#just trying to optimize my life and vacation

[ultimateaclrecovery]

Because making decisions is hard.

So I am looking to book flights to portugal. I’ll be doing a riding trip second half of the trip and just exploring portugal beforehand. My friend is joining for the riding and exploring Lisbon, but I’m going to go earlier and do Porto by myself. She is currently looking to arrive in Lisbon on the mid morning of November 6.

I am looking to leave on Nov 3 (flights cheaper on Sunday than earlier in the weekend) but I can’t decide if I want to fly into Lisbon or Porto.

I have three main flights that I am considering all for about the same price.

Leaving at 11am on Sunday, ~4:45 layover in Toronto, arrive Lisbon 9:20am on Monday.And then take a 3.5 hour bus to Porto.

Leave at 4 (or 6)pm, 4.5 hour layover in France (or two hours but maybe seems tight), land in Porto at 3:45pm on Monday

Leave at 4:30pm, have a 45min layover in Munich (!!!! Is this even possible? A terrible idea?) and then arrive at 12:50pm on Monday.

And then a fourth bonus, on a different airline than my friend would use (so different flight back), and less used by me so not as good for points or whatever.

Leave Saturday at 6pm and land in Lisbon at 3pm on Sunday. (With a 2.5 layover in London). For about 50 more.

I’d love to just land at 1pm in Porto on Monday but not sure if the extra two hours is worth the stress of the tight layover. I think I’d get to Porto sooner than almost 4 with landing in Lisbon and taking the bus, but again it’s a fair bit of hassle. Bus rides can be nice when you can look at the window and whatnot but I’ll also have to go back the same way so seems silly if I can just go to Porto directly for the same price. I’d love go a day or two earlier but the flights are either 200+ more expensive and or involve multiple stops.

And then for all of them I must decide whether to go with basic economy or pay the 200 extra for full economy. I don’t need a checked back there (could get one on the way back for 75 if I got too many souvenirs), could pay for seat selection if I really wanted to. But I’m nervous about the limited ability to change or modify the flight. The three United flight all let you do it for a few, but the fourth flight just says no changes 😬 but also 200 bucks.

So which flight?

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

they call me the griever because halfway through a thing I enjoy I’m already sad that it’s closer to being over

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Hope for Christmas

Spill it, Buck," Maddie said.

"Well, you know how I've always kind of been a go big or go home guy?" Buck asked.

"Yes, I have met you," Maddie said dryly.

"Well, I kind of bought Tommy's Christmas present before the breakup, and it's non-refundable, so I was thinking I could gift it to you and Chim."

"What's the gift?" Maddie asked, curiosity piqued.

"Uh, an all-inclusive vacation to Cabo..." Buck's voice trailed off, waiting for her reaction.

"Buck," Maddie said, her voice softening.

Buck took a deep breath. "It was going to be perfect. I'd planned everything - private villa, sunset dinners, couples' massage. I talked to his captain and arranged his schedule. I wanted it to be this big, romantic gesture that showed Tommy how serious I was about us."

"Call him," Maddie said.

"What?" Buck said, confusion evident in his tone.

"Call him," Maddie repeated, simple and direct.

"Mads. I can't do that. We broke up. He dumped me," Buck said, his voice heavy with hurt.

"So? It was meant to be a gift, right? You don't have to do all the romantic stuff, but you still like each other, right?" Maddie said, her tone practical and hopeful.

"No, Maddie," Buck said quietly. "I don't just like him. I love him. I am in love with him."

Maddie's expression softened. "So call him. Not to get back together. Just...as friends. As people who care about each other."

Buck hesitated, his fingers already unconsciously tracing the outline of his phone in his pocket. "What would I even say?"

"Hey, I bought this trip before we broke up. Want a free vacation?" Maddie suggested with a hint of a smile.

"That's your brilliant plan?" Buck raised an eyebrow.

"Sometimes the simplest approach works best," she said. "You're overthinking it. Just reach out."

Buck took a deep breath. His hand shook slightly as he picked up the phone.

"It's ringing," Buck whispered, his voice barely audible. Maddie gave him a thumbs up and silently slipped away.

"Go for Kinard," Tommy answered, his tone professional and guarded.

"Hey...hey...uh, Tommy. It's Evan Buckley," Buck stammered, each word feeling like it was being pulled from him.

Tommy tried to laugh, but it was unnatural sounding, his discomfort apparent even over the phone."Well hello, Evan Buckley. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?"

"Well uh..." Buck took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "It's Christmas and I got you a gift before we broke up. And I want to give it to you but it's complicated."

"Complicated how?" Tommy asked curiously.

"Well...I kind of got you a trip to Cabo...with me...and well it's non-refundable and I know you have the time off because I kind of arranged it with your captain back in November before well...you know. So the trip is yours if you want it. You can take anyone you want-" Buck rambled, the words tumbling out in a nervous rush.

"Buck, wow, that's so thoughtful," Tommy said, genuine surprise softening his previously guarded tone.

"Yeah well...you deserve it," Buck said softly.

"Come with me?" Tommy asked.

"Are you sure? That could be weird," Buck responded, uncertainty threading through his words.

"I still want you in my life, Buck," Tommy said.

