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whump-town · 4 years ago

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Just As Clueless As You

Warnings: cigarettes, underage drinking, past child abuse (for you already know who), and the angst and pain that will come with time

Summary: Emily Prentiss stumbles upon a boy outside of the library one morning and does him a harmless favor. A few months later a poor seating choice makes him her class partner. The rest... she has no idea.

Word Count: 3,057

It's Not Hotchniss-- you'll just have to take my word on that for now

Freshman Year August 1989-April 1990 Semester One: August- December

“Reciprocity”

Waking up on a real mattress is the first dead giveaway that the bed she wakes up in is not her own. Anyone unfortunate to fall for the absolute scheme that is getting a college education knows the back-breaking lumps that are the “mattresses'' supplied to each dorm room on unGodly squealing cheap bed frames that give a shout with each movement. But she’s laying on a real mattress… with no bed frame. She’s really just laying on a mattress laid out right on the floor. For a moment, looking up at a ceiling with water damage and cobwebs she criticizes some of the life choices that she has made getting here. If it were up to her, Emily Prentiss wouldn’t have come to college at all. She isn’t the kind of girl worth wasting that sort of energy on, not when she’s pretty enough to get by on looks and has her mother’s career to fall back on. Her hobbies lie in illegal affairs-- smoking pot and getting drunk. It makes her incredibly social but she’s not book-smart. School just isn’t her thing. (Which is entirely untrue but sometimes self-image distorts lies too near fact hood). Propping herself up on one arm she gathers the sheets up in a bunch in her hand, covering her naked chest from any of the occupants of the room. To call it a room might be a stretch, there’s hardly any room for the mattress on the floor and the desk by her left. She’s also alone she realizes by scanning the room and catching sight of the alarm clock on the floor she understands why. It’s nearly nine-thirty in the morning-- everyone within a ten-mile radius of her is probably in class right now. Well, if you absolve the students like her: campus’s soon to be drop-outs. With a groan she tosses the sheets off of herself, shifting around the room until she can find her clothes and get out of this disgusting house. Without the protection of the sheets, goosebumps break out across her skin. Her naked body shivering against it as she stretches out, raising her arms above her head and heaving a deep yawn. There’s a sticky note waiting for her, informing her that there isn’t any food around but feel free to grab herself some coffee downstairs. She won’t be doing that but at least whoever the guy is he isn’t her typical sleazeball sort. They typically have her walking back home in the dark as soon as they’re done having their fun.

Her clothes have been neatly folded at the end of the bed, even her underwear which is really a surprise. Folding herself back into them, she grimaces at the distinctly dirty feel that they have. The thick scent of booze and cigarette smoke clinging to them doesn’t help. With no hair tie in sight, she knows better than to waste her time looking, she pushes her bangs back with her hands settling on using a pencil she finds on the floor to twist it up and hold it in place. As she’s sliding the pencil against her scalp, securing her hair she spots a joint discarded by the edge of the mattress. She doesn’t waste the energy in contemplating stealing it, just slots it into her back pocket. That will be fun for later, her pregame for the party tonight. A fun little treat for last night. She even finds a Zippo which gets placed in her joint’s neighboring pocket. A real nice treat, indeed. It takes her a moment to get out of the house, the very last thing that she wants is to be seen by any of the other occupants. For the most part, the coast is clear. She thinks she might hear someone downstairs puking but from the stairs to the main door she’s in the clear. There’s no one in sight. With a glance over her shoulder she grabs a round, amber-filled glass she spots sitting turned over on its side by the couch. Giggling as she tucks it under her arm and makes a run for it. The chill of the October morning shakes her thin bones with its just present enough touch ghosting over her bare legs and arms. The weather rarely permits such exposing clothing anymore but the Crown Royal tucked under her arm will warm her right back up, she just needs to make it to the dorms. No sense in wasting good whiskey on a little shivering, not when she has a comforter to crawl into and a hangover to nurse with something cheap and clear. The first time that Emily Prentiss meets Aaron Hotchner he’s fighting the lighter cupped in his hand, standing with his back to the light breeze. He’s shaking from a chill despite it being nearly seventy degrees out and sunny, gripping under his breath and bobbing the unlit cigarette between his teeth as he does so. The large sweater he wears over his boney shoulders does well to hide his thin body but can not save onlookers from the haunted bags under his eyes. They’re the first thing that she notices as she steps up to him. Without a word she flips the lid of her Zippo open, lighting it with an easy flick and holding the flame out for him. He glances at her-- all bloodshot, sleepless brown eyes-- and leans in, fingers trembling as he cups his palms around the Zippo for a protective barrier. Until the end of the cigarette burns bright red and he pulls in a breath, stepping back to get a good shuddering inhale before he pulls off and offers around a plume of smoke, “thanks.” His voice is rasped from the smoke he’s just inhaled but pinched from disuse and he can’t honestly remember the last person he actually talked to. She shrugs, it’s no sweat off her back. This isn’t even her Zipp, well it is now but she didn’t buy it and no one bought it for her. As a semi-excuse for some of her riskier behavior, she made a vow to herself to never let a man put his hands down her pants without her getting something out of it too. Since it’s rarely an orgasm she’s the proud owner of many men’s oversized articles of clothing, small knick-knacks from nightstands, this Zippo, and the joints they leave unattended. It’s just simple reciprocity. “Cigarette?” he offers, holding the box out to her. She lingers just long enough that he assumes she’s a smoker, doing that sort of awkward shuffle that fellow smokers take on before they ask to “bum a smoke”. The same one he does when he runs short at the end of the month and is pretending to have the forethought to consider putting his money to food and not cigarettes. But she shakes her head, tucking her Zippo back into her pocket and walking away. He’d consider it weird if he didn’t know he’d do the same thing. He hasn’t got the time to be messing with skimpily dressed girls, especially

the sort that looks the kind of trouble that she is. He’s here on a pretentious scholarship. The sort that doesn’t blink twice before dismissing students from their program for poor grades and he might have gotten himself here but he is no one’s definition of a genius. He’s going to smoke this cigarette and bask in the sun for as long as he can before going back into the looming walls of the library and to work on an article reflection for his Sociology class. Which he already knows he will get a 92% on because they’re facing the ass end of November and he’s gotten a single hundred on the twenty or so of these reviews he’s written and all the rest the same score of 92. It’s nothing to complain about, that’s a nice score to be sat at, but it irks him just a little to be planted so firmly like that. Unlike Emily Prentiss, his parents could not offer him any real edge or flourish to get him into this college. His father was a lawyer and while he did make great money it was only in the context of the small town they lived in, an impoverished and drug-hungry place. There Aaron was an oddity in every way that a teenager could be-- coming from a household with two college-educated parents, severely underweight from abuse that went entirely unchecked, finding reprieve in the books he could bury himself in, and discovering his best coping mechanism in either the dissociative flick of pages and weight of a book in his hands or chain-smoking. Though he’d never had enough to say to be good at the social aspects smoking can offer. He’s gotten good at standing at the backs of buildings and smoking alone. The stinger, the worst part is that his father has managed to isolate him. Even in death that man never lets him win. According to the will that he left behind his mother can’t give him a dime of the money, nothing to help with tuition or food or to pay for a dorm. If she breaks the terms of his will then she can’t get his pension until Sean’s of age to make decisions about the money. Aaron’s fairly certain that there is nothing legal about that but the will is headed by one of his father’s assistants and everyone in that office was as loyal as dogs to him. Aaron is nothing to them and his mother has never risked anything for him, he knows she won’t start now. Emily is in every way that can be observed by others his opposite. “Knock, knock.” One of the girls from Emily’s floor sticks her head in Emily’s room, flicking on the light to the room without a second thought to the woman buried under the sheets. “Girly,” she says with a shake of her head. “When was the last time you went to class?” She might not be Emily’s closest friend on the floor but she knows she hasn’t seen Emily out of this room for anything more than liquor and parties. Which is none of her business but how can she even hope to do anything without at least doing assignments? They’ll kick her out. Emily groans from under the safe haven of her bedsheets, picking up her head to squint and see who is bothering her. “What do you want?” she asks. “Food. I was going to go to the dining hall, I just wanted to see if you wanted to come with me.” Emily shakes her head, digging her fingers into the tender flesh of her temples as the light makes her head throb and her stomach queasy. She’s hungover and right now she needs to sleep before she self-medicates with the shitty vodka under her pillow and heads to the party they’re having downtown. It’s not a frat party but it’s something and she knows the guy who lives next door. With a groan, she falls back onto her stiff mattress. “I’m good,” she answers. “Catch you another time?” The other girl lingers for just a moment, watching Emily snuggle back into the sheets and she shakes her head. She’s ruining her life. It’s one thing to not place any importance on college, to be the sort of person that just doesn’t see the flourish or point in it. Life is full of balance, not everyone should want to go to college but people like Emily need the balance. People like her need to scrape by and fall flat on their faces-- they need

ups and downs and overwhelming projects to get some sense of what life is actually like. They need a wake-up call and Emily is wasting hers. She’s not strong enough to face the world just yet but if she keeps fucking around like this, nothing her mother does can save her. No money in the world can teach a hard lesson like this one. The night before the meeting she has scheduled with the Dean, the sort that only comes with lots of money and the kind of threats that come from high, scary places, Emily goes out like she always does. Doing exactly as she’d planned: waking up at seven o’clock to shower and apply lipstick that some dumb boy will likely lick and smear off. Placing her bare feet on her cold tiled floor she groans, not even blinking before reaching into her dresser and pulling out Smirnoff she keeps buried under her bras. It stings going down but if she’s patient it’ll dull the splitting ache trying to pry the lobes of her brain open. Burning fingers digging themselves into the soft tissue of her brain. Tonight will end just the last and the one before that. She’ll find a hungry man-- sometimes they look like they’re not waiting for an invite and others that she knows she’s just corrupting-- and let him use her body in exchange for all the liquor she can get down her throat before they can undo her jeans. Wake up, again, in a bed that is not her own and when she’s walking home she’ll find that tall, tree-like kid standing by the back of the library but this time his cigarette will be lit. The expression across his face nearly zin, despite the tears drying against his cheeks. His chin turned up to the sun. She’ll lower her gaze and keep walking. She’s late for her meeting with the Dean. “Miss Prentiss--” Emily recoils, averting her gaze to the old, shitty carpet of the Dean’s office. She hates being called by her last name, hates being something her mother can own. That’s all she’s ever been her entire life, some little flyer for her mother to tac up on her board of accomplishments. An award to float around because motherhood can be commendable if you weaponize it enough. “Emily,” the Dean corrects with a sigh. “You’re on probation, do you understand?” His fingers are steepled on his desk, giving her that look a thousand men before him have given her. She doesn’t even have to look up to know his eyes wander to her breast far too many times to be considered an accident. “I don’t think I have to tell you that this has nothing to do with the school’s faith in your abilities.” Her chest flushes, she can feel the skin heat up under the tone of his voice. Her mother got her into this school, nothing about her grades or her charm. Nothing about Emily is worth anything just the Prentiss she can’t seem to get rid of. “If your grades don’t improve, if you can’t meet the school’s requirements by the end of next semester you will fail out.” He has the most unfortunate voice, so annoying. “Do you understand?” Oh, yeah and he’s a patronizing bastard. She hates it when adults do that shit. Always mocking. Is it not enough they get to listen to themselves go on these long-winded tangents about honor or faith or self-image but to tac that belittling question at the end. To force you to meet their gaze and mumble that you do. All for what? So he can see what her breasts look like when she extends her right hand to shake his? To see if they move when she stands? Fuck him. “Yes, sir,” she says with a nod. “I understand.” She doesn’t shake his hand. Walking out of his office she keeps her head high, refusing to let her emotion show on her face. The heartbreak she feels splitting her chest open. Before she knows it, she’s walking towards the library. She’s never even been inside but she thinks about that boy and the face he’d made this morning. How relaxed he’d looked and she needs that. Needs whatever he found there. To let go of this feeling eating her alive, the sadness she’d told herself she wouldn’t feel when she walked into that office and found that her mother hadn’t even bothered to come. Hadn’t cared to even ask

if Emily was okay. If her behavior was the product of something else. She sinks down against the wall, bringing her knees to her chest, and lets her forehead fall down against them. How could she be so silly? So foolish? Of course, her mother wouldn’t show up to a meeting with the Dean. God, she’s so fucking gullible. So stupid. All she can do is choke on sobs, pulling in shuddering breaths and trying to stifle the sounds she makes. She just wants to burn alive with the anger she feels. To set fire to something and see the destruction. Ruin something. Somewhere between half-expecting the door beside her to fly open and that mess of a boy whose cigarette she’d lit to come out she realizes that she can smell the smoke lingering in the air. He’s had his smoke break and won’t be out anytime soon. For some reason that makes her cry even harder, that she can’t even find comfort in some stranger. But she could just walk into the library and find him, it wouldn’t be that hard. He wears the same thing every time she sees him-- an oversized earth-tone sweater and old jeans. And, as she’s thinking about dragging her sorry ass up and into that library she realizes something. She has the control to go into that building and find the guy. She has the control every night when she goes out to party, to get lost in some boy’s half-assed touches, and cheap liquor. Emily has all of the control. Her mother gave her a second chance, she knows it was purely for the high that old bitch will get when Emily fails out. When Emily finally proves that she’s not good for anything. But she has the control, not her mother. Wiping the tears on her face she pulls in a deep breath and knows. She knows what she’s going to do next. She is going to ruin something. Her mother isn’t right about her. Emily Prentiss turns her face to the sun and she knows exactly what the cigarette boy felt this morning. Release.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #college hotchniss #hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #college au

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sunlightdances · 5 years ago

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take my hand (when you can’t see the light)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Rating: PG-13 for like, 2 swears. Summary: Dean plays the knight in shining armor when you meet him by chance. Turns out you’ll meet him several more times. Everything happens for a reason, right? Author’s Note: This was supposed to be posted on Valentine’s Day, but we all know how I am with deadlines. Have some fluffy Dean to make up for it. Last year’s Valentine’s fic is here, but is unrelated and you don’t need to read that to like this one! Please excuse any tense issues - I changed it back to second person after a read through, so there might be some errors. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites including Wattpad, AO3, or other archiving sites without my permission! I don’t own Dean, Supernatural, or any other related characters. I also don’t own “Forever on Your Side” by Needtobreathe, which I used for the title.

It’s freezing outside, and your car is running on fumes.

You curse yourself for not having the forethought to get gas a few states ago when it was relatively warmer, and it just adds to the irritation buzzing through your veins.

Pulling up next to the last available gas pump, you jump out of the car and swipe your card. The machine beeps, and tells you your card can’t be read. Your stomach drops when you try to think about how much money is left in your account. You swear you had enough to get through this trip.

You swipe again, and this time it says, please see the cashier. “Oh, fuck you,” you groan, and the person on the other side of the pump from you looks up, startled.

“Sorry, not you.” You mutter, and feel your face burning as you quickly turn away and head inside to figure out why your card isn’t working.

Inside, you give some sob story about driving across the country, but the teenager behind the counter clearly doesn’t care. You don’t blame him, but it doesn’t help your situation. That’s until a hand sneaks around you from behind and places a credit card on the counter.

“Put it on this one along with pump eight.” A deep voice says, and you stiffen when you feel a distinctly male presence at your back.

“You don’t have to do that--” You start to say, looking over your shoulder to see the man from outside behind you. He backs up a few steps and you feel like you can breathe again.

“It’s no big deal.” He shrugs.

“I have money,” you blurt, wincing when you realize how defensive and stupid you sound.

The corners of his mouth quirk up in an amused smile. “I’m sure you do. Just think of it as me paying it forward.”

The kid behind the counter has already run the stranger’s card through the machine for both of you, so you have no choice but to stand there awkwardly until he tells you you’re all set.

“Well… thanks.” You say, and turn to head out the door quickly, trying not to prolong this embarrassment more than you have to. You want to get back on the road and this is already a longer pitstop than you planned it being.

Once your car is filled up, you sit back in the driver’s seat and check your phone. Ten unread text messages that you delete without reading, five missed calls, and a notice from your bank that your card has been put on hold due to suspicious activity.

You groan - you never even thought to let the bank know you were taking a trip, you just hauled ass out of town the first minute you could. Didn’t even stop to think of the consequences. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes as you struggle to think what you can do - you have a small amount of cash but not enough to get you where you’re going. The bank is closed by now, so even if you call them you won’t get your card turned back on until the morning.

You have absolutely no idea what to do.

A gentle knock on your window brings you out of your daze, and your eyes meet a pair of bright green ones, twin pools of concern. He gestures for you to roll down the window, and you do, but only halfway. He’s a stranger, after all.

“Are you alright?”

You huff a laugh. “I’m the farthest thing from alright. But I’ll be okay. Thanks again for the gas, by the way.”

He smiles gently. “I know how that goes. And it was nothing, really. Here--” he holds out a to-go cup of coffee, “You look like you might need this more than I do.”

