#i lit cannot afford any of these tickets

[luxevamp]

guys i don’t know if i can do this

just looked up ticket prices for tampa somebody kill me

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summary: It’s the late summer of 2004. You are set to travel across the country for university and your best friend Tom is staying behind. You spend your last night together before you leave. 

Themes: Friends to lovers, love confessions, first love. 

Warnings: Drinking beer. One mention of smoking weed. Mentions of parents fighting and also implied neglectful parents. Smut (+18), two spanks?? otherwise pretty tame.  

Word count: 3,4 k

Notes: I don’t know, this might be a bit different? Or it might just feel that way to me. It’s very reminiscent of teenage years and first love and nostalgia. Please let me know your thoughts, I’m genuinely not sure what to think about this one. 

Massive thank you to @augustholland​ who read through it and very kindly reassured me that it wasn’t bad 💖

Also, this fic was inspired by the Phoebe Bridgers song. I’ve never actually listened to it but it keeps showing up in my recommendation and i like the title of it so this is what i imagine that song is about. Mostly I listened to Harry Styles - Fine Line while writing this.

You finish up early that afternoon. Wayne, your old boss, tries not to cry as he hugs you goodbye. He tells you to take care in a gravelly voice close to breaking, as he avoids looking at you. It’s your last shift in the greasy bar, where for the last two years you’ve been selling cheap beer and watered down whiskey to weary old men and rowdy students who come in for a game of pool. It hasn’t paid much, just a few pounds an hour; just enough so that on each thursday you and Tom have enough money for movie tickets at the local cinema. It’s your tradition. Like a religious man goes to church each sunday; you spend your thursday nights with Tom’s arm slung around your shoulders, watching whatever new film they have on, sharing a bowl of popcorn between you. Afterwards you'll have burgers at the fast food joint across the street; talking about the movie long into the night, sharing a bag of fries. 

When you were younger and hadn’t been able to afford to pay Tom had sneaked you both into the cinema anyway.  Your hand in his, he had led the way into the movie theatre when no one was looking. Sitting in the back row he’d sneak you Fruit Polos to snack on, his arm slung around your shoulders, as you watched movies you were way too young for.

Last week was your final movie screening; some light-hearted American comedy, and the entire way through it you fought the lump in your throat, forcing yourself not to cry. Tom hadn’t laughed either; had just held you closer than usual. 

Tomorrow you are set to leave the small seaside town behind you, the place where you have spent most of your life, for a drive all across the country; to start university in a city you’ve only visited once before. You’re not sure when you’ll return.

Thus lately everything has been laced with goodbyes; childhood having reached its end.

Just two days ago there had been the last bonfire where you had watched the Holland boys fight each other while playing football as his parents looked on and laughed, grilling sausages over the open fire. 

It was on the same rocky beach where you have spent many summer days; grilling food on the open fire and throwing back cheap beer with your friends from school. You have scraped your knees on these rocks, burned your skin from both the bonfire and the sun there; have had your heart broken over and over and over again during your school years as you watched Tom kiss whatever girl he was dating at the time by the fire during summer night parties.

Maybe you had broken his heart a few times as well. 

As the afternoon light turns everything golden you drive through the main street in the small town where  everyone knows everybody, and has done for generations. You watch the people as you drive them by. You know everyone’s name, know each crack in the pavement; can find your way home in the dark. 

God knows how many shoes you’ve worn out over the years walking down these streets. 

The radio plays a blink-182 song you know by heart as you follow the road out of the city, through the woods and up to the coast. At the end of a muddy track, on the border to the forest, stands a shabby old caravan. It faces the beach and above the door christmas lights are lit up all year round. 

The Holland family legend says that Tom’s great uncle had won the small patch of land in a bet. Unable to build a large house he had bought a caravan and put it on the lot. The old man had lived in the Shed for the rest of his lifetime, before passing it on to Tom; the youngster of the family, his younger brothers having yet to be born. When he had turned seventeen he moved out of his parents larger, more comfortable house, and into the Shed. His mother had agreed on it on the condition he took on the apprenticeship to become a carpenter that he had been offered. 

You remember when he had told you of his decided future, one late evening as you sat on the driftwood by the beach, smoking weed and watching the sun set over the horizon. It had felt right somehow, you had been able to  imagine him working with his hands, skillfully forming and bending wood to his will; his long and slender fingers knowing just how to fix things. Tom has always been good at mending things. It had been three years now and he was a full time employee at the JBT Carpentry Services. He says it doesn’t pay much, but he’s happy; and that's all that matters.

As you park the car outside the Shed Tom comes out. Standing under the colorful christmas lights he grins widely as he sees you, his eyes crinkling at the sides. The most genuine smile you know. He’s tanned from a summer spent on the beach, his hair a wavy mess; as if he’d just woken up from sleep. It’s a warm august day and the world seems sunbleached somehow; but in the afternoon light Tom looks golden. 

You are painfully aware that it is the last time you’ll see him like this for many months to come.

Walking up to him and he gives you a bear-hug; his warm, hard body pressed against yours, holding onto you tightly. With your face in the crook of his neck you breathe him in and discover that a faint trace of bonfire smoke still lingers on his skin. It all feels achingly familiar and safe. So heartrendingly unlike the uncertain life at university that lies in front of you.

Tom is your safe place.

Your parents had always fought like cat and dog and sometimes when you were younger and  they’d argue you’d climb through your window and walk all the way over to the Holland household. You were always welcomed there and his parents didn’t ask any questions, no matter how late the hour; instead they fed you, treating you like a member of the family around the dining table with gentle teasing and reminders of homework that needed to be done, letting you sleep over when needed. No questions asked. 

With the years the fighting at home got worse. When Tom fixed himself a beat-up old Land Rover and moved out to the Shed you’d call him from the payphone down the road. He’d always answer, telling you to pack up; and that he was on his way. He’d pick you up by the end of the street, a duffle bag with schoolbooks and a change of clothes slung over your shoulder. He’d take you back to his place to sleep. His caravan only had one bed, so you used to curl up next to each other in bed. On the nights when you were crying he’d hold you, and in the morning he’d make you breakfast before you both went off to school. 

Your parents never noticed your temporary absence. 

Tom lets go of the hug, but with an arm around your waist he leads you into his home. There’s a lingering scent of fried food in the air and the boombox is playing the 3 Doors down CD he’s been obsessed with since you bought it for his birthday. You tread the cherry wood veneered flooring with your battered tennis shoes, feeling more at home here than anywhere else on earth.

 “Fancy a beer?” Tom asks, leading the way to the kitchen area. “Warn you though, it's warm. Just got back from the store so they haven’t had time to cool”.

Everything is warm today, and the caravan is no exception. The ancient AC had given in years ago and Tom could never afford having it fixed. You heave yourself up on the countertop, replying a simple “sure” to his question. 

He opens a Stella and hands it to you. He isn’t wrong, the beer is tepid. Yet you drown half the bottle in one big swig; happy just to have something to do with your hands when he’s standing so close to you. Gulping down on the liquid and you cannot help but notice Tom’s eyes on your throat as you swallow. He opens a bottle for himself and takes a swig. 

You smile at the ancient gray t-shirt he’s wearing. At one point there had been a band logo on it, but it has long since been washed out. He notices you smiling at him and as if it's infectious a smile broadens on his face as well. “What?” he asks, leaning against the small counter across from you.

“Nothing” you say, smiling wider. “Just wondered how many times I’ve seen you in that shirt. I mean, it has to be near a couple of thousand times by now”.

“You don't exactly love buying new clothes either” he says, a teasing smile playing at his lips as he looks at your washed out jeans shorts. “I know for a fact that those aren’t new, darling”. His eyes linger on your legs for a moment too long before he looks away, taking a swig from his beer. 

“So, when are you leaving?” He asks, and you can tell that he’s trying to sound relaxed, but leaned against the countertop, his arms crossed in front of him, head bowed; holding onto the bottle of Stella he’s nursing with a tight grip. He looks tense and on edge. 

“Tomorrow morning”

He takes a swig from his beer. There’s nothing more to say, not really. Everything that happens now is just aftermath; you might as well have already left. 

“I’m nervous” you admit, biting your lip, trying hard not to et out the tears you’ve been holding in for days now; embarrassed that your voice trembles on the last word. 

His head snaps up to look at you. Pushing off the counter he takes a step forward, placing himself in between your legs. 

“Hey” he says, with a voice a low and gentle as a whisper, his hand cupping your cheek. You look up at him; long dark eyelashes framing his beautiful brown eyes, his thin lips slightly parted and across his nose freckles are spread out, the result from a summer spent in the sun. His calloused hand strokes your cheek. “You’re going to take them by storm, Pebbles”.

You smile, despite your fluttering heart. He hasn’t called you Pebbles for a long time. It had been his nickname for you when you first became friends, the reason behind it long forgotten. He was the only one to ever call you it, and the name had lingered long into your late teenage years. 

“You took me by storm,” he admits. 

You blink up at him through wet eyelashes. Your family had moved to the town when you were ten years old. This was the kind of small town that strangers seldom came to and inhabitants rarely left; and so the new addition to the small local school had everyone talking. You had felt like an astronaut shuffled into space on your first day, trying to find gravity in the unfamiliar school corridors. You had felt the pull of gravity in form of the brown-eyed boy sitting next to you in english class. He had given you a warm smile as you sat down next to him. He had made you his friend, listened to you and confided in you; had made you laugh until your stomach ached. You found further gravity in his home; surrounded by his family and their endless squabbles and laughter, sitting next to Tom at the dinner table.

It hadn’t taken long before you and Tom were an inseparable item; your names always linked to one another in the mouths of others. 

“You’ve worked so hard for this scholarship” he says, and the corners of his mouth tugs up into a smile, “I mean, I’m pretty certain you’re the only reason I even finished school”.

You had helped him write most of his essays at school. He’d struggled with reading a lot and found the assigned novels difficult. There were evenings where you’d spend hours laying on the bed; twisting the phone cord between your fingers, as you read the books out loud for him. 

Sometimes, in order to be left alone from his parents and younger brothers, he’d walk down to the end of the street and to the payphone there, where he’d spend all his pennies listening to you reading. You had talked and talked until your voice got hoarse; until he ran out of pennies. Yet when he hung up you always felt a tug of longing in your chest, knowing you wouldn’t be able to see him until the next day in school. 

“Well,  I heard you’re doing pretty good as a carpenter” you say, smiling up at him. “I always knew you’d be good with your hands”. 

As soon as you’ve said it you can feel your face heat up. You had heard the rumours at school; Tom Holland is a stellar fuck. Once, while you were in the bathroom stall, you had heard a gang of girls discuss it as they reapplied their lipgloss in the mirror. One of them told the story of her one night stand with Tom, how he had made her come several times over with his hands and mouth; how he’d fucked her so long and so good. You had stood in the stall, your heart in your throat; feeling sick to your stomach, but unable to stop listening.

There were girls that reached out to you in school, knowing you were Tom’s closest friend, and asked you in hushed but awed voices if it was true. If he really that good in bed.

He looks you dead in the eye, an unusual seriousness to his warm eyes. He knows what you’re thinking, knows what thoughts have made your cheeks flush with colour. Letting go of your cheek he places his arms on either side of you on the counter; caging you in. 

“There’s never been anyone but you, Pebbles. Not really.” His tone is heavy with meaning and you feel light-headed; both oddly detached from your own body and painfully aware of the closeness of his. Your heart is beating hard in your chest. 

This is a line you’ve never crossed before. 

“I know I’m ruining everything by saying this, but you’re leaving tomorrow and I’ve been walking around with this secret lodged in my chest like a bullet since i was ten years old; I love you, Pebbles. I’ve always have”.

You should speak. You should tell him that you’ve known for a long time how he’s felt. That it’s been evident in the way his eyes keep lingering on your legs, in the way his arm usually finds its way to rest around your waist. In the way he’s always been there for you. You should tell him that you understand why he hasn’t been able to voice his feelings for you; because you haven’t done it either. Too scared of losing him. But your breath has caught in your throat and all you can focus on is those caramel eyes on you, and how hard your heart is beating in your chest.

“I love you too” you say, voice hardly louder than a whisper. You swear there was music coming from the boom box but all you can hear is the blood rushing through your body. 

He kisses you.

He takes your mouth slowly, kissing you thoroughly until you can’t think straight; can’t remember any other kiss than his. Then his lips move over yours with more fervour; more urgency, one hand around your throat and the other tangled in your hair. He kisses you until you're both moaning and gasping for more. 

This is it. You’ve crossed the invisible line between friends and lovers; and there is no return, no going back from here. When you leave tomorrow you will leave knowing what his mouth feels like pressed against your.

You dig your hands into his soft hair, runs them both up his chest, realising that this is what your hands were made for. He lifts you off the counter and you wrap your legs around his waist. He moves you both across the caravan and into the bedroom. It’s baking hot in there and you can already feel sweat forming at the low end of your back. The room, just big enough for a bed to fit, is lit up with sunlight. His bed is a mess of rumpled white sheets and the walls are the same cherry wood colour as the rest of the caravan. 

You kiss and lick his jaw, his neck, his throat; anywhere you can reach you stroke him. You tug at his hair, kiss his soft lips, and nib at his ear. It’s like the gates have been opened, because even though his arm has always been a comforting presence around your waist; and even though you’ve slept in the same bed more times than you can count, his body curled up next to yours, forming himself like a question mark around your body; he’s never been yours to touch before. Not like this.

His breathing is accelerated, his chest rising and falling in rapid speed, and so is yours. There’s a heat to his eyes that tells you he’s just as turned on as you are. You pull at his shirt before he’s even laid you down on the bed; impatiently craving all his warm, suntanned skin pressed against yours. It’s an almost feverish frenzy, and in the back of your mind you know that you should take this slow. You don’t want this to end too soon, because this might be all you get. But the sun hasn’t even set yet and through the old white-washed curtains you helped put up and light shines through, bathing you both sunshine. 

Outside the waves keep crashing against the shore and in the kitchen his boombox keeps playing songs you’ve heard a million times before. It is like it always has been at Tom’s, except that for laying on his sofa and talking he’s removing your clothes; kissing his way down your body. Wet, opened mouth kisses that leave a trail of heat in its wake that have you bucking your hips up for more. His hands are everywhere, exploring your legs. He’s looking at your skin with wide-eyes adoration. With his body in between your wide spread legs he kisses the soft inside of your thighs. 

“So soft” he groans against your skin, “and so sweet”.

You feel overheated and breathless; aching all over from wanting him. Perched up on your elbows you observe him; his dark hair brushing against the low of your stomach as he kisses the tender skin of your hip bone. He bares his teeth and bites the sensitive flesh. 

His hand cups your cunt. You’re wet and aching and as you presses his thumb to your clit, gently but steadily moving up and down, you feel like you’re going to combust. His strokes are soft at first, before speeding up, making you moan wantonly, spreading your legs wider for him.

“Glad you like that,” he says, a satisfied smile spreading on his face. “Do my fingers feel good on you, darling?”

All you can do is moan in response, arching and moving your hips up to meet his hand. His movements are fast and slippery and it doesn’t take long until your close, so close, so close; on the brink of tipping over and then - 

A sharp slap on your pussy, leaving a stinging bite, and it is like the world splits into two. 

“God” you moan, voice hoarse. You’re shuddering all over; moanes falling freely from your lips. 

He looks up at you from his position in between your legs, his dark eyes sparkling. He kisses the soft inside of your thighs again. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you here?” he asks. “I bet you do, torturing me for fun in those short jeans shorts”. He spanks your pussy again and you couldn’t have stopped the moan falling from your lips even if you tried. “How long I’ve wanted to taste you here?”. And he places a hot kiss on your wet slit. You can feel his soft hair pressed against your thighs; his warm breath against your skin.

His lips part and he covers you with his mouth, his tongue moving over your opening; touching you, stroking you, tasting you. A guttural moan leaves him. He looks up at you through tassels of hair, caramel eyes glued to your face.

You fall back against the mattress, “more” you demand, in a voice that sounds a lot like begging. “Please, more”.

It is as if he’s been unleashed. You have never felt anything like it, but he laps you up, tastes you; his fingers moving inside you; pressing against the place that has you seeing stars. You can’t even look at him now, you’re eyes shut; too overwhelmed by the stimulation. Both aching for more but not sure if your body can handle that kind of pleasure. Your thighs are shaking, and something in your stomach grows tighter and tighter by each flick of his tongue against your clit.

“I’m coming” you cry out breathlessly “fuck I’m coming”

And you do. Hard. He keeps kissing and touching you through it; both grounding you and dragging out the intense sensation. 

His hands, now familiar with your thighs, make their way up to the soft swell of your breasts, as you struggle to regain your breath. He’s cupping them in his hands, pinching your nipples in between his fingers, kissing them with ferveor. Hungry hands move over your breasts, your stomach, your face; cupping it so that he can kiss you with the sort of yearning that comes from years of unanswered desire. 

Your hands move over his body as well, moving over his abdomen chest and arms, defined from long hours of hard work. You kiss his throat and collarbones, kissing at the skin; licking, sucking and biting until you hear guttural moans coming from his throat. His lips are slightly parted, and his glossy dark eyes are fixed on your face; his fingers loosely tangled in your hair. 

He presses you down onto the mattress again, until he’s face to face; his arms on each side of your face, holding himself over you.

“You sure?” he asks, voice hoarse, panting slightly. 

“I want this” you answer him, voice low but clear, “I really, really want this Tom”

He smiles, breathing out the breath he’d been holding and moves away from you, reaching for the side of his bed and to take out a condom from the drawer. 

He places a quick kiss to your lips, your cheek, your belly button, before he sits up. He removes his underwear and you can feel your face heat up again. Because this is Tom, your Tom, whom you’ve been in love with for half your life. But being with him, both naked as the day you were born, feels right. You know everything about this man, all his preferences and secrets; his favourite movie and how he likes his food and why he skipped class every day for a month in year nine. And he knows everything about you. It feels right that he should know this as well; know each curve of your body and the way you like to be kissed and what has you moaning and begging for more. 

He unwraps the foil package and puts the condom on with firm fingers. Leaning over you again he lines up against your opening. His eyes glossy with lust, damp hair falling over his face; his mouth swollen and wet from kissing you.

Then with a sharp thrust and a groan he’s inside you. 

All coherent thoughts go out the window as he starts moving in and out of you. The only thing that exists is his strong, sweaty body above you, moving in and out of you with slow, deep thrusts. He’s so hard where you are soft and you can’t stop touching him, dragging your fingers over his back, pulling at his hair, kissing his arms. It’s like the wires in your brain have crossed, sending out sparks of pure pleasure in your body. 

He hits a particularly tender spot inside you and the groan that leaves you is almost animalistic.

Tom nearly halters in his pace, before collecting himself again. “Fuck” he moans out, kissing your neck. His movements become more frenzied and you roll your hips under him, meeting his movements; trying to get him deeper inside you. 

He pushes himself up onto his hands, pulls back slightly; and pushes in. Starting to really fuck you. 

You can’t stop looking up at him; naked body damp with sweat, muscles moving as he works; arms flexed and cheeks flushed. His eyes are closed pleasure now. Your hands are on his hips helping him set the pace as he fucks into you with fast, hard thrusts. Without warning you clutch around him in pleasure and he groans loudly.

“How the fuck does your cunt feel better than it tastes?” he asks, panting for air. “

He presses a hand over your heart, letting it rest there. You wonder if he can feel it pounding for him. You feel like you’re dissolving into a thousand tiny pieces as you come around him with a choked scream. 

He’s so close and you can practically feel it; aching for him to have it. You want him to come; in you, on you, over you. 

And then he does, his brows furrows; like the pleasure is so intense it hurts him. The sounds he makes when he comes are guttural; almost whimpering. 

As he falls down on the bed beside you he pulls you close, has you pressed against his body, an arm firmly wrapped around you. The sun has set now, but the ocean waves still crash onto the shore, the sound of it the only thing to fill the silence part from your laboured breathing; the music having gone quiet in the other room. 

Neither one of you say anything. You knew the end to this when he kissed you. You’ve regretted nothing that has happened here, and you know that he doesn’t either; but tomorrow you are leaving to drive all the way across the country and he cannot follow. You don’t know what will happen now, and he doesn't have the answer to that either. And so you just let him hold you; wishing with all your might that you could stop the morning from coming.

***

Please let me know your thoughts, genuinely don’t know what to make of this one. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Letter 13: 🦇 Legendary 🦇

A letter arrives in the mail. The paper it is written on is fragile, stained with the passage of time and a giving off a musty odor. Tightly knit script resembling calligraphy floats across each line. The letter seems relatively normal, if not ancient—were it not for the suspicious red blotch in the bottom righthand cornor... until you bring the paper to your nose and catch the distinctly sweet, fresh aroma of tomato juice.

