "It's poetic."  She kissed him and he then opened his mouth to allow her to join in a dance with their tongues.  Breaking apart finally, she places the glass of water on the night table and wiggles down so her head can rest on his chest and she can hear the sound of his heart beating.  She thinks to herself 'Told you he wouldn't have a heart attack Carl.'  Next minute she is fast asleep and Bill pulls the covers over them and he drifted away now overcome with the exhaustion.

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I absolutely loved writing this chapter, it was hard to write the love scenes between them early on in the story because I was still very nervous writing them.  I have so much respect for Bill and Hillary so to write love making scenes to me felt awkward.  I wanted to write the scenes without them being too smut (not that writing scenes like that is bad.) I felt like I could write those scenes and show how gently Bill is with her and how she relaxes herself to his touch and make you the reader feel that you were actually there in that angelic moment with them. 

I will post Part 14 either tonight or tomorrow.  Again thank you all for reading the story so far.

[readingontheedge]

Western Song

by Leigh Podgorski

Genre: Contemporary Western Romance

 Readers' Favorite Book Award Winner Bronze 2018.

 Contemporary Western Love Story about a bull riding rancher and his deceased best buddy's Thai immigrant mail order bride. As she discovers the power of freedom, he discovers he's lost his heart.

 When Weston Beaudurant’s buddy, rodeo clown Cody Goode is killed in a rodeo accident -- gored by the maniacal bull Baby Face that Weston is riding, Weston is consumed with guilt. The day after the accident, while going through Cod’s papers, lawyer Wynona Vasquez discovers that he had been secretly engaged to a Thai immigrant who is arriving by train that evening. Elected by unanimous decision to be the welcoming committee, Weston arrives at the train station prepared for anything but the lovely forlorn creature he finds waiting in the rain. Though appearing waif-like, Song Phan-Rang is anything but fragile. Her mettle quickly rises to the surface in her determination to remain in Y-oh-ming. Forced together by their circumstances, Weston and Song are explosive. Used to solitude, Weston is driven crazy by the obliging Song. But as Song shows her prowess not only as a housekeeper and cook, but as a rider and rancher as well, Weston discovers that against his best efforts (and damned if he'll ever admit it) -- he's falling in love. 

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By the time they bedded the horses at the corral, Song was shivering uncontrollably. The last half mile walk to the ranch house felt more like ten. He’d wrapped her in some blankets from the bunk house, but nothing was penetrating; she was chilled to the bone.

At the Snowy Moon ranch house, Weston helped her inside to the Great Room, settling her on the long leather couch. He laid a fire, and once lit, its warmth filled the room. He gathered the throw blankets that were tossed about the room and towels from the side bathroom.

“We have to get you out of your wet clothes,” he told her. Kneeling before her, he gently removed the blankets and his sheepskin jacket . She was still shivering so hard her teeth were chattering.

“I’m okay, Weston.”

“Okay, huh?” He slipped her sweatshirt off over her head. “Maybe okay for a penguin.” She smiled, though her smile jumped crookedly with the clattering of her teeth. “That was pretty crazy. What you did.”

“During the war, My Uncle Thieu lost everything in Vietnam. He had to sell his farm and move away. Thieu, my grandmother Hai Yen. He made some money on that sale, but did not make what it was worth because the people who bought his farm knew they could cheat him. When he got to Thailand, everybody had to work very hard to build everything up again. But especially Hai Yen because Thieu always told her it was her fault they had to leave.”

Weston took hold of her delicate hands, grasping them between his own and gently rubbing them to warm them. “Why?”

“My mother was nguoi My con gai, half white; she was the daughter of Hai Yen and an American soldier.”

“What did that have to do with having to leave?”

“Nothing. It was the war that drove them out. But Thieu used the birth of my mother to demean and shame my grandmother. He was a very shrewd man. Because of her shame, my grandmother could not work hard enough for Thieu.”

“Did you work, too?”

“Oh, yes. From the time I was very small. Thieu taught me everything about farming. This is where I learned, for example, that each thing, every animal is very, very precious.”

Weston picked up a towel and began drying her hair. “You’re still shivering.”

“It is nothing. It will stop soon.”