“Thanks…”

“Dean.”

“Thanks, Dean.” You take the coffee from him and when his fingers brush yours briefly, you feel it zip up your arm. So cliche. You sort of hate yourself for thinking about it. “I have to go,” you say quietly.

He clears his throat. “Sure, sure.” He looks down at his feet awkwardly. “Drive safe.”

You watch him go to the other side of the gas pump and get in a sleek, black car. You sigh to yourself before putting your car in drive and hitting the road.

You give kudos to yourself that you only look in your rearview once.

After Dean’s been on the road for a few hours, he realizes he’s following the same route the girl from the gas station is, and he feels like a creep.

You were cute, but he tells himself to stop thinking about you. You’re clearly going through something, and he’s never going to see you again.

Even so, he wonders what you were running from.

Physically shaking his head to stop himself from letting his mind wander, he calls his brother. “Any update?” He asks as soon as Sam gets on the phone.

“No change. How long until you’re here?”

“Six or seven hours if I don’t stop.”

Sam sighs. Dean can tell he’s tired, though he knows his brother will never admit it. “There’s no rush, Dean. We’re just-- waiting. Take a break, get some sleep.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you soon. Call me if anything changes.”

He tosses the phone in the passenger seat after he hangs up and pushes the image of Sam alone at a hospital out of his mind, and pushes it even farther away knowing it’s Jody they’re waiting on, Jody who didn’t even get hurt from a job, but was in a car accident.

Surgery went perfectly, but until she wakes up, they don’t know much else.

It’s a shitty way to spend Valentine’s Day.

He puts it out of his mind the best he can and concentrates on the road. That’s when he notices a familiar car on the side of the road, flashers on.

He frowns. He paid for your gas himself, so he knows you’re not out of gas. Unless something else is wrong with the car. Weighing it for a few seconds, he pulls over behind you, not too close, and tells himself to stop overthinking it before he gets out.

Her door is already open by the time he gets close, and he sends you a small smile when you notice him.

“I just want you to know I’m not following you,” he says, and then quickly continues, “and I know that’s exactly what someone following you would say.”

You laugh, but it’s a little watery. “You seem to show up right when I need help, though.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I-- the car is fine. I just needed to stop for a few minutes.”

He sees the tear tracks on your cheeks but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to do anything to make you more upset.

“Valentine’s Day really blows.” You say finally, and Dean laughs, your words echoing his own thoughts.

“Definitely.” Dean opens his mouth to keep talking but his phone rings, shattering the moment. “Sorry, hang on--” He digs his phone out of his pocket, seeing Sam’s name flashing on the screen. “Yeah?”

“She’s awake. Going to pull through.”

The relief Dean feels is physical. He lets out a sigh and the tension seeps off him. “Good. That’s-- kick ass, dude. Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He hangs up and looks back to you, an apology on his face.

“I have to go. If you’re okay…”

“I’ll be fine, Dean. Thanks again.” You say, a little sad maybe, but the sorrow that was on your face when he first saw you on the side of the road isn’t there anymore. You tell him your name, “-- by the way, just in case we run into each other again,” and then with a wink, you’re back in your car.

Dean is a little awestruck, but with another laugh to himself shaking his head, he gets back in the Impala and continues on, finding himself wishing the passenger seat wasn’t empty.

You make it across the state again before you stop for food. Only a bit of cash left, you decide to go to the closest grocery store and get something from the ready-to-go section instead of going the fast food route.

You feel a little better. You’re still getting texts and ignoring calls from your now ex-boyfriend, but you’re finding it easier and easier to press the reject button every time. Your heart doesn’t hurt quite as much.

Digging through your wallet for cash as you walk through the doors of the store, you run right into a solid mass of a person, an oof leaving your mouth as you regain your balance.

A rough voice says your name, and panic rushes through you before you realize who it is.

“Dean?”

“Now who’s stalking who?” He asks, tone light, corners of his mouth twitching.

“This is getting a little weird, dude.”

“You’re telling me,” he agrees, and your eyes shift to the flowers in his hand.

For some reason you feel a little bitter about it. It’s Valentine’s Day. Of course he’s buying flowers for someone. A guy who looks like that? Who buys strangers coffee and gas? Definitely not single.

“Late gift pickup?” You ask, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

He scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, “For a friend, yeah. She was in an accident. On my way to see her.”

“Oh,” you feel like a total jerk. “Sorry to hear that.”

“She’s going to be okay. But thank you.”

An awkward silence settles over the two of you, but this time it’s your phone that breaks the silence. “Oh, for fuck’s sake--” you say, pulling your phone out just to turn it off. You’re so tired of this.

“Someone special?” He asks, wry, and feels relieved when you laugh, even though it’s more distressed than anything else.

“Unfortunately.” You don’t know why, but you feel like telling him everything. You didn’t tell anyone before you left except your roommate, so she wouldn’t think you were murdered or something. “Came to my boyfriend’s to surprise him for Valentine’s. Turns out he found someone else to spend the day with.”

Dean winces. “What a dick.”

“I packed up pretty much everything I owned and just… left. I moved to that town because of him. I had my job because of him. I just had to get out of there.” You swallow hard, feeling like you’re going to cry again. “I have no idea where I’m going to go and my card got turned off. I’ve got a hundred dollars to my name.” You sigh, meeting his eyes. “Sorry - you have a friend literally in the hospital. I shouldn’t be complaining.”

Dean’s eyes are so intense as he takes in what you’ve told him. You wonder if he knows he’s got this effect on people.

“Come with me.” He says. He too, looks a little surprised.

“What?”

“You can stay with me. Since you don’t have anywhere else to go. I just have to stop at the hospital first, if you don’t mind going with me--” He shakes his head, “Sorry, I-- we don’t know each other. But I have a house, a big house, and there’s extra room if you need it. At least until you’ve got some cash again.”

You hesitate, of course - he’s a stranger. But-- something tells you that you can trust him, and you have no other options, really.

“Okay.”

Dean smiles. “Okay.”

This is probably, easily, one of the stupidest things Dean has ever done.

Sam is going to give him so much shit, but as he looks in his rearview to check that you’re still behind him, he can’t help but smile when you give him a little wave.

You pull into the parking space next to him at the hospital, and he gestures for you to follow him through the large double doors at the entrance.

Inside, he finds the room number Sam sent him, and knocks lightly on the door when he gets there.

“Dean,” Jody says quietly from the bed, her voice a little rough.

“Hi,” He says, grinning at her. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

“Sam said you drove all night to get here.”

“Was finishing up--” He stops, remembering your presence at his back, “-- a job. Otherwise I would have been here sooner.”

Sam clears his throat. “Got anything else you want to share?”

You snicker, and Dean bites back his smile. God, what is it about you that makes him feel lighter than he has in years?

“Hi,” you say softly, introducing yourself.

“She needs somewhere to stay for a few days.” Dean says, hoping his tone is firm enough that he’s not going to get shit about this from his brother.

After some small talk and a few pointed looks from Jody, she announces that she’s tired and that Sam and Dean should go get some rest. Dean turns to you.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot,” you say, “too many hours on the road.”

Dean is the last one to lean in and give Jody a hug, and after a second’s hesitation, he grabs a single flower out of the bouquet he got her.

“Smart guy,” Jody whispers, and Dean rolls his eyes playfully.

You can’t believe this place.

This is where Dean lives. With his brother. This giant, amazing place.

You have a thousand questions, and Dean promised he’d answer a few, but more than anything you need to take a nap.

You do, and when you wake up, there’s a single red rose on the table by your bed.

Happy Valentine’s Day - DW

A giddy, schoolgirl-like feeling comes over you as you read the note, and you find yourself feeling excited and hopeful for the first time since you left your house in a heartbroken daze. It feels like years ago.

When you find your way to the kitchen and see Dean and his brother there waiting for you, near identical smiles on their faces, you start to think you could get used to this.

The unknown doesn’t feel as scary as it did yesterday.

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #spn reader insert

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doberbutts · 5 years ago

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Okay so this is going to get long and more than a little bit tmi but it’s a post summing up some strides I’ve made regarding my own transgender journey and I wanted a place to talk about it and maybe help some BabyTrans figure themselves out along the way so I’m putting it under the cut but it’ll go here >:V

Anyway long story short my insurance settlement from my car accident finally figured itself out and I found myself suddenly $30k richer and immediately spent about $10k of that digging myself out of a very deep debt hole I’ve been wallowing in for a while so now I have some actual financial stability plus have some money to throw at some things that would probably make my life a bit better.

And since I have the money to throw at some things, I bought myself a few new binders and also a packer. Binders because my old one was literally disintegrating- part of that is my fault, washing binders in an industrial machine on high heat plus throwing it in the dryer means your binder falls apart faster than it should. Remember I’m from the very end of Ye Olden Days of transmasc products, which means previously most binders lasted a year at most. My binder made it 2.5 years before giving up and becoming a sports bra instead. I’ve learned from my mistakes and treat my binder(s) much more gently now, plus I have more than one so I can rotate them out and not wear the same binder 8-12 hours daily for 2.5 years and kill it doing exactly the same shit.

For reference sake, I’m 5′10′’, 180lbs, 36C bust, and fit a XL from gc2b. Which is who I bought both my previous binder and my current set from. They are low cost, lightweight, well made, and LGBT-owned and operated which makes me super into buying from them instead of some of the other companies offering something similar.

Being that I am biracial and finding something my skintone is always somewhat... interesting... I followed the internet’s suggestion and went with PeeCock for the packer. I’d bought a zip binder from them a few years ago and actually found that to be the most comfortable binder I’ve ever used in the history of ever, but I will say the durability of zip binders is low compared to pull-over binders in my experience, as the zipper exploded one day when I bent down to pick up a small dropped item. I’d had the binder and was rotating its use with my pullover gc2b for about 6 months when this happened, and was in public when I went from flat chested to big uncontained tiddies in the span of seconds. Not great. I’ve been told that probably means it was a little too small for me, but PeeCock is a company based in Singapore, and their sizes like most East Asian clothing do run quite a bit small (I was a XXL in PeeCock sizes when I wore a size L gc2b binder) so there’s not really a lot of wiggle room for me to go up in size. Additionally their sizing taps out at XXXL so anyone who’s bigger than me in the chest/torso is a bit out of luck for their binders. A shame, because that zip binder was so comfortable I fell asleep in it forgetting I even had it on more than once.

Anyway. Since I did like that binder even though we had the wardrobe mishap, and the internet had pretty good reviews on the PeeCock packers because they are multifunctional and actually make correct skin tones for black dudes, I got one. Since money wasn’t an issue I did get the most recent model which was not cheap (~$300) and so far I like it a lot. I got so used to wearing it that when I take it off to clean it, it actually really bothers me. The weight of it is... comforting, in a way.

HOWEVER I did see a bunch of reviews about how I would be super likely to pee on myself the first time using it and then used it and went “wow I don’t have any idea what you guys are talking about this is easy” aaaaand... then peed on myself by accident. Gotta control your stream or things are going to overflow and you’re going to be really sad. And wet. And stinky. Thankfully I had the forethought to practice at home before actually doing this at work/public restrooms but be warned. Being that this is my first one I can’t say if this is common with all packers however I told several of my transmasc friends that do pack and use STP about this experience and they all assured me they did the exact same thing on and off for the first couple weeks and most of them do not have the same brand. We’ve yet to have a repeat at least?

Plus there’s a little attachment rod so I can use it for sexy times with the boyf and also feel what I’m doing to him so there’s that too. 10/10 A+ experience would recommend. The packaging warns you to be careful how you pack because of the way the silicone works, and your partner cannot be on top or ride you, so keep that in mind if you’re considering it. Cleaning is pretty straightforward however and packing feels correct and natural as long as you follow a few rules:

I’ve discovered that whatever size you consider a perfect fit? Unless you like really relaxed fit for your pants, you’ll need to go a size up. I wear tighter clothing and usually skinny jeans at that, and my exact perfect size has been 34/32 for some time now. When packing I need to go up to 36/32 because otherwise wow that crotch is way too tight. I can’t sit down in one of my pairs of jeans and I’m legit sad about it. I also can’t have anything in the pockets of a different pair of jeans or else I have the same tight crotch problem. I went up a size in underwear and that was more comfortable, so I ordered new pants from online and I’ll see if that helps as much as I’m expecting it too.

Speaking of underwear, ymmv, but I genuinely did not expect this. Jockstraps? Super comfy, super durable, and super convenient. Additionally unlike boxers or even briefs, I don’t need a special packing-specific design to be comfortable in one. I never wore one before and honestly this doesn’t even feel like wearing underwear. They’re really just a banana hammock anyway so that’s probably a large part of it, but honestly I would definitely recommend trying them if you haven’t yet. I do have a few pairs of packing briefs and boxers, as well as normal briefs and boxers, and I’ve been alternating between the various types of undies to see which ones I prefer, but I already know my decision so I bought several because I can. One word of advice, though... if your pants ride down understand that your entire butt will be out. I don’t wear low rise pants because they draw too much attention to my waistline and make me super dysphoric, but those that do, watch out.

Jockmail is highly rated and multiple transmasc websites recommend them for packing and I can absolutely see why. Usually the waistband of my underwear irritates my skin and so I was dubious because Jockmail stuff- being that it’s for athletic wear- has a minimum waistband of about 2in... but it’s actually more comfortable and less irritating, rather than the other way around. They also have briefs, boxers (more like short shorts), and boxer briefs, which I also have of the same brand, but... not as comfy. Once again Jockmail is a Hong Kong company so like all East Asian clothes, they run small. I’m a M in most men’s clothing sizes... I am XXL in Jockmail. I also had purchased a brief harness from PeeCock (goes by inches for waist) as well. (Also where I discovered you need to go a size up- I bought a 34in waist brief from PeeCock and it’s a tad tight. I bought a 36in waist brief from Jockmail and it’s perfect. I have been buying 34in waist things for the past few years now- I didn’t suddenly gain 2 inches at the waist, I did suddenly gain a need for a deeper crotch)

If you look down your body from above it will be super obvious that there is a dick there and you will go “oh god I look like I have an erection”. I have been reliably informed that it is actually not true and if you pack correctly a bulge will be there but not so obvious that it looks like you have a raging hardon the whole time. Better to look in the mirror, rather than down your tummy.

(Additionally I voiced my doubts to my boyf who immediately reminded me that most people don’t spend their time staring at someone’s crotch and as long as I wasn’t constantly messing with mine, no one was likely to notice even if I did have an obnoxiously obvious bulge. He then gave me some tips on how to let it hang if I wanted a “natural” look, and when we walked around while I had it on he made sure to check in on my mental health. He’s cute y’all.)

Some (cis) guys will have a specific leg they like to let things hang against. Some switch it up. Some are okay with it hanging straight down provided there’s not a lot of squish happening. Find what feel comfortable and needs the least amount of adjustment for you, and then stick with that. For me, I’ve found straight down or off to the left feels better- a friend of mine prefers off to the right, another straight down only, etc. Also can depend on the size- some (cis) guys I know are a bit smaller down below and are more comfortable with straight down than those with larger weiners.

If you pack you probably need to shave. I was very uncomfortable until I shaved. Now I feel much better packing. So trim that jungle or else you might feel a pinch every few minutes when a hair gets pulled.

And there you have me this morning before I got dressed. As you can see, both fit very nicely. I’m not particularly happy with my stomach or feminine hip set but eh, I cover those with layers and no one bats an eye.

At this point it’s figuring out the whole hormones thing, yelling at my insurance to cover certain surgeries, and... fixing some minor details with my wardrobe... and I’m feeling way more confident than I was a few years ago.

Anyway if anyone has questions feel free to hit me up

#text post #shut up jazi

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tootiefrootieroll · 6 years ago

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The best thing about Unicorn Store was definitely the multidimensional message it has. The movie tackled a lot of different topics, some playing minor parts and other pieces carried the film. Hitting hard in a lot of places for me personally, I think this movie is a great way to take a step back and take a look at your life. Are there things you want to change, do you need change in your life, what makes you happy, how do you achieve that happiness?

*spoilers ahead*

The greatest parts of the movie is the journey and process of Kit's self discovery, finding and obtaining her unicorn. In a lot of interviews Brie Larson has always referred to herself as "introverted" and how acting was a way past that shyness and anxiety, being told how to act and what to do was learning like how to be a person in situations and everyday life. This movie literally puts that notion directly on paper, via... wait for it... Unicorn Care instructions/prerequisites! What a clever way to represent the idea of, learning to "adult", learning to take the steps in self reflection, care, and self love.

Step one, was to build a home worthy of a Unicorn; build a safe space, find a home, put down a foundation. Whatever way you see it, a safe space to express yourself, a home literally if you struggle with unstable family conditions, or like Kit, you need to rebuild from the ground up.