A strange talisman comes with the letter. It’s a strange mishmash of string, cloth, feathers, and small gemstones. In truth, it looks more like an object used to cursed someone rather than an object to ward off evil. The only reason you can tell what it is is because of a small card attached to it describing its origins. It seems to be a souvenier from a distant country in Twisted Wonderland.

***Chapter 2, 4, and 5 spoilers!***

Salutations, Ramshackle Youth.

You are the one Malleus calls his friend, are you not? The one that resides in that decrepit dorm on the edge of campus. I hope that this letter finds you well. After all~ Any friend of Malleus’s is a friend of mine.

If I recall correctly, you have been looking out for him since day 1. It was you and your Heartslabyul friends that uncovered the stampede plot and warned us of it. Because of that, we were able to secure the area and ensure the safety of our prince. To think that a human without magic went out of their way to protect a powerful fairy prince... Now that is unlike anything I have ever witnessed in my entire lifespan.

I am told that you also keep Malleus company on long, lonely nights. Sharing both walks and conversation by midnight. That is a luxury that Malleus cannot often afford. Many are too terrified of his power or beholden to the gap in their social standing to dare approach him. He often sulks and pouts abput it, you know. Despite how he looks, he can have his moments of weakness as well. How wonderful that you seem to recognize that.

I became curious to scope out just what kind of person is able to so easily befriend Malleus. A gallant, selfless soul that looks past appearances and titles... It is an archetype that often appears in the storybooks and legends, but seldom seen in real life. People—humans, fae—can be twisted creatures. Morals grey, dubious. Not always with the best of intentions in mind. I would know. I have witnessed much of their cruelty in my time—and so, I held a some amount of caution as I approached Ramshackle dorm, Malleus’s holiday card in hand.

Perhaps my worries were for nothing. You seemed genuinely surprised that Malleus regarded you as a close companion. There was no scheme in mind to take advantage of his prestige—it was evident in your eyes, the way they lit up when I presented his card to you. I realized... you care every bit for Malleus as much as we in Diasomnia do. (You cannot forgive a guardian like myself for fretting over his “children”, can you?)

It appears that you, too, have become comfortable with calling Malleus your friend. He is, sadly, used to being forgotten. A footnote in the margins at best, the one always left out of events and gatherings. It was you that remembered him, and offered an outstreched hand.

You should have seen the smile upon his face when he spoke of your invitation to VDC. He treated those tickets you gifted him like precious gems, and insisted that we all attend the perfotmance. And what a stellar performance it was. It is a shame that I was not able to join you, but... I am happy to see Malleus happy as well. That sight is every bit as dazzling as the dances set upon that stage.

Malleus is grown by now. I trust that he knows what he is doing when he decided to call you his friend. I will not interfere with his relations—I shall bolster them. Indeed, it would do him some good to socialize more rather than be sad and mopey in his chambers.

In the stories, they often tell tales of knights slaying fearsome dragons. They are tales as old as time itself, even back in my day. But... if you were those knights, I feel that you would flip the script and befriend the dragons instead. It is, perhaps, not the expected outcome, but one that will still go down in the history books—an accomplishment for the ages, a feat of great bravery.

... Surely, you have it within you to become something truly legendary.

Come drop by Diasomnia for dinner sometime! I’ll introduce you to the whole family—and I would be more than happy to cook a lovely meal for you.

Cordially,

🦇 Lilia Vanrouge 🦇

[jokertrap-ran]

(未定事件簿) EVENT!「异乡行歌·上篇」 [Tears of Themis] EVENT: Romantic Rail Getaway- Later Half Translations (Mo Yi’s Route)

Day 1: The Old Town of Lange― The Charm of the Hometown of Grapes (兰格老城区: 葡乡的魅力)

*Tears of Themis Masterlist / Mobile Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *The tracking tag for ALL Event Stories will go under: #Tears of an Event

Location: Cultural Salon

Salon Speaker: In lieu of the progress and development of Technology, the fully automated factory assembly line used to produce wine now reached full maturity.

Salon Speaker: People no longer have to worry about the instability of the wine, that would tarnish the quality of the end product, when doing manual brewing.

Salon Speaker: Of course, there are also certain regions that put emphasis on doing it the traditional way and have continued doing so manually.

Salon Speaker: Alas, we cannot afford to leave out Barosco— The famed Country of Wine.

……

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

The speaker’s comedic style of presentation made everyone listen in with apt interest at the “Barosco Wine Culture” talk.

The 2-hour lecture wasn’t lengthy at all. In fact, it actually made people even more interested in the remote Country of Wine.

I was still enamoured by the scent of wine even after the place had emptied out after the talk, unable to snap back to my senses from the trance I had fallen under.

MC: The Country of wine…? I wonder if even the air will carry the fragrance of wine…?

Mo Yi: Are you interested in Barosco?

MC: Yeah. I happened to see a travel guide for Barosco just the other day!

MC: It mentioned a couple of other popular attractions alongside a Railway Tour about Wine Culture, which I find particularly interesting!

In fact, the main purpose why I’d come down to this talk was to learn more about Barosco.

The small Country famous for its Wine Culture had a pleasant climate and boasted beautiful sceneries that made people yearn to see it with their own eyes.

Mo Yi: It’s always better to witness it with one’s own eyes and hear it with one’s own ears. It’ll be best for you to simply go there and experience it for yourself.

MC: Oh?

It was clearly a simple sentence, no matter how you looked at it; but for some reason or another, it really resonated with my heart.

He’s right. I can definitely experience a different sort of beauty from Stellis City over there in Barosco, right?

Plus, I’ve not been too busy lately, so it’ll be no problem at all to just take a couple days of annual leave and go have fun elsewhere.

Mo Yi: (Y/n), do you want to go to Barosco with me?

Mo Yi: Maybe we can go experience the newly opened Railway Train Route together?

MC: You want to go too?

I realized something fatal the moment the words left my mouth. Doesn’t this mean that I’ve technically sold my heart to the idea!?

Mo Yi: I’ve been there a couple of times before. And I’m also relatively familiar with Barosco myself.

Mo Yi: Besides, I’ve been on Spring Vacation lately, so I have plenty of time to spare.

Mo Yi: I wish to accompany you on this trip and be your tour guide, if you don’t mind.

His golden eyes were coloured with expectation, making me unable to refuse him.

MC: I want to go with you too.

Mo Yi: Great. It’s about time you relax a little after having worked so hard for so long.

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Thus, that was how we decided to go on a trip together.

Everything all the way from booking to departure went smoothly without a hitch. And soon, we started our journey to the Country of Wine...

☆⋅⋆…⋅─────────── ⋆⋅✾⋅⋆ ───────────⋅…⋆⋅☆  

Location: Railway Tour's Starting Station

MC: The Travel Brochure’s so detailed! It introduces the name, type, taste and quality of all the wines in here.

MC: Oo? They even have grapevine planting methods written in this thing…!

I passed the time by reading the Travel Brochure that we’d been handed after passing the customs while waiting for the train to arrive at the Station.

I didn’t expect the brochure to contain not only information about the various scenery spots, but also records that detail the many varieties of local speciality wines.

Simply put, it was literally a small wine encyclopaedia.

Mo Yi: Looks like the locals here are very proud and confident in the wine that’s MC: Yeah. It feels like they’re broadcasting to the world: “Come taste my wine!”.

While we were happily chatting, a member of the staff pushed a trolly past the platform, parking it in a vacant area nearby.

Staff: Dear tourists, come try some fresh handmade wine free of charge!

Staff: Please show your ticket to enjoy this surprise that our Station has specially prepared for you!

Staff: A special reminder that this only applies for adult tourists! Minors are not allowed to drink alcohol!

MC: Looks like we’ve struck the jackpot, Dr. Mo! We have a taste of Barosco wine before we’re even there!

There were many tourists in the Station, but thankfully, there were staff members around to help guide everyone in an orderly fashion.

It didn’t take long before Mo Yi and I both got our share of the goods.

I took a sip in anticipation. The taste of the liquor instantly lingered between my lips and tongue, the complex and rich aroma spreading throughout my palate.

Mo Yi: How’s the taste of Barosco’s handmade wine? Is it anything like you imagined it to be?

Mo Yi swirled his wineglass but didn’t seem interested in taking a drink out of it. Rather, he appeared much more interested in my evaluation of said wine after having just tasted it myself.

MC: It tastes...

▷Choice: Nicer

MC: I think it tastes nicer than any wine I’ve drunk before.

I tried to remember the wine-tasting terms of description that I’d learned back in the Wine Culture Salon back then.

MC: It tastes refreshing, mellow, and smooth… And what else…? Never mind, I can’t think of any more terms to describe it.

MC: In any case, it’s delicious.

Mo Yi: Looks like the wine here is actually pretty good.

MC: Yeah! I’m thinking of bringing a couple of bottles of their Speciality Wine back to Stellis City!

Mo Yi: The trip hasn’t even started yet. Who knows, you might find other local specialities you want to bring back during the trip itself.

MC: Yup! I’ll have to rely on you to lug the rest of the stuff back if it ever comes down to that!

Perhaps the way I spoke with such confidence had amused him, for his eyes were brightly lit with a smile.

Mo Yi: Of course.

▷Choice: Not very different

MC: In all honesty… It doesn’t seem all that different from the wines I’ve drunk before...

It was as delicious as it came, but if I were to describe just how good it was, I’m afraid that’s something way out of my field.

I struggled for a while, trying to find a way to best describe it; only to settle for the plain hard truth moments after.

MC: Well, I guess I don’t have what it takes to be a wine connoisseur.

Mo Yi: It’s not your fault.

Mo Yi: It’s just wine that the Station’s providing the tourists here to taste-test. There are really no other outstanding traits to it other than it being easy to drink.

MC: Heh… The staff will definitely get mad if they heard you say that.

Mo Yi: Well, you’re the only one I plan on telling.

Mo Yi: You’ll have to go to a special local winery if you want to taste fine wine… We should be getting to one in a couple of days.

MC: Yeah! That’s just one more thing to anticipate!

Mo Yi: Alright, it’s about time for us to board.

Mo Yi: I have a feeling that this is going to be one beautiful and extraordinary journey.

MC: Yeah, me too!

With the delicious food, beautiful sceneries to admire, and the company of Dr. Mo added along to the fray, this was turning out to be an extremely exciting trip!

☆⋅⋆…⋅───── ⋆⋅ Romantic Rail Getaway⋅⋆ ────⋅…⋆⋅☆

Next Part: (Day 1: The Old Town of Lange― Lange’s Commercial Street)

[daydream-believin]

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (kmart’s haunted)

Summary: (part 1) Reader has joined Douxie on the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company. (part 2) - Missouri 1     (part 3)

Warnings: swearing, very light spooky?

Word Count: 2245

A/N: so we’ve established that Doux wasn’t the one who burnt the bookstore, but they don’t know that. look, have you been in a Kmart recently? its apocalyptic. also, you know that post about people repeating their default work greetings by accident? yeah

“Do you want me to split the bill or?” The waitress asked, not sure if the group at the table was a young couple and their child or just three college kids hanging out. It was kind of hard to tell. On one hand, that one kid was so small, wearing a little deer costume, and had been helped to order. The other two radiated the energy of an old married couple and talked mainly to each other. But on the other hand, college kids are just like that sometimes.

“Nah, I got it.”

“What? No. I’m paying for us.” Douxie insisted.

“I have the cash, Doux.” (Name) turned to the waitress. She put some honey in her voice. “Just bring us one bill, please.” The waitress nodded nervously before heading off.

“No. I don’t want you paying for too many things while we’re traveling. You’re unemployed.”

“And who’s fault is that Mr. Mephits-Are-Vulnerable-To-Fire? You fucking burned down the store and put us both out of work here.” Nari was squirming at the negative vibes going on. It helped that she didn’t exactly understand what was going on.

“It was magic fire!” Douxie interjected in outrage. He looked so cute when he got defensive.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” (Name) shook her head, looking up to the ceiling. She let out a huff, “look, I invited myself onto this trip, Douxie. I want to pull my own weight. You’re going to have to let me pay for something eventually.”

“We’ll see about that, Love,” he said as he grabbed the ticket from the waitress’s hands as quick as lightning, tucked his card in and gave it right back before (Name) could further protest.

“Ugh! FINE! Then I’m getting the tip.” She pulled out a tenner and slapped it onto the table. She glared right back into Douxie’s hazel eyes. He glared right back into hers with a matched intensity. Nari looked back and forth between the two and whimpered. (Name) broke the standoff to assure Nari that they weren’t actually angry at each other so she shouldn’t be worried. That seemed to ease the forest child a bit but not by too much. She could still feel the weird aura they were putting off.

“Okay! So here’s your check back and here’s that lox bagel you ordered to go.” The waitress handed (Name) a doggy bag.

(Name) took the bag gingerly. A big fake smile spread across her face as she was momentarily possessed by that good spirit of customer service. “Thank you! I hope your experience was spellbinding! Have a magical day!” (Name) said on autopilot in that high-pitched voice and winked exaggeratedly. It was like she was an NPC and her talk button had been accidentally pushed. The waitress laughed forcibly and scurried away to the kitchen. Douxie cracked up.

“You do know that when I told you to say all that stuff after ringing people up, I was hazing you, right?”

“Oh yes, I am completely aware, Doux. Did you think I’d not pick up on how ridiculous that sounds? But I still say it to spite you.”

He shook his head. “Of course.”

***

Archie scarfed down his bagel sandwich with almost disturbing speed. It was like watching the void consume, well, a bagel sandwich. It just disappeared. Down his furry maw and out of existence. Being a dragon works up an appetite, after all. (Name) was a bit baffled and asked him if she should go get him another bagel. He assured her that the one was just fine and said something about trying to catch some birds later. She leaned back on her elbows against the boat’s railing, trying and failing to not think about the details of that.

Douxie cleared his throat. “So,” He folded his hands together for emphasis, “Since the subject of money came up earlier, I think we should also discuss the topic of our accommodations.”

“Well, you two obviously cannot afford lodging every night.” Archie snarked, flicking his tail.

“Thank you, for that, Arch. No, I was thinking more along the lines of a tent.”

“A tent?” the cat asked incredulously.

“Oh, that could work.” (Name) pointed at Douxie animatedly, “keep us close to nature for Nari. And also could keep our possible property damage bills down. Good idea, Doux.”

“Thank you,” Douxie puffed up, “see Arch? Someone appreciates my ideas-”

“Wait. That’ll be a short-term solution. We’re just barely into September. It’s going to be much, much colder in about a month. By October it’ll be too cold to bear. Even if we all huddle together like penguins.”

Doux looked away to hide his blush at the suggestion. “That is a problem. Okay, um-”

“Maybe we could just cross that bridge when we get there? Who knows what could happen between now and then. We could find so temp work in a little town somewhere.” (Name) shrugged, smirking at Doux. She didn’t want to admit that ‘we could be dead by then’ was also definitely a possibility on the table, so she tried to further distract from that thought. “Maybe we’ll find a creepy abandoned cabin in the woods we can squat in. Maybe some nice trolls will take us in as novelty pets. Maybe my rich Aunty Josie could just suddenly die under some ‘mysterious circumstances’ and leave her lavish fortune to her beloved niece,” she smirked at Doux, “I dunno, just spit ballin’ here.”

“I’m electing to ignore that you just suggested we ice your aunt because you were onto something there.”

“I was?” Her tone was a mixture of sarcasm and disbelief.

“Yes! New Jersey!

“New Jersey?” The wheels turned. “Oh! New Jersey!”

Nari looked confused. “What is special about this ‘New Jersey’?” she asked

Both Douxie and (Name) turned to her, “Trolls.” They said in sync.

***

(Name) stood there with her hands in her pockets. Somehow this Kmart was still standing, out here in The-Middle-Of-Fucking-Nowhere, Missouri. She was standing here, in a Kmart. It might as well have been 1986. There was barely anything on the shelves. Half the shelves themselves were missing. The floor had a layer of grime to it, in spite of the wet floor sign along with the shiny patches that said that it had clearly been mopped recently. The air smelled like something (Name) couldn’t quite place, but it was nostalgic. A strange scent that took her back to her childhood. Or at least she thought it was her childhood. It had to have been. Taking deep breaths, she couldn’t quite get enough of it.

Continuing that vibe, a muzak 80’s tune played over the speakers. Funny enough, despite (Name)’s brain seeming to recognize that it was playing a song from the 80’s, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on it as to which. Every time she thought she’d figured it out, she’d hear a few notes that would somehow change her mind. It was a pop song at least, to narrow it down. It’d been going on for about six minutes now. Must be one of those extended tracks.

She’d ask Douxie what he thought the song was. She turned her attention to him and noticed he was still just staring at that same shelf like he had been for, what, ten minutes now? Even though this fucking Kmart barely had any shelving in it, by some miracle it not only had exactly what they were looking for but an entire aisle of them. How lucky was that.

Douxie was taking very careful consideration into this tent purchase. This was going to be their new home, after all. He just couldn’t decide which one was best. They all had fancy camping terms on the packages that meant nothing to him. He’d been trying to decipher the code. The secret outdoorsman code. Nari shifted uncomfortably in the basket.

“Hisirdoux, you should maybe, hurry this along?” She sounded strained.

But she was right. He should just pick one already. It’s all a gamble anyway. He decided on a dark green one that boasted a water-proof material. Good natural color, not easily spotted, and it wouldn’t soak through with rain. That should work well enough, he figured.

“I’ve hurried along. Sorry Nari.” He casually tossed the box into the cart next to her. She sniffed the box and nodded to him.

Now that they had their goal item, the quest party started for the checkouts. Douxie could have sworn that it had been on the side of the store they were in. They had passed it when they came in. Now it was completely across by the other door. Did he get turned around? Or maybe they did come in from that side of the store. He actually couldn’t remember.

As they walked, a few things caught (Name)’s eye. They passed a display of dark leafy plants in oddly shaped pots, a table stacked high with various books and a clearance sign, a knife case that had been left open, a candle display with a few that had already been lit and were dripping wax, a bargain bin of CDs, and lastly a sad box of no-longer-in-season pool noodles. There was a sale on bloodmeal apparently. Perfect for perking up those roses after the summer heat.

They arrived at the checkout after what felt like an endless journey. (Name) hadn’t noticed any other customers the entire time they had been there, and yet the line for the only check open had seven people in it. She grabbed a couple bags of red licorice from the impulse shelf to add to their cart while waiting.

Nari was really interested in that checker. (Name) took her in. The teen was taller than most and had very, very long blonde hair that cascaded down her back like a shiny golden waterfall. Her cheeks were slightly sunken in. Must be going through a diet phase. Poor girl.

The young woman was obviously not one for small talk. Name couldn’t blame her. Retail sucks. Her perfect red fingernails clicked against the keys of the register in a practiced beat. She turned around and told them their total in a bored monotone. As Douxie fiddled with his wallet and payed, (Name) found herself staring right into the cashier’s eyes. They were such a light icy blue, they were almost white. It was striking. (Name) was almost in a trance. It was broken as the cashier turned around swiftly to rip off the receipt off the machine, and, in an uncharacteristically cheery voice, told them to have a nice night. Night?

They returned the cart back to the stack, grabbing their one singular shopping bag and helping Nari out. Of course Nari could easily just jump out herself, but that wouldn’t be something a human child could do. They didn’t need to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves here. They made their way to the automatic sliding doors that lagged so that they didn’t open until you were standing right in front of them. This allowed Douxie time to catch a glimpse of the reflection in the glass. The reflection of the store was completely devoid of people. Not even the checker was at her station. He sucked in a breath. After walking through those first doors, he stopped. He took a moment to turn back. There she was, right where she should be, checking out another customer with three more in the line.

Douxie hurried along the doorway to catch up to (Name) and Nari. It was darker outside than he expected, and he was taken aback. He found them right outside the store, waiting for him. In one hand, (Name) was holding Nari’s, in the other, the plastic shopping bag. Her head was tipped up to the sky, transfixed by the moon. He came over, grabbing her shoulder as he pulled her along, in an attempt to urge her away from this place. She looked back at him, eyes wide with distress. He tried to convey that he understood with his eyes. All three of them instinctually knew not to say anything more why they were still in this parking lot.

It had barely been half past noon when they had started this little Kmart side quest. It was now at least seven by the looks of it. They had spent six and a half hours in a Kmart? How had they spent six and a half hours in a Kmart. There went their entire travel day. But no time to dwell on this, they needed to get back to Archie and the boat as soon as possible.