"On one condition..." Buck said, a hint of playfulness emerging.

"What's that?" Tommy asked.

"Never call me Buck again," he replied, a hint of a laugh threading through words that were undeniably serious.

"I promise, Evan," Tommy said, his voice sincere.

"Well, I guess we're going on vacation," Buck replied, the words full of nervous energy catching in his throat.

"Yeah, I guess we are," Tommy said, his tone a vulnerable mix of cautious optimism and uncertainty.

[messyemmy]

Grapejuice (fic) Part Four

Premise: You've made a deal with the devil, and the next few days of vacation are proving what a silly mistake that was. But for Harry, this might be the most fun he's had in a long time.

Word Count: 15k.

Warnings: Smut! Mind-blowing banter. Use of She/Her.

Grapejuice Masterlist

Fashion Board / Playlist 

Other Writing

After a full twenty four hours- of grumpily scoffing, rethinking your every life decision, wanting to kill Jack and his stupid, sexy, friend- it’s time to put that well-practiced optimism to good use. Nobody will ruin your damn vacation. 

And if that means constantly dodging and dismissing Harry and his frustratingly enticing lewd remarks, so be it. 

This morning is simply perfect- everything you want from a summers day- and it would be a crime to spend another second couped up under the covers. Your mind runs over the little to-do-list of holiday activities you hope to try, easily settling on a trip to the Botanical Gardens. 

Getting dressed is just as simple deciding on when your spot the forest green corset with golden paisly swirls. You hadnt found the right moment to style it, but now you pair it atop a crisp white puff-sleeve button-up and some classic mossy straight-cut jeans. 

While packing the last of your necessities into a cream and green embroidered tote bag, the idea to invite Jack along seems fitting. Maybe as a little apology for the less than warm welcome he recevied upon your last encounter. He’s always the easiest to win over. 

The stroll from your villa to the ones where the boys reside is far too short for your liking. You need an oceans distance between you and Harry, let alone five hundred meters.  

You were about to brush your knuckles across the door a third time, but your hand quickly retreating as Jack came into view, beaming down at you. He‘s devoid of a shirt, wearing swim shorts and sandals, a towel draped across his shoulders, tote bag in his other hand. 

“Morning, lovely.” He greets, windening the door completely, and exposing the entrance hall and kitchen. 

And then you see Harry - shirtless, too -spreading butter across two slices of slightly burnt toast. His back turned, muscles flexing now and then.

You blink back, shoving sheer attraction to the back of your brain, returning your attention to Jack, trying to regain the memory of what brought you to their doorstep to begin with. 

“Ah, Judas. Settled in, have you?” You don’t care. He’s the reason you’re in this mess. 

“Mm. Don’t think I’ve ever been so cold in my life.” he sighs sorrowfully.

“You say that every year.” You scoff. 

“I do not.” 

Harry leans curiously against the countertop, taking another bite of his toast. Still, while chewing and swallowing, he ponderously mumbles,

“Don’t what?” You peer over Jack’s shoulder, and with faux-nonchalance, you capture Harry’s gaze- but only briefly, it’s as much as you can do without the threat of your thoughts straying from the topic at hand- eyes darting away and informing him, 

“Complain about winter.”

“Oh, he definitely does.” 

“Not every-”

“Every year.” Harry says with certainty, chewing on a corner of crust.

Jack sighs and shrugs his shoulders in defeat. Harry’s gaze is happily settled on your face, sending over a heatwave that warmed the blush beneath your cheeks. The longer he looked, the less real you felt- a fantasy under his watch, someone special and irreplaceable to him, and you were scared- to disappoint, to not live up to the person he saw you to be.

You returned focus to Jack, forcing yourself to remain centred and remember why you came here to begin with. Shifting weight to your left foot, a soft clear of the throat, 

“Anyhow… what are your plans for the day?”

“I’m heading to the beach, and I’m not returning until I’m so tan that the concept of winter no longer exists.” He informs. 

“Oh, alright, never mind then.” You should have known.

“Did you have something else in mind?” Jack clearly doesn’t feel much regret.

“I was thinking of taking a trip to Giardini di Augusto.” You prepare for repeated rejection.

“Say more.”

“Botanical Gardens.”

“Say more, more.”

“Flowers.”

“Say less.” He dismisses, wondering why his sister would even bother seeking his company to look at flowers rather than spending time by the sea. 

You sigh, there’s no use in arguing, it always results in someone tripping the other one up. But now there is a more stressful matter at hand, and he is sauntering over, torso still bare, sending you a suspiciously hopeful smile before stopping next to Jack and speaking up, 

“I like flowers.” 

“Ground-breaking.” Your eyes roll. 

“See, Harry can join you!” Jack concluded cheerfully. 

“Oh no, I’m perfectly fine going alone.” You waved them off, heat rushing to the tips of your ears, nose, and fingertips.

“Nonsense.” Harry waves you off in return. 

“No-” You start but never finish because he has already turned his back on you, tanned back rejecting your objection. Walking away, he calls over his shoulder, 

“Let me just grab my wallet.”

“And a shirt, Harry.”