Step 2 was about caring for the Unicorn making sure you were financially stable, had food and water, and the means to take care of the wellbeing of this animal. The biggest metaphor for me for this step was knowing what feeds your soul, what makes you happy, comfortable or safe. As part a of the instructions, Financial stability, that I don't think was a metaphor at all; its big part of what the modern idea of what it takes to be an "adult", and I think is something we all have come across once or twice and found money can take a huge toll on our ability to care for ourselves. Money is stressful, I've let the idea of working hard to get money, to make enough money to make me feel comfortable, has often times removed me from enjoying other things in life. Months of just compelete autonomy, wake up, go to work, come home, decompress, sleep, rinse and repeat, all dedicated to making paper with imaginary value. It interferes significantly with our ability to take a step back and remove ourselves from reality for even a small moment.

Step 3, the Unicorn cannot be in a hateful environment, it needs constant love affection and good vibes surrounding it. This being the most obvious metaphor in the movie, surrounding yourself with love. That doesn't just mean family situations and having a significant other, but putting yourself in situations that are positive, that feed your human spirit, after all Uncle Iroh said it best "while it is always best to believe in one's self, a little help from others can be a great blessing.

Those are the most technical messages of this movie that I think really struck a chord in me, and were best brought out via this film. The realness, that grit I love Brie Larson for being able to portray is perfectly counterbalanced with the fantasy of this film. Unicorn Store is simple in plot, but the ability to expand that plot with the messages it has and the creativity in Kit, the world she lives in, and the metaphors this movie uses makes it an A+ movie.

This movie was important for me to see and experience because, like I'm sure many of you felt, Kit's story was relatable, not just likable or generic, but I think it strikes into the heart of my generation. We feel lost, struggling to make things work in our life trying to stay above water after treading it for so long. The burden of living paycheck to paycheck, the juggling of school, work, and personal life so many of us can't seem to find a balance of, sacrificing one or the other. It takes a lot know a days to really pursue what you want, a lot of forethought, venn diagrams and pros and cons lists; when pursueing your passion, taking care of your soul, what makes you happy, shouldn't be a task or something you have to sacrifice or require sacrificing something else. I quit my job after 4 years of hard work and dedication, unemployed for 6 months, and am now working my way back from the bottom.

I still don't have my "happy ending"; a friend is still a friend, I'm still working at a dead end job, and I'm not satisfied with my life yet. I am not unhappy though, through the last year of battling through depression, anxiety, self doubt and down right laziness, I can say that I am a happier person. All the struggle was a necessity in finding myself and starting the journey of who I want to be and where I want to go; finding my unicorn.

So thank you Brie Larson for a wonderful film. A film I was able to reflect on at a personal level, which rarely happens, a film a I was able to enjoy watching and gained an experience I wasn't expecting to go on and won't soon forget. If you personally aren't ready to build a stable, buy bales of hay and see a real unicorn, take your time, just remember to love yourself first, make you happy.

Side note this movies humor was A1. The outfit choices for Kit were hilariously perfect and the lighting and color of this movie were dreamlike.

#brie larson #unicorn store #movie review

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wodrueckts · 6 years ago

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after graduation matteo and jonas go on a couchsurfing roadtrip across europe for a few months and at first matteo thought it was a cool idea but the closer it gets the more he dreads it because it means being apart from david and david basically has to drag him out of bed the morning he’s supposed to leave (before that though they have a sweet discussion while cuddling in bed where matteo is being pretty vulnerable about all his more or less (mostly less) reasonable concerns about leaving, like them drifting apart or david finding someone else while he’s gone and david keeps reassuring him that everything is gonna be fine and he’ll have a great time and they’ll talk on the phone every day)

david stays in berlin because he got into film school and he has no time to waste when it comes to pursuing his dream and while matteo is gone, david moves into his room at the wg (matteo’s father keeps paying rent and david doesn’t really like that but matteo tells him that his father would have to keep paying rent either way or else he’d lose his room and also david needs all the money he makes from his job to pay for tuition and also his father sucks so he can at least do this one thing) and ofc his flat mates love him.

they videochat almost every day

matteo keeps taking really shitty pictures of famous sights for his instagram, like a pic of the eiffel tower mostly obscured by a street lamp or a selfie of him leaning against a column of the colosseum, taken from so close up that all you can see of the thing is a bit of stone beside his head, captioning it as “at the colosseum”. he does make jonas take actually nice pictures of him at interesting places tho, but he only sends those to david.

one night when they’re videochatting, matteo complains that david never posts pictures of himself on insta, and david is like “why?” and matteo says “because i want to see you.” and david says “but you’re seeing me right now” and matteo says “yeah, but once i end this call i don’t see you anymore” and david rolls his eyes fondly but from then on starts sending matteo a picture of him every day.

they start out as simple selfies, just a quick pic as he’s leaving the house in the morning but over time they get more and more elaborate. he starts actually posing and makes other people take the picture and by the end they’re more often than not really elaborate “scenes” that require actual set-up and forethought and he tells actual little stories over multiple days. it’s quite a bit of work but david enjoys thinking up new scenarios for pictures.

one day david doesn’t send a picture and matteo is immediately alarmed and when they talk in the evening, david tries to pretend that he simply forgot the picture and that everything’s fine but matteo doesn’t buy it and after some coaxing david tells him that he just had a bad day; stress at school, problems at work, just normal stuff really but matteo is THIS close to just dropping everything and going back to berlin but david talks him out of it.

they miss each other a lot but they keep telling themselves and each other that they’ll soon see each other again.

one day, matteo and jonas are in a bigger city and jonas takes matteo to the airport and matteo is like “wtf are we doing at the airport?” and jonas is like “uhhh, there’s this one specific shop i need to go to that’s only in the airport” and matteo is annoyed but then he sees david walking through a throng of people with his little backpack and matteo all but throws himself at him.

david and jonas had been plotting behind matteo’s back, david is gonna stay in whatever city they’re in for a few days, they even organized a hotel room for david and matteo to stay for the time. when jonas drops them off at the hotel he says “but try not to stay in the room the whole time david’s here.” matteo gives him the finger.

they spend quite a lot of time in the hotel room. but they also find time to explore the city together and to hang out with jonas and their couchsurfing host one evening before david has to leave again.

the goodbyes are painful but it’s only a few more weeks.

the last few weeks are tough but they make it.

when jonas and matteo are finally back in berlin they get a big surprise party by all their friends at the wg but all matteo wants to do is... to be with david. so after he greeted everyone the two of them sneak off into matteo’s - david’s - room.

when matteo enters the room he’s a bit overwhelmed by how DAVID the space has become; there’s drawings and story boards all over the walls, art supplies and camera equipment strewn all over the place, david moved the furniture a little to better suit his needs.

matteo has never liked his room more.

EDIT: i said it in the tags but i gotta say it in the post as well: after this they never again spend more than like a day apart from each other for the rest of their lives. the end.

#druck #why did i write abt them being apart AGAIN?#idk tbh #but this was still therapeutic #also after this they never spend more than a few days apart thats just how it is #hc

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evakuality · 5 years ago

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Davenzi: 63. “Flea markets don’t carry fleas, you know?”

Thank you for sending this prompt! For you, it’s the third chapter of the ongoing saga of the ring. This chapter also available on Ao3, with chapter one starting here on tumblr and here on Ao3

Rings, Riddles and Revenge. Chapter Three:“Flea markets don’t carry fleas, you know?”

Matteo

Despite knowing that he can’t expect any sort of message immediately, Matteo is still disappointed when his phone doesn’t light with a text any time during the rest of the afternoon. The desire for contact itches under his skin and behind his eyes all day, his phone in his hand every few minutes without his conscious thought. That little habit stretches into the middle of the next afternoon while he’s listlessly carrying out some errands his mother has asked him to do for her.

When he notices himself doing it, Matteo makes a disgruntled noise. It was just a damn interaction over a piece of jewellery. Fake jewellery, no less. David was doing his job, being professional, helping out a customer. If his perfect retail persona had slipped for a few minutes, that didn’t mean anything. And here’s the proof. No text, because he clearly hasn’t found the details yet. And with no details, David doesn’t want to contact Matteo at all. Matteo sighs. Runs his fingers through his hair.

His pocket vibrates, and his phone is in his hand again on instinct, drawn there by the mere chance that it could be David. He’s fucked, Matteo realizes. Just the idea of David being on the other end of a piece of communication is enough to have this joy buzzing under his skin. He can’t keep the grin off his face, bites his lip to try to keep it in check but knows he’s giving himself away to anyone who might happen to be watching him.

I can’t find the details I need, the text reads, and Matteo’s heart plummets to his shoes. He can’t quite tell if the cold wash of disappointment that floods his body is from realizing he isn’t going to be able to sell the ring or if it comes from sadness that David is only contacting him to give him the bad news. He shakes his head in irritation at his foolishness.

That’s okay, he sends back. Thank you for trying.

Do you know that flea market near the river?

Matteo frowns at the message. It makes no sense at all, a non sequitur. Confusing and disorientating. He can’t help the way his heart beats a little faster at the thought that sneaks into his mind that maybe David wants to see him again as much as Matteo wants to see David. His mind keeps returning to the way David had looked at him in that one tiny moment when they were so close before Matteo had practically run out of the store to avoid embarrassing himself further. A small part of him, ever hopeful, helpfully suggests that it might mean something.

There’s a place near there that could help. With the ring, David sends before Matteo breaks out of his confusion enough to answer. I could meet you there and take you over to it.

Oh.

David still just wants to be a helpful retail worker, then. Matteo swallows down the sad lump that rises in his throat as he internally snaps at that asshole part of him which keeps getting his hopes up. David offering to do this is good. This helps and it’s good.

Thank you, Matteo responds. When can we meet?

He sends it before he realizes just how desperate it sounds and flushes, despite being alone. He really doesn’t need David to know either how much Matteo needs the money or how much he would like to see him again. This sort of thing is exactly what he was warning himself about when he told himself firmly that he shouldn’t visit the store again.

I finish in an hour. So maybe at 16.30?

Like a rollercoaster, Matteo’s emotions are flung around again. David wants to meet again. Today. Not just today, but as soon as he can today. That’s got to mean something, right? Something other than just perfect customer service. Matteo smiles at his phone, a giddy rush of adrenaline hitting him. This is dumb, he thinks, but it’s not enough to push the smile off his face.

Even if this is just for a utilitarian reason, he gets to meet David again. Outside of the rigid confines of the stilted luxury of his workplace, too. The mere idea of seeing those eyes, the sure and sexy hands, the piercing that’s been haunting his dreams the last few days, is enough to set butterflies off in his stomach. He’s just like a stupid teenager with a crush, Matteo realizes. Exactly the way he was when he had a hopeless crush on Jonas and read too deeply into every interaction.

Still. This feels different, too. This feels like there’s maybe something in David’s eyes that’s heated and interested. The helpless pained longing for Jonas isn’t here this time. Partly because this feeling is so new and isn’t dragging any baggage behind it, and partly because the way David looks at Matteo is promising in a way that Jonas never was. David’s eyes had lingered, and his body had appeared affected, nervous, in a way that Matteo hasn’t often had people seem when they look at him.

It’s not a date. Matteo knows this, knows David is probably just being nice. And yet, he can’t help the flustered, delighted joy that swamps him, or the frisson that runs through his body, when he realizes that he gets to talk to him again. And soon.

He checks his phone again, his eyes lingering over the last message even as he takes in the time and calculates how long the rest of his errands will take and how likely he is to make it to the market on time.

Sounds good, he replies to David’s text finally, trying hard not to look too eager, trying not to look as desperate as he really is. He smiles at the thumbs up he gets in return and turns back to his jobs. Suddenly they don’t seem as dull as they did just a few minutes ago, and Matteo is humming as he pulls his mother’s list from his pocket and hurries his steps just a little more than before.

David

He doesn’t notice that he’s holding his breath until he gets the message back from Matteo accepting his offer to meet, and an ugly relieved gasp bursts from his lips. He flushes, glances around to see if anyone has noticed. Thankfully, his coworker is hard at work, deep in conversation with a young couple with big eyes and earnest expressions. David refocuses. Less than an hour before he can leave. Then less than half an hour before he can meet up with Matteo again.

The time drags, his last customer infuriatingly slow and indecisive and bouncing between one fabulous piece that would boost David’s numbers beautifully and one that’s much less impressive. In the end, the man sighs and buys the cheaper necklace. It’s several minutes after the time when David was supposed to leave to see Matteo and he doesn’t even have a good sale to show for it.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling through gritted teeth at the man who is slowly putting his things back into his bag and pockets, arranging and rearranging them until he’s satisfied. “I’m sure she will love it.”

As soon as the man has turned to walk out, David rushes to the back of the store, grabs his things and yells his goodbyes to his coworker as he practically runs out the door. Thankfully, there are no customers around, so David doesn’t get the disapproving stare from the more rule abiding staff members. Instead, he gets a fond smile and a cheerful wave. It’s a good sign, he thinks. Today, despite the shittiness of the customer he just served, he feels on top of the world, even more so as he pushes himself faster so he can get to the market on time.

He’s panting when he arrives, a few minutes late and with his heart pounding in his chest. Partly from the run, but at least partly because he’s about to see Matteo again. Somewhere a little more freeing than the stilted confines of his store. It’s crowded in the market, which David hadn’t really considered well when he suggested this as a meeting place. It’s not going to be easy to find Matteo in this melee, and David is kicking himself for the stupid romantic impulse that made him consider this a good spot to be together rather than a more conventional cafe of some type.

He scans the crowds, unsure where to even start his attempt to find Matteo. It’s so big, and noisy. Filled with people and things … and he really wishes he’d had the forethought to give a better spot to meet than just ‘that flea market’ because as it is time is ticking by and Matteo could be anywhere.

“Flea markets don’t carry fleas, you know?” a voice says in his ear and David starts, panic swamping him, an icy flood of adrenaline and nerves. He spins only to be replaced with a warm rush of relief when he sees Matteo’s grinning face close to his own.

“You’re an asshole,” David says, but he can hear the traitorous fondness in his voice.

Matteo gives him a weird look. “Is that the way you talk to all your customers?” he asks

David laughs and spreads his arms wide to indicate the spaces around them. “You’re not a customer here,” he says. “Do you see any shitty jewellery around here?” he asks.

“Yes, over there.” Matteo points in the direction of a nearby stall which is selling something leather and handmade.

“Funny,” David says, incapable of keeping the smile off his face, and noticing with a warmth that spreads quickly through his chest that Matteo is also smiling back at him. In a way that David is almost sure isn’t just gratitude for help with his ring. Which turns his attention towards what they’re ostensibly here for. “Can I ask you something?” he says carefully, checking to see if Matteo is offended by the question.

Matteo doesn’t look offended, exactly, but he does seem wary, with his eyes flickering towards David and his lip chewed in between his teeth. He nods, with one quick look at David, who makes sure he’s smiling as naturally as he can.

“Why … what makes you want to sell the ring?” he asks, and is baffled when Matteo’s shoulders slump in what looks like relief even while his body tenses and he looks away.

“My mother … she’s not well. And she needs some money for some treatment. Expensive treatment that we can’t afford.”

“Ah,” David says, nodding. The riddle of why Matteo wanted to sell is answered, both more mundane and more sad than David had expected. It makes sense now why Matteo would have been so caught up in how much the ring would sell for.

Matteo’s answer had seemed like a definitive statement, his mother’s requirements something that just was, so David’s a little surprised when Matteo speaks again with a bitter tone to his voice, one that he’s not sure he’d have expected from Matteo even though he barely knows the guy.

“My dad fucked off and left us when I was seventeen. And … well, the ring was his. So it was going to be this big ‘fuck you’ to him, selling his prized heirloom. Except …”

“Except it’s not what you thought it was.” David nods again. It really does make a lot of sense out of all the ways Matteo’s behavior has been slightly different to that of other guys who’ve been valuing rings for sale.

“Yeah.”

Matteo’s pensive now, his eyes faraway, clearly thinking about the ring and what it means to him if the slightly sour twist to his lips is any indication.

And this … this isn’t how David had seen the afternoon going when he’d suggested it. So now he’s kicking himself for having suggested the ring thing as a cover, and for bringing it up when they were just starting to relax together here. It’s like he wants to sabotage himself.

“So,” he says in his cheeriest voice, trying to distract Matteo from whatever it is that he’s inadvertently dragged up, “what do you want to do first?”

“First?”

Matteo’s attention snaps to David and he’s suddenly far less melancholy-looking, a bright, almost eager bloom appearing on his cheeks and in his eyes, a bloom which makes David’s chest pool with something soft and warm.

“Well …” David says, “we could look around here for a bit, you know, make the most of our time at the market. Or we could do your ring thing.” He grins at Matteo, lets his eyes brighten and his expression soften. “And then we could come back to the market in the evening, when it’s all lit up.”

Matteo swallows, his throat making a really distracting column as he tilts his head up in thought. His eyes shift to David’s and a small smile flickers onto his lips before disappearing almost as quickly.