He rose, walked to the bar and poured some Turkey 101. He brought the glass back and handed it to her. “Remember, sip slowly.”

She took the glass and sipped. “It is much better the second time.”

“Don’t you go gettin’ too used to that stuff.” He sat back down next to her. “That soldier…your…grandfather….he was from here.”

“Yes.”

“From Wyoming.”

“Yes.”

“That was the name I saw. Gustafson. Homer Gustafson.”

Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. “I do not know…if he even is still alive…my grandmother is no longer living….and if he is…if he would have any desire to see me…”

“You’re trembling. Your clothes are soaked.” He reached for her flannel shirt to unbutton it, then, stopped himself, realizing what he was about to do. “I guess you can take care of ...”

Suddenly, he stopped. Her eyes, her enchanting almond-shaped eyes now glistening with tears held his. His hand rested lightly on the front of her flannel shirt, lying softly between her small firm rounded breasts. His desire for her, a desire he had pushed away time and again rose with the power of the wild horses he trained. “Song…” He whispered her name, his voice ragged with longing.

She reached for him, her cool elegant fingers running across his face and up into his dark hair.

He could hold back no longer. He pulled her towards him, kissing her soft pliant lips, their kiss building, their arms wrapping around each other until they tumbled backwards onto the sofa.

Song cried out softly and the hunger and the want in her cry fueled his desire for her to a fevered pitch. He kissed her again, more deeply, as if he would fill himself with her, as if he would fill all the months of loneliness, all the months he had gone without her with just one kiss.

He reached for the buttons again, she helping him, as eager as he to shed what lay between them, both working with a rising urgency until they lay together on the sofa before the roaring fire encircled in each other’s arms, finally, in each other’s arms where they would stay the night through as the wind continued to moan and thrash and the rain and hail continued to drum and they continued to make love in perfect syncopation with both the storm outside and the newly awakened storms within them. 

For a limited time, you can get the Tales From the Big Country Anthology for only 99cents!!

Tales from the Big Country is a wild west thrill ride with 13 full length Western stories brought to you by USA Today, Wall Street Journal and Amazon best-selling authors!

 **Only .99 cents!!** 

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Leigh Podgorski’s stage plays have been produced in Los Angeles, New York City and regionally. She had the privilege of interviewing Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross for her one-act play Windstorm, which was presented as part of the annual festival CelebrateWomen that Leigh also co-produced. We Are Still Here, the story of Cahuilla Indian elder Katherine Siva Saubel, was premiered at the Gene Autry Western Heritage Museum as part of CelebrateWomen 2000. The play has been presented throughout Southern California at college campuses, Universities, and Indian Reservations and Casinos. In addition to her plays, Leigh has penned several original award-winning screenplays and several of her monologues have been published through Meriwether Publishing, Ltd.. Leigh produced her first documentary, We Are Still Here, based on the play in 2007, which she also wrote and directed. The film has screened at the. American Indian Film Festival, Sherman Indian Film Festival, Cal State San Marcos Native American Film Festival, and the Talking Stick Film Festival. 

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$15 Amazon, ebook of Western Song – 1 winner each

Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!

https://www.silverdaggertours.com/sdsxx-tours/western-song-book-tour-and-giveaway 

[robertmcangusgroup]

The Daily Thistle

The Daily Thistle – News From Scotland

Saturday 2nd September 2017

"Madainn Mhath” …Fellow Scot, I hope the day brings joy to you…. The heavens are full of stars this morning, only little wisps of cloud are floating in the heavens and the weather is perfect… Bella and I, as always enjoy each others company, as most of you regular readers know… Ever since Bella joined our family, almost three years ago, we have risen early in the morning and walked the streets of Estepona together, sharing adventures and discoveries as we wander the narrow streets and alleyways, heady with the scent of Jasmine and exotic flowers, it’s funny how two totally different species can love and interact with each other so purely…  I wish the rest of us humans could get along like Bella and I….