He’s heading to the staircase but suddenly halts, his head tilting back to address you with a sassy smirk, 

“You sure about that?”

You can only scoff as he ascends the steps, and once you’re certain he is out of sight, you land a weak- but meaningful- punch to Jack’s upper arm.

“Oi!” He whines, hand rushing up to soothe the minor thump.

“Stop pawning your friend off on me.” The words leave your lips through clenched teeth, practically hissing, your eyes are like the slits of a snake, pointer finger aimed straight at him.  

“I thought you liked him now.” Jack’s brows furrow. 

“What?”

“Seemed like you were finally friends, is all.” He shrugs, resting against the door frame with far too much comfortability- as if he were already on the sand, soaking up the sun. 

“Impossible.” You defend, but reconsider,  “Acquaintances, maybe.”  conceding for the sake of nobody but yourself. ,

“Oh c’mon, you’ll have fun!”

“This is the last time, Jack.” You warn. 

He starts preparing to reassure you further, but the sound of Harry’s sneakers shuffling down the stairs means he is officially off the hook- for now- and with a swift goodbye, Jack moves past you and exits the villa in pursuit of summer. 

Harry rounds the corner, his mouth-watering chest now covered by a tan hand-knitted shirt and a pair of unnecessarily flattering brown shorts.

“Let’s go, lovie.” Harry announces, walking straight past your agitated figure, forcing you to fasten your steps to catch up, cursing him and his unnecessarily long legs. But, when you get a look at the delicately crafted and colourful design decorating the back of his shirt, you decide to play nice… for now… for fashion. 

🍷

The breeze carries the sun with each step taken, ensuring that the heat keeps you both simmering and agitated. Harry is strolling in sync, enjoying himself far too much already, considering you have only just arrived and have hardly made it past the entrance. 

You’re dreading the day to come, carrying it along like a duffle bag and pretending that the excitement Harry currently exudes isn’t extremely palpable. 

But, with the aroma of freshly grazed grass and an array of green leaves littered everywhere, you find your legs have started to carry you further along the cobblestones, chasing the sweet scents of summer flowers. Harry’s steps never slowed, as curious as yourself. 

“You don’t have to humour me, you know.” Eyes glued ahead, you remind him once his strides reflect your own and he is in synchronicity.  

“Hey now. He softly nudges your arm with his elbow, “I told you I happen to like flowers.” 

“Everyone likes flowers.” You inform like it’s common knowledge, “I’m sure you had something better to do with your afternoon.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.”

“How sweet.” You remark snidely, but dislike that your sarcasm is coating the truth; what he said is sweet. 

Maybe it’s time to attempt a positive attitude, leave all sass and snark at the entrance and just get through this date without any scandalous incidents. So, when Harry suggests the pair of you should follow the left path, you nod and send him a soft smile. 

Slowing your steps to scan the first few rows of flowers, planted neatly and flourishing greatly- an array of saturated colours- the type that seems straight out of the paint tube, so threateningly bright. 

Harry comes to a halt first, his pointer finger focuses in on a set of fuchsia and yellow pillowing petals resting upon gangly stems. He looks at them with nostalgic fondness, 

“Mum has some of these in her new garden.” 

“Snapdragons.” Stopping beside him before continuing, “How is your mum, by the way?”

“She’s good. She’s doing better. I saw her and Gem over Easter.”

All these newfound and reminiscent thoughts about Harry have you thinking about home a lot. What home means to you. 

Turns out, most of it means the people you grew up with. It’s strange to hear about the people you once saw so regularly. Before the thought shifts to one of sadness, your mind clings to the thing you missed most,

“Did she make her Decadent Double Fudgy Chocolate Cake?” 

“Of course.” Harry smiles so big it hurts thinking about the way you used to revel in just saying the elaborate name mum had given to her tried and true recipe.  

“God, I miss her cooking.” 

“I miss your cooking.” He counters. 

It's unclear who began strolling again, but both of you followed each other along the pathway, and Harry snuck his glances at every chance possible, baffled each time he was reminded of your straight, stern features.

“What are you on about?” Now, your forehead creased, wracking your brain for all the recipes you ever replicated,

“Oh c’mon, you know I love your lasagna.” he reminded incredulously,

“No, I did not know that.”

“Well, now you know.” Harry confirmed, pointing to a bushel of indigo star-like petals, “These?”

“Delphinium.”

“Delphiniums.” He repeated tenderly, but when he turned to you, that tenderness was nowhere to be found, and the familiar aching of dismissal wrapped Harry up into a cocoon of heart-thumping, head-throbbing unease,

“Does this count as our date?” 

“No.” He hardly lets you finish, washing away your curiosity with a wave of certainty.

“What’s taking you so long?” You groan- and you hope he doesn’t take it as a sign of stirring excitement, but mostly because as hard as you worked, the enthusiasm stirring in your stomach is impossible to dismiss.

“Antsy, are we?” He gently bumps his hip against your own, “There's no rush.”

“I just-  I don’t get you!”

You halt, arms flailing up in sync with your boot stroppily stomping along the cobblestone. He only smiles fondly- and quite smugly,

“That’s because you have little patience.” 