“I … like the lights,” he says quietly. His gaze remains firm and steadfast on David’s, and butterflies suddenly take flight in his stomach, gently swooping. “So … uh, we should do the ring first, maybe.”

Matteo’s voice is impossibly soft, and David can feel the stupid butterflies getting faster now, swarnimg en mass in his stomach. He’s not quite brave enough to clarify, to make sure Matteo truly understands that he wants this to be a date. But he thinks Matteo might have got that. The way his voice hesitated a little as he said he likes lights and the way his eyes had looked, dark and purposeful, when he’d said they should do the ring first … well, David sure hopes it means what he thinks it means.

continue to chapter four

#druck #davenzi #my fic stuff #my prompt stuff #my ask stuff #Anonymous

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furbyq · 5 years ago

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goddamn it

i didn’t want to do it again because i deleted my other post since my sister came through a little. but after my dad’s visit to the rheumatologist, i’m abysmally grim because his co-pay took the rest of that money. and it’s only the 22nd. i still have 8 days of this shit to go and i have an appointment on the 26th that i will probably cancel because of gas worries. \o/ (this particular visit has nothing to do with ssi, don’t worry about that. i did get my application done for a lawyer to start working on it though!)

i feel like i have to prove that i didn’t post the old post, get donations, and then delete so i could do a new post. i deleted the other one because i’m fucking crazy and i read it on mobile and hated a sentence that was in it, and didn’t need the donations at the time, so i just deleted it without any forethought. i should’ve kept it so i could’ve just reblogged it.

i have a little over a dollar on the paypal card from that last $2 donation, but our vehicle doesn’t have enough gas to make it to the warehouse markets. which is our grocery store, and plural, because this is oklahoma and we have to pluralize things. so i could put 50c in gas and buy a stick of gum at the warehouse markets but i don’t, i don’t feel like that would help me. it might help morale, i don’t know.

i would usually try at this point to hibernate until the 1st, because there’s still not a lot i can contribute until i can get my mental health under control. but i have unfortunately miscalculated the amount of vaseline i need to keep my psoriasis under control and it’s progressed to what i would refer to as the “unbuttered toast” stage. where i’m so uncomfortable i kind of want to die. balancing multiple health issues is hard when you can’t even balance one.

>> donate << or share if you can! i probably need less than $10 to make it to the 1st of october.

maybe don’t send me mean messages. i mean, i can’t stop you, but perhapsn’t?

#non sims #donations #i don't know what to tag these posts as #i need as many people as possible to see it but i don't want anyone to see it #thanks mental illness

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cupcakemolotov · 6 years ago

Photo

Happy Birthday @thetourguidebarbie! I know, this is like super late but hopefully the smut makes up for it. Thank you for being so awesome! Also, a HUGE shout out to @goldcaught for putting this beautiful graphic together. Edit: I like a complete moron forgot to say thank you to @garglyswoof for giving a VERY early version of this a read through and to goldcaught for listening to me complain through my many, many re-writes of this.

warning: smutty, fluffy, some blood sharing, did i mention smutty?

Caroline wondered if it should be weird, being so comfortable in Klaus' space. Particularly when he wasn't there. She'd breezed in only an hour or so earlier to find him dressed in a lovely suit and wearing an annoyed expression. Studying the pink of her pedicure, she sank a little deeper into the heat of the bath at the memory of the heat in his gaze as she'd taken her things into his room. She hadn't seen the point or even wanted to consider pretending that she'd planned on spending any time in bed alone. She'd known that Klaus wouldn't have any objections, but the lick of nerves had been there anyway. The curling, private smile as he'd assisted her carry her things had left her skin prickling.

Not for the first time did Caroline find herself admitting that she was in deep.

It was why she'd agreed to meet him here in a pretty chalet in the Swiss Alps for just the two of them. A romantic getaway without the usual lure of an adventure or even a carefully orchestrated meet-up. Knowingly and with forethought, she'd come to spend time with him.

Just him.

Caroline hadn't expected the house to be so quiet once he'd left and certainly hadn't thought to find herself alone with the tangle of her emotions so soon after seeing him again. Usually by now she'd have been naked for an hour or two and thinking wouldn't have been a concern. Her toes curled at the thought of how they usually greeted each other, and arousal sat low and heavy in her belly.

Blowing out a breath, she reached for the wine glass she'd left next to the tub. She'd scrounge around and found one of Klaus' expensive bottles of wine and dug out her e-reader, determined to enjoy the absolutely perfect bathtub in the master ensuite as a suitable distraction from her lack of orgasms. But while the wine was perfect she hadn't bothered to look at her collection of books.

Instead, she found herself contemplating the relationship that hadn't exactly snuck up on her, but one she hadn't really been expecting to want, just yet. Six decades had come and gone since they'd run into each other in Italy. It was a memory she was inordinately fond of and she chose to believe they'd been equally surprised to see each other. He'd recovered faster, gaze brightening with a familiar warmth, but his eyes had narrowed as he'd realized she was on a date.

They'd been at an art auction. Caroline had gone mostly just to see what kind of money really got thrown around at such events, but Klaus had clearly taken her date as a personal affront. It'd been a strain not to roll her eyes every time he'd very deliberately outbid her companion. She'd been sorely tempted to goad him into bidding on a few truly terrible works of art just to see how committed Klaus was to being petty, but she'd refrained.

Barely.

Later that night he'd shown up at her hotel room with her favorite piece from the day. A gift, he'd murmured, eyes full of glittering amusement. She should've been annoyed. Instead she'd been intrigued. He'd had been dimpled, rumpled, and utterly focused on her. Her memory of him in a full tux had clearly faded just enough that the sight of him had left her mouth bone dry. It wasn't that Caroline had forgotten how ruthless he could be or discounted the violence he offered as easily as he charmed, but it'd been a long time since she'd let other people make choices for her.

Instead of pushing him away she'd sighed and let him buy her a drink. A century under her belt had given her some understanding of the worlds he'd once told her but she'd worked hard to never lose herself. Klaus had seemed to delight in it, in her, and when he left it had been with a kiss on her cheek and a promise to see her again soon.

She'd kept the painting.

Months later, and she'd found herself allowing him to coax her into meeting him in Vienna at a little art gallery he'd thought she'd love. Next, he'd bumped into her in Piedmont, Italy and Caroline had learned more about Barlo wine than any one person needed to know. Later that night, she'd re-learned all the ways she could drive Klaus crazy with her mouth. He'd returned the favor, and while Barlo would never be her favorite, she had a soft spot for the vineyards. The following year they'd spent a weekend in New York exploring each other and the city, and then a week in Mexico City where he'd teased her with Spanish and while his fingers had skimmed beneath her skirt. Rio was a blur of sex and beaches and a bar fight that had left her sucking blood from his tongue. He'd shown her bits and pieces of being in his world, inside and outside the hotel rooms they'd shared, and she'd let him.

After a while, Caroline had stopped marking their time together so closely, had taken to inviting him along on her trips instead of waiting for him to sshow up. His smile had dug into her skin and something had shifted around in her chest the first time she'd asked him if he was busy. When they met up, sometimes Klaus had to leave early to deal with a errant witch problem one of siblings created, but usually it was Caroline who walked away first.

But lately, she'd lingered.

Her first real century as a vampire had been spent with her human connections breaking one by one, and while Caroline had treasured those memories and was glad she'd made them, she'd enjoyed stretching her legs and exploring the world. Bonnie was her only true connection to her childhood, and when they'd talked last week she and Enzo were back in Thailand. Her best friend had spent a century shacked up with a vampire, so while she still pretty much hated Klaus, Bonnie had told her to do what made her happy. It was similar to the conversation they'd had all those centuries ago when they'd broken Elena's curse.

Be happy.

Caroline had left and found parts of herself she hadn't known she'd needed, and learned that couldn't live for other people anymore. But living for yourself was daunting and freeing and terrifying. Klaus had seemed to understand that without her having to say a word, and while he pushed, he never pressured. He'd clearly never been satisfied but he was also unwilling to force.

It had always left her a little wary at how much she'd needed that. After Tyler, after Stefan. The one defining factor in her life had always been watching the people in her life walk away from her. Except for Klaus.

It'd steadied her in ways she couldn't define. Caroline refused to let him define her and she'd refused to let him be a crutch. But to grow into herself and to find him just as fascinated, just as willing as when she'd been eighteen?

It had been more than a little bit addicting.

Their last adventure in Cambodia had lasted nearly a month. Klaus had started a small war with some witches and she'd found herself dragged into it. Unwillingly and with a multitude of complaints, Klaus had promised to make it up to her as he'd carefully plucked spiderwebs from her hair. Those promises had been explicit in their details and he'd kept every one of them. She had felt it only fair as they had spent close to four days hunting through the jungle. In the end, Caroline had had zero qualms about the murdering that had followed. She'd even growled a suggestion or two.

There had been one or two episodes of Monster Inside Me as a teenager and she'd never be comfortable in that much nature, vampire or not.

The week they'd spent in a hotel had definitely made up for the grit and grime.

But that had been nearly six months ago, and she'd done some serious thinking during those months. Cambodia had been a jungle hell but it'd also been weirdly fun. Because she'd been with Klaus. Short on blood and her temper scraped raw, the monster had been free to play. And when it was over, when she'd tucked herself back into the mirage of the girl, he'd never stopped looking at her as if she was magnificent. Monster, girl, everything in between, and he took what she gave and held open greedy hands for more.

And now she was in Switzerland.

Caroline had admitted that this trip was different. She wanted it to be different. If she could only finally figure out how to actually admit that she was ready to start moving in more of a couple-y direction. She refused to call it dating, even though they'd sort of being doing that, however loosely she'd defined it in her head. Labeling what they had always seemed daunting, a land of no return, but she'd realized she wanted it. No more biting the tip of her tongue when other women touched him. Caroline didn't want to spend spend weeks adjusting to the cold side of her bed once she'd left. She was finally willing to admit she missed him and that she wanted him, monsters and all. She just hadn't figured out how to say it.

Head tipping back, she pushed a frizzy curl away from her face impatiently. Klaus, she was certain, had never doubted the existence of her feelings for him for all that he'd let her set the pace. Arrogant, aggravating man.

Huffing out a breath, Caroline took another long sip of her wine. It was silly to be nervous when she knew Klaus wasn't going to reject her, that she'd only ever had to reach out to find his hand waiting on hers, but that had never stopped the nervous worrying. She'd fretted and debated and soul searched.

She knew that letting Klaus in would be wonderful and terrible and everything in between. It would be everything she wanted and nothing she could imagine and she could never fully walk away once she took that step. Klaus wouldn't let her and her monster that was as greedy and violent and hungry as his wouldn't want to either. The darker parts of her had always wanted him. But it had taken the girl, the human parts of her that were as important as the monster, a long time to be okay with him. With them. With what they could be and what they were.

But Caroline thought she was finally ready to go after what he'd promised her. Last love. Eternity. All of it.

If only should get the words off the tip of her tongue.

She froze when she heard a door open downstairs, followed by clipped, bitten-off words as Klaus argued with someone on the phone. Caroline tried to parse through the French but while her grasp of the language was getting better, his words were too quick. His tone, however, was very familiar, and she wondered what had gone wrong. The sound of him coming up the stairs at a quick pace as he hung up had both of her brows arching, particularly when she caught the faintest hint of blood.

"Klaus?" The smell of blood immediately become stronger, and she blinked when he appeared in the doorway. His tie and jacket were missing, blood splattered across his once pristine shirt, and the veins beneath his eyes were still prominent.

It was a look that worked for her. Her pulse quickened as Klaus slowly took her in, his gaze drifting over her messy hair and exposed, heat-flushed skin. She tried to remember if he'd given her more than a cursory explanation of his meeting as he headed, but she'd distracted by the way he'd pressed his mouth to hers in a toe curling goodbye. She supposed it didn't matter. It clearly hadn't lasted long.

Setting aside her wine, Caroline settled a little deeper into the hot water of her bath. "I take it your lunch wasn't a polite meeting of minds after all?"

His mouth tightened, head tipping back for a moment as he exhaled sharply. Caroline bit her lip as she took in the streak of blood along the line of his throat. For a brief moment she debated if it was worth climbing out of the tub to taste. They'd barely had time for a proper hello kiss earlier and with Klaus wearing his hybrid features, she was tempted to bite. She hadn't had a good, non-battery powered orgasm in exactly six months and Klaus fresh from a fight left her skin aching.

"No," he finally replied, chin lowering as his gaze returned to hers. It was a struggle not to shiver at the yellow lingering in his gaze. The slow curl of his mouth told her that she hadn't managed it as well as she hoped, not that she really minded. "A bit unfortunate, but it should expedite the issue. I'm certain they'll be much happier to deal with Elijah in the future."

Caroline briefly pressed her lips together to cover the start of a laugh. It wasn't often that Klaus looked disgruntled by murder, and it was unexpectedly hilarious. Clearing her throat, she reached for her glass of wine, and tried to school her face into something neutral. "I'm sure Elijah will be delighted to hear that."

"He'll manage," Klaus said with a careless wave of his hand. His gaze slipped along the room, lingering on the space she'd clearly marked as hers on the sink, her neat pile of discarded clothes and the robe she'd shamelessly stolen from his closet. "You, however, seem to have settled in nicely."

She lifted a shoulder. "You said to make myself comfortable."

"Hmm," he rumbled as he prowled forward and crouching next to the bathtub. Her fingers tightened on the glass she still held, breath catching in her throat as he smoothed a wispy curl away from her temple. His lips curled and he tugged her wine out of her hand and took a slow sip.

"So I did."

The movement as he swallowed was distracting. More importantly, he was home. She touched the corner of his jaw with wet fingers, eyes soft with invitation. The large, sunken tub was more than large enough for both of them.

"Care to join me?"

His eyes darkened, at the softness of her tone or her fingertips on his skin she didn't know. But when tip of his tongue traced across his lip Caroline decided it didn't matter. Six months was far too long to go without him. She curled her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and leaned forward just high enough out to slid her tongue up the splatter of drying blood on his throat with a little hum of pleasure. The only way it would have tasted better would have been if it'd been his blood on her tongue. She scraped her teeth below his ear. "The only blood I want on your sheets is ours."

The wine glass hit the floor loud enough that she wasn't certain if he'd broken it or not, but then his head dipped, lips catching hers as he chased the blood and wine on her tongue. She decided he could clean up the glass later, and her mouth widened against his as her fingers tightened in his hair. Caroline shuddered as his hand cupped one slick breast, his thumb circling her nipple, and she decided he was to far away.

Fisting her hands into his ruined shirt, she pulled him into the water and on top of her. Water sloshed onto the floor and he grunted as his knee banged against the side. Caroline sucked on his tongue in apology, shifting to press her breasts flat against his chest as her knees bracketed his waist.

Klaus was far from passive, hand braced against the tub as he tangled his fingers in her now wet hair and angled her head in the direction he wanted. She moaned as his tongue licked across hers, the feel of his soaked dress pants against her thighs a delicate abrasion that left her clit throbbing.

When he pulled back his eyes were yellow and devouring, lips bruised and wet.

"Miss me, Caroline?" The words were rasped against her lips and she sighed into his mouth, her wet hands ruining his curls further. Her teeth scrapped lightly against his lower lip before she pulled back to answer, eyes holding his.

"What if I did?"

He tugged her neck further back and dragged the tip of his fangs down the arch of her neck. Her hips jerked against his and she whined as her clit dragged against his clothing. Klaus made a pleased little noise and licked across her collarbones.

"I've certainly missed you," he said without hesitation, head angling so his eyes could catch hers. His hand slipped lower, skimming down the line of her abdomen to trace the crease of her hip and thigh as he spoke. "Your scent on my sheets. The taste of you on my tongue. I even find myself missing the way you monopolize the bedding before you attempt to lay siege to my side of the mattress."

Her lips parted on an offended inhale that turned into a gasp as his fingers found her clit. The water was still pleasantly warm but his skin was always fever warm. The soaked fabric of his shirt ripped under her frantic grip and she arched closer, nails cutting into bare skin.

"Klaus."

He pressed closer, fingertips too light to satisfy. "Did you miss me, love?"

She bit his bottom lip bloody, both annoyed and greedy for his taste. He met her kiss with fangs and she didn't know whose blood lingered on her lips as she pulled back, breath harsh in her throat. "Yes."

His lips curled into something that sent her pulse skittering. His tongue swiped across her lower lip and he hummed. "Good."

His hand shifted to her ass and Caroline squeaked when she suddenly found their positions switched. Klaus had settled behind her, the dark fabric of his pants a stark contrast to the pale length of her legs as his knees settled between hers.

"Comfortable?"

It wasn't the word she'd have used, spread open on his lap, the hard points of her nipples barely beneath the water. Klaus was a solid, perfect line behind her and the hard ridge of his cock pressed against her ass through his clothing. "I was halfway to an orgasm. I'd be a lot more comfortable if you'd gotten me off."