As they walked back towards the ship, (Name) and Douxie both took one of Nari’s hands so that she was in the middle, like how those couples walk with their children. The streetlights glared up at them in the slick pavement. Apparently, it had rained while they were in shopping limbo. Poor Arch. (Name) let out a puff of air.

“Well. That sure was something.”

Douxie nervously chuckled, “If we had stayed in there any longer, I think we might have died.” (Name) mirrored that nervous chuckle.

“Oh, no, dying would be much simpler than what would have happened to us.” Nari said sweetly, like what she was saying was somehow better. Nari liked being helpful. (Name) put on her best fake smile.

“Thank you, Nari.” She tried her best to sound as sincere as possible to spare the veggie lady’s feelings.

[crazy4myself]

Tear (m)

Word Count 5.5K

Warnings: smutt, breakup sex, car sex, public sex, fingering, lots of grinding, hair pulling, biting, min yoongi period  

Pairing: Exboyfriend!Yoongi x Reader

Summery: You haven't seen your ex Min Yoongi since your breakup two weeks ago. After sneaking into his apartment to grab the last of your things when moving out you decide to take his synth and pawn it to buy concert tickets as revenge. What happens when he catches you in your petty revenge plot?

A/n: So D-2 happened and I cannot thing of anything. like my only thoughts are Min Yoongi. Then Tear came on when I was in the shower and it hit diffrent. So i wrote this in a frenzy at 1am. This is barely edited, and my first time writing smut, but I hope you enjoy it! Hopefully now Min Yoongi will finally let me study.

This is also one of my @btsghostiewritersnet bingo bash entries under the prompt ‘include a plot twist’ I hope you like it!

——————————-

You tried not to pant as you stormed down the sidewalk the unbalanced weight of the large cardboard box in your arms making you stop every few steps to knee it higher in your grip. You felt the baby hairs along your hairline frizz and curl in the humidity, and a drop of sweat trailing its way between your boobs. 

It has been three weeks since you broke up with Min Yoongi, your boyfriend of four years, and three weeks since you had to completely rearrange your life as you found a new apartment and moved out. And two weeks since you've seen the bastard. That first week fallowing your breakup you crashed on your best friends couch and quickly looked and settled for the first affordable apartment in the area you could find, using Yoongi's card which was still autosaved to your computer, to pay for the down payment and pet deposit for you sweet kitten Ghostie, deciding if he was going to kick you out, he could treat you to the new home. 

Your rush to move out led to a sloppy packing job, which then led to a slow unpacking as you struggled to organize all your things in the new studio. That's why it took until now for you to realize you were missing a few important items like your miniature crock pot, your collectors edition Harry Potter series, your tablet charger, and Yoongi's Synthesizer… 

His Novation MiniNova Analog Modeling Synthesizer, to be exact. The impressive piece of sound equipment was near $400 when you bought it for him two years ago as a gift. Back when money was a lot tighter in your household before Yoongi made his big break. 

It took you so long to put a little bit of money away each paycheck to get it for him, constantly being set back by your car breaking down or the hospital bills from Yoongi breaking his ankle that you missed Christmas and his birthday as an opportunity to give it to him as a gift. So you gave it to him as a 'just because' that May unable to keep the gift a secret until the next holiday. He really did need it at the time. 

You'll never forget the way his gummy smile lit up his face when he opened it. How he was darting around the room in a rush to set it up, but also stopping to kiss you in thanks any time you were in touching distance. 

You remember the next few nights of sitting on his lap the next few nights playing with the effects and watching him mix his latest track. The memory still warmed your heart more than you would have liked it too.

But now he has a whole studio of equipment much nicer than the stuff at home and doesn't need you or the synthesizer any more.

The break up between the two of you was mutual and, you suppose, unavoidable. Yoongi really was making his big break after he got hired by a new entertainment company as a producer. Now a year later, after helping produce two, soon to be three albums, he got an offer by Big Hit to produce his own mixtape. His dream really. 

You were thrilled to see him perform and to see his passion for music alight. It was your passions that brought you together, after all. You both met in art school and started dating your senior year, Yoongi studying music, and you were studying writing. It was the two of you against the world. You both wanted to create things to help people escape their lives and bear the world a bit easier. You both used your art as an escape as well.

And Yoongi was chasing his dream. 

You, however, were not. You needed to survive, bills required to be paid, and food needed to be put on the table. You were more than happy to take the job at a publishing firm after graduation, it was a good job,  steady and consistent pay.

Of course, you were reading over and editing books, mostly textbooks, and cookbooks, and not writing them. But you could write on the side after work, and give you a novel to your boss once it's finished since you had an in.

At least that's what you told yourself and Min Yoongi when he accused you of giving up your dream. 

And he was right. You did give up, work was long and exhausting, it sapped the creativity out of you, and you often came home barely willing to eat dinner and shower before bed, your brain numb.

But you didn't care about your book, because you had a new dream for your future. A dream to watch and listen to Yoongi produce music for the rest of your life. To never see the light leave his eyes like it left yours. 

You don't resent him for wanting to break it off when he made it big. The wound that hurt the most was knowing you did it to yourself. Yoogi never asked you to sacrifice a thing for him. You were the one that wanted to. To show your love by helping his every need so that he can do what he loved.

It's ironic that as he got closer and closer to his dream, you got more discontent. He never went to bed at night, always staying up to work on personal projects after staying at the studio to work with the boys long after you got home. 

For years you were used to coming home to your boyfriend preparing dinner, you sitting on the countertop as he cooked sharing a glass of wine as well as the highs and lows of your days. But once he started at Big Hit, you were lucky to drink a cup of coffee with him before he was out the door in the morning.

You were both struggling to care for each other in the way you deserved. The bickering was slowly becoming your sole form of communication. 

It was when you grew resentful of his success when he told you about the mixtape. Your initial reaction was a tinge of disappointment before your excitement charged its way through you that you realized there was a problem, and you needed to have a talk. 

You told him about your feelings, how you felt neglected and unimportant, you felt like you were his roommate, not his lover, and you could see the hurt and shame in his eyes. He said he would try harder, and for a week or two, he did before you both fell back to old routines. And the distance between you grew. You repeated this pattern three times before you finally put your foot down. 

You had been through so much and tolerated a lot, but you were tired of feeling like a prop. He had a better relationship with your cat than he did with you. At least sweet Ghostie got cuddles from time to time. 

Yoongi put his foot down too and told you music will always be his first love. 

You think you saw him flinch at the sound of your heart shattering right afterward, but you can't say for sure. 

So now you were taking his synthesizer.

The thought came to you when you saw the price for a Halsey concert and meet and greet. You decided a weekend trip out of town and a concert with the queen of legendary breakups, and your best friend would make the perfect breakup trip.

You decided you could sell the sound machine for a reasonable price online and use the money to buy your ticket. Not to mention Halsey's music was produced by a rival company, so you maximized the full potential of the petty act. 

Or so you told yourself. If, by any chance, he decided to chase after you and try to get the sound machine back, you decided having him grovel outside your door would be an equally victorious moment for you. 

You planned this great act three days ago.

Min Yoongi, the poor fool didn't realize your calendars were still synced together. You knew tonight he had a big dinner and wouldn't be home, so you waited until tonight to let yourself into your old home to collect the last of your things. 

You waited until he was well into the event to make the 15-minute trek to your old apartment to get your things.

You hated that you couldn't get an apartment a little further from him, but he already took so much from you, you couldn't lose that extra 15 minutes of sleeping-in you earn from living in walking distance from your work. It was worth the risk of seeing him in the coffee shop from time to time as your memories of him collect dust over time. 

However, now that you were making the walk back with the box in your arms, your annoyed that you don't live a little closer.

You could feel the sweat drip down your temple, and you worried about getting a makeup stain if it dripped onto your white tee shirt. You hated that you put on makeup for this. Not much just a tinted moisturizer, a little blush, your brows, and some waterproof mascara.

You wouldn't give Min Yoongi the satisfaction of seeing you as a wreck if he were to come home early and catch you on your move. But you tried not to look like you were trying. A task that took way more effort than it should.

You put on 3 different outfits before you settled on a pair of black leggings, the ones that make your ass look good, and a plain white tee shirt that you tie into a knot at your stomach to show a tasteful amount of midriff (and your ass). 

You were just cursing yourself for wearing your thick Fila Sneakers for fashion and not comfort when you became aware of the car coming to a slow beside you. You recognized the vehicle and how it purred before you even had time to fear for your safety. 

"Y/N! Give me my synth back".

You smiled to yourself as the car rolled next to you, Yoogi looked at you through the rolled down tinted window exasperated. 

"Last time I checked, I bought it."

"Very funny now, stop playing games and get in the car," he sighed as he came to a stop. You kept walking, pushing the box up in your arms with your knee as you tried to quicken the pace. 

You heard a car door slam along with a mutter of curses. 

"Y/n" he caught up to you quickly and stood in front of you. You tried to keep you balanced on the edge of the sidewalk as you maneuver around him, and he grabbed the box in front of him, effectively holding you still. 

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. 

You blinked at him innocently, trying to contain your smile as you said, "I'm just picking up the last of my stuff Yoongi. Then I'm out of your hair."

He rolled his eye "Why do you want the synth?" he asked, deciding to humor you.

There was a mischievous glint in your eye that he both dreaded and adored. And Yoongi wondered if you missed him as much as he missed you. 

"Maybe I wanted to get started on my breakup diss track," you offered. Letting go of the box that was digging into your arms and allowing him to bear the full weight.

He grunted in surprise as he fumbled to keep the box balanced, more importantly, to keep his precious synth from toppling out. 

You swayed your hips as you made your way to the car, letting yourself into the passenger seat. And you knew by the hesitation in his steps he was watching as you did so. Maybe you wouldn't get to pawn his toy tonight, but maybe toying with him a little would be a much better trade. 

Yoongi settled the box in the back seat, even going as far as to buckle it in so it wouldn't slide, before settling back behind the steering wheel. 

"That thing is heavy as fuck I have no idea how you made it this far," Yoogi commented as he pulled back in the street. 

"When did your dinner end?" you asked genuinely curious how long it took for him to find you so quickly. 

"I got home about 20 minutes ago," he responded. It was then that you took in his appearance and saw he was in his all-black suit, the blazer clinging to his arms and the pants hugging his thighs in a way that always made you drool. 

"Damn, didn't even want to change before you went in the studio, someone must be inspired," you said teasingly. 

"Not at all actually," he grumbled, "I smelled your perfume when I walked in the door and noticed the mail was missing off the counter; I did a quick sweep to see what all you grabbed," he explained. 

"Jesus Yoongi, you expected me to rob you?" you asked, embarrassed that you might have been predictable. Maybe your little scheme was pathetic.

He snorted, "No, you surprised me with that actually, I checked to see if you remembered your book," he said gesturing to the consul where a familiar blue hard drive sat.

You felt a flood emotion when you saw it, "I haven't worked on it in months," you murmured as you picked up the compact box that held your long-forgotten dreams.

"Yeah, and I figured you never would again if it sat to collect dust in my studio."

You both sat in silence for a while, the unspoken words between you were too loud to let any other sound in the small car. Until Yoongi finally broke the silence, "You lost weight, have you been eating okay?" 

You scoffed as you quickly reinforced any weaknesses in the wall you've built these past three weeks, "Don't do this Yoongi," you sighed. 

"What? I'm worried about you, is that not allowed?" he asked defensively. 

"No, it's not," he said stubbornly. You were acting childish, you knew, but did he not realize how hard he was making it for you. Showing up dressed like that and acting as if he cared only rubbed salt in the wound. 

You fiddled with the white tee shirt you oh so carefully picked out to look the perfect amount of comfortable and put together in case he saw you.

You realized after a moment it was actually his. One you had stolen so long ago that you assumed it was yours when you were packing. Was there any part of you he hadn't left his mark on?

"Y/n, I'm never going to stop caring about you. I can't just turn my feelings off like that," he pleaded.

"Funny, because I thought you could never turn them on three weeks ago," you shot back. He sighed in frustration. And you realized now you were the difficult one. You suppose you had always been.

With a sigh, you swallowed your pride and looked at him, "How's the mixtape going?" You asked genuinely curious if he was doing better now that you weren't there to distract him. 

"Terrible," he grunted. "I can't record anything in a way that I like. I have near 5 versions of every verse and sound and nothing to do with it. And no one to run it by now that you're gone." he grumbled. 

"I thought your newfound freedom would be your muse," you teased, and strangely you found your heart was light. It was too easy to fall into this dynamic with him again. 

He took his eyes off the road to look at you as he said, "You've always been my muse, Y/N."

Danger. Danger. Your brain began to scream. 

"No, I haven't Yoongi, I've always been your constant. There's a difference." you corrected, and you surprised yourself with the strength in your voice. You realized it was true too. 

Maybe you were both the comfort the other never had. The feeling of safety of home. But you were both artists, and perhaps that comfort was holding you both back. As the car ride continued in silence, you dwelled on your revelation. 

You thought of everything you gave up for him. How you changed yourself because you wanted the best for him. But maybe you let yourself give too much away. You knew the bitter resentment that had been planted in your heart was one you could never prune or weed out. 

Maybe you needed this breakup more than him. The only reason it was hurting so much is because you lost yourself completely.

You looked down at the hard drive in your hand, thinking of where you left off in your book. A crossroad you knew both endings too, but couldn't decide which path to send your protagonist down. You couldn't bear the thought of backtracking and starting over if your initial choice didn't go well. 

Maybe this was your crossroad.

Yoongi sighed as he pulled into your buildings parking garage parking in the far corner to buy his time with you, "Y/N I know I said I needed a break but-"

"Don't," you cut him off, unable to hear him out. You needed to walk away from tonight. 

"Please," he said softly, and you felt your heartache as the headlights of a passing car illuminated his face and the way he looked at you with longing. 

"Please baby, I need you," your heart twinged at the pet name as he reached for your hand and brought you knuckles to his lips. “I love you,” he murmured aginst your fingers the softness he spoke to you with was a tone you hadn't heard from him in months. And it made your heart pound as he pulled you closer to him and connected with your lips. "Please, baby," he whispered into the kiss. 

You felt a lump in your throat as you broke away, "Yoongi, you were right I'm not myself I need time to-"

"That's not true," he argued back as he ran his lips down your neck, pausing in the juncture that made your body alight.

He was confident you felt the same way, that you missed him as much as he missed you. Yoongi just needed to remind you how good you feel when you're together.

You struggled to stand your ground as you felt heat flood through you when he nipped at your throat.

"It is," you breathed, body betraying you as you arched your neck to give him better access as he suckled purple into the skin. You were faintly aware of the sound of a car door slamming shut nearby, and you prayed your neighbors didn't see you making out with your ex like a lovesick teen. 

"We can't do this is only going to make it harder,"

"I'm already hard," he growled in a way that made you shiver in delight. He broke away from your neck and looked at you, his eyes so blown out they were black. He was beyond words. His need for you too strong.

You felt heat flow through your core as he looked at you in a way that he hadn't for months. In the way, you thought he would never see you again. 

"Baby, we don't have to talk if you don't want to talk," he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with such tenderness, before brushing his long fingers through your hair and settling comfortably at the back of your neck. Not pulling your hair, but you both knew he could if you asked. 

And you understood the offer. This could be a second chance or a goodbye, but you were both horny and desperate and needed the comfort of the other.

This was a bad idea, a terrible idea. But maybe you could live to see your world burn for one night. You could give into your desire and leave the future you to deal with the consequences. Maybe with a bottle of wine and Halsey's entire discography. 

You sealed your fate as you leaned in to the kiss. Promising your self, you wouldn't take him upstairs to your new apartment, to the one part of your life that wasn't covered in him.

The kiss wasn't heartwarmingly soft and tender like the first one. It was hungry and demanding. You both moaned as you fought for dominance, surprising Yoongi as you licked into his mouth. His hand in your hair tightened its grip in response the other wondering the length of your body. 

"I need to see you beautiful," his voice was breathless and husky, and you faltered for a second as you watched for any movement in the garage. Wondering how close someone would have to be to peak into the tinted windows on Yoongi's car.

Once you confirmed the coast was clear, you looked back at him and met the hunger in his gaze. It was easy to comply as you slipped his shirt over your head and crawled into his lap. Yoongi moaned as you revealed you were braless and fiddled with the levers to lay his seatback.

Telling himself this would be the only time in his life he would be thankful his car horn was broken as he pushed you against the steering wheel to kiss up from your navel to the valley between your breasts. 

Your nipples pebbled, and you sighed, your hands tangling in his hair and giving a soft tug at the root as he took one nipple into the heat of mouth and swirled his tongue around it teasingly. You arched into him as he bit it harshly before licking away the small hurt. Trailing his mouth to your other breast, detouring first to nip at the sensitive skin underneath it in a way that he knew drove you wild. 

His mouth latched on to your left nipple, and his fingers came up to tweak the right, giving it what was almost a painful twist. 

Your hips moved of their own accord as you moaned. You were a picture Yoongi would never get out of his mind as you sat on top of him back arched. Your breasts were on full display mouth agape with your eye closed and turned to the sky as you ground on his lap needily. 

But the picture wasn't enough, the position you were in made him only feel the pressure of you grinding on him on the upstroke of your hips. He needed to feel you fully wrapped around his hardness, but he needed you ready first. 

"Baby, I need you to slip off your leggings. Can you do that for me?" he asked, looking up at your between your breast. His asking anything of you during sex was a new concept. Yoongi was one to give orders. And you smiled down at him as you continued to grind teasingly on his lap.

He waited patiently, knowing he was in no position to tell you what to do, his only tell was his the feeling of his hands twitching where they rested on your waist, and you took your time going as far as groaning lewdly before getting bored and realizing you needed more as well. 

So with a sigh, you shifted back into your seat, working your compression leggings down to mid-calf. Your panties had gotten so wet that they had initially stuck to you, and you had to go back and pull them down after your leggings before clumsily rolling back onto his lap with all the grace of an elephant. 

 He chuckled at your struggle before his hands found your hips and settled you back on top of him. You gasped as he guided you to grind yourself down on his slacks, your slick making a mess of the dark fabric. He smiled down as he watched your hips move in a near fluid motion and felt the wetness seeping through the fabric and onto his leg. 

Yoogi wanted nothing more than to sheath himself into you right then, but he needed you to enjoy it too. Needed to express how much he cared for you, even if you wouldn't let him speak. 

He leaned up to kiss you, biting your bottom lip teasingly and chuckling as you bit him back. 

You were so enthralled with the dance of your tongues and the pleasure from the friction of his pants that you couldn't hold back your whine as Yoongi held your hips to stop you. 

"Let me take care of you," he said softly into your kiss as his nimble fingers worked its way up the juncture between your thighs. 

You looked down in the dim lighting of the car, watching the way his pale and veiny hand rubbed up and down your slit. You hummed in pleasure. 

There were few things you liked watching more than Yoongi's fingers playing the piano, but one of them was working you until you came undone. When he was done spreading your wetness along your lips, he darted straight for your clit, pressing into it with his thumb and rubbing it in tight circles. 

A moan escaped you that sounded like a mix of pleasure and a cry for help. That was so loud that you and Yoongi both froze for a moment, remembering you weren't in the privacy of your bedroom. He continued to roll your clit teasingly as he strained his neck to check his mirrors and make sure no one was nearby.

You grasped his shoulders to center yourself and looked down to watch as he inserted two fingers into you from the get-go. A groan left you as he stretched you out. Despite only being apart for three weeks, you hadn't had sex in nearly two months. 

Yoongi felt his cock twitch in his pants when he felt your tightness, quickly scissoring his two fingers to work you open to get you ready for him. You needed to be comfortable taking three before you could ride him comfortably. 

You were panting as you ground down into his hand, his wrist snapping at an angle that pressed against the spongy spot inside you that he knew made you come undone. Yoongi knew your body like the back of his hand, and in minutes you were whimpering and ready to unravel as he worked a third finger into you. 

"Yoongi I'm gonna-"

"Not yet, baby, I need you to cum on my cock," he cooed to you. You looked up from where his hand worked you apart and saw that he had been watching your face this whole time savoring as you came undone.

"Please?" you forced yourself to ask, looking at him doe-eyed and pleading as the chord in you stomach tightened, he smiled as he pressed his thumb to your clit, loving how needy you get when you're close. 

"Not just yet, you can wait, c'mon you can be good for me," he prompted as he snapped his wrist with more vigor.

Yoongi watched your expression change. Your eyes harden as his teasing words hit a nerve breaking you from the haze of your lust. You were tired of waiting, tired of giving. You were ready to take.

You reached down and grabbed his wrist, stopping his movements. He looked at you baffled but didn't fight as you lift your hips off him, hovering over his lap. 

"Un-do your pants," you order. 

"What?" Yoongi asked, still confused. 