Harry continues strolling, knowing you’ll be quick to follow. And you are, taking a long stride to catch up to him, ready to prod him further, unsure if you’re just curious or actually looking forward to it like he suggests. 

“I Just find it interesting that you finally got what you persistently nagged for, and suddenly there's no rush?”

“ Don’t cheapen it.” He scoffs, “I gave you the chance to opt out, the offer still stands.”

“Why does it feel like you’re up to no good?” You wearily squint.

“Doesn’t it always?”

“You’re putting me on edge.”

“That’s also nothing new.” 

And though he should chalk it up to frustration, Harry can’t stop optimism from swallowing him whole, maybe, just maybe, you were actually keen on the date to follow. Before he allows his self-esteem to sink deeper, he shakes it off and simply shrugs, a cheeky smile curving at his lips, 

“When I do take you on a date, I want it to be a ‘lil more romantic than this.”

“You’re full of it, Styles.” You grumble, feet pattering further along the path.

“And you’re beautiful.” He shrugs once more, making sure to keep up.

You slow when Harry spots a bed of bright pink and red butterfly-like flowers and he looks down at you expectantly. 

“Impatiens.” 

“Pretty.” He admires before continuing down the path. You find your body constantly swaying towards his own, like he was your missing magnet, needing to have to close. It’s after your third attempt to create reasonable distance when Harry ponders, 

“What does your new house look like?”

“It’s only an apartment, but I think it’s cute.”

His mouth parts and releases something like a scoff and a laugh gets jumbled into one. He locks eyes with your own, ensuring you see his obnoxiously rolling as he chides, 

“That tells me nothing.”

“Cute is better than my home in London.”

“Well, that’s not hard to beat.”

“Okay, Ritchie Rich.” You mock, elbow brushing his forearm before you can think to fight the urge. He’s so beautiful that each flower seems to dull behind his stature. 

Especially when he smiles knowingly and ignores your sarcasm, 

“Tell me more.”

“Loads of colour.”

“Purple?”

“Oh, yes.” You deadpan like it’s moronic to assume otherwise. 

Harry has those all-too-familiar feelings where the past suddenly blends with the present and he cannot begin to comprehend it. Cannot begin to handle the intensity of how much he likes seeing you in your entirety. Chest tightening at the idea that he might be in even deeper than he thought. 

He still doesn't know how  to put it into words, but tries nevertheless, 

“It’s funny… You’ve changed, but you haven’t changed.” 

You hear him, but not really, because there’s this strange surge of excitement that has been sparking beneath the surface, and you want to tell him more,

“The outside is just, amazing. It has aged brick walls and a terrace with green railings… white window panes… oh, and the ivy’s been creeping up the walls, I’m sure they’ll cut it down eventually, but it gives it a fairytale-like feeling.”

“Sounds like a dream. Perfect place for a fairy, like yourself.” 

You can’t stop yourself, the compliments, the mushy feelings, it’s like word vomit,

“Maybe I can show you one day.”

“Oh, Clutz. Are you tryna get me into your bed?” He gently teases.

“No. Just, like… describing it doesn’t do it justice.” Your cheeks are swollen red and you dip your head to ensure it goes unnoticed. 

“If you say so.” He only shrugs and walks on with that stupid smug smile. 

“Hey, I do!” You chase, almost bumping into his suddenly still figure. He’s looking at you and waiting for a name for the burnt orange flowers with what seems like hundreds of tiny petals,  “Zinnias.”

“I’d love to see your house, Y/n.” He simply states. You wait a beat but he has no more to say.

“Huh.” Your astonishment is hard to repress. 

“What?” 

“Nothing… guess I was expecting some snide remark.”

“Like?”

You stop once more, turning your body’s attention to his own, your posture stiffening into one of impatience for his purposeful ignorance, 

“I dunno, something like, ‘it wouldn’t take much to get me into your bed.’”

“Well, it wouldn’t.” He shrugs like it's the oldest of news, “You’re irresistible.”

“There it is…” You smile… Why aren’t you annoyed? Worse- why do you feel a rush of satisfaction? 

Harry is easily distracted by something to your left, his features falling to a frown that has you quickly following his gaze whatever seems to perplex him. He’s having a stare-off with a bushel of leaves and stem, pointing curiously, 

“This seems out of place. What is it?”

“I think that’s just a shrub.” A giggle paints your pearly whites into a full-on grin, and you shamefully snort once he starts to shamelessly chuckle along with goofy humility. 

“Well, what are these, then?” 

“Narcissus.” You nod stoically at the array of tiny golden trumpets. 

“When did  you become a botanist?”

“They have labels, moron.”

You swat his arm with playful satisfaction, Harry might think you’re an easy target, but it’s nice to remind him that he’s just as easy- if not easier. 

Your phone dings once, then twice, then thrice, and you already know exactly who’s looking for you. Harry stands by as you begin to fish it out of your () bag. Once retrieved you confirm your suspicions, Savina. Your forehead apologetically furrows as you sweetly excuse yourself, 

“Savina is about to blow up my phone if I don’t respond.”

S: Are u out?

S: Can’t believe ur up before noon

S: I’m getting breakfast without u, yes?

Y/n: Beauty sleep is vital.