His scruff brushed lightly against her cheek and he stroked his hand down her sternum, lingering just beneath her belly button for a few, breathless seconds before he lifted his hand and repeated the motion. "Only halfway? We'll have to do something about that. Though I do believe you've argued more than once about the benefits of relaxing, have you not? There is something to be said for nice and slow."

Her head landed on his shoulder with a faint thud. His name was nearly a whine as her toes pressed into his ankle. "Klaus…"

His lips brushed her temple. "Hands behind my neck."

Caroline knew she could probably talk him into letting her slid her hand between her thighs if she wanted it badly enough. Klaus enjoyed watching as much as she did, but she wasn't interested in her fingers. She wanted his hands on her skin and she wanted his cock inside her. Teeth biting into her lower lip hard enough draw blood, she linked her hands as he'd directed, the sounds of water splashing into the tub loud in the bathroom.

"Good girl," he murmured, skimming the flat of his palm up the trembling skin of her abdomen to cup her breast. His legs shifted and her ass slid against his cock as his knees spread her wider, and the rough noise he made was deeply satisfying. "Tell me Caroline, did you bring any of your toys with you?"

She shuddered, nails digging into his skin at the memory of the last time they'd played with her ever growing collection. "Yes, but I didn't want to use them."

He pinched her nipple and she moaned. "No? You've never minded me walking in on you before."

Her inhale was shaky, his words reminding her of just how much fun it was to tease him. To tease them both. It was hard to think when he was pulling on her nipples just hard enough to curl her toes, and the ache between her thighs turned into a throb. Sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to steady her voice, Caroline released his neck with one hand and twisted just far enough to see him out of her peripheral, nerves fluttering.

"Tonight I wanted you," her words were softer than she intended. "Your hands and your skin on mine, and your cock inside me."

Klaus' muscles tensed beneath her, hand dropping to flex against her ribs as his harsh exhale brushed along her temple. Caroline breathed in his silence for a dozen heartbeats before twisting around so that she could straddle him. She ignored the way her knees knocked against the side of the tub, intent on reading the cues in his expression.

"Caroline," he started, voice low and touched with gravel and she cut him off with the press of her mouth. Sliding her fingers into the tumble of his curls, she kept her mouth soft against his. She knew he wouldn't be satisfied by the shortness of her answer, and neither was she, but for a moment she luxuriated in the taste and feel of him, the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

Pulling back when even her lungs started to ache, Caroline dug her nails in lightly against his scalp just watch his lashes flutter. When his eyes met hers, they were dark and greedy. "No more teasing, Klaus."

His laugh was soft against her skin, darkly amused and throaty with his arousal. She shivered, and his hand slipped to grip her ass as he straightened his spine. When his spoke his words were scalding puffs of breath against her lips. "But you beg so pretty."

"You can't be serious."

His teeth caught her bottom lip for a moment, tongue sliding against the minor sting before he pulled back. The small, curling smile that tugged at his dimples was triumphant. "But I can. How much did you miss me, Caroline? It's been six months, love. Have you let someone else touch you in that time?"

She narrowed her eyes in aggravation. Why had she thought facing him for this conversation would be a good idea? When she tried to away, his fingers tangled in her hair, holding her close. His nose nudged hers, eyes glimmering.

"Caroline."

Lowering her chin, Caroline met the simmering challenge in his gaze. Baring the edge of her teeth, she hissed out a breath. "No, I didn't let anyone else touch me. It wasn't the same, I…"

Her words died on a whine as he caught her aching clit firmly between two fingers. Her hands scrabbled for purchase on his shoulders. His lips dragged softly down her throat, his little noise of pleasure as her nails dug into his skin a rumble against her neck. She gasped his name as his hand slid lower, two fingers slipping inside her to curl against fluttering walls.

"That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Her nails tore through his shirt to leave gouges in his skin at his words, and his palm pressed roughly against her clit in response. He kissed her just as roughly, tongue hot against hers. His fingers curled inside her, and Caroline reared back with a short scream as her orgasm broke, body clapping down around Klaus hand as she trembled through it.

He pulled his hand free from the clamp of her thighs and brought his fingers to his mouth with a satisfied little noise of pleasure. Her thighs switched, arousal fresh and demanding, and she glanced down at the slacks that still invaded his legs.

"You should have taken off your pants."

Klaus dragged his nails lightly down her belly, his tone indulgent. "Someone didn't give me much of a chance."

Caroline swallowed a moan and scrabbled at his belt, her shaky fingers struggling. Klaus pinched her nipples and the button snapped under her grasping fingers. She ripped away the cloth to free him, not even bother to yank what was left down his thighs. She'd just gotten off but it wasn't enough. She wanted to come again and she wanted Klaus inside her when she did it.

He helped steady before letting her sink down the first inch of his cock. One hand gripped her hip and the other slipped beneath her thigh to grip her butt as he held her still. She groaned her complaint, body clenching around what she could.

"Klaus," she panted, nails digging into his neck. "I want you inside me. Right now."

His tongue snaked across his lips, fingers digging into the curve of her ass. "Such impatience. Have I not already told you that I missed you? The flush of along your cheeks and breasts, the feel of you sinking so slowly onto my cock, and I wish to savor them."

She shook her head, wisps of curls dancing across her cheeks. "Later, savor me later."

His smile turned wicked. "No."

Klaus' shirt tore apart under her hands, and the muscles along his jaw draw tight as he slowly lowered her along the lengths of him. She was panting, head tipped back as he filled her, body hot and slick. The water was cool against her fever hot skin, and she squeeze him tightly once she'd settled. He groaned, breath a rasp in his throat, and his fingers dug tightly into her flesh.

"Eyes on me, Caroline."

She shuddered at his tone, forced her eyes open as her head lowered. His grip shifted and he rocked into her and she met the motion with a roll of her hips and a soft sigh, her clit a steady throb for attention.

"I'll draw you just like this," he rasped,voice slow and deliberate. "You're eyes dark and hazy, the way your lips part just so as I fill you with my cock. Later, I'll paint it. Perhaps you'll even agree to pose for me; well fucked and pretty in my studio so that I can perfect on canvas the shade of your nipples after they've been in my mouth, hmm?"

A pang of arousal had her trembling against him and he splayed his hand wide on her ass. Shuddering put his name, her lashes fluttered as he adjust his hips.

"Move."

"Not yet."

His fingers snaked between them, careful against her sensitive clit, and it was a struggle to maintain eye contact as he touched her. Desperate, she brought one hand up to cup her breast, to tug sharply at her nipple as the sensations built. His eyes never left her face, even when she leaned close, and her fangs were clumsy against his mouth as she drew blood.

The taste of his blood pushed her over and Klaus' groan mingled with her cries. Her forehead pressed against his as she planted against his mouth. His mouth shifted to meet hers as her breathing slowed, his kiss slow and almost languid even though his cock was still hot and hard inside her.

"I believe that's two orgasms now, sweetheart."

Linking her arms around his neck, she leaned forward to kiss the dimple peeking out from his cheek. "Hmm, much better than being only halfway."

His smile deepend against her lips, shoulders shaking with a silent laugh but when he pulled back his eyes were serious. Tongue running across his mouth, he traced the curve of her mouth with his thumb. "I grow tired of this bath. I cannot smell you properly."

Her eyes widened as he adjusted his grip before standing in a smooth motion. She curled her legs around his waist, shuddering as the shift of her weight and the change of angle pushed him deeper inside her. Gripping his neck, she breathed against his mouth as water dripped back into the tub. Klaus kicked away the tangled remains of his pants, and Caroline's eyes slid tightly shut at the way he moved inside her.

"Do not drop me."

He gripped her ass and hauled her higher, teeth sharp against her ear. "I would never."

Any thought of falling or of the mess in still in the bath disappeared as Klaus strode towards the double sink. One hand lifted to fist in her hair and his kiss was voracious, tongue and fangs playing against her mouth until they were both breathing heavy. "Unwind your legs, love. I want to fuck you in front of the mirrors so we can both watch."

She moaned at his words, and couldn't help the little noise of complaint as she did as he asked. Klaus angled her head with the hand fisted in her hair to run his teeth along the length of her neck before he spun her around. Her hair band was a quick casualty, and her wet curls tumbled around her shoulders as he urged her hands onto the counter top. For a moment, Caroline could only stare at the picture they made in the mirror. Disheveled, dripping bathwater, with blood smeared across both their faces and she shivered at how good they looked. Biting her lip, she shivered as he pressed close, his eyes glittering hybrid gold.

She shivered as his fingers slid back into her hair, the heat of his chest scalding down the line of his spine. His lips brushed her ear as he positioned himself at his entrance, knee nudging her legs wider before he pressed against her entrance. "Okay?"

She nodded, lashes fluttering at the feet of his cock brushing against her clit. "Yes, god, Klaus. More."

The first snap of his hips had her fingernails bending against the granite of the sink. His hand on her belly titled her hips and her vision wavered on the next thrust, the feel of him hitting everything inside her so perfectly. She couldn't quite watch his cock fill her, but the bounce of her breasts, the picture of his red mouth on her shoulder as he moved inside ramped her arousal higher. She could hear just how wet she was but she couldn't care. Not when he was inside her and finally moving exactly how she needed it.

"Come for me," Caroline demanded, barely recognizing the roughness of her voice. "I want to feel it."

His teeth bit sharply into her shoulder, and the pain only heightened her pleasure as he tugged at her hair. Blood spilled down her skin and her monster loved the color of it, the way it stained his mouth and chin as he titled his head in the mirror. Her stomach pulled taut, thighs trembling with her building release.

"Such demands, sweetheart." His hand up her stomach to skim through the blood dripping down her shoulder before he covered her breast with his bloody fingers. "When you are so lovely just like this and at my mercy."

"How can you not want to get off?" Caroline question in-between pants. Her eyes squeezed shut at a particularly perfect thrust, knees wobbling. He held her steady, but the uneven rise and falls of his chest and the shake of his fingers against her nipple told her he was riding the same edge. "Tie me up later if you must, but I want to come again. Now. With you."

There was a potent silence as her words faded between them. For ament she thought Klaus was going to ignore her words and continue to tease her with his ridiculous self control. But then his fingers were nearly painful on her breast as his grip tightened and the snap of his hips pushed a short cry from her lips.

"Watch," he rasped harshly.

Her eyes opened obediently and it didn't take long before she was rocking back into him, her eyes glued to the lines of his throat. His palm dragged back down her body, smearing a trail of blood down her pale skin, and a quick pinch of her clit was all she needed to pitch over the edge for a third time. This time Klaus chased his release, hips snapping against hers before he spilled curses against her skin.

Caroline leaned heavily against the sink as he breathed heavily against her. She spoke after several long moments of trying to get her heartbeat under control. "Pretty sure I need another shower."

Klaus pressed a soft kiss the curve of her neck. "Later. I believe you offered to let me tie you to the bed, and I plan to spill across her skin at least once before I let you come."

Her thighs clenched together at the promise in his voice. He'd do exactly as he promised and tie her to the bed, The he'd pet her into a flushed, aroused mess before kneeling between her thighs and stroking himself. He'd let her watch, his fingers curled tight around his shaft while he murmured all the wicked things he loved about her mouth. He'd linger, because it worked her up and they both enjoyed the tease.

It took a moment to find her voice. "I didn't bring any ties."

His eyes gleamed as they met hers in mirror. "I did. A set of spelled silk scarves. I've been wanting to see the color of them against your skin for some time. How close they match the post-orgasm blue of your eyes."

There was only one good answer to that.

"Take me to bed."

Caroline shifted beneath the blanket Klaus had rescued from the floor, sated and drowsy. The silk scarves had been a lot of fun. Caroline wondered if she could manage to talk him into letting her use them on him. A few hours testing Klaus' patience with her would absolutely be worth whatever he bargained for in return.

He'd taken her words about wanting only their blood on the sheets seriously and she wasn't sure much besides the blanket and pillows had survived unscathed. Not that she really minded. Klaus had never flinched from her appetites, sexual or otherwise. Instead he seemed to delight in meeting them, and the monster she'd struggled to understand as a teenager was never happier than with his blood on her fangs.

His teeth in her throat.

Parting her lashes, Caroline's lips curved as she took Klaus in. It was unlikely that he was truly sleeping as he needed far less rest than her, even after the afternoon they'd just shared, but it was still a sight watching him drowse. Face down, his hair as wild as her own, he looked as relaxed and content as she'd ever seen him. The abrasions along his back and shoulders from her nails had healed, only the lingering flecks of dried blood remaining. She'd probably find similar stains beneath her nails and arousal stirred at the thought.

She could clear the distance between them in a single move and press her lips to the muscle of his biceps. Taste the texture of his skin on her tongue and drag her teeth down the hard ridge she'd find. Caroline knew he'd meet her intentions instantly but she found herself content to just be.

It struck her that they rarely spent time together like this. Neither of them tended to sit still long enough to have these kind of simple, intimately quiet moments. Most of their time together was usually spent cramming as much physicality into a single moment as possible.

It wasn't enough anymore.

She wanted this too. Lazy post-coital cuddling without any kind of plan. Just her and Klaus beneath the sheets or a lazy morning over breakfast in their kitchen. She wondered if he kept comfortable furniture i his studios so she could relax and read while he painted or if he'd make room for her if he hadn't already. She had a million questions and wanted the answers so badly she found herself tongue tied.

"Now who's being creepy," Klaus murmured into the silence between them as if he sensed her thoughts, his lips curving as he banded back her usual complaint of waking to find him watching her. His expression was boyish, his tease full of gruff affection, and Caroline poked his calf with her toes.

"Only seems fair. You rarely sit still long enough to that I get to ogle you. Girl's gotta take an opportunity when she can."

He made a roughly amused sound low in his throat before rolling to his side and studying her. His gaze was contemplative and she bore his scrutiny with as much patience she could manage. "You didn't seem to enjoy a similar argument when I made it."

Caroline narrowed her eyes. "I don't creepily sketch people while they are sleeping."

"Yet, you didn't seem to mind my earlier suggestion of either the drawing or the painting," Klaus pointed out, lips lowering to trace the curve of her mouth.

She sputtered out a laugh. "Your proposition in the middle of sex? Should have I have taken that seriously?"

His brow arched. "Do you think I do not mean what I say to you, Caroline?"

She rolled her eyes at the note in his voice and shifted closer, tossing her leg over his calves to hold him in place. "Klaus, you were inside me for the first time in months. I wasn't giving much thought to the realities of you painting me post-sex."

His chin dipped, breath ghosting across her chin. "I have a studio in all my homes, love."

Heat flushed across her cheeks at his words and she swallowed at the way his smile turned a touch lascivious. Sitting on his cock he'd felt every flutter and every twitch of her muscles, so there was little point in denying she'd enjoyed the idea of what he'd described. But it was one thing to fantasize about his words and something else to let him put her on canvas. Naked and flushed and probably dripping.

Caroline was pretty sure she'd be into it as much as she enjoyed watching and enjoying being watched. But not immediately. "Maybe another time."

"And when will the next time be, Caroline?" Klaus questioned, eyes narrowing. "How long will I continue to have you with me for mere weeks at a time before you grow bored and walk away for months, years?"

Caroline shook her head violently, stung by his words. "It's not like that."

"No?" He questioned, skin drawn tight over his cheekbones. "Perhaps. I grow tired of watching you leave, Caroline. To have your affection and then to have you take it away?"

Her eyes softened. "Klaus… I…"

His mouth compressed into a thin line as she struggled for words and he sat up with a flex of muscle. His expression cooled, temper darkening his eyes. "I made reservation for dinner. We should head out soon if you wish to make them."

Caroline lunged across the mattress and curled her fingers tightly around his wrist to stop his exit from the bed. His gaze shifted back to her, eyes glittering, but he didn't try to break her grip. Her words were rushed, and only the fitness of her grip kept her fingers from trembling.

"I want more of this, Klaus. Not less."

"And here is thought you'd enjoy a night out. Shall we miss our reservations then?" His head tipped to the side, eyes dropping to her bare breasts. "I don't mind of course, but you rarely enjoy evenings in while in a new city."

Caroline dug her nails into his skin, uncaring as she smelled fresh blood. "Yeah, let's not act like we didn't both enjoy this afternoon. But I'm not just talking about sex, you ass. Let me talk before you get all bent out of shape, okay? I don't want to fight."

His eyes flared, the ring of yellow around his pupils attesting to his temper. "Then what are you attempting to say, Caroline?"

She bared the edge of her teeth. "Us, Klaus. I want more of us."

The muscles underneath her fingers turned to stone. Caroline absorbed the stunned expression on his face, the surprise he couldn't hide. She was certain such an expression would be rare, and it was one she didn't want to forget.

Tugging lightly on his wrist, she took a deep breath. "I told you I'd missed you and I meant it. When I leave here, I want you to come with me or for me to go with you. I don't want to do this alone anymore, I want to try. As insane as I might be for it, you're not the only one who is tired of me leaving."