"Get out your cock, so I can fuck you," you explained slowly, Yoongi's eyes widened at your language. You weren't shy about dirty talk in the bedroom, but Yoongi did most of the talking.

Yoongi kept his eyes on you as he reached down and fumbled for his belt slipping and off and tossing it carelessly in the back seat. You smirked down at him as he undid his button and zipper and worked his pants and boxers down his thighs. 

You leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, "Your so good for me," you mocked with a saccharine smile.

"Y/n" Yoongi started but was cut short as you wrapped your hand around his velvet girth, giving it a squeeze before pressing your thumb to his slit. Yoongi hisses as gathered his precum before working his way down.

“Your so wet babe, you might've been enjoying that as much as I had," you teased as you worked his length until it was fully erect. 

Yoongi could only let out a low moan as he leaned back against the driver's seat and accepted the pleasure you were giving him. 

You pressed his length down and shuffled further up his lap, and Yoongi moaned as he felt his cock rub against your dripping heat. You continued to grind on him mercilessly, one hand reaching up to tweak your breast as you began growing frantic to chase your own release. 

"Y/n, if you keep it up, I'm going to cum like this," Yoongi warned as he watched you rutted aginst him using him to chase your release. 

"Me too," was your breathy reply as you squeezed your eyes shut, the knot in your stomach tightening. Yoongi asked you to cum on his cock, and you sure as hell was going to give it to him.

You reached down and gripped his length, angling it to press the head of him against your clit, and you cried out as that cord was pulled taught snapped, sending your tumbling over the edge. 

You screamed as your fingers curled into Yoongi's shoulder almost painfully and continued to rock against him slowly as you rode your orgasm through.

Yoongi held his hand on your hips to steady you as you sat back on your haunches to catch your breath. His cock throbbed painfully as he waited for you to recover so he could fuck into you like he so desperately needed. 

"Did you get what you wanted," he huffed with a laugh as he connected the dots and discovered your bratty little loophole. 

When you opened your eyes, they were cleared of that lust-filled haze and looked almost remorseful as you shifted to sit back in the passenger's seat. "No, but I did what I needed." You sighed as you pulled your leggings shuffling to work them up your thighs. Your cheeks began to flush as the heat of the moment left you, and you were quick to pull on your shirt as you remembered you exposed yourself in such a public setting. 

Yoongi blinked confused as he watches you dress "What are you-," 

"I'm done Yoongi," you cut him off, stealing your expression as you looked at him. "You may love me, but it will never be in the way that either of us needs you to." 

Yoongi watched your dick out, and jaw dropped as you finished dressing and reached down to grab your hard drive. 

"You're really going to end it like that," he demanded as you opened the door. He quickly shuffled, remembering his predicament and worked his deflating hard-on into his slacks, securing them before stepping out the car to follow you. 

"Y/N wait," he said as he watched you shuffle the box in your hands. 

"I need you, please," he begged, and you turned to give him one last look. He didn't deserve the coldness you treated him with. But neither of you were going to let go if you didn't hurt him a little. 

"Y/n, I love you. I want a future with you." he continued, opening the passenger door as if you would get back in the car.

 You let out a startled laugh, "You want to finish your mixtape, not take care of me," you corrected. You watched as he riffled through the passenger seat compartment. 

"That's not true," he called over his shoulder, looking for what he wanted. 

"Yoongi, I swear to god if you made me a mixtape i will-" you cut yourself short as you watched him pull a black velvet box and drop to one knee. 

"I didn't want to ask you like this y/n, I know I know I hurt you, but I wish I could take it all back.

You let the box drop from your arms in shock, and Yoongi winced as he watched his synth fall out and smack onto the ground. But he didn't falter, "I wanted to take a break, I wanted to finish my mixtape, so I could get it right when I asked you. I didn't want to repeat the same pattern. I was going to take a break so we could get married, and we could figure things out," he explained in a rush as he opened the black velvet box revealing a brilliant diamond in your dream setting. 

You blinked rapidly to clear your mind, making yourself look away from the diamond and to his face, "Do you hear yourself?" you asked in disbelief. "You don't want to fix the problem, you want me out the way, and then you want me to come back when the timing’s right. To be your what ? Your trophy wife?" you accused. 

Yoongi licked his lips, pushing to stand as you reached down for your box of things. Leaving his synth abandoned on the ground. 

"If I'm your muse," you started with a bitter smile lifting the box in your arms and turning to walk away, "Then I'm sure it will be one hell of a breakup track." You didn't look back over your shoulder as you made your way to the elevator. 

But you listened to the slight scrape of plastic as Yoongi picked up his synth and packed into his car, confirming his choice as he got back in the driver's seat and started the engine. 

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

Three months had passed when your best friend sent you the link to the Spotify song. You had been expecting it. You heard Big Hit make the announcement a few days earlier. That three of their most famous rappers, including the up and coming August D had collabed on a track that would be dropped at the end of the week. When you didn't hear a diss track or breakup song on August D after its release a month prior, you figured this would be where you got hit.

You minimized your email from your editor about the final draft of your book. They continued to critique the scene where the love interest has sex in a parked carriage. Claiming it was too ‘scandalous’ for the setting, and you reached for your tea as you pressed play on the track, smiling at yourself as you listened to the rythmic beat to the opening of Tear.

A/N: If you haven’t read the translation to Yoongi’s verse in Outro Tear give it a look it’s pretty gr8. Thanks for reading!

[girlsgonemildblog]

I Am In This Episode and I Don't Like It - Emily in Paris, Season 1, Episode 6 Recap (Spoilers!!)

Poster from IMDB

Birds having sex. That is how this episode opens. Shots of birds fucking. We then cut away from this to Emily lying in bed, unable to sleep because Gabriel and Camille are having extremely loud sex. I have heard neighbors through walls and the people above me's bed banging on the floor, but never have I heard the people who live below me (like Gabriel and Camille do to Emily) having sex. They must be really loud. Also, based on this scene, Emily sleeps with full makeup (including lipstick) and her hair perfectly curled. I honestly think the production team wanted this show to be mocked.

The next morning, Emily is again eating at a café with Mindy, who is whining about how her dad wants to buy her a BMW and a mansion. Her life is honestly so hard. She then reveals to Emily that she was on a singing competition show in China, where she failed miserably and became a meme. Not to repeat myself, but I think the show's goal is to be mocked.

Emily gets to work, and we learn that, because they are meeting with an important couture designer that day, she was told specifically to wear all black. At least the show is self-aware with how terrible her outfit choices are. They arrive at Pierre Cadault's studio, and it is clear that his aesthetic is definitely not all black - more beiges and pastels, just like the rest of Paris. I think the writers were thinking of New York when they chose all black; someone should tell them fashion isn't the same everywhere. Cadault comes to meet them, sees Emily's tacky Eiffel Tower bag charm, and calls her "ringarde" or "basic,” and then storms out of the meeting. A bit dramatic, if I’m being honest, but also, the bag charm was pretty basic:

That night, Emily is minding her own business eating dinner alone when some (not even cute) man begins talking to her about whether a couple at another table is mother-and-son or dating. After a cut to show that time has passed, Emily finishes the story of her meeting with Cadault. The man, named Tomas, says that it is "ringarde" to call someone "ringarde" and then says he doesn't think she's basic - he clearly does not know her very well. He then starts a pretentious speech about known sexist pig, Pablo Picasso, and a bunch of other buzz-word names. Tomas is a know-it-all asshole and reminds me of every guy I have ever dated. Emily is impressed, nonetheless, and sleeps with him. Do better, Emily. Also, while I love Lily Collins, she is not great at acting in sex scenes; it was unbearably awkward. By the way, even Emily's bras have pictures of Paris on them:

The next morning, she runs into Camille, who tells her that she can hear Emily just as well as Emily can hear her and Gabriel. The fact that they all hear each other, but not any of the other neighbors, is pretty solid evidence for my no-one-else-lives-there theory.

At work, Emily brags to Julien about how Tomas quoted poetry to her, and Julien rightfully says that's boring. As an English major who has had to deal with many men interested in poetry, it's only hot in theory. In practice, it's boring and annoying, and they always expect you to be so impressed that they can quote the same Shakespeare sonnet that everyone had to memorize in High School Brit Lit. Emily then learns that Sylvie is holding a meeting without her and not speaking to her because she lost them the account with Cadault, one of Sylvie's favorite designers. Apparently, Emily is not the only person at this office with no sense of professionalism.

Emily meets Mindy at their bench in the park, and they are again talking about Mindy's singing career. I cannot express how little I care about this plotline. Mindy says she has too much PTSD from her failure on "Chinese Popstar" to audition for a local jazz club, but when Emily asks her to sing for her right there, Mindy is belting in the middle of the park with very little convincing. (Here is the moment where I take a break from my criticizing everything to say I absolutely love Ashley Park's voice. Please go listen to "What's Wrong With Me?" from the Mean Girls Musical soundtrack.)

That night, Emily and Tomas run into Gabriel and Camille outside their building, because of course they do. (It was at this moment that I realized the actor who plays Gabriel, Lucas Bravo, could very easily fill the Armie-Hammer-sized hole we currently have in society.) Being her always-friendly, always-oblivious self, Camille forces Emily and Tomas to go on a double date with her and Gabriel. Gabriel sees right through Tomas's bullshit, which is probably easy to do since Tomas is blatantly rude to Gabriel because Tomas is the type to only be polite to people he wants to fuck. Back at her apartment, remembering her conversation with Camille that morning, Emily tells Tomas that they need to be quieter when they have sex. They are (somehow) even louder than before.

Because the whole premise of this show seems to be that Emily lucks herself into things, while walking to work the next day, she notices in the corner of a sign for a ballet that Pierre Cadault designed the costumes and that opening night is that night. After Sylvie refuses to go with her (and rips up the original tickets), she invites Tomas to join her.

As she's leaving for the ballet (in an absolutely ridiculous outfit), she runs into Gabriel again. Are you guys as tired of reading that phrase as I am of writing it? We may have to turn it into a drinking game. Gabriel tells Emily the truth about what he thinks of Tomas, calling him "an asshole masquerading as an intellectual." I loved that line. He also tells her that she is "wasting her time with a guy who doesn't deserve her," and um, what exactly is so great about Emily?

When Emily arrives at the ballet and meets up with Tomas, he asks her if he is playing a joke on him by bringing him to see "Swan Lake", which, according to him, is "for tourists". "Swan Lake" is actually my favorite ballet, so fuck him. Emily then has a moment of clarity and finally realizes what her horniness had kept her from seeing the last three days; Tomas is a pretentious douche. (Emily actually said "snob" but I feel "pretentious douche" is more precise). Tomas responds by calling Emily "simpleminded". When he realizes she's offended by this, for some reason, he tries to better the situation by calling her "simple but beautiful". I believe the sound I made at this point would be called a "guffaw". When she still isn't happy, he tells her to go to the ballet, and he'll meet her afterward and "treat her to some amazing sex." She flips him off and walks away, which is actually a lot more polite than how I would've responded in that situation.

She then finds Cadault and explains to him that she always wanted to be Serena van der Woodsen and would buy bag charms because it was the only thing she could afford from the designers that she worshipped. Cadault turns out to be a Gossip Girl fan, which is revealed by having him spoil Gossip Girl. Seriously, he just straight-up SAYS who Gossip Girl is. I know it's been 8 years, but there should've been a spoiler warning or something. I already knew, but what if I hadn't? It was rude. Anyway, the next day Sylvie gets a call from Cadault that he wants a meeting with her and tells her to "bring Gossip Girl". Everything always works out for Emily in the end.

[spine-buster]

Alone, Together | Chapter 40 | Morgan Rielly

A/N:  200, 505 words later, Morgan and Bee’s story has come to an end.  In all honesty, what can I say?  This has been an absolute whirlwind and I cannot believe how much love and support and engagement this story got.  Like...you guys have no idea.  I want to thank each and every single one of you for reading, commenting, liking, reblogging, and for sending in all your canon asks for this world I have created for Morgan and Bee.  This story would not have been as successful if it weren’t for you guys.  I hope you guys enjoyed their journey.  

Like I’ve been saying, there WILL be epilogues (right now there’s four) of varying lengths detailing/outlining their future.  Keep an eye out.

My new Fred story will be launched after the epilogues.  Check out my Masterlist for the title and quick description!

“You look beautiful Bumblebee,” Morgan said softly as he watched Bee adjust her dress in the mirror of the elevator, patting it down and straightening it out and running her hands through her hair one last time.  She looked so elegant and stylish and Morgan couldn’t believe how good she looked in just a black turtleneck and tweed dress.  

“You think so?” she asked absent-mindedly.  “I made sure the dress--”

“Bumblebee, you look great.  So elegant.  You always look great,” Morgan reiterated.  “You could have worn a burlap sac.” 

“Um, Larry Tanenbaum is going to be here.  I don’t think he’d appreciate me showing up in a burlap sac,” she quipped.  She had to take a day off work for this.  She was so lucky Mark was a hockey fan and let her do stuff like this without question – if it was anybody else, she probably wouldn’t be able to afford the luxury.  

“You’ve met Larry Tanenbaum before.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know he was Larry Tanenbaum.  I thought he was just some old guy.”

Morgan snorted.  “I think her prefers that, to be honest.”

Bee took a deep breath, trying to collect herself and her thoughts.  “I just…do you…do you remember New Year’s Eve?”

“When you asked me ‘Do you like me more with all the nice clothes?’” Morgan asked, knowing automatically what she was talking about.  That night still stood out to him, all this time later, as a night they had really progressed in their relationship and their trust in each other.  Bee had expressed insecurity about her new situation; Morgan helped boost her confidence to get her through it.  That confidence kept growing and growing.  Now, she stood before him as a self-assured woman, mostly confident in her place in the world.  Mostly, because nobody was ever truly fully confident.  But she had learned.  She grew.  She adapted.

Bee nodded her head.  “I was so…different back then.  I thought there would be two different Brionys.  I thought there was like, poor and rich Briony.  Cheap Briony and…you know, old Briony and new Briony.  I never considered that like…Briony – me – I can be a progression,” she expressed.  “I don’t have to be stuck to my old self.  I don’t have to be stuck to my old thoughts or old habits.  I can be a progression.”

“Of course you can,” Morgan nodded his head.  “You can be anything you want to be, Bumblebee.”

“I want to be a progression,” she reiterated once more, her voice more confident.  “I want to be Briony McTavish who was once nervous and thought she didn’t belong, but is now confident in meeting and interacting with people as rich and influential as Larry Tanenbaum.  I want to be Briony McTavish who is confident in making her way around the room.  I want to be Briony McTavish who is confident in her position, in her job…in her life.”

Morgan smiled down at her.  He couldn’t help but lean down and kiss her as she finished her thought.  “You’re the bee’s knees, Bumblebee,” he mumbled against her lips.

Before Bee could say anything else, the elevator pinged and the doors opened, and John and Aryne appeared on the other side.  John, like Morgan, was wearing a smart suit, holding Jace in his arms who was sporting baby jeans and cardigan style top.  Aryne wore a beautiful wrap style dress, covered somewhat by a spit-up towel resting on her shoulder.  John’s and Aryne’s faces lit up when they realized Morgan and Bee were in the elevator.

“Hey strangers,” Aryne smiled.

“Hey Captain,” Bee winked, causing John to smile from ear to ear.  “Have you gotten used to it yet?” she asked.

“No chance,” he shook his head.  “My dad started sobbing on the phone when I told him.  Mom too.”

“Looks like the investment in those Leafs sheets paid off, huh?” Morgan smiled at John.

“You have no idea, buddy.”

They rode the elevator up together to the Platinum Club, where Bee assumed Kyle, Brendan, Mike, and Larry were all already waiting for their arrival.  Larry and Brendan had arranged the lunch so that the leadership core – captain John, and alternate captains Morgan, Auston, and Mitch – could talk about the expectations they had for the team this season, their leadership roles, what they envisioned for the team and their futures with the Leafs.  After their lunch – and what Bee assumed would be a relaxed afternoon – the rest of the team was coming for a cocktail and hors d’oeuvres reception.  

The season began tomorrow.  There was an excitement in the air that Bee couldn’t describe.  

When the doors opened, Bee could see Brendan Shanahan, wine glass already in hand, speaking with someone that looked extremely familiar.  As everyone exited the elevator and approached him with smiles on their faces, Bee’s breath hitched in her throat when she realized who it was: Masai Ujiri.

John greeted Brendan first, who pretended to ignore him playfully in favour of paying attention to Jace, cooing at him and pinching his cheeks like he was Jace’s grandpa.  Brendan gave warm hugs to Aryne and Morgan, who then went on to greet Masai Ujiri like it was no big deal, before focusing his attention on Bee.  “How’ve you been, Bee?”

“Good, thank you,” she smiled warmly.  “Thank you for having us here, Brendan.”

Brendan moved to gesture towards Bee as he faced Masai.  “Mr. Ujiri, this is Briony McTavish,” Brendan introduced them as they shook each other’s hand.  “She’s part of the Maple Leafs family.  Her partner is our assistant captain Morgan Rielly and she’s a junior financial analyst at Scotia--”

“Briony McTavish…Briony McTavish!  The girl who wrote me a thank you note,” Masai smiled at her warmly.  “That’s a good practice you know – thank you notes.”

“Oh, thank you sir,” Bee replied nervously.  She thought there was no way that, after everything Masai went through this summer, he’d remember her silly little thank you note over everything else.  This was a man who helped the Raptors win a championship; a man who was one of the focal points of a parade attended by over two million people; a man who finally brought a championship to Toronto – a feat not accomplished since the 1990s.  There was nothing special about her, but everything special about him, and he was the one remembering her thank you note.

“It was the only one I received,” he winked.  That explained it, she thought, although she still didn’t believe it.  She was convinced this was one big elaborate joke.  “I put it up in my office on a bookshelf.  The art of writing one is being lost and I think you’re the one who’s going to bring it back, Ms. McTavish.”

She laughed, still nervous but trying to calm down.  She had to remember what she just said in the elevator.  She could be confident.  She could fit.  “I was just trying to be polite after you gave us the tickets to the playoff game,” she tried to explain herself – as if she needed to.  “I don’t need to tell you that Raptors tickets weren’t easy to come by so I just wanted to thank you.”

“I know!  And any girl who writes a thank you note is one worth keeping,” he winked at Morgan, elbowing him playfully.  “Did you have a good summer, Morgan?”

“Oh, yes sir,” Morgan nodded his head.  “Briony graduated with her Master’s in Financial Economics from U of T, and we went back to Vancouver for two weeks.  Even spent some time up at a cottage.”

“A Master’s in Financial Economics?  Congratulations, Briony.  That’s quite an achievement,” Masai commented.  

“Thank you sir.”

“Are you excited for the upcoming season?”

“Very much so,” Bee and Morgan said at the same time, causing Masai and Brendan to laugh.  

“We have a gift for you once Mitch and Auston get here,” Masai revealed, turning towards Brendan who smiled and nodded his head once.  “I think you boys will be very excited.  A gift from us at the Raptors, if you will.”

Once Auston, Mitch, and Steph arrived, the waiters and waitresses began bringing out charcuterie boards as appetizers and decorated the tables with more wine bottles and even champagne.  After some chitchatting, Masai left the room and re-entered holding a ball.  It was a championship ball, he explained, from one of the Raptors’ games against Golden State.  Used during one of the championship games.  He was giving it to the Leafs as a gift.  To motivate them.  To drive them.  To let them know that they could achieve that success too.  That with hard work, they would be rewarded too.  The boys went nuts for it.  They were calm, but Bee could tell they loved every minute of it and were silently freaking out.  They held the ball in their hands so delicately, as if the ball would break.  They decided that they’d give the ball to the player of the game for every game they won.  Babcock would start it off.  Then the player would choose the next.  Motivation.  Drive.  Achievement.  Reward.  

Eventually Masai had to leave, which was the cue for everybody to sit down at the table and formally begin their lunch.  Bee ordered the pistachio and sunflower crusted lamb shank.  The waitress poured her a glass of wine and chilled champagne.  Once all the food came, there was a toast.

“To the MLSE organization,” Larry began the toast, holding his champagne glass up.

“To the leadership core,” Brendan said after him.

“To the Toronto Maple Leafs hockey club,” Kyle followed.

“To the best administration currently running a hockey club,” Mike Babcock followed.

“To the greatest fans in the NHL,” John said.

“To home,” Aryne said.

“To Scotiabank Arena,” Steph said.

“To Hall and Oats blasting through the speakers,” Mitch said.

“To a second home,” Auston said.

“To the greatest hockey city in the world,” Morgan said.

Everybody looked at Bee.  She took a deep breath.  “To the Toronto Maple Leafs family,” she said. 