Y/n: I’m at the Botanical Gardens

Y/n: ….

Y/n: With Harry

Waiting for a guaranteed ‘omg’ for Savina to pop up, your gaze wanders in pursuit of Harry. He’s off to the right, crouched over and looking rather suspicious. You’re about to investigate before another ding jolts you back to attention. 

S: Ooh la la!

Y/n: Don’t start.

S: Is this the date?

Y/n: Apparently not

S: What is he waiting for?

Y/n: That’s what I said!

With that, you haphazardly slide the phone back into your tote and stroll along to meet Harry, who is already making his way back to you, one arm mysteriously tucked behind his back, and you can already see his lips beginning to purse with naughty amusement.

He arrives and wastes no time before whipping his hidden arm out to present you with the most chivalrous of gifts, proudly holding out a blooming red rose and offering it for your favour,

“I got you this.”

“You stole it!” Surprise has your voice squeaking on realisation- struggling between fearing the consequences of his crime, and finding his little gesture absolutely swoon-worthy. 

“Clearly.” 

“We’re not supposed to do that.” You whisper, and Harry declares himself dead at the sight of excitement glimmering along your face like glitter, eyes wide with adrenaline, cheeky grin chipping away at your gasp-spread mouth.

“Live a little, pretty girl.” In a hushed tone, he bows forward, hand still wrapped around the ruby petals’ stem.

“We’ll get caught-”

“We won’t.” He reassures with a certainty that has you confidently reaching out to accept. His palm feels as soft as the rose when his hand lingers and tickles at your wrist. 

Bringing the rose up to your face, about to embrace its’ sweet aroma, you’re nearly knocked off of your feet when Harry’s hand suddenly intertwines with your own and he begins to run down the trail, tugging you along. 

He’s cheerfully encouraging, “Run! We’re outlaws!”

And you have no choice other than to pick up your steps, giggling at his silliness, letting him get the most out of it. He has you winding down the pathway, turning left here, right there- and it’s only when your legs can no longer take the burden of held-in laughter, that the two of you decide to rest beneath the shade of a lemon tree.

The silence that settles is as soothing as the warm summer skies as Harry rests his back against the ageing trunk, proving how easy it is for him to get comfortable in just about any situation. 

He stretches out his mostly bare legs, ankles politely crossing atop one another. So you follow suit, making a home in the bouncy blades of grass, one elbow balancing your weight as you let your legs splay out like his own, scuffed boots inches from his much shinier pair. 

The birds have created an orchestra, they sing as a choral, buzzing bugs humming bass tones, the distant waves beat down on rocks like a thumping drum, wind in the leaves like flutes, and people chattering along the pathway all come together in the most serene of symphonies. 

Harry hopes he remembers this tune forever- at least long enough for him to jot it down in his most precious notebooks. 

And all of his thoughts have turned to lullabies about the pretty girl in green resting in the summer shade, hair strands wisping in the gentle wind, and a teeny glint of a content smile. 

Before he ends up writing an entire song, Harry’s voice smoothly calls for your focus, thick and curious, harmonizing with nature’s instrumentals, 

“Why haven’t you come to any of my album releases?”

“The ones at your house?”

“Yeah. For close friends and family.”

His stare feels like a laser beam aimed straight at your head. He looks at you with an expectancy sterner than usual, the type that you know will be impossible to dismiss or divert. Shamefully dipping your head, you busy yourself by twirling the rose stem still clasped in your hand,

“I-”

“No excuses.”

“I have been to your releases…For One Direction.”

You glance over through deeply furrowed brows and Harry’s features expand with bewilderment,  

“That’s a lie, too!”

“It’s not!” You sit up now, crisscrossing your legs like some type of defence mechanism. “You weren’t there for A.M.” He says it so factually like it keeps him up at night. 

 “Really?”

“Trust me.” 

Harry shifts his body into a more upright position, and his attention feels like you’re being prosecuted- worse- like he’s set up a lie detector and there’s no way around telling a fib. So, you shrug in all honesty,

“Didn’t think you’d notice if I was there or not.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” He scoffs.

“It is ?”

“Assumptions, Y/n…” He sing-songs at the chance to call out your hypocrisy. 

“Touche.”All you can do is shrug and concede, bashfully smiling at his success in stunning you to silence. Where were you during the album release? You must have been around, right?” 

Harry observes your microfeatures- each crease, every freckle, the corner crinkles of your eyes and lips. It would take a fool not to notice your thoughts were racing like a runner on the track. It’s cute- very cute- but he’d hate to let you spiral for much longer,

“I wanted you to hear some of the songs…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wrote more than on the other albums… Made a lot of home reference, and like, growing up I guess…”

He hopes you can read between the lines of his absent words as you do so often. Hopes that ‘home’ means to you what it does to him. Because let's be honest, the years leading up to stardom were the most real- the most consistent- the most time he got to spend with you. 

It’s a shock to both of you when a snide remark about childhood fails to leave your lips, instead, a shy smile starts to form and you say,

“That’s actually… very cute.”

“Is that affection I hear?” He coos. 