AYRSHIRE PET SANCTUARY BOSS HAD DEAD DOGS IN FREEZER…. A woman who ran an animal refuge has been jailed for seven months after neglecting pets in her care and putting them in a freezer when they died. Zara Brown, 29, from Ayrshire Ark Refuge, failed to give the animals adequate food and water, and abandoned them in an old school with no lights. Scottish SPCA inspectors found a dead dog lying on the floor and seven others, and a cat, in a freezer. Brown was banned from keeping animals for life. Ayr Sherriff Court last week heard that Brown, who admitted the charges, charged owners to take their animals in to her care at her Ayrshire Ark refuge if they were unwell or the owners could no longer look after them. The mother-of four ran the refuge from the former St Xavier's Primary School in Patna, East Ayrshire. Some dogs were left to die in the dilapidated, remote building, while others were put in a chest freezer. The dogs were forced to clamber over mountains of rubbish, debris and building materials and had no clean areas. Last week, Brown pled guilty to neglecting eight dogs so badly she caused them unnecessary suffering, and failing to provide adequate nutrition and water for them.

RIVER CLYDE BANKS SHOW SIGNS OF COLLAPSE AFTER WEIR FAILS….. The banks of part of the River Clyde in Glasgow are showing signs of collapse after the gates on a weir jammed, causing water levels to drop. The banks are usually held up by the pressure of the water. George Parsonage, of the Glasgow Humane Society, said roads and pathways had cracked on the southern bank after the incident on Tuesday. Glasgow City Council advised the public to stay away from both banks near the weir which is east of Albert Bridge. Mr Parsonage said: "I've never seen it this bad in my life. "There must be £100,000 worth of damage. "Fortunately there has been no damage to property or people."

COUNCIL FINED £10,000 OVER WORKER'S LADDER FALL IN BATHGATE…. West Lothian Council has been fined £10,000 for health and safety failings which left a worker with severe injuries. The local authority pleaded guilty to a single charge under the Work at Height Regulations 2005 at Livingston Sheriff Court. The court heard on 9 July 2013 a painter for the council was painting external window frames in Bathgate. The ladder he was on slid away from the wall and he fell more than four metres. The council has since overhauled its system for working at height. The painter suffered serious injuries to his left hip and leg and eight fractures to his knee. The court was told an alloy tower or podium steps should have been used given the level of risk involved and the duration for which employees were expected to use the equipment. The court also heard ladder mates, designed to stop the ladder slipping, and a limpet device to prevent lateral movement had not been supplied. The council accepted it failed to properly plan and supervise the work. The council has revised its system for working at height since the incident and developed a new working at height risk assessment template.

KEZIA DUGDALE QUITS AS SCOTTISH LABOUR LEADER…. Kezia Dugdale has resigned as leader of Scottish Labour, saying it is time to "pass on the baton" to someone else. The Lothians MSP has previously criticised UK leader Jeremy Corbyn, and has faced criticism from left-wing members of her own party. She insisted she was leaving the party in a much better state than she had found it. But she said a new leader was needed with "fresh energy, drive and a new mandate". Ms Dugdale is the third Scottish Labour leader to have resigned since the 2014 independence referendum, with predecessors Johann Lamont and Jim Murphy both having stood down. She said she wanted to give her successor the "space and time" to prepare for the next Scottish Parliament election in 2021.

SIR CHRIS HOY APOLOGISES FOR LYCRA CRITICISM…. Cyclist Sir Chris Hoy has apologised for saying Lycra looked "awful" on anyone weighing more than 8st (49kg). The six-time Olympic gold medallist took to Twitter to say he was "really sorry" for the comment, which he described as "tongue-in-cheek" It followed a GQ article in which he said amateur cyclists did not have to pull on a pair of tight-fitting shorts to look good. That led to criticism that he was "body shaming" larger cyclists. In his article, Sir Chris said Lycra was not the most elegant material and that professional cycling gear generally looked bad on anyone heavier than 8st. He also said the desire of so-called "mamils" - middle-aged men in Lycra - to be seen in the latest high-performance Team Sky cycling kit all too often led to ridiculous results. "Personally, I feel sorry for mamils," he wrote. "When they walk into a cafe dressed head-to-toe in Lycra, you always spot people sniggering at them."

On that note I will say that I hope you have enjoyed the news from Scotland today,

Our look at Scotland today is of “Mamil’s” bike.. he’s in the all you can eat restaurant round the corner…..in Sauchiehall Street ....

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Saturday 2nd September 2017 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming Jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00 am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in

Be safe out there…

Robert McAngus