Brendan and Kyle smiled.

***

Trying to seem so classy with that dress…everyone knows you’re trash!

That dress looks so good on you!  

U caption that pic ‘family’ but everyone from Aryne Tavares to Brendan Shanahan knows ur fake and only with Mo for the money.  Can’t believe they invited u and u had the audacity to show up!  Are they really ur family when u had to push ur way in?

Cute caption, cute photo <3 I’m so jealous of you.

You’re just showing off now.  We know you’re a WAG.  Get over yourself honey!

Notice that ur beside Jennifer Spezza and one person away from Aryne instead of being right beside her like u always are…I bet u guys already had a falling out.  She probably saw right through ur lies.

Do you really have to force Mo to cling on to you like he does in every photo?  It makes you look so desperate for attention.

Hi Bee you look very nice I bet ur happy there’s no more Cassie!!!!!

Did you buy that dress yourself or did you make Mo buy it for you?

Why didn’t the wags take a big group pic?  R u guys not getting along?

***

Bee’s cheeks were flushed red from the wine all the way back home.  She was getting antsy in the back of the taxi, but she knew she had to keep her cool.  Morgan, for his part, was also antsy.  They had been around people all day, and while he enjoyed their company, there was nothing he longed for more than to be alone with his girlfriend.  

Bee had met many new faces that night, and perhaps the friendliest – at least the faces she spent the most time with – were new Leaf Jason Spezza’s four daughters, all who were clamouring for Bee’s attention.  Morgan would watch as she interacted with them, complimenting them on her dresses and following them around the venue hand-in-hand, approaching various people, and he couldn’t help but smile.  When the entire group posed for a picture, Lucia even clung on to Bee’s leg.  She was asleep in Jason’s arms by the end of the night, which was good since she probably would have cried if she saw Bee leave.  

When the taxi finally dropped them off, they walked hand in hand into their building and up the elevator to their apartment in silence.  Bruce greeted them at the door, meowing happily at his owners’ return.

“Hi Brucey,” Bee cooed as she bent down to pick him up, cradling him against her chest.  “Did you miss us, Brucey boy?”  Another loud meow escaped him, and Bee chuckled.  She heard Morgan set his keys down.  “We missed you too Brucey!”

Morgan bent down slightly to kiss Bruce’s head, and Bruce raised his own head to smell Morgan and boop him with his cold wet nose.  “I think Brucey should get a treat for not tearing apart a curtain while he was alone.”

Bee chuckled.  “That’s a good idea.  I’ll grab one for him.”

“I’ll be in the bathroom.”

As Morgan made his way to their ensuite, Bee quickly gave Bruce a treat before retreating back into their bedroom.  She stood in front of their armoire, looking at herself in the mirror.  Her hair was still perfectly curled, thankfully.  And her body was still flushed.  She had the liquid confidence of the wine still coursing through her, and she knew she needed to act on it.

“Mo, baby?” she called out as she heard the water from the faucet stop.  “Can you come help me with my dress?”

There was silence from the bathroom before she heard the door open.  She was taking off her earrings, watching him through the mirror as he walked over to her slowly, eyeing her up and down.  “Your dress?” his voice was low.

“Do you think you can help me take it off?” she asked.

She watched as Morgan stopped all movements momentarily before understanding what she was implying.  “I can do that.”

“Okay,” she smiled at him through her reflection in the mirror.  “Go sit on the bed.”

He did as he was told, sitting at the foot of the bed, his white shirt and suit pants still worn tight on his body.  She took her time making her way over to him, eventually standing right in front of him, between his legs, as she looked down on him.  “Did you have fun today?” she asked, resting her hands on his shoulders.  

“Of course I did,” he said, his voice low as he felt her begin to massage his neck and shoulders.  “Did you?”

She nodded her head.  “I can’t believe I got to meet Masai.”

He smiled.  “I can’t believe he gave us a ball.”

“Maybe I’ll write him another thank you note.”

Morgan giggled slightly, running his hands along the backs of her legs as she continued to massage his shoulders.  “You’re so good, Bumblebee,” he whispered, putting his hands over hers.  “I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have landed you, you know that?”

Bee smiled at him.  The warmth of his hands overs hers was so comforting.  “You wanna unzip me?”

Morgan nodded his head.  Bee turned around so her back was towards him, and she felt the fabric of her dress shift as he undid the top button and zipped all the way down.  He made sure to be gentle.  To take his time.  When she turned back around to face him, he peeled it off her.  She was wearing a skin tight black turtleneck underneath – the next thing he had to deal with – but as he pushed the fabric past her hips and it fell to the floor, it revealed a lingerie set and garter holding up her pantyhose.  

There was a sharp intake of breath.  “You had this on the entire time?” he asked, his voice low.

“Mhm,” she nodded her head, the smallest chuckle escaping her.  

“The entire day?”

“It’s not like there was any opportunity to change.”

Morgan bit his lip, taking in the black lace panties and pantyhose before him.  “Jesus, Briony.”

“You like?”

He looked up at her, playfully rolling his eyes at her question.  “Come on.”  His hands wandered around her hips and the lace covering them.  His fingers hooked into the hemline momentarily, feeling her skin there, before unhooking and continuing their wanders.  “I am so.  Fucking.  Lucky,” he mumbled to himself, feeling the curve of her ass.  “Can I take off your sweater?”

“Of course.”

Again, he took his time.  His hands traveled from her hips to her stomach as he leaned forward and began kissing her there, dragging his tongue along her skin as he pushed the fabric up and over her breasts.  It wasn’t until the sweater was tugged off, leaving her curled hair a bit dishevelled, that Morgan took in the lace push-up bra – obviously matching – that she was wearing.  “Jesus fucking Christ Briony.”

She bit her bottom lip.  He was already going to go crazy.  “Relax, baby.”

“How can I?”

“Shhhh…” she put her finger over his lips.  “Relax.  Let me take care of you.”

“Let me take care of you,” he grabbed at her ass.

“You liked what I did in Kelowna, right?” Bee asked, her voice holding the slightest amount of nervousness.  The Adam’s apple in Morgan’s throat bobbed as he nodded his head.  “Let’s change the rules a bit.”

“How so?”

“Touch me this time.”

Morgan’s heart stopped beating.  A low, hearty chuckle escaped from him as Bee turned away from him.  “Oooh, Briony…”

Bee began to sway her hips back and forth slowly, not wanting to wait any longer.  She placed her hands on his thighs, steadying herself, before moving forward to shove her breasts in his face.  Almost immediately, he licked and bit the skin above her breasts before she quickly pulled away.  Turning around, she swayed again, feeling Morgan’s hands squeezing her ass.  She looked over her shoulder at him, winking.  “Better this time now that you can touch me?”

Morgan didn’t answer; he was like a man transfixed.  As Bee continued to dance, she heard him unbuckle his belt.  She flipped her hair over her shoulder again to look at him.  He was pushing his suit pants down hastily, trying to free his cock from his underwear.  “Need some help?”

“Keep dancing,” he ordered.  

A shiver ran up Bee’s spine.  She did as she was told, moving her body sensually, gathering her hair in her hands or flipping it over her shoulder.  When she finally turned around again, she saw Morgan with his cock in his hands, his pants down around his ankles.  She couldn’t help but smile.  “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Not when you’re dancing like that,” he admitted.  “You have no idea what you do to me, Briony.”

Eyeing his hardening cock in his hands, Bee smirked.  “Oh, I think I do.”

“Be a good girl and keep dancing,” he said, using his free hand to grab at her hip.  

As she continued to dance, they couldn’t keep their eyes off each other.  Eventually, she leaned forward to kiss him, and began to unbutton his dress shirt.  She pushed it off his shoulders, but instead of throwing it across the room, she kept it in her hands.

“What’re you--”

“It’s not your jersey, but I guess it’ll do,” she said as she draped it over herself, slipping her arms through the sleeves to wear it.  She ran her fingers through her hair before posing for him playfully.

Morgan chuckled lowly, throwing his head back as he continued to stroke himself.  “You’re a little minx, you know that?  A fucking tease.”

“You fucking love it though,” she said with a devilish smirk.  She replaced his hand with hers on his cock and knelt in between his legs, using her free hand to scratch down his thigh.  “Now let me be a good girl and suck your cock.”

“With pleasure,” he wiggled his eyebrows.  

She gave him one last look before taking him in her mouth, twirling her tongue around the tip as she heard him grunt.  She bobbed her head up and down, taking him deeper into her throat each time.  Morgan brought his hand towards her and gathered her hair, tugging on it slightly so he could get a better look.  “You look so sexy with my shirt on you,” he mumbled, inhaling sharply as she took him deep.  “And with my cock in your mouth.”

“Does it look good with the black lingerie?” she asked quickly.

“Fuck yes.”

“Good.  Because this is all for you,” she said, licking the underside of his cock before kissing the head playfully.  “All for you.  Always.”

Morgan pushed her head down so she could take more of him down her throat.  She moaned in response, looking up at him with her beady eyes, causing him to throw his head back and close his eyes so he wouldn’t cum in her mouth right then and there.  As she sucked him off, his breathing got heavier, his chest heaving more and more.  Eventually, he felt his head hit the back of her throat, and his hips bucked at the sensation.  “Briony…”

“Cum down my throat, baby.”

“N-No--”

“Please Mr. Rielly, I want to taste you so bad,” she begged.

“Briony--”

“I wanna be your good girl Mr. Rielly.  Please please please,” she begged before taking him deep into her throat again. 

Morgan huffed, unable to say anything else, too hot and bothered to deny her what she wanted to do.  The second she gagged slightly and he felt his cock hit the back of her throat, he was gone.  The noise that escaped him was guttural as he felt himself shoot his load down her throat.  Bee sucked every last drop from him greedily, keeping her eyes on him as he locked eyes with her.  He felt like the luckiest guy alive – he knew he was the luckiest guy alive.

“C’mere,” Morgan huffed, pulling her up by her arms so she was now sitting on his lap.  They gave each other sloppy kisses before Morgan bit his way down to her neck and breasts.  “You wanna be a good girl?”

“Yes.”

“I asked if you want to be a good girl,” he repeated.

“Yes,” she said louder.  “Yes Mr. Rielly.”

“Then be a good girl and make yourself wet on my thigh,” he practically demanded, gripping the flesh on her thighs and ass.  

Bee looked at him with wide eyes.  She said nothing more – instead, she began grinding against his thigh, keeping eye contact with him as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.  His hands stayed firmly gripped on her hips, and the feeling of her hot pussy rubbing against his thigh got Bee all hot and bothered.  Her breathing became more erratic, and whimpers left her mouth as her body flushed with heat.  

“I love you,” she mumbled between heavy breaths, her voice sweet but barely audible as she kept rocking back and forth.

“What’s that?”

“I love you, Morgan,” she said, only slightly louder.

Morgan smiled softly.  It was an intimate moment that brought a warmth to him that he wasn’t expecting.  “I love you too, baby,” he said, his voice equally as sweet as hers was.  

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she continued.

“You’re my whole world,” he responded with the words he always followed with whenever she said that line.  Kissing her passionately, he moved his hand to start rubbing at her clit.

A whimper left her as her lips left his.  “Fuck,” she sighed out.  “I’m so close, Mr. Rielly.”

“Make my thigh wet baby, come on.  Be a good girl,” he encouraged her.

It wasn’t long before her body started shaking and she began screaming his name out.  Morgan could feel her juices on his thigh, and at the sound of her screaming his name, he couldn’t take it easy anymore.  Bee barely finished riding out her orgasm before he picked her up in his arms, kicking off his pants bunched at his feet.  

“Mo – baby --” Bee tried to figure out what he was doing as he picked her up.  “Morgan, what are you d--”

He practically threw her onto the bed.  “Spread your legs for me,” he ordered, his white shirt still draped over her body.  

Bee did as she was told.  Morgan wasted no time diving between her legs and moved the lace material of her thong to the side to eat her out like he was a man starved and she was the last meal on Earth.  Sucking at her clit, he brought his arms up to keep her hips down so she couldn’t squirm like she usually did – again, putting her pleasure in his complete control.  As she had barely come down from her previous orgasm, it took no time at all for her to cum again, covering his face in her juices.  He lapped up every last bit as she could barely squirm from the pressure he was exerting on her hips – she grabbed and tugged at his hair instead, needing to release some pressure elsewhere.  

“Again,” Morgan mumbled against her lips.  

“Mo--”

“Again.”

“Morgan, I c – I – oh shit,” she swore as she felt him push two fingers inside of her.  “Mo-Morganmorganmorgan,” she cursed him.

“Be a good girl, Briony,” his tone was strict with her.  “You got to taste me.  I want to taste you again and again.”

“Mo--”

“Are you going to be my good girl?”

She huffed, her chest heaving.  “Y-Yes,” she nodded her head, her voice soft.  “Yes.  I’ll be your good girl Mr. Rielly.”

Morgan continued lapping at her, curling his fingers inside her.  With only one arm holding her down now, she could squirm a bit more easily, but it was still tough and her pleasure was still mostly in his control.  Between his tongue and his fingers, Bee quickly came again…and again…and again…and—

She began to lose count.  At times it felt like multiple; at times it felt like just long and continuous.  Her throat was already dry from how much she had screamed Morgan’s name, huffing and puffing and trying to gain some semblance of sanity.  “Mr. Rielly – Mr. Rielly please, I want…I want…”

“What do you want?”

“I want your cock inside me,” she breathed out.

“Do you?” he asked between licks, ignoring her request.  

“Yes.  Yes…please Mr. Rielly.  I want to feel you buried deep inside of me,” she was on the verge of begging – what she knew he wanted her to do.  “I want you to fill me up with your big cock.”

Morgan practically manhandled her as he flipped her over on her hands and knees on the bed, spanking her ass and causing her to yelp out.  It had been long enough – after eating her out – that he was able to get an erection again, so he grabbed his cock and teased her entrance momentarily before filling her up, causing her to cry out.  

“Fuuuuuuuuuck Mr. Rielly,” she breathed, looking over her shoulder.  

“That feel good?”

“Your cock always feels good, Mr. Rielly.”

She felt him tug at her hair and pull her up to his chest.  Almost immediately, his free arm snaked around her body, his fingers attaching themselves to her clit again.  His other arm held her up and cupped her breast through the lace of her bra.  “You like it when I fuck you from behind?” he asked, biting down on the skin of her neck.  

“I love it,” she breathed out.  “Fuck Mr. Rielly, you fuck me so good.”

“Your pussy always feels so good for me,” he whispered in hear ear, pounding in and out of her.  “Always such a good girl for me.”

“I always want to be your good girl Mr. Rielly,” Bee breathed out.

Bee felt the waves of pleasure wash over her again as Morgan pushed her head gently back down onto the mattress and continued to fuck her, his grunts and expletives and mumbles of her name adding fuel to the already over-stimulated experience she was having.  She lost count at how many orgasms she’d gone through.

When she was least expecting it, Morgan pulled out.  She felt an emptiness that she didn’t like.  She wined at the loss and looked behind her.  “What are y--”

Morgan manhandled her again, flipping her over so she was flat on her back, and used his hands to pry open her legs, moving in between them.  She wrapped them tightly around his torso before he slipped into her again, her breasts almost spilling out of the lace bra.  His dress shirt still adorned her body and made him crazy with desire.  Before she could wrap her arms around his shoulders, he took one and pushed up the sleeve, finding the Cartier bracelet he’d given her.  He placed a delicate kiss on the skin of her wrist right above where the bracelet was before putting it around his shoulder.  

He leaned down and smothered her with kisses as he pumped in and out of her.  As Bee’s whimpers and moans got louder, he looked her in the eye.  “I love you Bumblebee,” he mumbled, using her nickname for the first time in this sort of setting.  “I love you so much.”

Bee brought one hand to cup his face.  “I love you too, baby.”

“I’m always gonna be yours, Bumblebee.”

“And I’m always gonna be yours.”

He made sure they were looking each other in the eye as he came inside of her, her eyes eventually closing from the pleasure of feeling his hot cum inside her walls.  Slowly, he collapsed on top of her, trying to catch his breath as his body engulfed hers.  With her legs still wrapped around him, he settled onto her.  

She began running her fingers through the tufts of his hair at the nape of his neck.  “I love you forever, Morgan,” she whispered in his ear.  

***

Bee felt like she was James Bond as she manoeuvred through the hallways at Scotiabank Arena trying not to get caught in enemy territory.  There was media and cameramen everywhere because it was the start of the season, the home oepneer, and although many didn’t know who she was, she was already wearing her Rielly jersey.  All it took was for one of them to snap a picture and she could see the blogs going crazy.

Not that it mattered.  What mattered more was the person she was going to meet.

“Hey sweetcheeks,” Tyler’s familiar voice echoed down the hall as Bee saw him walking with outstretched arms.  “Get over here.”

She practically skipped over to him, hugging him tightly in his workout clothes.  His arms wrapped around her tightly as he picked her up off the floor.  “I miss you,” she said as he set her down.  The hallways must have felt so familiar to him; except now, he was in opposing territory.  The visitors instead of the home team.

“I miss you too sweetcheeks,” he said, taking a look at her jersey.  “How angry would Mo get if I gave you a Senators jersey with my name on it?”

Bee snorted.  “It could go one of two ways.  He could burn it or he could ask me never to wear it in front of him.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Bee laughed as she shook her head.  He always had a witty comment or joke up his sleeve – it’s what she loved most about him.  “Have you settled yourself in Ottawa?  Do you have a place?”

“I do.  Near the Byward Market, actually.  It’s a bit far from the arena but it’s good to separate the two,” he informed her.

“Is your fridge stocked?”

“Yes mom,” he rolled his eyes.  “How’ve you been since your birthday?”

“I’ve been good.  There was a big team dinner last night and--”

“No, Bee,” he interrupted her, looking her in the eye.  “How have you been since your birthday?”

Bee took a deep breath.  She knew what he was really asking.  She should have been better prepared, because even though they spoke all the time over text, it was different than speaking to someone in person.  “I’ve been good, Tyler.  I mean it,” she said, grabbing his forearms to assure him.  “It was all…solved.  Without media fanfare, which was a miracle.  Brendan and Kyle are wizards.  It took a while for me to feel okay again, but I do now.  I don’t feel so…I don’t know, violated anymore.”

“I maintain what I said to you on the phone,” his tone was serious.  “If I need to murder someone in cold blood, I will.  They’ll never suspect it was me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she smiled.  “You watch too much true crime stuff, Tyler.”

“I’ve moved on to podcasts now.  All I have to do is listen.”

“I’m going to convince Morgan to go to Ottawa during the by-week.  We have the same one,” she changed the subject to something lighter.  “Would you be up for that?  Or have you already booked flights back home to Edm--”

“I’ll set up the spare bedroom now,” he said, nodding his head excitedly.  “I’ll go shopping for Egyptian cotton sheets.  I know how picky Mo is.  Little diva.”

She punched him in the arm.  “You are honestly the worst.”

“Morgan loves me.  I’ll have Trailer Park Boys on for him when you arrive.”

Bee hugged him again, burying her face in his neck.  To say that it was going to be weird seeing him in a Senators jersey, on the opposing team’s bench tonight was an understatement.  To her, he would always be a Maple Leaf.  It may not be that way for everybody else, but for her, that was the case.  “I’m going to miss having you around so much.  You don’t even know,” she mumbled.  

“I’ll always be here,” he said, squeezing her tighter.  “Remember what I told you.”

“I won’t feel pain if I never truly lose anything,” she recited.  

“Exactly.  And you’ll never lose me.”

***

“You wanna go back to mommy, Jace?” Bee looked down at the little baby in her arms, sucking on his pacifier and looking up at her with his big eyes.  She looked over to Aryne, who was ready for him.  “It would be a bit awkward for me to be holding the baby, especially if they pan to you after the announcement.”

“Definitely,” Aryne nodded, grabbing Jace and holding him against her chest.  “They’re going to release that video they filmed right after.  Everybody’s gonna realize a three week old baby knew about the captaincy before any of the media did.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Bee winked, Aryne winking back at her.  

From beside her, Angie shuffled past Monique and Steph to take her seat in between Mason and Bee.  “I didn’t miss anything, did I?” she asked.  “The line for the washroom took forever.”

“You’re good.  They’re literally just about to start,” Bee said.

As if on cue, the lights dimmed.  Scotiabank Arena, packed to the brim with people, erupted in cheers and applause.  The pre-game ceremony began, with the arena MC narrating everything.  The entire team came out one by one as their names were called out.  People cheered for their favourites and clapped for everyone.  Once the regular players were completed, Bee knew it was time to announce the leadership core.

She looked over to Aryne.  “Are you ready?” 