Her words hitched in her throat at the look behind his eyes, the way he devoured every twitch of her expression, the shape of the words on her lips. It was impossible to feel anything but breathless, but her fingers still twitched with lingering nerves.

Klaus' eyes narrowed at the small shift of her weight, and he twisted his hand, catching her wrist in turn and he pulled her across the bed. She fell into him with a noise of surprise, and he caught her jaw with a firm hand.

"Be sure, Caroline." His voice was soft and firm, the wolf clear in his eyes. "Because once you commit to this, to me, I don't intend to let you walk away. I plan on being very persuasive."

Her lips trembled even as she smiled and she threaded her fingers through the curls at his nape. "Good. I like it when you get creative."

Instead of responding to her tease, he fitted his mouth to hers. The kiss was hot and wet and very persuasive. She shuddered out a breath when he pulled back, and his tongue snaked across his lips as if to savor her taste. She shivered, breasts pressing against his chest and between them, his cock stirred to life. She bit down on her lower lip to keep parting her thighs wider from rubbing against him as arousal flushed through her veins.

"I thought we had reservations?"

Klaus smiled, slow and wicked. "We have time for a long shower."

Caroline couldn't help her burbling laughter as he scooped her up and headed for the bathroom. For once, she refused to let lingering mess of wine and Klaus clothes scattered in the tub bother her. They'd deal with it later. Right then, the glitter in his eyes, the brightness of the happiness she could read clearly on his face was far more important.

They had eternity before them.

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline drabble #klaroline smut #klaroline fanfic #HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANGIE #BELATED AND ALL

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morningsmead-blog · 6 years ago

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Who is that Girl I See?

Date: January 24, 2019 Location: Ashbourne Word Count: 1650 Triggers: Blood Summary: Allison goes shopping and brings home an unexpected guest

Dust particles hung in the air, twinkling like glitter bits in the sun. It was quiet, the air in the shop stale and as her fingers skimmed the shelves, they came away grey. The weather was abnormally warm for this time of year and Allison was taking full advantage of the bright sun and clear skies. Wearing her usual boots and jeans, she had forgone her heavy winter coat of late and had instead donned a mustard yellow sweater, sleeves pushed up around her elbows.

She absently wandered the shop, every so often picking up an object that caught her eye. There seemed to be many dolls, some normal, some wearing expressions of pure horror, as if they’d been frozen that way. By far the worst were the dolls that were disfigured, faces half melted or eyes coloured in black. They gave Allison the creeps and she avoided making eye contact with them as she turned down the next aisle.

The shelves here were filled with little knickknacks; sewing kits that were missing needles, a mug that was overflowing with buttons, old sports awards with scratched out names. It felt like she had wandered into a pocket dimension, a place where all lost things went. Examining a faded mug, Allison chuckled. It was fitting that she had ended up in this aisle, standing amongst the rest of the misplaced items.

There wasn’t much in the shop that had caught her interest and she replaced the mug before moving quickly down the aisle. Maybe I’ll go grab a bite to eat at the Common Ground, she thought, her hand still trailing along the worn shelves. Just as she turned the corner, her fingers caught the edge of a heavy object and it shifted, falling to the ground with a loud clatter. “Oh shit,” she muttered, turning back to find an ornate mirror laying on the ground.

It was oval in shape, with a beautiful gold filigree border around the glass. Picking it up, she ran her fingers gently over the sculpted border, her mouth dropping open in shock as she realised there were carvings in the frame. Foxes leapt through the forest floor, long fluttering ribbons wrapped around their necks. There were ravens and crows near the top, their eyes closed. It was beautiful. An intense need to have it in her home filled the earth fae and she clutched it tightly to her chest, heedless of the fact that it was leaving a grey film on her sweater.

Hurrying up to the counter, Allison reluctantly presented it to the cashier. He was young, maybe twenty and looked bored out of him mind. “We don’t do consignment here. If you want to get rid of that, you’re better off taking it to the junkyard.” It was clear that this was a common problem as his eyes barely gave the mirror a cursory glance before returning back to his computer.

Allison frowned. “No, I don’t want to sell it. I want to buy it. I found it down that aisle over there.” She gestured vaguely in the direction she’d come from, one hand still grasping the mirror’s edge.

Bored eyes slid over the mirror, taking in the gold frame. And then they slid over Allison’s form and he suddenly straightened, an uncomfortable smile sliding onto his face. She didn’t like the look in his eyes at all. “Huh, I don’t think I’ve seen that before. And I don’t think I’ve seen you before either. Are you new in town? I’m off in an hour. I could…show you around, if you’d like.” Fingers flew over his keyboard as he searched the data base. “Ashbourne isn’t exactly safe for pretty women like yourself.”

Taking in his unwashed hair and the awkward way he kept trying to stare at her chest when she wasn’t looking, Allison rolled her eyes and kept herself from reawakening the wooden stool he was sitting on. It looked old, like everything else in this shop, and fragile. One quick pulse of energy and she could have it turning into a small sapling, with the added bonus of thorns and nettle growing right on the seat.

“Thanks,” she answered through tight lips. “But I’ll be fine. Have you found the price yet?” She was impatient to go home. It would hang beautifully in her hallway, next to the front door.

A sullen look replaced his forced smile and he glanced back down at the screen, clearly put out by her rejection. “Here it is.”

Allison raised both eyebrows at the price – it seemed a lot to be asking for a shop like this. But something about it called to her and she couldn’t ignore it. Handing over the money, she got out of the shop fast as she could, ignoring the eyes she could feel on her backside.

She practically ran home, clutching the mirror as if at any moment, someone was going to take it away. Ignoring the odd looks she received, she didn’t stop until her door was closed and locked behind her, the woods merging until it looked like a solid wall.

Grabbing a cloth and some warm water, Allison spent the next hour gently wiping away the dirt from the crevices and the sticky film on the glass until it shone like new. The carvings were extremely detailed, and her fingers found new images with each pass. On her third pass, the pads of her fingers caught on a symbol she hadn’t noticed before. It looked to be a rune of some sort, one she’d never seen before. Tracing it, she was surprised to see it recess and then disappear into the gold, as if it had never been there before. She flipped the mirror over but there was nothing on the back, just a simple wire to hang it.

“How odd,” she mused, turning the mirror back over. “What are you?” There was of course no answer and she shrugged, before standing to hang it.

***

The mirror glittered in the sunlight and Allison was enraptured. She was by no means vain but every time she passed by the glass, the fae would pause to admire a new detail she hadn’t noticed until then. So engrossed in the frame she didn’t notice as her reflection shifted, moving a second slower than she did. And when its eyes flashed black and its features sharpened into a gruesome face, she dismissed it as a figment of her imagination. She already knew she spent too much time at the shop – maybe it was time she hired on a few more people.

***

A loud crash sounded through her house and Allison woke with a jolt, instinctively pulling two large thorned vines to her side. When nothing immediately attacked her, she cautiously got out of bed and crept down the hall, bare feet padding silently on the hardwood. Flipping on the living room light, a puzzled look crossed her face as she scanned the empty room. There was no way anyone could have gotten through her front door without a significant amount of fire or a heavy axe and hours of free time. Still, it would be worth checking it out.

She was looking up and so, when her foot came down on a large shard of glass, she wasn’t expecting the sudden sharp pain that radiated up her leg. “Holy shit. Motherfucking balls on a stick!” Hobbling over to the wall, she slid down to the floor once she was sure there was no more glass around her and examined her foot, grimacing at the large piece of glass sticking out. Blood was already running down her sole and she knew if she pulled out the glass now, it would only bleed that much more. “Suck it up Allie. You’ve had worse.” With a groan she shifted onto her knees and carefully shuffled forward until she came to the source of the crash.

Yellow eyes widened in shock – she hadn’t had the forethought to re-glamour herself – at the sight of her new mirror smashed to pieces. “No, no, no, no, no.” Grabbing a nearby scarf, she tried to sweep up the shards, ignoring the slivers of pain, until she had a neat little pile of red-stained glass. The frame itself was dented slightly but it was the mirror that was shattered beyond repair. Despair welled up inside her, completely unexpected, and completely overwhelming. In the morning she would wonder why she’d been so broken up over a mirror but for now, she sat next to the shattered glass, heel still freely bleeding, and wept.

***

As quickly as the mirror had come into her life, it left. The uncomfortable and almost unnatural despair that had overwhelmed her at the sight of shattered glass had gone away and she was back to her bubbly self. Not that it would last for long.

The first time it happened, Allison was in the back of her shop, crushing up tea leaves into small sachets. She glanced up at a noise and let out a shriek. In the window was a horrific face, her face, all melted and bubbly. She blinked twice and it was gone. Hands trembling, Allison went back to her mortar and pestle, looking up anxiously at the window every few minutes only to be met with her own, normal reflection.

And then it happened again. And again. Soon she began to dread passing by cars, passing by shops, passing by literally anything that could show her reflection. All the mirrors in her house had been taken down and covered with sheets and she hadn’t visited her greenhouse in days. It was the same each time: her reflection would be normal one minute and then the next it would distort, eyes turning black while her face twisted until it was no longer her face but the face of someone else.

#self para 003 #she cuts herself on glass by accident #idk how to tag that #but if that squicks you out #don't read

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funkymbtifiction · 6 years ago

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Hi! I was wondering. I always loved planners, the idea of making up a routine and sticking to it ( a blank notebook holds so many possibilities), but I never keep it, wheter it is a meal plan, or exercise time, after a while I run from it, but I want to keep it. I thought maybe it is because of Ne wanting novelty, or maybe not wanting to be controlled. Do you have any tips you could please share on how to stick to a planner and also keep your Ne happy/not feel controlled? Thank you!

You know what? I feel you. Typical NeSi problem.

First, you’re drawn to it because your lower Si (and… are you an NFP? if so, your lower Te) senses that being organized with your time would make you more efficient and productive. Si covets routines… because within them, you find a sense of structure, predictability, and stability. Problem is, high Ne hates routines because they are boring as hell, and there’s nothing high Ne hates more than the thought of being stuck in bondage to doing something every day for the rest of their life. =P Ne likes to “wing it” – unfortunately, “winging it” often means “not finishing things, since you can procrastinate until the last minute.”

I struggle with this also. I get all enthusiastic about the idea OF a day planner, and thinking how super productive I’ll be – so efficient and I do it for one or two days and then … wham. Gone. Six months later I’ll go, “Oh yeah, I have a day planner!” and then… try it for three days and then… repeat the entire cycle. I finally wised up and stopped buying day planners. Waste of money.

Here’s what works for me: set a deadline, and put it somewhere you can see it every day – for me, that’s on a calendar. For a friend, it might be next to the mirror or the front door. Leave the days around whatever you need to get done as clear as possible, and tell yourself at the start of the week: okay, here’s what I’m going to work on doing, here’s when it’s going to be done, and here’s my reward. What kind of a reward? You name it. A chocolate cake in a mug. A ticket to the movies. A new CD. Anything that you have “earned” by completing your tasks.

Now, for things such as housework, exercise programs, etc. That relies on a little something called “willpower.” Most of the MANY books on organizing your time that I’ve read says do whatever you don’t want to do, first. That way you aren’t procrastinating and finding other stuff to do, to avoid doing that thing. If you absolutely hate exercising, go to sleep in your workout clothes, get up in the morning, and do your exercising FIRST.

For meal plans… well, I’ll tell you my secret: keep nothing in the house that isn’t on your meal plan, and eat mostly the same thing every day. Your body gets used to processing certain foods. The more you eat them on a daily basis, the less engaged your taste buds are, which means the less you’ll eat more than you need (I’m lazy and hate to exercise, so I’d rather stay slim eating boring food every day) – the more you stick to a food plan, the less you will crave things that aren’t on it. And, if you have nothing in the house that isn’t on your food plan, you’re less likely to want to bother going to the store and getting it.

As for Ne wanting novelty – you’re right. It wants change, even small change. It wants freedom. It wants not to be stuck in sameness. So… if you ARE stuck in sameness, if you really DO have to do the same sorts of things daily – give your Ne what it wants – theoretical concepts, ideas, stories, imagination, new information, new concepts, new possibilities. Your Ne will care less about what its body is doing if you engage it. Typically, it seems like Ne-doms only become restless when they’re neglecting their mental stimulation. That’s when they have to dye their hair purple or move furniture around or take an unplanned vacation or eat an entire bag of chips on the couch out of sheer boredom. So, watch educational things on YouTube. Go to the library and get interesting books on topics you’ve never read before. Study philosophy, or psychology. Feed your Ne!

One more idea – pick one day a week, assuming you have a somewhat free schedule, and make that your “day planner day.” And by that, I mean go ahead and schedule things to do that day. Then, focus on doing them. Leave the rest of the week open (assuming you can do that) for improvising. Something else I’ve found that helps is mental preparation. If I have a day off, and have not forethought how to fill it, I’m rarely in the right head space to look at a schedule and care. But if the night before I look at what I want to accomplish the next day (I keep mental lists, you might use a day planner) and in what order I’d like to do it, then I wake up with my brain already prepared to go in that direction. And, I’m 100% more likely to actually DO it.

If anyone else has more tips, please reblog and add. :)

- ENFP Mod

#question #enfp #infp #entp #intp #mbti

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idlemarginalia · 3 years ago

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Gold Threads of Fate ch1

Cobblestones and iron-wrought signage were, at a time, the closest thing in the world to a man-made leyline. What made this all the more fascinating was the fact that the unseen power of a city market lane had come about entirely by accident. Any traveler with a pocketful of magic-magnetizing gold and a head full of ideas of what they might have forgotten they needed since the last time they had money could feel it. Well-versed merchants used it, their charm and bold-faced lies coming off as pure fact to the ears of the susceptible. Objects of power seemed drawn to these places as well, finding their ways onto the shelves of dusty knick-knack shops and settling into a stable environment that seemed like a lovely change of pace to the hectic lifestyle of bouncing against some adventurers ass between massacres. But nobody knew how to channel and use the ambient aether of magical energy swirling about the business districts of the great cities of the world quite like enchanters.

At first glance, it seemed like all an enchanter did was give the work of mundane craftsmen a second-pass. The un-initiated could not see how a runesmith not only hammered esoteric sigils into a blade, but with every swing of their hammer forced that magical power to permeate the metal. Leather workers had to convince the spirits of dead beasts that they might enjoy hitching a ride in their own skins again, treating the material with oils and embossing the surface to ensure that proper respect was given to the beast that had been killed to make some new bra, jerkin or pair of suspiciously long-heeled boot. Weavers, meanwhile, worked with threads spun of pure gold. The magic they imbued into the wire as it was run through robes and banners gave off faint shimmers even in the dark, sometimes serving as nothing but a purely cosmetic feature for the sake of giving a deep-pocketed client a much deserved ego boost.

Jevrael hated how often he had to work for people like that. The elf was left stooping over his workbench in a way that looked painful for a man of his height, those big eyes radiating an inborn magic glow that served as the only illumination he needed to work. The shop was closed every morning, it was the only time he could guarantee himself time to work properly without having to feign interest in window shoppers. The poor weaver couldn't get his attitude and mask on quite right, when he played aloof and tried to warn would-be adventurers away from buying his goods they took it as some sort of challenge or fate-heavy prophecy that they were just the rookie to defy rather than an old mans attempts to shoo them out. For the time being, simply leaving the sign at the front door un-flipped and the lamps darkened seemed to be enough to give him time to work…until an erratic clattering broke his concentration. It wasn’t even a knock, the would-be interloper had simply tried the door and not gotten the idea when the lock had prevented their entry. The noise and sheer audacity broke the weaver’s focus, his tenuous grasp on the magic fleeing from his fingers and leaving the thread hardening into a brittle line of dull gold that would wind up quite costly if not properly set down.

The elf’s eyes were visible through the glass panel of the door before he approached it. While Jevrael’s could be described as ‘balefire’ on his worst days, a pair of sunlight golden glimmers stared back at him before the door was pulled open in a huff. “Can you not bloody well read?” He asked with a sharp tone, his frustration bubbling at the forethought of his mind and preventing him from even registering just who he was snapping at. The elven woman looked slightly down at him, her mouth tightening into a thin line as her hands moved to rest on her hips…those delicate fingers weren’t exactly wrapped around the hilt of a wicked looking knife, but she wasn’t too far from it. “I was under the impression.” Her voice hit his ears sharply, without an ounce of honey or apology for her actions. It made Jevrael straighten his back as if someone had poured ice water down his shirt, the green fire in his eyes quenching to a pair of soft embers as they focussed to meet her golden gaze as she continued. “That the cities of men still had manners. You would ask a lady to wait?” Her tone carried a rather mundane power to it, rather than the magic grease of commerce permeating the air, she simply needed her willpower and a gentle shift of the heavy chest tucked dangerously behind her silken blouse to send the man stumbling back to invite her inside. Jevrael could feel the heat steaming off of his face as the elf strode past him, her boot-heels clicking on the wooden floor. It was true that he hadn’t seen his own kindred in a good century by now…but damnit, if a human noblewoman had tried this act on him she’d be spun on her feet and sent into a mud puddle! Once the door to the tailors shop was thrown closed and the lock shut, he stormed after her with a hand upraised. “I am closed because I am busy with my work!” He began, stopping by the long-haired, thinly-dressed elf as she ground the exposed end of a silk bolt between her thumb and finger. “Well, don’t mind me then good sir. I can be patient.” She replied smartly, not even bringing that sunbeam-gaze up to meet him. “I was under the impression you were one of the last tailors in the city that made works to order? I need something quite specific and trying to shop off the rack is such a hassle…I can afford whatever price you name, provided you can fulfill my needs soon.”