You take a beat, begging for the bashful blushing of your cheeks to fade, unable to return his teasing stare. It’s too late to reel back in your thoughts and too late to dismiss the dread prickling at and dampening your palms,

“I’m sorry I kinda just disappeared after college… I would’ve really liked to hear them… especially the first one.”

“The best one?”He prods proudly. Praying he keeps the gates of your vulnerability open for a while longer.

“Just felt close to home, so I guess, yes, my favourite.” You don’t understand the magnitude of the relief that riddles Harry when you confirm that his longing for home is palpable enough to share through a speaker.  

To cover your intrusively honest tracks- and dismiss the unfamiliar look in his eyes- you quickly add, “But, it’s a matter of opinion.”

“I value your opinion.” Harry simply states.“The most.” His constant certainty is discerning. 

“Don’t be a suck-up.” 

“What if I’m telling the truth?” 

“I’d say you need a better advisory.” You inform.

“Don’t want one.” He tilts his chin to the sun in a childish strop. 

“You want me?”

“Y’know me so well.”

He shakes his head and shrugs knowingly, letting his eyes flutter shut, sighing out in satisfaction as he soaks up this very moment. You can't look away- he seems so peaceful like he’s finally able to remove every version of Harry other than this one- a soft soul desperate to give love and be loved in return. 

It’s before noon and you’ve done more thinking than four years worth of uni studies. Wracking your brain for melodies of Harry’s that evoke that oh-so-familiar feeling of home. But your brain is in overdrive and every note blends into an auditorium of his husky voice humming along to a timid guitar. A single name doesn't even come to mind- all on the tip of your tongue, but so quickly they dissipate like candyfloss dropped in a puddle. 

You hate to ask for his help- hate the idea of him knowing he successfully wormed his way into your thought- but these moments of forgetfulness are the type that eat away at your entirety, there’s no way around it,

“Which songs?” His lashes flutter apart, crystal gaze greeting your own with curiosity. You elaborate,  “From the album.”

That all-too-familiar devilish smirk starts to draw his lips into a toothy grin, and you want to flog yourself for thinking he might make things simpler for a change,

“You’ll have to go back and listen.”

He’s so full of cheek and charm that it’s too compelling to do anything but exactly what he says. 

🍷

It’s sweltering today and the only thing you’ve been thinking of since waking up is the icy blue refreshment that is the swimming pool. So adamant to spend the day near the water, you had forgone putting normal clothes on after a quick shower. 

Huffing out after finally managing to securely tie up the thin strands of your favourite pink bikini with read hearts, it was time to grab a towel and some sunscreen. But when your stomach interrupts the quest with a deep and needy grumble, swimming will have to wait til after some brunch. 

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, it’s a bad sign when you spot Harry sitting atop the kitchen island, dangly legs gently swinging and bumping against the marble as he absentmindedly bites into what looks like a delectable golden croissant drizzled in gooey chocolate. 

When he finally notices you, he smiles a goofy grin- still chewing on his pastry. And at the simplest of gestures, you wonder if the temperature has risen or if it’s the hot irritation bubbling beneath your skin. 

He knows it sends you into a tizzy whenever he shows up unannounced- you think he revels in it. And he does. Of course he does.  

But he won't get in the way of you and those damn tempting croissants, stacked on a plate so enticingly just to the left of Harry. 

You make a break for the food, reaching out and snatching the nearest chocolate-garnished flakey goodness, and Harry watches on in amusement,

“Look at you, y’re practically salivating.”

Glaring at his astute observation, you skip the part where you grab a plate and fork, taking an over-ambitious bite, and you hold back an erotic groan as the croissant melts in your mouth, coating the corner of your lips in cocoa. 

You’ve already taken a second bite before the chuckle brewing in Harry’s chest has the chance to release itself, but when it does, he struggles to keep it at bay.   

He hopes your focus would be so dedicated to your self-appointed golden ticket that his soft giggles of bewildering endearment, but when he looks over, your eyes are already spitefully squinting his way.

Instead of words, you slowly raise the last third of the pastry to your parted mouth and push it past your lips, taking a couple of agitated bites before swallowing and shrugging him off. 

Wrecklessly clapping your hands together to dust your hand of all crumbs, you weakly attempt to swipe any remnants of pastry flakes from your chin and gear up to get on with your day. Harry just can’t let that happen, can he? 

“C’mere.” He requests. 

“No.”

“Just c’mere.”

Rationalising the fact that you find yourself standing before him, arms crossed over your chest as you maintain suspicion and wait on Harry’s reasons for calling you over. 

“Closer.” His instruction is tender and seems devoid of the standard mischievous intentions, so you take a broad step forward, toes close to bumping into the cabinet. 

He cautiously raises one hand and curls his finger in a gesture for you to lean even further into his orbit. And you do, so easily that it's actually pitiful. 

Your cheek practically guides itself into his palm as his fingers rest delicately atop your jaw and his thumb ever so gently brushes the corner of your lip before he hastily removes your face from his hold and raises his thumb to his mouth, 

“Y’missed a lil’ bit of the chocolate.” He shares, popping his thumb past his plushy lips, sucking sweetly before pulling away with a sultry ‘pop’. 