“As ready as I can be,” she said, rocking Jace back and forth.  “This is the moment he’s been waiting his entire life for.”

“And now, your captains!” the arena MC belted out.  “Alternate captain, from Thornhill, Ontario…number sixteen, Mitch Marner!”

Bee could hear Steph scream a few people down, and looked over to her with a giant smile on her face.  Steph was filming it on her phone, jumping around giddily as his name was called.  Bee clapped and wooed, knowing that – despite an eventful summer of contract negotiations – Mitch had been dreaming about this his whole life too.  The crowd cheered loudly for him, thankful that the hometown boy stayed.

“Alternate captain, from Scottsdale, Arizona…number thirty-four, Aaaauuuustoooon Maaaatthews!”

Bee cheered as Auston skated onto the ice, raising his stick in appreciation of the fans cheering for him.  She knew it had been a tough couple of weeks for him – and Lord knows she gave him a piece of her mind too – but she was truly proud of him and what he had accomplished.  The most skilled player on the team, he was the central franchise player.

Her heart began to beat quicker knowing what was coming next.  She was trying not to get too emotional, especially because he had been an alternate captain for years now, but she couldn’t help it.  She was so proud of Morgan – her Morgan – and she couldn’t hold back.  She felt a stray tear fall down her cheek but wiped it away quickly.  

“Alternate captain, from Vancouver, British Columbia…number forty-four, Moooooooorgaaaaan Rielly!”

Bee screamed at the top of her lungs.  The arena cheered and applauded too, thankful that somebody like Morgan – one of their longest tenured players now – was named to this position.  A lot of people would have preferred him as captain – she knew that – but that didn’t matter to her.  What mattered was that he was recognized for his commitment to the team, for his leadership role during the tough years until now, for the responsibility he took for the defensive capabilities of the team.  He was happy with the alternate captain title.  He wore it with honour.  He wore it with pride.  He wore it with courage.  He wore it knowing that this team was a part of his heart a soul.  He wore it knowing that he was the foundation upon which everything else was built.  In some ways, in being the foundation, he was the most important part.  

She was so proud of him.  And loved him so much.  

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the twenty-fifth captain in franchise history.  From Oakville, Ontario…number ninety-one, Jooooohn Taaavares!”

Bee screamed at the top of her lungs again, as did Aryne, and the entire arena erupted in the loudest cheers of the night.  John Tavares.  25th captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs.  The hometown boy who came home.  In every account except for biological, her big brother.

There was nothing better.  

Bee thought about the last year.  She thought about how she met Morgan under mysterious circumstances.  She thought about how they took things slow at first, not wanting to put a label on it, because she put her schooling first and Morgan respected that.  She thought about cooking Thanksgiving dinner and Morgan telling her he couldn’t wait anymore and her agreeing.  She thought about the break-in.  About the girls rallying around her and helping her recoup everything and more.  She thought about Naz and Ashley letting her stay in their empty apartment.  Christmas.  Bumblebee.  Auston making out with her cupcakes.  She thought about landing her job at Scotiabank.  She thought about going to Vancouver for the first time, whale-watching and telling Morgan she loved him.  She thought about her mom dying; about the sense of relief that washed over her more than guilt or grief.  She thought about Valentines Day and Morgan’s birthday and giving her utmost trust to him in their most intimate of moments.  The slur.  Moving in with Morgan.  Game seven.  Holding Morgan as he cried.  She thought about the cottage, about graduation, about going to Vancouver for a second time and feeling at home.  She thought about Naz being traded, about holding baby Naylah in her arms at the hospital.  She thought about Tyler, about Jake, about Cassie.  She thought about visiting Aryne and holding baby Jace.

And that was all just the beginning.

As she looked out onto the ice at Morgan, standing solemnly for O Canada, she couldn’t help but feel excitement for what was to come.  She knew that whatever that was, they’d get through it together.  The highs and the lows.  The mountains and the valleys.  She wouldn’t have to experience anything alone anymore.  She wouldn’t have to go through life wondering if she’d be alone forever.  Instead, it was she and Morgan.  Against the world.  

Together.

She was ready.

[skiesdweller]

It's not about glamour it’s about guts.

1 | Solo | Form my childhood I was attracted to aeroplanes of all kinds, largely due to family. My Grandfather was US Navy Pilot shot down over Vietnam.

My father was an Aviator with USAF and has flown B-52 Stratofortress and presently a successful airlines company CEO and Chairman. Now it was my turn. They say Fighter Pilots are not born, they are built and this is place where they make them Naval Air Station Kingsville

The Advanced flight training starts with a 900 page manual of F/A 18 he first Fighter Jet I will qualify on. Here we have already done our Introductory flight screening (IFS)

and Primary flight training. It also includes Centrifuge tests which simulates the conditions of stress and gravity inside fighter aircraft. The tighter the turn, harder the gravity pushes on him,  which in technically called pulling Gs. And fighter jets do it more brutally than any machine on earth At 2G a 200 pound man can easily feel twice his weight. Take it upto 5g and the flight suit feels like 1000 pounds of lead. Once you start pulling Gs its like bench pressing your chest, everything is pulling down and its very hard to breathe. Under G load blood drains from the head and pools in the legs leading to tunnel vision or verse G lock i.e G induced loss of consciousness. Survival depends on mastering the Anti G Straining Manoeuvre, the trick is - tense the leg and stomach muscle so as to prevent the blood from hitting south.  And to breathe in short quick burst. Abs tight, but tight and lift yourself from the seat. The G suite that I was introduced too basically had bladders in thigh muscle and abdomen which inflate under G forces at varying pressure to squish your lower extremities to keep the blood in your head. But for centrifuge test, the suit will not inflate, I need to prove that I can sustain high G forces completely on my own. I had to complete a series of tests culminating in 8Gs for 15 long seconds. My turn I witnessed the heavy pressure and pull, it was difficult to breathe but I heard be “aggressive.. be aggressive” clearly and altered my pace likewise. When I finished it I was already a little white but I passed it. Good Stuff, the instructor commented. Two veteran pilots lost the test. One at 8 seconds and the most experience at 14 seconds. So being a pilot is no guarantee you will qualify. So Mike lost by just one second, its harsh but it would be fatal in F/A 18  rushing towards ground at hundreds of miles an hour. It took Mike 3 seconds to recover but that threes seconds is the time a fighter pilot does not have, especially if he supersonic. It could mean entering in enemy territory, getting shot by sam for failure to evade, or crashing. None of which is acceptable. Mike will have another shot at this test. I was in for my next challenge. The Seat from hell. The Fighter pilot’s ticket to survival. In a F/A 18  it is Martin-Baker Mk.14 NACES (Naval Aircrew Ejection Seat ). These seats are fitted in 200 fixed-wing and rotary types with the most recent being the Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning II programme.

A pilot is snared in belts and buckles, four straps for the leg another six for the torso, pin a pilot to the seat during violent manoeuvres. They also prevent him from being torn apart if he has to eject. The Ejection seat may be a pilot’s lifeline but it will be most violent and terrifying rescue imaginable. Pilot and seat literally explode out of airplane, when they are clear, another charge blows the seat belts and deploys the parachute. It all happens in just two seconds. One of my greatest fears was having to parachute in open waters and its is critical to know exactly what to do in first few seconds after hitting the war. So as test I had get free from the harness after been thrown into Olympic pool before I get to pulled to the pool. Then get out from under the canopy before it pulls me under. 

It was easy in the pool but imagine it in freezing Atlantic water. At this point everything I do is making life and death decisions automatic. After learning to survive and passing this phase and before spending time in a real cockpit of F/A 18 I will have to spend hours in simulator. Instructors throwing emergency after emergency, while I struggle to keep up, but eventually these procedures will be seared into my brain. While others went for Lunch one day I made a beeline for an open cockpit. I was going to save sitting in fighter aircraft for my first flight but there was too much to know. At the top of my list were critical emergencies that require a pilot to react instantly, the so called RED PAGES. In a machine as complex as F/A 18,  failures are inevitable. Red Pages emergencies are inherently fatal. Things like Engine Fire that will cripple the jet; A fuel leak, Landing gear failure or a cockpit that suddenly fills with smoke, blinding the Pilot. Better to know where the switch is, if a lot has to think before acting in these situations, he will be hole in ground before he remembers the answer because if you are in supersonic fighter the question is not if the trouble will find you but when. In a life of fighter pilot there are no secrets, even if there is, there is always a witness. Every time a fighter aircraft leaves the ground the mission is tapped. The Heads up Display or HUD shows the pilot things like Speed, Altitude and G Forces. Everything a pilot sees is recorded and everything he says. Also my ride I discovered I had a companion, a computer one, and soon discovered that fighter pilots call it bitching Betty. More common are the troubles that a pilot runs into when he pushes the jet too far. The same traits that make fighter jets agile and manoeuvrable also make them extremely twitchy   When they are driven to the limit. Once the plane looses control it will not be safe to control it until it reaches certain speed in situation where the plane does not reach that speed, all a pilot can do is take hands off the controls and wait, it’s ultimate faith and belief in a machine. The instructor talking about his experience when he recovered 2000 ft above ground and 3 seconds from oblivion. His HUD was a case study. This is the stuff we live for. Living life on the edge. Anyone can shoot bullets, but only few can call themfselves fighter pilots. The first test was pushing all of us Aviators to the limit. Last minute brushing up of details, sleep deprivation, stress. Unlike other exams in this exam the pass mark is 100%. For instructors demanding perfection is not unreasonable, it’s personal. After having cleared the test and surfing three weeks, it was time for some celebrations No G suites today, instead, I was siting up for our official welcoming party. Being a fighter pilot isn’t a job, It’s Life Walking through Air Worthiness check of F/A 18, every Pilot must know by heart. There are 155 checks before one even climbs into cockpit. When you sign on to fly jets it means a life time of sacrifice. Suiting up for F/A 18, is like gearing up for super bowl, it makes everything else you have flown seem like training wheels. And it was about to happen the first flight in Fighter Aircraft, but first I had to prove I have memorised the external safety checks, all 155 of them. Covering Everything from mechanical to animal. Then there are another 194 cockpit checks. As I climbed up the cockpit ladder, I was feeling a soft breeze behind my neck, a feeling of something important about to happen, a feeling one cannot imagine.After 194 checks, I had to 76 more checks before I even started the engine. And starting the engines involves 45 more, I felt I could get old waiting around for this. An Experienced Fighter pilot can knock off the whole work in under 5 minutes. Student Naval Aviators like me usually take three quarters of an hour. I took 38 minutes on my first and It was situation where I could not afford to make a mistake. My instructor in back seat is watching like a hawk. And Upfront the Heads Up Display (HUD) tape is recording every move I make and everything I say. “ All Set, 222 Taking Off my” first ever Fighter Callsign on a Fighter Aircraft. “Show me your Stuff man” The Air Controller replied to my information.”  Pressing the throttle forward, this was the moment I have been waiting all my life. As the afterburners lit the tarmac up. “Nozzles Good , 100 Knots and takeoff”

“Good Job” The instructor sitting behind me said as the wheels left the tarmac. “All’s Up regain 220” Right away I was expected to master the basics. “I will try a roll” And I did.. Yeehaa..I could not control my excitement. “I’m gonna do one more.” My instructor just laughed. Rolls, Climbs, Stall Even though I was getting the most thrilling experience of my life, instructors were looking for discipline and level headed guy which is required in combat and it was just business for us. But at this stage, flying is an easy part, for an inexperienced pilot bringing an F/A 18 back to earth is the most dangerous and difficult part of the flight. For  44 years F/A 18 has proven its ability in combat theatres around the world. And it is dual engine plane, only experienced pilots gets to touch them and qualified ones get to fly them. It is whole lot different than F-16, but in hands a SNA  ( Naval Aviator) on windy day it can also be treacherous. On the HUD on the left was the E bracket which tells the pilot, plane’s angle on landing, how high the nose is, E bracket helps insure a smooth landing.  I landed a little harder than my instructor would have liked but I got it done without drama, and completed it successfully. After very flight there is a debriefing. This course is marathon and we athletes/ pilots have just begun our race. There are never enough serviceable jets and never enough time. One of the exercise I did was practise engine restart, the drill is straightforward, shutdown one engine, accelerate to 350 knots and relight it, at that speed air is driving the compressor like a windmill, so when the engine is reignited the turbines are moving fast enough to blow the heated air out of exhaust. If You fly too slow in this exercise, the hot air blast will be trapped and engine will overheat. Two cadets made a mistake, Mike was flying too slow so he had to do emergency landing with only one engine. The engine was unhinged and taken to sick bay for inspection, luckily for Mark, it did not suffer any damage. For Tim his missioned was cancelled as he dropped his ball pen into cockpit. That 10 pence plastic could jeopardise the entire flight safety, so the plane was rotunded till the pen was found. That means somebody else does not get to fly, due to Tim’s mistake. So around here we have rule, one pilot’s mistake is everyone’s lesson. Time for Solo flight, for pilots, they count their flying hours, for me this was hour one, minute one for a solo flight. “Alright Nose and Wheel Sten is up. I’m good to go” “Cleared to Take Off” Came the reply. That was what we had all prepared for Solo Sortie “EGT, Fuel Flow Nozzle, oil is good, Going to burner, Here we go Lift off” And I was wheels up in the climb “Gear flags up, 220” “Eat your heart out..this is fucking awesome”..I commented up in air. It was my first solo flight, at 20000 Feet. If anything goes wrong help I long far away.The Mission went smoothly I did all the patterns I had to complete and pulled in a little extra and landed safely. Right before Thunderstorms filled the sky. Flight Tradition Dictates that the a Pilot goes solo, he earns himself a callsign - a nickname that symbolises his identity. Squadron tradition demands a well stocked bar and well used gun barrel from nose of a jet. Getting a call sign is like Christening there it was “Hammer” and I had no say in it, and it was decided by mob rule by Instructors. Only in movies you get cool callusing like “Maverick” and “Iceman” here In this batch I was lucky.  

[moonflower-31]

Journey To A Dream - Sabriel Rapunzel AU

Part 6 

Part 5 

Part 4 

Part 3 

Part 2 

Part 1  

Sam immediately let out a laugh as he started running around in the grass, launching old fallen leaves into the air and splashing water from a nearby pond.

"Does grass always smell this good?!" He exclaimed, bringing a bunch of pulled blades from the ground to his nose before moving onto something else. "Water is way more cold than I thought it would be!" He exclaimed, chucklimg to himself as he dug his fingers into the dirt and sighed happily at how it felt.

Gabriel watched this turn of events with a confused expression and a raised eyebrow.  This guy really had never left that tower for 21 years. All of his life. That was something that Gabriel could barely fathom.

Gabriel couldn't even be in Heaven nowadays for that long without pulling his feathers from his wings out.

Gabriel shook his head and just watched Sam freak out. It was quite entertaining, if he were to say so himself.

Sam continues to freak out for five minutes, just being happy to be out of that freaking tower. After a few moments he finally runs back to Gabriel, laughing happily to himself.

"Thank you!! I cannot believe I'm doing this!" He grinned, pushing his dark brown strand behind his ear as he turns to leave the clearing.

Gabriel again raises an eyebrow at the strand, but shrugs it off, walking after him. Immediately, ideas began to run through his head though. This guy hasn't seen the real world, right? So Gabriel could technically scare him, right?

Sam almost danced away from the tower, running through trees and just enjoying the spring wind on his face. Sure, he knew that he would have to go back, but he was going to enjoy it while he could. Azazel obviously wasn't going to let him. And besides, what was so wrong with the world that Azazel wouldn't let him go out?

Gabriel walked behind Sam slowly, his hands in his pockets as Crowley hung onto Sam's shoulder.

"So... you live in that towet alone?" Gabriel asks, running a hand through his golden brown hair.

Sam finally stops running and shook his head, humming a tune under his breath as he walked ahead of Gabriel.

Gabriel raised another curious eyebrow. "So, who else lives with you?" He asks, lowering his head as Crowley gave Gabriel a glare.

Sam turned his head and frowned. "U-uh... my father. He's away right now. Actually thats the only reason I've been able to even get out of the tower in the first place." He says, smacking Crowley a bit for being rude.

Gabriel smirked a bit. "So, you still live with your father? Aren't you afraid he might... I dunno... come home early and find you gone? Wouldn't he search the ends of the earth for you?" He asks, plucking a flower from the ground, sniffing it innocently as Sam stopped in realization.

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, and began to worry. "He... he would, wouldn't he..." he mumbles, beginning to fret.

Gabriel fought back the urge to smile more. "And wouldn't you crush his heart, knowing you left after he asked you specifically not to?" He asks, still walking forwards, but not very fast.

Sam widens his eyes even more, beginning to pant. "Y-yeah... yeah he would..." he syas nervously, shuffling his feet.

Gabriel shrugged. "Well, if you want my opinion, I think we should just cut you out of this deal. Take you and your rat home, I get my satchel, and then you and your father will have a great relationship untainted by betrayal-" he starts, turning around to see a miffed Sam who stomped over to him.

"No! I am seeing those lanterns!" He insists, brandishing the pan in his hand. "You will take me to see those lanterns conscious or not." He threatens, moving the pan threateningly close.

Gabriel finally stops walking, and pushed Sam's pan away as he starts to try and talk himself out of the deal when the bushes begin to rustle, and a far off sound of voices make Sam jump and hide behind Gabriel.

"Is is Angels? Hunters? Have they finally tracked my hair down?!" He squeaked, making Gabriel give him a dumbfounded look.

Then, out of the bushes outsteps a moose. Gabriel snickers. "Look, its just another version of you, Samsquatch. Don't worry, it can't smell fear." He teased. Sam huffed and smacked Gabriel's shoulder.

"Shut up! Hunters and angels have wanted my hair for as long as I can remember." He says, pushing his hair back as he begins walking.

"What makes you say that? Why would, hypothetically, an angel want your hair?" He asks Sam, confused and laughing at Sam's excuse for being scared.

Sam huffed again. "My father told me-" he starts before he reevaluates his decision. "You know what? No. Its none of your buisness." He says in a scowl before he stomps forward, making Gabriel roll his eyes.

Gabriel wanted to say that it was his buisness, but that would reveal more than he wanted to. Then an idea hit him.

Gabriel quickly caught up with Sam. "You know what? I'm hungry. Are you? Cause I know a great place for lunch." He insists, smiling.

Sam raised an eyebrow, softening his face. "Really? What's it called?" He asks.

Gabriel chuckled. "Its a surprise, come on. Let's go." He says before he grabs Sam's hand and leads him down the hill towards the place he had in mind.

Sam kept looking around as Gabriel led him through the forest. He was still in awe of the world and wondering still how his father saw the world as so cruel.

Eventually, after a short while Gabriel led Sam to a building lit up in a sign that said 'Harvelle's Roadhouse'.

Sam smiled at the place. "Its nice..." He says, smiling as he admired the building.

Gabriel forced a smile onto his face. "Right? Come on, lets go in and eat." He says, grabbing Sam's wrist and dragging him up to the door and bursting the door open. "Ellen! Your best table, please." He says in a fake accent, which Sam follows up with a gasp.

Sam's eyes wander the restaurant, seeing hunters everywhere. A few at the bar, a few playing darts, some looking through lore books, before they all looked up at Sam and Gabriel.

Gabriel forced Sam through, almost dragging him through the crowd of literally blood covered hunters. "Joe, nice to see you, Ah, Polly, nice to see you got that stab wound fixed up." He says, making up names for each of the hunters as they walked. "See, these giys are nice. But if they unsettle you that much, why don't we just ride on back to your little tower-" he starts before he bumps into a larger hunter, one who looked like a real drunkard.

Sam gulped as he looked into the hunter's blue eyes, backing away from the man. Then, another hunter, one who had her name etched onto her cap 'Jo' picked up Gabriel by the collar. She pulled out a wanted paper and showed it to him.

"This you?" She asks, smirking at him.

Gabriel looked at Jo for a moment and shook his head. "No. Trust me you definitely have the wrong guy-" he starts. Then, another female hunter comes up, gripping a fistful of Sam's hair.

"Really? Why would someone come in here, looking exactly like the fugitive Loki, with a sissy of a partner with this much fucking hair?" The blonde hunter hissed, glaring at Gabriel with her own blue eyes.

Sam yelps and pulls his hair out of the hunter's grip and accidentally bumped into the other hunter again. The hunter grumbled and looked at him again.

"Would you stop that? Can't any of you idjits leave me alone?" He grunts. Sam sighed and muttered a 'Sorry' before he sunk away.

Gabriel raised his hands and almost admitted defeat. "N-no, look, that isn't me. See? The faces don't match! Especially the nose!" He insists, trying to be put down.