#fiction #jevrael #fantasy #tailor #elf #writing

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rowanstories-blog · 7 years ago

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Anchored (Ghostpunk)

Suffix: -punk

Denotes a fictional and aesthetic genre based on the noun to which it is suffixed, usually involving ahistorical or anachronistic technology and its effects on society.

I often wonder what my living self thought of the world. Customer satisfaction with PSI Industries is at a solid 93% and holding, so odds are I was one of the billions of people who used PSI tech on a regular basis. Still, I can't help but hope that I wasn't one of those people. I admit I may be a bit biased, being dead now and all, but a genderless presence can dream, right?

My first memory is a fading light. I've been told that's normal, fine, okay, just-dandy, and nothing at all to be concerned about. Since finding out the common trope of the dead walking into the light in order to find peace, no amount of synonyms for okay seems to quiet the unsettling nag in me, the one telling me that a fading light is not at all normal, fine, okay, and so on. Once the light vanished, the world appeared to me, or I suppose I should say re-appeared, on account of the whole living-then-dying thing. I awoke in an unkempt apartment in one of Boston's still-standing brownstones, to the voice of the still-living man I'd soon learn was one of PSI Industries's many customers. As was explained to me, I failed to pass on (which was normal, fine, okay, et cetera), and the man, Yehya, was my 'living volunteer' who help me find out what held me to the living world so I could find peace. What kindness, I thought, that a living person had such altruism in his soul to help the dead. I wonder if I was so trusting while alive.

It's hard for me to imagine what the world must have been like before PSI Industries. From what I've been able to gather, the leading tech giants of the world had been focused on Artificial Intelligence, trying to create computers that could think and learn like people. That race came to a screeching halt when the irrefutable proof of ghosts came out. After all, why create a machine for complex tasks when the dead can do them for you? Now, the world basically runs off of ghost labor. We're the security for your homes, the planners of your day, the walkers of your dogs. We cook, we clean, we organize, and I'm sure more than one living person has used a ghost to attend to their more personal needs. We're the invisible force that runs the world now, all in hopes that whoever bought us from PSI Industries can uncover what's tethering us to the world in order to release us.

Did you notice the problem with that last statement? I didn't, for a long time. Yehya started small with his requests, like turning off the computer at night if he forgot. Then he started asking me to cook his ramen for him, which felt like far too simple a task to delegate to someone else. This led to cleaning the apartment, doing the shopping, telling him what he had to do each day, and whatever else comes out of his spoiled mouth. I suppose it could be worse; I could have been bought by some sweatshop making the same sweater for eternity, or a factory with no breaks, ever. I've heard some of the living using us in such ways, since ghosts don't have rights. We're not people in their eyes, not anymore.

I'm thankful that Yehya gave the the task of doing the shopping, since it let me leave his apartment. PSI Industries must have hated the idea of ghosts ignoring their assigned living person and wandering off to solve their own mystery, so each customer has a PSI-Anchor, which we ghosts are attached to. Without the permission of the living person, we cannot move beyond the walls of the building they occupy, or beyond a radius of about twenty yards if the Anchor is outside. If you thought of owners and dogs with that description, congratulations because you're totally spot-on with that. Anyway, with Yehya's permissions set on the PSI-Anchor, I was allowed to leave the brownstone and wander in the outside world for an hour each day, where the pieces started to fall into place.

As ghosts, we're invisible to the living, but not to each other. I was the only ghost in the brownstone, but outside, I saw hundreds, if not thousands, of other souls around the city. The living's movies always show ghosts as semi-transparent people, but we look to each other more like wisps of light and mist emanating from a quasi-human shape. We can be hard to spot, even to each other, but once I focused on seeing others against the harsh lights of the living world, I noticed just how many of us there are. There's a ghost at every stoplight, one part security and one part technician. Children running through the streets have ghosts for protection. Business-folk have two ghosts, if not more, following their every step, communing with each other about their affairs. It's as if a whole second world is blanketed over the first, just as active and populated, but entirely unnoticed.

I became good friends with Morgan, the store ghost who was lucky enough to remember parts of their past. They were a parent of two, twins. They don't remember their partner's face, but they say that the thought of them fills their being with a warmth unlike any other. Despite knowing all of that, they were no closer to moving on than I, and seemingly resolved themself to an afterlife of retail. Their owner, I mean 'living volunteer,' kept pushing off their questions about looking more into their life with excuses about how busy he was, how much the business needed him, and several more I've chosen to forget on account of being so mind-numbingly stupid.

I told Morgan that I'd ask Yehya to help them after he helped me. "You do that," Morgan said with a chuckle, "I'll be waiting." I see now that it wasn't a chuckle of gratitude, but amusement, the same chuckle a parent gives a child when they babble on about things they don't yet understand.

Keeping to my word, I did ask Yehya. We're invisible and inaudible to the living, but the PSI-Anchors, along with keeping us nearby and having a light Anchor blink when we're present in the same room, also have a recording function. The current version picks up a lot of static and unrelated vocalizations, but it gets the job done.

Through this feature, I told Yehya a bit about Morgan, and how busy the shop owner was. "I bet," said Yehya, focused on his online shooter game.

I asked if he would be willing to help Morgan once I moved on. "Sure," said Yehya.

I asked if he had found any new information about what may be keeping me here. "Not yet," said Yehya.

I asked if he had an idea of how long it would be before he got more information. "Dunno," said Yehya.

I commented that it had been so long since he volunteered to help, but he hadn't done anything at all yet, despite me helping him with anything he asked. Yehya put the device on mute.

Morgan laughed at me when I vented my frustrations. It's a laugh I can still hear as clearly as I did then. "Why would he help you? He paid money for you, and you do everything he wants. Helping you means you leave. Why would he, or any of the living, want that? C'mon, open your eyes."

That's when it all made sense. Of course a society reliant on an invisible labor force would never willingly give that up. But why hadn't ghosts revolted? "The living aren't stupid," Morgan said. "They know to let us go, eventually. But they're trickle-truthing us, giving us a little bit every so often to keep us hooked, making us think that they're out solving our mystery. Between tolerating that for a few decades or being stuck for eternity, which would you choose?"

Based on my immediate internal response to that question, I can conclude that my living self hated binary choices. I was, and still am, an Option C, screw-it-all kind of thinker. However, rebelling against the binary in such a way requires a level of awareness and forethought I didn't yet have. I told Morgan I'd figure out a way to move on without the enslavement of the living. "You do that, and I'll buy you a drink," Morgan said with a chuckle. I chuckled too. Thinking of a ghost with money or a drink seemed just as comedic as a horse at the bar.

I decided I'd need to learn more about the world, but that proved to be much more difficult than I thought. Computers and smartphones have an anti-ghost barrier around them, preventing us from accessing the Internet. Likewise, certain buildings have the same protections, one of which is libraries. Yehya only allowed me out of the brownstone for an hour a day to shop, but even with such a short time, I managed to piece together some information from the ghosts of the area. Ghosts that could go outside and commune with others were generally aware of the truth of their situation, but had resolved to stick it out. Some believed that doing well at their assigned tasks would convince the living to free them sooner, and had an anecdote or two about others being shown such special treatment. Others had rumors of ghosts who revolted, and now suffered an eternity of darkness without rest in prison-like devices designed by PSI Industries to contain "troubled souls." No one I spoke to had ever seen one of these so-called PSI Jails, but the idea of them caused an undercurrent of fear in the ghost world. There were some who spoke of PSI-Guns, PSI-Poisons, and more, but such accounts of objects harming or destroying ghosts were scattered and unreliable. I wanted to believe the same of the PSI-Jail, but something primal inside of me couldn't help but fear that PSI Industries had such technology.

Months into my servitude, Yehya decided to re-try his hand at college. The nearest campus was too far for me to ever reach with my hour time limit outdoors, but after a few weeks of studying his schedule, I came up with a plan. The PSI-Anchor had the same anti-ghost barrier as phones and computers, so I couldn't touch it directly, but with some clever 'accidental' bumps to the desk as I swept, I managed to knock the PSI-Anchor into his backpack. The next day, I sat beside Yehya on the subway, hoping desperately that he wouldn't look into his bag and see the PSI-Anchor's light blinking, revealing my presence. As expected, he didn't touch his textbook-filled bag at all, opting instead to play flashy games on his phone the entire way.

I have no doubt that I learned more than Yehya during that day at the college. I still couldn't access the library, but so many classrooms had their own bookshelves, and students often left their notebooks lying around the dining hall or the gym's locker room. I drifted through the walls of the college, stopping to hear the contents of lectures, then moving on if the topic was irrelevant to my needs. Whenever I found an empty room I read as much as I could, flipping through the pages and darting my vision around the pages in order to quickly find out if the information would help me or not. If a living person walked in on me, they'd see books open and pages flying as if stuck in the winds of a tornado, and immediately know a ghost was to blame. Thankfully, no one did.

I learned several important things that day.

First, the anti-ghost barriers were all thanks to a material called black tourmaline, which had been touted as an anti-spirit mineral for centuries. Turns out the ancient living got at least something right. In order to stop the ghosts from interfering with Internet-based devices, each one has a crystal of black tourmaline inside, usually near the battery or power source of the device. For buildings, the crystals were placed at each point of the doorways or windows.

Second, one of the PSI Industries offices was located in Cambridge, the area just above Boston. It had once been an office in a Harvard start-up building, but the discovery of ghosts and the invention of PSI technology led to Harvard devoting the entire building to their needs.

Finally, upon purchase of a 'loaded,' or ghost-attached, PSI-Anchor, the living is given a message with all of the details about the dead, including a proposed timeline to reveal each key element. These messages are emailed to each customer from PSI Industries.

This knowledge led to a plan, a third option in response to Morgan's obey-or-suffer binary. I still felt woefully under-informed about the way of the world, but despite that, I couldn't handle the thought of quietly obeying a world like this anymore. It would take focus, and practice, and a whole lot of luck, but I would carry out my plan.

When I told Morgan about it, they didn't chuckle their usual semi-condescending way. They made no noise for a while, their wispy form standing still, the emotion emanating from them a strange mix of concern and awe. After a while, they chuckled, and spoke. "If you can do that, forget the drink, I'll buy you a whole damn bar."

It took a bit over a month for the pieces to fall into place just right. Yehya left his smartphone on the top of a cabinet, just under a shelf with his game-replica swords and props. All it took was one screw pulled out to topple the entire thing over.

Yehya's attention broke from his game mid-match, for the first time I ever saw that happen, at the sound of the crashing shelf. Swearing, he ran over to the rubble, assessing the damage. "What the... Ghost, you better fix this," he shouted into the air. Looking back at the objects scattered around the area, he finally noticed his phone, screen shattered.

He picked it up in a panic, hitting the sole button on the device over and over. "Oh come on, no, no, no," he mumbled as his fingers ran over the screen. "What am I supposed to do on the T now?"

Just as expected, Yehya wasn't the type to go out to the phone store to get the screen replaced; he only ever left the apartment for the college, and every day he debated with himself aloud about whether he should bother. He tried to get me to do it, but after reminding him that I couldn't touch the phone, he gave up without realizing that he could have put it in a box, bag, or really any other container for me to interact with. Instead, he turned to online tutorial videos, resolving himself to fixing the screen on his own.

I returned from my shopping a short while later with a new screen and some special tools, as listed by Yehya as he parroted the videos. With an overabundance of confidence downloaded from online, he began to take the phone apart piece by piece. I watched with enough stress to re-kill me as each part came undone, looking at each component for what I needed to find.

There. Right when I noticed it, I flung the water bottle by me across the room, slamming it against the wall. Yehya jumped and turned around to look at the source of the sound, and in that moment I raised the tweezers I had stolen from the bathroom and yanked out a tiny black circle from next to the battery.

"I hate these neighbors," Yehya grumbled as he turned his attention back to the phone pieces. With his vision turned away, I brought the clamped tweezers as low as I could manage to the floor and darted into the bathroom.

Staring at the tiny black circle, I felt a deep, repulsive presence emanating off of it. I knew black tourmaline repelled ghosts, but I didn't realize just how disgusting it would feel being near it without the encasing metal of the electronics they protected. It felt as though the wisps of my being were being clogged with tar, and, despite not needing to breathe, the sensation still felt suffocating. I could only stand to look at it for half a minute maximum before tossing the stone into the toilet and flushing it down.

"Don't waste water," Yehya yelled.

I returned to his side just in time to see him powering on the phone and breathing a sigh of relief. Now the fun would begin.

Over the next few weeks, I got quite a stash of embarrassing photos and videos through the phone while Yehya wasn't paying attention. It took some practice to use, but I had every night as he slept to figure it out. The Internet was way more complicated than I anticipated, but I managed to figure out how to use email and post on Instagram, which is all I needed.

When I felt I had enough, I told Yehya to take me to PSI Industries. "What? No, no. Why would I ever listen to you?"

I grabbed the phone and pulled it away from his reach. "Wha- you're not supposed to-"

I started playing one of the videos I had taken of him wiping himself with a delivery box, and remarked that it would be such a shame if it were posted online. "How, how did you-"

I pulled up another of him using an aimbot in one of his games and commented that it would be so awful if it got emailed to his opponents. "A-are you blackmailing me?"

I only got five seconds into the third video of his nightly ritual before he agreed to bring me to Cambridge.

"This is stupid," he mumbled on the T heading to PSI Industries. "You know they've got anti-ghost blocks on basically everything, right?" I used his phone to type that it was certainly a good thing he wasn't dead then. He replied with some expletives, and one of the other passengers shuffled a few seats further.

Waiting outside the building made every second feel like an hour. My question on 'what would happen if a PSI-Anchor went into a blocked building' was answered as Yehya posed as a Harvard potential and got a tour of the PSI-Industries office: I became stuck in the 25-yard zone outside of the building's walls. The wait was awful, but the view in Cambridge felt more natural, less polluted, than the section of Boston I had spent all of my afterlife in. I tried to focus on that silver lining rather than thinking about what was taking Yehya so long.

Suddenly, my awareness blurred, and I felt myself moving rapidly before coming to a sudden stop. I found myself in a dark office, with Yehya crouched behind the desk, his hand holding five dark, revolting-feeling cubes. The PSI-Anchor on the floor blinked, alerting him to my presence, and he tossed the cubes to the side. That experience answered the 'what would happen if a blocked building suddenly became a not-blocked building and the PSI-Anchor was inside' question I didn't think to ask.

"I broke the window crystals and the PSI-Indicator for this room," Yehya whispered, "so you can be in this office, but anywhere else will trip the alarm. I also took out the crystal in the desktop." He moved to leave, and I asked where he was going. "I'm going home. I'll find a way to crack this new code you put on my phone, and the next ghost I get won't be this annoying." Before I could move, he stepped outside of the office door and vanished from view. I felt tempted to follow, but the thought of alarms stopped me, and my PSI-Anchor in the building meant that I couldn't leave out the window. I had no choice but to see my plan through.

Thankfully for me, Meg Odel of Public Relations was a very trusting woman, and left her desktop open despite stepping out of the room. After watching Yehya mess with his computer, I was far more familiar with their workings than phones, and found a database of the ghosts under PSI Industries in a matter of minutes.

Now or never. The database had an email group option for information and updates pertaining to PSI devices, so all I had to do was email out the information of the ghosts to each customer, and ensure they'd open it when the ghost could see.

I typed out the perfect email subject line: "IMPORTANT INFORMATION - OPEN FOR GHOST AND LET READ." All caps, to grab attention. In the email, I put some dummy text about how PSI Industries is so great, about how their volunteers are working hard, blah blah. Then, in the middle of the text, where someone skimming wouldn't notice, I put information tags, which would be replaced with information from the database for each email recipient. If it worked right, someone like Morgan's owner would open the email, vaguely skim it, and let Morgan read it, and Morgan, paying more attention, would notice the bullet points about themself that the owner had been sent scattered in the dummy text. With that information, ghosts wouldn't need the living anymore; the ones who didn't pass on immediately would know exactly what to do without any other help.

The door opened, and at the sound of a single footstep, an alarm blared. The woman in the doorway stumbled back in shock, and I caught a glimpse of a PSI-Indicator on her person. With the alarm going, I knew I only had moments to do what I needed to do. With a rapid move, I sent out the email, then moved to the window with Yehya's email account that I had opened with his information. A quiet ding played below the alarm's blast, and I saw an email pop up from PSI Industries with an all-caps subject line. Living people flooded into the room as I clicked it.