You don’t need to see it to feel how your pupils have swollen with frustrated allure, and Harry surely notices too. His tongue flicks out to glide across his bottom lip and it’s so unnecessarily sultry that it seems to tug you nearer, has your body slotting itself between his parted legs. 

Harrys trapped, for a change, and by the looks of it, he hardly minds. With both hands balanced on the countertop, your arms create a trap around him- well, more like his legs and torso, but Harry pretends to be at your mercy nevertheless. 

He softly chuckles, vibrating against the crown of your hair, then his body softly shakes with humour and yours rumbles by proxy. 

“What’s so funny?” You tilt back to see him better. 

“Just thinking about the last time we were like this.”

“Halloween?” You remember it like it was yesterday.

“Mm.” He hums with praise, leaning in, his body like a velcro. 

“I hope this time ends better than the last.” You tease, left hand trailing up the expanse of his forearm.

“Well, that depends.” He hushly whispering into the shell of your ear, before pulling back to lock his gaze with your own. 

“On?” Your palm rests on the crook of his shoulder and neck, nails testingly raking his freckled skin. 

“Is there anyone in this house who wants to punch me for talking to you?” He says with suave sarcasm.

“Shove off.” You scoff and it completely contradicts the swell of adoration that seems to hit you head-on. 

And though you can't stop the cheeky smile that turns your cheeks to swollen cherubs, your free hand still instinctively reaches out and lightly swats his chest. 

“Just checking!” Harry uses this to his advantage, wrapping his expansive palm atop your own.

“He was my boyfriend.” You chide as a matter of fact. 

“Hey, I get it.” He shrugs goofily, guiding your linked hands to rest atop his lap, “I would have felt the same way if-”

“If you were my boyfriend?”

“Precisely.” He nods cutely but his tone is that of praise. And the way he eyes you, lips supple and slightly parted. 

For a split second you wonder if he likes what he sees, and you’ve never been more grateful that Harry doesn't allow you too long to ponder when he trails off, 

“Wouldn’t have hit anyone…”

“Just sulk about in a corner instead?” You tease sweetly.

“Tried and true.” He smiles smugly. 

“You’re so predictable.” 

Harry playfully scoffs, leaning into you and practically blinding you with the silly smile he sends your way. You peer up at him, and Harry is instantly reminded of the simplicity of your impact on his head and stomach- your beauty effortlessly a siren song sent straight to his heart.

Nothing new here, though. Harry has seen you more times than countable but cannot fathom how you manage to make it feel like the first time- every time. It takes him back, it lurches him forward- what is this, what could it have been, could it still be? 

He removes his hand from atop your own- it’s important to note how much this surprises you both- when you make no attempt to remove it from his meaty thigh, and, man, Harry can feel just how soft you are- he’s hot at the thought of how good it would feel to have his cock cradled in your palm- and as for your needle-like nails absentmindedly digging into his neck, 

Harry’s lightheaded at the thought of you leaving harsh reddish scratches down his back, the idea of making you feel so good that you cannot help but ravish him completely. He’s almost certain that you’d be a biter, he wouldnt mind terribly if you decorated him in little bruises. He’s about willing to do anything to have your marks on him- wants to feel his shorts swell whenever he catches a glimpse of your fading loveletters.

It’s not hard to see that Harry’s thoughts are a mile a minute, his eyes darting across your face- unsure of where to settle. You know he wants to say something-  perhaps batting your lashes oh so sweetly will encourage him. 

It does. He’s drowning in your desire-oozing eyes as they become more and more devoid of colour, his own gaze holds on for dear life as he reclaims his confidence, 

“I would have been a good boyfriend… To you.”

“Oh, yeah?” You risk it and slip your fingers into soft chocolate curls at the base of his neck, tugging and twirling.

“Would’ve bought you flowers and chocolates- oh, and cheap teddies.” His chest is nearing your own,  “Burned a CD of songs that reminded me of you,” His spare hand reaches out, twirling a finger through a loose strand of your hair, “Taken you on picnics and baked your favourite pastries...”

“How very high school of you.” You manage to tease through the sudden suffocating and tightening of your throat, stomach clenching and cheeks threatening to swell with sappy cheeriness. 

Harry only hums sweetly, his finger brushing against your jaw in a bid for your affection,

“I’d be even better now.”

“Thought about this before, have you?”

“Once or twice.” He shrugs, and your stomach is a swarm of sensual butterflies. 

“Don’t think I’m about to humour you.” 

Though your hand has somehow hiked its way up to his mid-thigh, your undying stubbornness is far from extinct and may be the only thing holding your sanity together as of current, and now you’re not sure if it’s Harry or yourself luring your body closer to his own.

“Not even a little?” He pries with a darling pout, his hand reaching out and wrapping around your waist, palm splayed flat against your lower back. 

“It never leads to anything good.” 

“Kissing me isn’t good?” Harry lures, hoping to lead you into some sort of feisty discourse.

Your gaze is fixed on anything but his own, even so, you already know that his lips are curved into a cheeky pout, forehead crinkling with faux-concern. 

But in true betrayal, your newly-freed hand has trailed its way along his stomach, dragging slowly and settling atop his shoulder, fingers linking into a necklace clasp at the back of his neck,

“Stop throwing bones, Styles.” An eye roll. “You already know how I feel.” 