Then, finally, another hunter grabs the wanted poster and chews out the nose portion. "Now does it look like you?" The hunter asks, murder in his eyes.

Gabriel gulps somewhat and the hunter smirks. "Ooh I'm gonna love sending you off to get your head cut off like the vamps that I kill." He smirked, hoisting Gabriel up by his collar and hanging him on the wall as all of the hunters in the room began to discuss what they were going to do with the prize money.

The hunter Sam had accidentally bumped into multiple times sent a hunter by the name of 'Garth' out the door to go get 'Dean'. Sam could only guess that 'Dean' was the guards.

"Go on, ya idjit! Go send for Dean! You know how much he wants this mother's head." The hunter huffs before he goes to try and break up the fighting. But Sam beat him to it.

Sam stood up on top of a table and launched his hair, pulling back one of the loose rafters before calling out. "Hey!" And letting go, hitting the dark skinned hunter who had put Gabriel up on the hook on the head.

Immediately everyone's attention turned to Sam, and they started to move towards him.

Sam then began to panic. "L-look, I get it. You all probably aren't able to afford much. And him falling into your laps is probably a godsend. But please, he's my only ticket to see the lanterns the kingdom is sending off tomorrow before I have to go back home. It's been my dream forever. Please, find it in yourselves to let him go. Haven't any of you had a dream once in your lives?" He asks in a huff and with limited air.

The gruff hunter that Sam accidentally kept bothering got extremely close and took a long swig of his beer before he tossed it into the garbage, where it promptly shattered.

"What's your name kid?" He asks in a rough voice.

Sam gulps before he answered. "Sam, my name is Sam." He answered.

Gabriel face palmed against the door, knowing that was a stupid mistake with hunters.

Bobby ponders this a second before he extends his hand. "The name's Bobby Singer. You a hunter?" He asks. "You don't look like one. All that hair would get you killed." He says.

Sam chuckled nervously. "N-no, no I'm not...B-bobby." He says.

Bobby nods before he starts speaking again. "Well Sam, yeah, I did have a dream. A long time ago. My dream was to marry the girl of my dreams. Keep up my ranch of horses. But that all caved in on me when a demon possessed my wife and I had to kill her." He answered, opening a new beer.

Sam raised his eyebrows, frowning at Bobby's story. "I... I'm so sorry." He says, suddenly feeling bad for the hunter.

One of the female hunters stepped up. "Me? My dad was possessed by an angel. The angel got him killed. My mom died cause of one too. Don't let them fool you. They aren't cherubs." The blonde hunter hissed. "You know what my dream was? To have my family back." She says.

Sam sighed, grippimg his hair. Then, another hunter stood up, this was the darker skinned one. "My dream? To avenge my sister. She was turned into a vampire amd I had to kill her. But revenge never satisfies anything." He says, sharpening his knife against the table.

Sam looked around, seeing multiple hunters step up and tell their stories and their crushed dreams. It made Sam's heart ache. He flashed his puppy dog eyes at everyone, feeling terrible.

The very last moment, one of the other hunters took hold of Gabriel's collar and put him down. "What about you, Trickster? Ever had a dream?" The hunter asked.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Sorry guys but uh, I don't share well with others." He says, before a few hunters took out their knives and Gabriel rolled his eyes again.

"Fine. My dream, was to get away from my family. Start a new life full of sex, riches and lots and lots of sugar!" Gabriel started out meaningful, like he was going to actually take it serious, before he finishes, giving a seductive pose that no one was fazed by.

Bobby scoffed. "That's a terrible dream." He says. Gabriel shrugged.

"You asked." He says, trying to walk away triumphantly. The other hunters lifted him up again, aiming their blades near his body. He looked almost unfazed, but he had to keep up the facade. So he made a look of terror and gulped.

Bobby turned back to Sam. "Now you, Sam. Tell us your dream." He says, sitting back and sipping his beer.

Sam smiled and stood up a bit taller. "Well... mine isn't as precious as yours. But, for me? Every year on May second, I open my window from my tower and I see almost a thousand lanterns launched into the sky. I always wondered what they looked like in person. My father never let me out of the tower." He says, leaning towards Bobby for a second. Bobby gives him a skeptical look, before continuing to listen.

"So, since Loki has been to the kingdom I'm asking him to take me to see them. The agreement was that he'd take me and then take me home but... if I'm honest? The more and more time I spend outside of my tower? The more I want to stay out." He admits, smiling to himself.

Bobby smiled and opened his mouth to speak as Garth charged into the bar again, fixing his hat.

"I found him! And the guards!" He exclaims. Bobby widened his eyes and grabbed Sam's wrist, pulling Gabriel along with him. He pulled them behind the bar, and pulled a lever, showing that there was a tunnel let out under the floorboard.

Bobby sighed, and smiled at Sam. "Go on, live your dream. Find peace or whatever." He says.

Gabriel stares into the dark cavern and smirked. "Oh I will, don't worry..." he says in a whisper. A loud thud is heard above the bar as the horse from earlier stamped his hooves against the bar counter.

Sam covers his mouth so his yelp isn't heard. Bobby rolls his eyes and smacks Gabriel in the back of the head.

"Your dream, stinks. I was talking to him." He says in a scowl. Sam smiled nervously and hugged Bobby for a moment.

"Thank you," he whispers before he escapes into the tunnel behind Gabriel. Bobby then closes the hatch, hoping to give them some time.

As Bobby stands back up, Dean walks over and greets him in a hug.

"Bobby, long time no see, huh?" He asks. Bobby nods, smiling a bit as he hugs back.

"Well if you weren't so busy all the time," he starts in a huff. Dean chuckled.

"Bobby, we've talked about this. You know why I search so much. I need to find him. I promised him I'd protect him the day he was born. I failed him on that. So now I gotta find him. Bring him home." Dean says, looking over at the horse.

The horse tries to mess with the floorboards where Sam and Gabriel had been able to escape through.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Cas? You find something?" Dean asks, walking over. He sees the boards are unusually cut, and starts to inspect it a bit.

Castiel rolled his eyes and pressed his hoove against a hidden lever, opening the tunnel.

Dean smiled victoriously. "Great job Cas. Now, lets get this filthy Trickster." He grins before one by one the guards start to pile into the tunnel, making Bobby sigh and hope for the best for Sam and unfortunately, for Gabriel.

[banjopeony95-blog]

Ways to Make Your Instagram Work For You

There aren't any solid rules as to making sure your Instagram posts work for you. There is only a few rule of thumbs and I think Neil Patel, author and internet entrepreneur, nailed several of which down within an article. But I'll allow it to be short without having time to pass through each of them yourself and I'll toggle the value based on a few things i think is very important for an Instagram post without beating across the bush. Buy Good Picture Not every single one of your posts needs to be postcard-ready - you simply need a number of high quality pictures that highlight the very best of your products. There were after a food delivery site which i followed on Twitter who made the best food but had the worst-lit pictures on Instagram. I believed it was a complete waste of potential and asked them if they may tweak their pictures somewhat with filters before posting it. They did in addition to their pictures happen to be mouth-watering ever since! Get Personal Lengthy Instagram account a face, someone they're able to correspond with or post a behind-the-scene picture. You will find there's valid reason why people search for BTS YouTube videos before/watching a film or television series. Human beings are curious like that. When they can relate with you, they're half-way hooked. Be Funny, Be Quirky, Be In-the-Know, Be Cool or Some of Those Folks who wants be funny, be quirky. If you can't be quirky, be in-the-know. If you fail to be in-the-know, be cool. Select one. Using this method, people remember you once you peek just about to happen. They see you in the corner of the eye and know it's you and they're interested again. That's branding. Receive an Influencer I had been born from the time period when you call someone an influencer, your folks probably considered that they were drug pushers. In the digital age, it implies a person who has a substantial following on their own social websites accounts. If you possibly could find a way to pay one of those Youtubers or Instagrammers to focus on your service, great. If you cannot, find a person affordable you are able to use, preferably within the same industry Although not your competitor. Did I seriously say that? =) The is a list online that explains the people by having an International platform. If you are going local, do not be afraid to negotiate using them.

Use Instagram Ads Providing you maintain your financial allowance and also have a pretty eye-catching short video, Do it now. Don't be spending thousands on the ads, anyway. When you've split the fee up between Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Google, you may like a decent ROI. What you look for to take pleasure from, at the end of the afternoon, is eyeballs. Run Contests and Encourage Positive Engagement Posts offering something nifty or simple will surprise even the best people. Some individuals attempt their darnest to win a notebook, a couple of tickets to some amusement park, a container of hand lotion, a trip, air tickets or even a grand piano. If it's free, very few will complain. And besides, in comparison with Facebook, Instagram's got fewer rules to adhere to... for the present time. Use Hashtags I can not say enough regarding how a lot of people are employing hashtags wrongly. You do not post an image of your baby and rehearse a hashtag like #AngieandBobsBabyisSoCute. 1) Nobody else is using that hashtag so it will be a whole total waste of time (and space); 2) You would like to work with a hashtag that people can seek out and they are already using; 3) Find other similar posts for inspiration and like for exposure. You may also develop your individual cool hashtag and advertise it everywhere. I mean, EVERYWHERE so your friends, family, and followers make use of it too. Now, That is the reason for a hashtag. All the best . and enjoy yourself! More details about instasave please visit web site: click site.

[rayyancoulson-blog]

Easy methods to Make Your Instagram Be Good Enough

There are no strict rules about making sure your Instagram posts are working in your case. There's only some rule of thumbs and i believe Neil Patel, author and internet entrepreneur, nailed many ones down in a article. But I'll ensure it is short without time to pass through all of them yourself and I'll toggle the value in accordance with things i think is essential for an Instagram post without beating throughout the bush. Purchase a Good Picture Its not all single your posts should be postcard-ready - you simply need a couple of good quality pictures that highlight good your merchandise. There was clearly once a food delivery site that I followed on Twitter who made the top food but had the worst-lit pictures on Instagram. I guess it's time a complete potential and asked them if they might tweak their pictures just a little with filters before posting it. They did as well as their pictures happen to be mouth-watering since! Get Personal Offer Instagram account a face, someone they can connect with or post a behind-the-scene picture. There's a justification why people hunt down BTS YouTube videos before/watching a show or tv series. People are curious like that. When they can correspond with you, they're half-way hooked. Be Funny, Be Quirky, Be In-the-Know, Be Cool or Some of Those If you cannot be funny, be quirky. If you can't be quirky, be in-the-know. Folks who wants be in-the-know, be cool. Find out. In this way, people remember you whenever you peek around the corner. They view you through the corner of their eye and know it's you together with they're interested once again. That's branding.

Experience an Influencer I had been born within the day and age if you call someone an influencer, your mother and father probably belief that these folks were drug pushers. However in digital age, it implies anyone who has a large following on their own social media marketing accounts. When you can find a way to pay one of those Youtubers or Instagrammers to focus on your products or services, great. Folks who wants, hire a roofer affordable you'll be able to work with, preferably inside same industry And not your competitor. Did I really have to say that? =) The is really a list online that explains the methods with the International platform. If you're going local, you shouldn't be afraid to negotiate together. Use Instagram Ads As long as you maintain your financial budget where you can pretty eye-catching short video, GO FOR IT. Avoid being spending thousands about the ads, anyway. Once you've split the price up between Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Google, you could try a decent ROI. What you would like to enjoy, after the morning, is eyeballs. Run Contests and Encourage Positive Engagement Posts that offer something nifty or simple will surprise even the best folks. Many people will attempt their darnest to win a notebook, a set of tickets to some theme park, a container of hand lotion, any occasion, air tickets or a grand piano. If it is free, few will complain. And besides, compared to Facebook, Instagram's got fewer rules to adhere to... in the meantime. Use Hashtags I can't say enough about how precisely some people are utilizing hashtags wrongly. You do not post images of one's baby and make use of a hashtag like #AngieandBobsBabyisSoCute. 1) Who else is applying that hashtag so it's a complete total waste of time (and space); 2) You need to work with a hashtag that individuals can hunt for and are already using; 3) Find other similar posts for inspiration and like for exposure. It's also possible to think of your own personal cool hashtag and market it everywhere. What i'm saying is, EVERYWHERE so that your friends, family, and followers make use of it too. Now, That is the function of a hashtag. Good luck and have fun! More information about instasave net page: click to read more.

[canna-base]

Honest Review of the Pax 3 Handheld Portable Vaporizer by a Chronic Pain Patient

As a fairly recent convert to MMJ, it took me almost a year to lose my love affair with rolling a blunt and suffering the noxious smoke to medicate. Trying to subtly partake of much needed sweet leaf relief was a chore, dodging into the alley next to my home and trying to avoid the gaze of curious kids was proving stressful. It was more the image of their dad smoking than the substance itself, of giving them a bad mental image that allowed them to “smoke” was not good parenting. Plus I don’t want to feel like taking herbal medication is something to be ashamed of.

But a whole 12 months past before I got together the resources (saved!) to afford a decent pocket vape. My requirements were;

Discreet

Easy to use

Didn’t look too “druggy”

Did the job efficiently

Had accurate temperature control

I used to be a cigarette smoker, many moons ago but having never ‘vaped’ I was not sure what to expect.  I knew the device had to heat the dry herb to hit the off button on my considerable knee pain and I knew that three light-ish puffs on a ‘joint’ got the job done, albeit with that smokey aftertaste, aroma and fear that a neighbour may smell the err, medication.

So I did some research and decided that a Pax 3 was the ticket, I almost purchased an entry level eBay special but figured that £80+  could be totally wasted (ha!) and I should go with a reputable brand. After reviewing our various recommendations I went and bought a Pax 3 from a local supplier.

Shopping For a Dry Herb Vaporizer

Evapo is a vape shop in Guildford mostly given over to liquid non-MMJ vape-ware, vaporisers, liquids and accessories but there was one cabinet market “CBD” which, given this is the UK, was a subtle clue as to what the cabinet held. The choice was limited to a Pax 2 or a Pax 3. Given that I am an inveterate tech-head I opted for the app controlled Pax 3.

The salesman was a cheerful upbeat sort who talked discreetly but knowledgeably of the features/benefits and what a dry herb vaporizer did. Plus, Evapo had a 15% off deal that weekend which reduced the ticket price from £219.99 to £186.99. Seemed a bit steep for a first time vape purchase, I mean, what if I didn’t like it? What if I didn’t get the relief I am seeking? Hey ho, figured in the name of research it was worth the spend. Five minutes later I exited the proud owner of one spanking brand new Pax 3, and instructions on how to pair it up with the app, more on that in a moment.

Unboxing the Pax 3 Herb Vape

When I got home I opened the box, which is as stylish as the Pax 3 itself, very Apple design led. You slide the box out a sleeve, and it opens with a satisfying resistance provided by hidden magnets. I can see why they get the price they charge.

It contains charger & USB charge cable, cleaning materials (pipe cleaners and pipe brush), a keyring that doubles up as a scraper, an oven like compartment with a holder for concentrates and waxes, a second half-charge oven lid, raised silicon mouthpiece and a stitched material sleeve and of course the device itself. The enclosed documentation is quite slim on any actual operating instructions, but does give you the limited instructions in many different languages. Plus a safety booklet, again, bereft of any instructions but telling you of the many dangers a device like this can inflict.

Once released from its plastic coffin the device is pleasingly heavy in the hand. The heft gives it a solidity, again the comparison to Apple cannot be overstated. It’s solidly built up to a standard not down to a price.

I choose a matt black finish and thus with one click on the top of the mouthpiece, the LEDs stood out like runway landing lights. I set up the device to charge, it already had 3 of the 4 lights lit, and within 20 minutes the remaining light blinked on and we were good to go.

Pairing the Pax 3 With The App

By the time the charge had finished I was ready to pair the Android version of the app with the device and had gotten to the point where you shake it to pair it. Try as I might my Google Pixel 2 XL running Android Pie (9.0) was just not having any of it, tried different settings on the phone and despite the phone stating it was paired, the app itself refused to play ball. I am guessing this is a Android Pie bug, maybe? I had only installed Pie on the phone a few days earlier so I am guessing app bugs are a distinct possibility. Many of the reviews however also noted pairing difficulties, so perhaps not? Later I downloaded the iPhone iOS app onto my iPad and that not only paired without trouble it also controlled the device well.

First Use and Impressions

Anyway, to the first trial, my ‘herb’ was ground and packed into the oven chamber, it took a relatively little amount, I would say half a single skin joint. I thought this seemed like a very minor amount given that the device allowed for several hits on one fill, but I went along with it. Within a couple of minutes I was ready to go, with a fully charged Pax 3 that was now also fully charged with bud I hesitantly hit the ‘on’ button. The device heats quickly 20 – 30 seconds and the flashing purple LEDs turned green notifying me that the Pax 3 was ready to dose me.

I’d opted for the highest heat setting, I just felt that if I was going to try it then I should really give the Pax 3 a run for its money. I took a tentative first pull. The taste was not what I expected, a floral, greenery taste with a slightly timber smoke edge to it, not burning but that kind of smell you get in a wood on a hot day. I guess that’s the oils and the waxes boiling off their terpenes which give the bud its flavour profile. As the flavour died back and I exhaled it suddenly gave me a taste of coffee grinds, not full on coffee in your mouth but that half smell of roasting you get as you walk past a coffee house.

Very pleasant, very smooth and much nicer than a pull on a ‘Fatty-Boom-Batty’. The specific stock I was smoking is not overpoweringly strong, but does do the job for my pain. As an example I can take a single pull on a one-skinner and have it hit the off button on my knee pain for a couple of hours but leave me focused enough to answer calls, write code and function without the distraction of grinding bone on bone action. I took a second tentative pull, and then thought, screw it, and took two much longer, deeper pulls.

The Pax 3 vs Knee Pain

It was Saturday night and I was feeling like kicking back a bit so wasn’t concerned if I overshot the runway when it came to switching off the red flashing pain klaxon. As per usual the hits took time to kick in, with my usual method of ingestion it takes around 10 minutes for the meds to make their way into my brain and do what it does. Oh-so much better than the mechanised approach that codeine seems to take. Wrapping everything in cling film and preventing you from feeling pretty much anything but the ‘ready break’ glow (US readers Google it, you’ll see how accurate that actually is) that Codeine gives you.

I usually then go make a cuppa, and settle into the sofa with my better half and wait for the pain to roll back and relief to roll in. Well, the Pax 3 definitely delivers, I was starting to feel the effects inside the ten minutes, and all was good. Everything suddenly felt very good with the world, in a way that pain seems to rob you of. Pain adds jagged pixelations to your every move, thought and sensation. It’s like you’re dealing with low resolution images and trying to pass them as 4K cinemascope.

Codeine always took away the ‘jaggies’ but delivered a vaseline smeared lens perspective of the world. All soft focused and fuzzy edged, you felt like the world was a bouncy castle made of marshmallow. However the Pax 3, not only delivered the usual relief but somehow it felt less punchy, like the difference between a $20 bottle of bourbon vs $120 bottle of premium single malt scotch. You can see why the Pax 3 gets the reviews it does.

Controlling Dose with My Second Use

Lets just say 30 minutes later as I am lying on the sofa, totally baked, I tried to have a chat with my other half and ended up giggling away as she laughed at me, not with me. I remained quite lucid, but was just very relaxed by the whole body sedation which is not how my current supply usually hits. The effect lasted at least 4 hours, in fact I went to bed and slept soundly, I usually wake early, 6:30 or 7am, woken by the knee pain, but I overshot that by at least 2 hours. Woke feeling fresh although a little fuzzy but coffee and breakfast sorted that for me.

Therefore I wanted to avoid this with my second use, which was much more controlled, after a little bit of reading online. Just 2 short pulls and the device turned down to a less intense heat at 3 LED lights. I think this might be the sweet spot as the effects again took 5-10 mins to become very noticeable but there was much less of a body sedation, in fact I felt a clarity in my thinking and it just neutralised my pain.

Gone.

Not a trace.

Before medicating I would put the pain at a 3 on our pain chart, far from unbearable but definitely ’nagging’ and niggling at me. So the two hits were a good amount to kill the pain but not dull my entire brain. In fact I would now consider a single pull at 3 lights during a working day. Maybe.

Final Impressions and Overall View

I would give the Pax 3, 5 stars, but I have no other benchmark other than self-rolled all-weed blunts, joints and the occasional bong rip. I feel like I did when I upgraded to my first smart phone. Suddenly I had a computer in my hand and felt like I was ahead of the curve. The Pax 3 is very similar, having previously burnt a tube of rolled up dry herb I now have control and can set the temperature to the exact setting I want and get much more measured doses from my choice of pain meds. The only remaining variable of course is the plant material itself.