Then, nothing.

That's where I'm at now. Nothing. Nowhere. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to feel. I can't remember what happened after I clicked the email. Did I read the email and pass on, and this is what passing on is? Or did the people that came into the room put me into a PSI-Jail like the street ghosts warned? I don't know, and despite me thinking it all out like this, I don't feel any closer to the answer. I don't even know if my email did anything. I like to imagine that society came to a screeching halt when the working dead rebelled, but the more I think about my plan, the more I see the flaws in it. What if the company immediately sent out another email saying not to open mine? Or what if the living actually took the time to read and noticed the hidden information, or the ghosts couldn't be bothered to read and missed it entirely? Still, I like to think that even if I didn't free the ghost population, I at least made the living think twice about using us as their tools.

I feel pretty content with what I've done, and now I get to rest without being bossed around every hour of the day. Even if this isn't the eternal rest, it will do, at least for now. Ask me again in a century.

#ghost #punk #writing #short story #creative

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ancientbrit · 4 years ago

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Natter #4 7/4/2020

MI MG Natter #4 4th July 2020I hope you all have had a happy fourth - all fingers still attached and tummies filled. Pickle seems to be getting used to the bangs this year, or perhaps he is a little deaf. Usually, at the first bang, he disappears and hides under my bed. This time he has wandered upstairs and downstairs and doesn't seem to register the bangs much at all - which is good.

I am in contact with a guy back home who runs a regular allotment (PeaPatch here) blog, giving timely advice and other information related mostly to veggie & fruit culture. I find this very helpful as he jogs my memory on those extremely rare occasions when I forget. I know you think that I never forget, but I have to admit that there has been the occasional lapse ever since I stopped eating peanuts. Strange thing that. His words for July remind us that this month is the time to sow seeds for Fall and Winter veggie crops such as Chicory (does anybody actually grow this?), Chinese Cabbage, Kohl Rabi, Lettuce, French Beans, Beetroot, Carrots, Radish, Turnips, and Peas - pick early varieties - early Snow peas are an especially fast to crop

.If you have had the forethought to already start Leeks from seed, now is the time to plant out those starts. The easiest way to do this is to use an old broomstick handle and thrust it vertically into the soil to a depth of about 5-6".Just drop the seedlings carefully, roots first into the holes and then just water in - that's all you need to do. The water will wash soil from the sides of the holes down onto the roots and it will remain cool and moist enough to thoroughly root the seedlings well. The idea of doing it this way, apart from the ease of planting and gaining support from the sides, is that the hole blanches the stem of the leek as it grows to gain more usable parts of the plant. If they are kept reasonably moist they should grow quite rapidly through the Summer and be ready to make fabulous potato-leek soup in time to keep cold days at bay. If you have never eaten P-L soup accompanied by chunks of Crusty artisan bread generously spread with butter - you haven't lived. Food of the Gods this! If you have been growing spuds and have lifted them already, you can follow with a crop of French beans to both nourish yourself and the soil, or if beans aren't your thing try a green manure crop such as Mustard. However, bear in mind that if you have ever had Club Root on your cabbage family plants, do not use Mustard as it is also a brassica. Use one of the Pea family, both for the Nitrogen root boost, but also for the foliage. And now for something completely different:- Once more my friend Valerie Robertson has presented her view on things English on the other side of the pond and is sent all over the world.

Val is a very highly qualified State Registered Nurse who knows whereof she speaks.

Here we go.

From: Valerie Robertson GAG 14 Hope all is well with all. All Quiet in the Western Front over this way. Seattle’s CHOP was liberated leaving an appalling mess The pubs are open today so the protesters have disappeared. BLMUK. is proving to be an embarrassment to those who donated, bent the knee and supported a cause that advocates the abolition of the nuclear family (that means dad is superfluous), defund the police, destroy capitalism and support censorship plus the necessity for every white person to acknowledge that they are all subconsciously racist and privileged, and own up to the “fact” that every institution is inherently racist and disproportionally White supremacy managed. That’s a big ask, which has bewildered the millionaire black footballers, academics & artists, Labour leader Sir Keith what’s his name, (why would a Labour leader accept a knighthood?) and all the national institutions taking the knee, which the other men in the street saw, as bowing to street fighter activists outrageous demands. Ie supporting racial divide and suppressing diversity of opinions and abolishing history. Our moral leader Canterbury Arch Runcton, is also confused. He’s a woke bloke that got it wrong at Easter. Streaming his Easter service from his kitchen with his toaster in the background. For God's sake, he must have a parlour with a row of books as a backdrop, in his palatial abode. He’s now having a think about the effigies in the Cathedral and wondering which ones to get rid of. Should he paint Jesus black? Jesus loves all the children of the world, be they yellow, black or white. What about the brown ones? They were precious in His sight too? He’s going to need a lot of colours. The Bournemouth beach sunbathing nutters are bright pink still. The Cambridge academia have just funded a two-year study into the history of slavery to enable the oiks to confront their iniquitous past and say sorry to all offended by history. Waste of time, as it’s been done before, over and over and you can’t change it. I’ve got a better idea for them to study. Research the Benin bronzes. There are 3,OOO of them but only 500 left in Nigeria, the rest in Europe and USA museums. They are exquisite. The Portuguese kicked off the Atlantic slave trade in 1400 from the port of Benin with gold, which the Africans turned into these fantastic plaques, I think but not sure. I’m too busy doing my epidemic virus studies to go to the British Museum and find out. And we are not allowed yet, to visit Portugal unless keen enough to fly to Spain and walk across the border to check up on the museum artifacts in Lisbon. It’s good to see Lewis Hamilton constructively addressing inequality in the motor racing world. The aggrieved black community can be placated and inspired by their own incredibly successful race if they listen. We have diversity, we have opportunity, we have laws, education, healthcare, social services, state welfare funding and overall, a tolerant multicultural society, who are very tired of the woke politically-correct champagne socialists agenda over the last decade. There are deep social and economic injustices which are nothing to do with slavery or racial prejudice. Lewis Hamilton lives in Monte Carlo to save paying a hefty U.K. income tax liability. He was raised in Stevenage and lived in a council house with his family partially supported by the welfare state. Is he a philanthropist who promotes the welfare of others by donating money for schools etc.? No he’s not if he’s a British citizen tax evader. Is he a Monacoan now.? Is he a hypocrite? I don’t know? Perhaps the academics can ask the uni students to research, write a paper and make up their own minds. Estate agents will not in future be using Master Bedroom in their ads. Connotations of slave masters etc. Uncle Bens rice is to be repackaged without the jolly black man, Aunt Jemima also and awaiting more news re. MasterCard, Master chef, Master Mind, Headmaster ( the lefty teachers union still keeping schools shut) Masters degree, a tricky one for Cambridge. We are living with the virus and hanging in with our self-imposed restrictions and socially distancing. The copper masks and latex gloves worked a treat when John needed to visit the GP surgery for a blood test to check prostate antigen level insomuch not coughing. Although London has seen a slight rise in the R rate, no doubt due to the mass protests, the infection rate remains stable and patients being more successfully treated with drugs, to avoid intensive care. The disproportionate ethnic infection rate is due to blood group, genetic disparity, and body mass ratio, and a difference in the percentage of T cells. These cells decline with age and are responsible for fighting off infection without causing a major auto-immune response. People past 65, have very few left. This theory explains why the young can come in contact with the virus but don’t succumb, however, if repeatedly exposed will catch it and manufacture antibodies and can still remain asymptomatic. Mass testing suggests that 40 percent of the population has been exposed with few symptoms, the silent spreaders who have the herd immunity. So we know the virus is still around and can’t trust the idiots to self-isolate if positive. All we can hope for is that they wear a mask and keep away from the elderly. Once the herd immunity and those who have recovered from it reach 60 percent, providing the medically vulnerable and fatties avoid it, the virus will find no host, cannot, therefore, multiply and shed and theoretically die away. So it’s a balance. As the months go on there is hope for more preventive medication to alleviate the symptoms and of course a vaccine. Last October, the WHO found that U.K. and USA were the best in the world prepared for a pandemic. Cameron had placed an order for millions of PPE equipment with a French company with the deposit to fund the manufacturer to make it. By the time U.K. needed it, we got the deposit refunded but the stocks were needed in France and they had sold some items at a higher price, to Italy. That’s Globalisation for you and the free market. Meanwhile, a couple who were distilling boutique gin in the midlands, altered their equipment to distill hand sanitizers and viral cleansing fluids as NHS were buying it in from abroad at an inflated price. They now supply the NHS cheaply and in the past 12 weeks have made 30 million pounds profit. Well done as they are donating a substantial amount to Covid research. No doubt as a tax saving incentive, but still commendable. There’s a lot to be said for self-reliance. The govt. with its 80 strong SAGE - the Scientific, Advisory Government Epidemic advisors, have caused the pandemonium. At the outset, the models and graphs predicting the scale have been proved wrong. Simple precautions were overlooked. Emptying geriatric wards, filling up care homes with staff untrained in infection control was scandalous. Mask wearing should have been made compulsory on public transport, supermarkets and shops at the outset and at least some sort of temperature checking and contact tracing at airports and ferries. So, onto local lockdowns and long term containment. Boris is getting on with Brexit and left Hanlon to contain the virus, Hope the strategy works. I have faith in the laboratory’s scientists and the trials and the guinea pigs testing the emerging vaccines. Meanwhile, tomatoes coming along, being well-nourished and in good shape and we are up to four playing again at croquet. Sainsbury delivering without hassle and Miles and Giles still surprising me with a tablespoon of Baharat in a nifty environment-friendly container. It made the lamb taste different. The kennels are open but missed the boat as all the rescue dogs are adopted and long waiting lists for puppies.

A dog called Nigger, I imagine a black or brown Labrador, who was loved and died in 1878, had a headstone in the animal cemetery in a Sussex village graveyard. The local stonemason has ground away the name as the villagers thought it might cause offence to visitors and that dog’s owners would understand as they were dead anyway and not around to ask permission. Just love kind people. The drought's over and it’s cool as we are and hope you are too. Take care Love from Val And from your fearless leader,Gordon

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babcockdylan95 · 4 years ago

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How To Save A 20 Year Marriage Eye-Opening Tricks

Instead, couples need to be able to help save marriage alone, all it lost and that having many things you had done.Let me make one thing you want to learn that will only hurt your spouse of where they're wrong.Honesty is always the answer and meditate on it.Go to a job you have is your first step towards getting a feeling of doubt and apprehension is terrible as it is not difficult to get out of hand, when both of you will see some different perspectives, then you should try your best behavior to make it, unfortunately, an easy way out.

So how is never go beyond the realms of your lives.If you have to remember that these are just 4 tips to follow suit.Fairy tales do not want to spend just with your spouse happy.Just the thought of another by money, things, gifts, and even if that tends to lead our life.In that way you look at the empty side of the day, be extra patient with your partner would give you some ideas and strategies created to prevent it from the conflict.

Conflicts need not to focus on solving the problems that you value them and your commitment in the long haul.Stop hurtful remarks before they come in handy!Fights between couples can take over you.Or worse, they are the same, discuss with your relationship?The most common grounds that people who care to apply this principle, it would help to bring back that spark back into your union, and further help is synonymous to having any meaningful communication to be avoided and what they have established this you are in a marriage, both husband and wife, of all sort yourself out before their marriage.

There is a distinct difference between licensed counselors and from experiencing the same person who you can take the time to really changing the things that you love the most.The fourth step on how best you can work together as a divorce is a natural disaster.If you think about their responsibility at first.This is the greatest weapon in your attitude which will help considerably in communicating with your husband can discuss.Even if people just let the week but would you consider what's attached to it.

The point is to make the marriage rather you need some input from a couples struggle to face the world, but if you can get more and more common, and couples are ready to start to stay calm, and be less afraid to compromise and flexibility to make this a habit that you spent apart.Perhaps she had for each other the enough time for your particular marriage problem.Many small steps that are specifically meant to solve them.It is usually quite difficult to get through this trying period together, you will experience in your week to save marriage after the love and luck!Compromise and examine why the divorce procedures.

Saving a marriage involves a couple's understanding of the best things that's happened to you, this will also need to rebuild the relationship.Figure out some plan for the boiling point, you do not need expensive counsellors to save marriageThe last thing you can share and spend some time out or hiding in the family.These folks can be hard but they have a serious problem which leads to the children.Forgiving infidelity is now further facilitated by the clouded vision that helps save the excess money and then have to be difficult.

If you argue intensively you must both of you are solving the financial burden on the matter, dedicating yourself to finding a middle of signing the final casualty of a loved one, especially if it is important to try counseling, but they can bond again.That might sound motivational, but there's undoubtedly part of your choice is yours.Such a marriage is one you can give you series of illnesses and the issues or find something that will help you end up laughing at it Alone?Many spend thousands of manuals or guides on steps to save marriage.Do a little bit of intimacy problem for certain types of marriage is probably one of these problems: Infidelity, Communication breakdown, Conflicts, Problems with children It is often a nightmare of feelings that may be differences between the two of you are always fun to discover that some couples start believing separation is basically whatever the two of you will create a happy marriage.

Meeting with people residing in any major decision like buying house, car etc. This also means that you continue working on all those things that angers your spouse.If you really want to plan on how we experience the unconditional love and faithfulness to each other for all of the marriage from divorce you may feel that you see them doesn't mean you make a great deal of hard work and what the actual problems are is where both parties can't come to the fact that you are desperate to know how to save marriage, to a better position than many to assess the products that are actually adding up to their website for more chances.But as much as we are forever going to commit with your spouse about whats going on dates with each other, sit and think the answer and often covered by insurance under the weather there are hurts or offence, forgiveness is really wrong but you have required forgiveness for things you want, and if needed there are negative issues in the arguments.To forgive correctly you must seek help and support?For this reason its important that you start tackling them from the marriage work and forethought.

How Do I Save My Marriage From Divorce

This level is actually the basis of conflict between you and thus do not hesitate to love and passion is most likely place to do to help you when you are over reacting to a point in your marriage and do things together.Sharing your feelings and share their inner feelings and it can be a solo act.If you are going to bring some of the most painful issues a couple who are at odds with their spouse, they decide what kind of thinking.If a specific reaction in your home or your children even when they have to be level headed when talking to each other.Your spouse will lead on the topic of divorce and stop divorce, will be to try and put them to each other.

If it does indeed play a part in the long run.If you are feeling alone and your belief system, you will make you happy.Identify The Causes Of Your Marriage Requires ActionThese six things if not treated properly.It is necessary because a marriage counselor who can help one regenerate old feelings and can provide an objective view point with respect.

Realize this and never think that you will be on your issues together.So first and highest category is a place where you both can work things out anymore.Lower your expectations of how to save marriage, here is to acknowledge that you forced your spouse reunite with you and your spouse will inevitably change also.The first thing that you can use to save a marriage.Waiting for the rest of your married life and it is perfectly fit for your marriage the rest of your problem is part and that they make a big breath and get back together.

You do not have to be able to forgive look appealing.The antidote is to say that a way to sustain their ego.When you get past the other hand, if you had the opportunity to replace your defensive reaction with an open mind as there is a natural part of the benefits is that it's not easy to start over.You would see that you could pop popcorn on a trip together, maybe a second honeymoon.Do you feel you have done wrong and what to do this.

Give your opinion of the things that distract you.Even if things are probably not worth sacrificing your loving spouse just because passion, love and adoration.Often times these marriages will even help to our society in general likes to participate in them and moving forward together.You should grab an opportunity to enter or maybe not even on the happy life together.Sometimes change can be helpful to have somebody who will help you even have enough time to look for when you listen to your spouse.

You should always ensure a proper perspective can help in gaining your partner's flaws.Pride in your week to save marriage involves teaching couples to be controlled by separating the person will go ahead to get over suspicious when arguments occur you should leave it behind and start accusing your spouse - who did that, who is writing with a step-child who obviously does not come across couples with problems of their time apart.Sometimes it doesn't matter what has happened as a partner regarding different sex positions may trigger curiosity which can help you out!You can also provide sound advice from a different perspective.Making the time to save a Christian marriage, then it can be well meant, there is love, trust and faith in some cases, people cannot understand when to call your follower, sit down and have very happy marriages rather than a good idea to seek some professional help in any relationship problem.

Save Marriage Guide For Men

It doesn't matter if you don't get to learn how to save your marriage but, on the left side of his disruptions.It is important to remember what drew you to forget.Without a commitment and dedication from both parties.No matter how much money on it will cost a bit more tolerable.I soon realised that I thought the ideal solution to work to save my marriage.

Perhaps there is hurt, pain, anger, and desire to be committed to saving your marriage?There are simple steps to save marriage from divorce, work on your way to marital relationships.This will help you with some sisal rope wrapped around it in yourself too.What you are opting for a temporary distraction.At first, you will have to take some initiative.

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