I suddenly see that devices like the Pax 3 are invaluable in allowing pain patients to get closer to a proper dosing regimen and if they feel like having a little more fun on a Saturday night, then at least it is a choice. That, for me, is what Cannabis should be about, the choice, the choice of your medication, the choice to choose your own safe pain meds. That it is your body and therefore making a choice of herbal remedy vs the output of an industrialised process, is your right.

I wish I had tried a vaporiser earlier, the Pax 3 is a very good product that does the job without fanfare, but does it stylishly and without announcing to the world you partake. The only small downside was that after I had fiddled about with it, trying to get it to sync with my Android phone, and then using it to heat my herb it got a little warm. Not uncomfortably, or dangerously, but it did warm noticeably, which given its function is not unreasonable, but it got a touch warmer than I thought it would. Put that down to user expectations perhaps, but one to consider. I am exploring a silicon sleeve for it, just to make it the perfect portable medical device.

The Pax 3 is a total winner and I am very pleased with the value for money and recommend it to you if you are considering using a vape. If you have pain, don’t leave home without it.

Click Here to Order The Pax 3 

The post Honest Review of the Pax 3 Handheld Portable Vaporizer by a Chronic Pain Patient appeared first on Cannabis for Chronic Pain.

source https://canna-base.com/pax-3-handheld-portable-vaporizer-review/

[rockpicschick1]

(Sharing this verbatim)

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TO ALL MY FRIENDS: PLEASE TAKE A MOMENT TO READ AND DIGEST THIS!!!

(ESPECIALLY IF I HAVE GIVEN YOU CONCERT TICKETS, BACK STAGE PASSES, OR A JOB)

An open letter to the public on behalf of the entertainment industry

People like myself and companies like mine work in an invisible industry. Every single one of you have seen or been involved in the fruits of our labor whether it was watching any show on TV, going to any movie, attending a concert, attending a conference, enjoying a night at the theater, watching a symphony orchestra or seeing any number of special events from awards shows, sporting events, political conventions; the list goes on and on. We do not mind being invisible by any stretch of the imagination. It is what we do, it is what we love and that about which we are fiercely passionate. None of the above mentioned projects happens without a huge staff of highly talented but unseen people that are willing to work extremely hard, under crushing deadlines, and often for very long work hours merging art and technology. Watch the credits at the end of any movie. Look at the hundreds of names of people you will never see that were never the less crucial to creating the final product. The same holds true for any TV show, music tour, theatrical tour, corporate event, sporting event or special event.

This industry employs between 10 and 12 million people and generates well over 300 billion dollars in revenue annually. Some estimates put that number at over 800 billion dollars. Between March 11th and March 13th of this year, our entire industry has been shut down and it appears to us that NO ONE IS PAYING ATTENTION! At this point we are going to have to be visible!

Compare the entertainment industry numbers above with that of General Motors. According to Wikipedia, GM generated a net income of 6.732 billion dollars in 2019 and employed some 164,000 people. The Federal Government deemed GM “too big to fail” and bailed them out with TARP funding of over 13 billion dollars during the financial crisis in December of 2008. My company and most others in this industry has experienced at least a 90% reduction in revenue and the more staggering issue is that none of us have any idea how much longer this will go on. Some are forecasting early 2021, some Q3 of 2021, and some are considering 2022 as the first viable option. We simply have no idea. Envision what THAT financial plan looks like.

Using a concert tour as an example, I want you to see the invisible ones that make it possible for you to see your favorite artists:

Artist Management (an entire office staff)

Booking Agency (an entire office staff)

Promoter (an entire office staff)

Promoter Representative(s)

Tour Manager

Production Manager

Stage Managers

Production Assistants

Production Designer (often an entire office staff)

Lighting Designer

Choreographer(s)

Lighting Programmer

Lighting Director

Lighting Technicians

Video Director

Video Content Creation team (often an entire office staff)

Video Graphics Technicians

Video Engineers

Video Display Technicians

Video Camera Technicians / Operators

Audio Engineers

Audio Technicians

Radio Frequency Technicians

Staging Technicians

Special Effects Technicians

Automation Technicians

Backline (music instrument) Technicians

Riggers

Wardrobe Technicians

Makeup and Hair Professionals

Personal Assistants

Merchandisers

Photographer(s)

Social Media Content Providers

Catering Services

Security Services

Logistics Coordinators (often an entire office staff)

Bus Drivers

Truck Drivers

Fabricators that build the staging and special effects (an entire office/warehouse staff)

On larger tours, the total number of above personnel actually on the road can easily exceed 100.

I suppose many people just assume a band owns all the equipment you see at an event, but that is very seldom the case. All the equipment you see at a concert is typically owned by third party suppliers that have vast amounts of capitol tied up in inventory, personnel, training, research/development, liability insurance and warehouse/office space. These companies include:

Audio Companies

Lighting Companies

Video Companies

Rigging Companies

Staging Companies

Special Effects Companies

Musical Instrument Rental Companies

Catering Companies

Bus Companies

Trucking Companies

Logistics Companies

Power Generation Companies

To add to the list, there are locally sourced stagehands to physically install and strike the equipment on a daily basis as well as helping to run the event. For small tours this my be 20-30 local technicians. For larger projects it could be well over 100. While these personnel may only work one day on a touring project, they then work every other concert, theatrical production, trade show, convention, TV show, movie, etc. that occurs in the area. In every major market that is a full time job and these people are talented and invaluable.

We should also consider the local venue staff that include catering, concessions, security, ushers, ticket takers, maintenance, custodial services, electricians, IT, box office staff, cost check, merchandise seller, and venue management teams to the list of personnel essential to producing a concert or event.

ALL of the above people and ALL of the above companies are in a desperate situation right now. Companies have closed, people have been laid-off or let go permanently, private contractors have lost everything. We cannot sell our companies nor can we sell off our assets as there is little to no value in either currently.

This industry desperately needs help from our elected officials. While they bicker over partisan pet projects, pick winners and losers, and take their paid vacations, our companies are failing, our people are suffering from depression and some have even committed suicide. It is this simple: we need either additional grant money and unemployment or we need to open up and get back to work. To the latter we also need help from the public. If we can fly 100-200 people in an aluminum tube with people less than 18” apart for 5 hours across the country, we can certainly put on socially distanced events in theaters, arenas and stadiums. If that means wearing a mask to accomplish this then please forget the political stigma attached to the question of masks for two or three hours and wear one. If you think your personal liberties are being threatened by wearing a mask, then imagine the reality of being forced to lose your entire income for the foreseeable future because the government said so. There are millions of people whose livelihood, mental and physical health absolutely depend on it. We will not be invisible any longer.

On the evening of Sept 1st, entertainment professionals will light businesses, homes and other architecture in red. When you see a structure lit up in red, know that the entertainment industry is dying. We can no longer afford to be invisible.

[shinigamikarinkurosaki-archive]

Title: Tannim Ritual Shit

Pairings: platonic(ish) RukiKarin-centric, minor HitsuKarin, minor platonic IchiRenRuki, mentioned familial IchiKarin

Words: 1900+

Summary: Rashaverse. Sequel to x. WARNINGS– demons, unreality, body horror, smoking, slurs. The things she would do for a paycheck.

Her blood still boiled. Though it was hours ago, Toushirou’s blunder had put her back a few hundred bucks, plus pissed off a mule whose boss was a major investor in several large companies who were also clients of hers. It was unprofessional, it was stupid, it could probably cost her a lot more to have a loose Tannim on board. Even worse, he barely looked apologetic. She couldn’t employ someone so irresponsible, regardless of their ability. 

She sighed as she chewed on her cigarette. She wasn’t a smoker, but she and Toushirou were outside and it made them look less suspicious than did they just sit outside. So long as she didn’t smoke more than one or two, that was. She hoped Renji had learned better punctuality, she had forgotten to stress that before she dumped her phone. It seemed she was the only one who cared to not leave trails of evidence.

“Do you want something? Pop? A pretzel?” Toushirou inquired. Ah, she thought, the guilt had finally hit him. Hopefully.

“No, I’m good. We should stay here in case they come.” She replied. She sounded upset despite her logic, she guessed Toushirou caught onto it too, if his grimace was any clue.

“How long will you stay angry at me? You know that kid was repulsive.”

“We don’t. Leave bodies, Toushirou.” She snarled, and a woman nearby moaned as her irritation infected her. “It was on the news. Mysteriously Burned Body Found in Park– now we have that much less leverage against the public’s disbelief in us.”

“You’re overreacting.”

The woman feet away doubled over and hurled as her own blood boiled. “I cannot believe your insolence, Toushirou. Another word about this and god so help me, I will incinerate you where you stand.”

He turned away from her without another word. Good riddance.

Renji’s clunker finally came into view and parked near them. Her frown deepened as she watched as he and another set of legs emerged from the old Plymouth. 

Of course he had to bring her.

“Renji, Rukia,” she greeted as she pushed herself to her feet. “Look, I appreciate that you came, Rukia– your Tannim ritual knowledge is invaluable– but I only have three tickets and I insist upon this. You understand, right?”

“You’re as meticulous as ever. If I knew you any less, I may call it paranoid.” Rukia said as she pushed her hair behind her ear. That meatsuit actually looked sweet, if only the same were true for the woman underneath. Rukia had a big mouth, especially around Ichigo and his posse. She couldn’t afford a woman like her on-job. Ichigo liked to crash her operations, and if he got wind that she needed magic for a job, that stupid ‘brotherly’ part of him would hunt her down to protect her, ruin her op, and cost her a lot more money than Toushirou’s fuck up. “It’s a good thing I bought a ticket in advance, isn’t it?”

She grit her teeth. Rukia’s specialty was extrasensory ritual magic, of course she knew what film she would use as their alibi.

“Karin, I’m not the enemy, you know. I’m here to help. Renji even made me swear not to say a thing about this to anybody it doesn’t concern.” Rukia said.

She sighed. Rukia was more experienced in the Tannim arts, she was less likely to screw it up than she might if she did it herself. Plus, suspicion would be further averted if they looked like a double date. Third wheels tended to draw attention. Besides, Toushirou was technically paying for it.

“Alright. But this is my time and my money, so you follow my rules to the little dot above i. Have I made myself clear? I don’t have the energy for an insubordinate consultant.” She snarled, and Rukia nodded. “Superb. Now Renji’s your boyfriend until we get back into his car, alright?”

She pulled pliable Toushirou to his feet and tugged him inside the mall.

She managed idle, empty-headed chatter and to rope Renji and Rukia into it. She was ever capable of deceit. It was hereditary, she liked to say. At least she wasn’t her brother who had fooled himself into believing himself to be a good brother instead of a huge liability.

They sat themselves in the back of the theater next to the speakers. She leaned against Toushirou, and as he began to pet her hair when the movie started, she found herself less and less upset. She never could stay angry with him for very long, no longer than a week– which may sound like awhile to some, but she had held a grudge against her brother for almost her entire life, so hours were infinitesimal in comparison.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She murmured as she pulled her legs to her chest. “You know how much I hate being treat like some damsel. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.” It had never been about the body, though it wasn’t her favorite thing to just leave those about. She was just offended. Toushirou let her do her job, but he had the same protective streak as her brother and that bugged her.

“You’re not a damsel, I just don’t like seeing you pestered by dense children. You shouldn’t have to waste your time on them.” Toushirou said as his thumb pet the back of her neck. 

“But it upsets me when you do. Don’t you love me more than a dated sense of service?”

Toushirou frowned the sort of frown he frowned when he knew he conceded to something he didn’t entirely want to. Alas, he knew she was right, or at least chose to respect her decision. She was so lucky to have someone who listened to her.

The movie came to a close and she made idle conversation with Rukia. She knew not to bring her, she thought as their consultant smiled nervously, Rukia was way in over her head, couldn’t act even with instructions.

She sighed when they were finally enclosed in the safety of Renji’s car. Geniality was exhausting. “There’s a clearing on Samwell Hill. I’ll give directions.” She said as Renji lit up a cigarette. “I don’t remember you being a smoker, Renji.”

“Reminds me of Momo.” Renji replied plainly. She chose to leave it at that. She picked up some pretty weird habits to cope with Momo’s absence, too.

Rukia craned her head over her shoulder to talk to them. “I know you said we’re doing this your way, but the Kuchiki family owns a hangar just on the outskirts of town. It’s farther, but it’s more secure. I know how fond you are of cautionary measures.”

“Good. Let’s go.” She said. “We’ll reimburse you for gas.”

“Won’t hear me bitchin’ about that.” Renji replied as he pulled out of the parking lot. Toushirou winced from her side vision. Just because she wasn’t angry with him anymore, didn’t mean it still wouldn’t come out of his paycheck. She was his boss before she was his lover.

They parked a good forty-five minutes later and climbed out. She did like the seclusion of the hangar, no witnesses, no bodies, nothing to worry about.

It seemed Rukia’s stride changed as they approached the hangar. It seemed her every step turned the Earth like a conveyor belt, the midnight shadow part like curtains for her. Their breaths came out in visible plumes, as if a cold storm front approached, but that was impossible early-July in the Arizona desert.

Toushirou seemed to react to it too. He wasn’t the twitchy sort, every move he made calculated and smooth. But his wrists twitched, his chin jerked to one side, his breath rattled in his lungs. She wondered if it was like how her own aura affected humans, or if it was some call to war. Her bets were on the latter, she thought as his glamour flickered. 

She began to wonder if the job was worth it– if she had to resort to unreliable consultants and risk her partner’s sentience. She was under the impression Tannim ritual magic was psychic; clairvoyant, extrasensory, the kineses. It seemed that wasn’t entirely true, as if the half-magic still could make nature and its behemoth creators bow to it.

“It’s normally better guarded here since it’s where we keep our jet, but I asked Byakuya to excuse the staff for our activities as a personal favor.” Rukia explained as their footfalls echoed through the empty space. She watched their consultant shed her wedges and purse. She watched as she hooked her fingers under her bottom teeth and pulled away her sticky meatsuit like a wet sock. She was nude underneath, the eye tattoos a dramatic contrast against her snow white skin.

“You have a quality photo of him, right?” Rukia asked as she toweled herself off from the red goo she lubricated her meatsuit with.

“I do.” She said as she reached into her wallet. She unfolded the glossy sheet and passed it to Rukia, who smiled as she looked down at it.

“This shouldn’t take long, but I suggest you guys stand against the wall.”

She heeded Rukia’s suggestion and leaned against the wall of the hanger. She watched as Rukia knelt, her snow white skin marred by tattoos as black as the Void Izuru inherited, stuck the photo between her teeth, and watched as she opened her chest to the stars.

Toushirou sighed ice as Rukia began to chant in tongues she didn’t recognize even with her royal education. She watched him twitch and tremor, watched his eyes roll into his skull and spittle collect at the edges of his lips from her peripheral, like his own magic resonated with Rukia’s and itched to be let loose and wreak havoc like in biblical days. It must especially resonate with Rukia, her ability only surpassed by Nanao’s.

She was almost grateful Nanao was missing. She couldn’t imagine Toushirou’s reaction if it had been her channelling Tannim magic. They wouldn’t survive, let alone the hanger.

Rukia’s moans echoed through the hangar as her tattoos bulged like heavy tumors. Her shoulders sunk to the floor, yet she pushed her hips up as if the contortion would ease the pain.

Her skin tore as the magic eyes emerged– black things that absorbed anything and everything. She could feel their sight probe the deepest part of her soul, an then move on as Rukia chewed. She felt their sight spread like a heavy fog, farther and farther still, like an oppressive fog.

Rukia gasped as the magic eyes slammed shut. She pitched forward and hacked up the masticated photo. She heard Toushirou sigh as Renji slid to her side and draped the towel over her shoulders.

“You okay?” She nudged Toushirou with her elbow, and he wearily nodded.

“I just need some air.” He mumbled.

“I know where he is.” Rukia announced as she began to lubricate her appendages. “He’s in Colombia. I’ll text you the full address.”

“Good, we need to go anyways.” She didn’t think Toushirou’s glamour would hold much longer. He needed rest. “Thank you for helping, I sincerely mean that, but Renji, don’t involve any help that I haven’t specified. The Kuchiki family isn’t the only one who I can garner materials from and Izuru has proven to be far more conscientious than either of you in the past. Good night.”

“You got it, boss.” Renji replied. She’d scold him for his attitude, but she had other things to attend to.

Like her next paycheck.

[thedesperatehousehusband]

We Got Us A Bus and What Not

As of September 1st, I have lived in Indianapolis for 13 years. I have lived here longer than I lived in Chicago and have long considered Indy to be home. I am happy to evangelize for this great mid-size city. It’s got damn near everything you need and then some. It’s not perfect. Nowhere is.

The one thing that I have missed most as I compare Indy to Chicago is public transportation. Indy is a town totally crack and opioid dependent on cars. I don’t hate to drive but I am definitely not a fan of commuting by car. It’s a pain in the ass and induces rage, outbursts, increases in blood pressure and just general bad behavior. I would much rather take a bus or a train to work. I would do it in a heartbeat. The bus and El in Chicago were far from perfect and in some ways the CTA is an entirely dilapidated and antiquated system but it got me to work errrrry day. Cheaply and efficiently and provided me an opportunity to do other things. Like read. I read so, so, so much more in Chicago than I do in Indy. And all of that has to do with the commute. It’s tough to “read” a book while driving. Yes, assholes, I could do an audio book or podcast in the car but I’m talking about physically reading a book.

Public transportation in Indy has historically consisted of a completely unreliable and woefully lacking bus system called IndyGo. The “Go” is widely considered a misnomer because very few buses actually “Go”. You can wait 30 minutes or more for a bus and that’s just not going to work when you got to be somewhere at an exact time. So IndyGo has largely become a system for the poor who don’t have any other options and cannot afford a car. A city the size of Indianapolis should be able to pull itself together to offer decent public transportation. EVERY fucking city this size (and even smaller) in Europe has amazing bus options. Easy to use. Affordable. Actually shows up.

So now we find ourselves on the precipice of change. Several years ago there were all sorts of campaigns to fund a bus line that would connect Broad Ripple to the University of Indianapolis campus. And do so in a reliable, functional and efficient way. Dedicated lanes, different traffic signals for buses. It was going to run every 10 minutes and during peak times would be 15 minutes faster minutes than driving the same distance in a Datsun. This would be called the Red Line with hopes of expansion to include a Blue Line and Purple Line in the future. Dare to dream, motherfuckers.

Most people, myself included, called bullshit. Don’t pee off the roof and tell me it’s raining, the pundits said. “Pundits” may be a strong word but people scoffed. Plans went ahead and construction began. Which really got people in a froth. Because many, many, many streets were tore up as fuck which caused all sorts of traffic snarls and backups. And to what end? Were commuters actually going to use this Red Line thing or would they smile and point at it then call it a novelty before getting back into their Chevy Tahoe’s to drive to Target or St. Thomas Aquinas Elementary School?

Only time will tell. But, bitches, the Red Line opened on September 1st. It is free for all riders the ENTIRE month of September. I think that’s a brilliant way to inspire trial. So much so that we tried ourselves. Over Labor Day Weekend, we walked to Fountain Square to imbibe with friends at Upland, Fountain Square Brewing Company, Kuma’s Korner and Chilly Water. Motherfuckers, we get shit done on long weekends or any weekend for that matter. I digress……that was the first day that the Red Line was open for business. I about shit my pants when I say how many people were riding, waiting at stops on Virginia Ave. And it was a little bit of everyone. Older people, young people, people with strollers, kids. And you know what else???? THE FUCKING BUS SHOWED UP. For a period of time, I kept a bit of a stopwatch and lo and fucking behold that damn bus showed up errrry 10 minutes.

Color me shocked. So the other night, we went to a concert at the Lo-Fi. And when it was over, Juan said “Let’s take the Red Line home.” I said “We shall give it a whirl.” We walked to the stop. It’s well lit, has wifi, functioning ticket machines and monitors to tell you when the next bus is arriving these are not yet functional but the technology exists. It felt like a regular city and not some ass-backwards place where you are forced to drive everywhere. We waited SIX minutes for the bus. It barely stopped on Virginia and were at the stop closest to our house in less than 10 minutes. What the ever loving fuck?

The buses themselves are quite nice, comfortable, electric and have wifi. For quick rides, I’m not sure that connectivity is critical but on your commute to and from work it may be a benefit that riders enjoy.

We are going to take it Broad Ripple soon and hope for a similar experience. I hope that’s the general experience and that people start to use it to get to work. A lot of people need to ride this thing on a daily basis for it to pay for itself. Like 11,000 daily or some insanity. That’s apparently a massive increase in ridership based on current IndyGo ridership numbers. But if they can prove in September that it’s going to be on time and get where you need to be, then why not? I still won’t be able to take it to work but a girl can dream.

Get to riding, bitches.