 “Still nice to hear.” His whole body shrugs, gaze piercing your direction, especially at your refusal to look back at him. He wants- needs- to see you better. “You never answered my question.”

Finally, with frustration, your stare snaps back to his own and stuns Harry once more with how seductive and alluring you are, and unintentionally at that. Ensuring his attention is all yours, but praying he doesn’t find out how much you mean it, 

“You’re a good kisser, Harry.” 

“Such a sweet girl…” Both of his arms are now snaking around your figure, fingers softly pressing into your flesh, hopefully pulling you nearer with his words, “But that wasn’t the question I was talking about.”

“What, then?”

“Ask me nicely.” He taunts, but you only threaten to remove your hold on him altogether. Instead, his hold only tightens, legs spreading and slotting your body in between.

“I said I won't humour you.” You let him keep you for his own. 

“Brat.” Harry concedes with cheeky fondness, his heart filling with copious amounts of adoration for the ridiculous stubbornness that stirs you into his version of the perfect partner. 

But it only makes him desire your lips with almost too much fervour to maintain composure, and he simplifies, 

“Is someone gonna try to punch me?”

Your body is bouncing with bewildered laughter at Harry’s insinuation

“Well…” Your toes leave the ground, chin tilting and lips plumpening with each word, “Are you gonna try to kiss me again?”

“If I said I was?” Harry’s head dips, his mouth ready to take your own. 

“Can you take a punch?”

“For you?” He speaks with such certainty, “I’ll take a thousand.”

“Then, I think you should risk it.”

The distance is dissipating with thick desire, Harry’s palm has found its place wrapped along your jaw, his thumb stroking at your cheek as he leans in and submits completely. 

His eyes are involuntarily closing- lashes fluttering with the same ferocity as those of the butterflies in his stomach- and Harry can feel himself slipping further into the intimate bubble of your energy, demanding his lips find their home along the crevices of your skin. 

Your legs will hurt later, but your impatience wishes for him to meet you sooner, annoyingly desperate for the frighteningly familiar feeling of his soft kisses scattering along your skin. Right now, if Harry were to ask, you would do anything for him- to him. 

With a cute huff, you carefully tug his neck closer, foreheads brushing, noses colliding, his lips pressed to the corner of your mouth. Harry chuckles softly and- 

“Harry?” The call is coming from inside the house! 

“Y/n?” Dear god, there are two of them. 

“Where are you?” The voices are getting closer. 

Harry’s never seen someone move so quickly- hardly blinking twice before you had both released him and slipped your way out of his grasp- and if it weren’t for his shared panic of being caught in a rather telling situation, Harry would have taken a second to mourn instead of brashly clearing his throat and calling out, 

“In the kitchen!” 

🍷

That little incident back there has left you blood boiling like a lobster in a steel pot, but you can’t shake off the obscene thoughts battling with those of swimming, and you’re in an almost haze by the time you finally reach the pools edge. 

And you’ve never been so grateful for the icy shock of water enveloping your ankles, then calves, and then your whole lower body sinks below the surface and life just about makes sense again. Chasing this feeling, you let yourself become fully submerged, limbs gracefully kicking and bobbing, hair fanned out like an halo, a second of serenity. 

Who knows how long you revel in the water, gliding back-and-forth along the pools length until it feels like you’ve never touched land before. It’s only when your face reemerges and Savina’s figure comes into view that you even consider returning to reality. 

Her upper body is dry and resting against the wall of the pool, large circular-framed sunglasses shading most of her face, straight mousy-brown hair pulled back and up with a claw clip. 

She’s just so self-assured- exudes coyness with unbridled confidence and certainty. How do the people around you have the such a power for certainty? Where is the doubt? 

Swimming the short distance to her poised figure, a smile creeping along her heart-shaped lips, Savina waits for you to near, your body wading in the tiny water waves, before letting you in on her latest idea, 

“I think we should hire out a catamaran.”

“Aren’t you scared of boats?”

“Only the little ones.” She dismisses.

“Well, I’m not a fan of boats. Any types.”

Savina looks at you like you’ve become a stranger and you already know the next thing she utters will be laced with confusion,

“Why do you do so many water activities, then?”

There are dozens of stories revolving you and the water- many are of disastrous incidents and oft resulted in some form of injury- but it must be firmly noted that every single activity involved the dangerous duo that is Jack and Harry. 

“I can’t say no when people ask me.” 

The troublesome two who have mastered the art of convincing you into almost everything- even if, on occasion, you find yourself greatful for their persistence, that information is privy to you and you alone. What you will say is,

“One of these days it’ll be the death of me.”

You glide towards the pools edge, using your arms to hoist the rest of your body out until you’re sitting atop the warm tiles, legs dipping back into the refreshing water. Savina follows suit, gracefully plopping down beside you. She rests her glasses atop her head and her brown eyes glow golden beneath the cloudless sky as she asks, 

“So, what day should we book for?” 

“Wednesday?” 

“Perfect! We’ll visit the coastal towns, try out that Posillipo I mentioned at the, what was the-”

“August Clambake.” You finish for her, eyes rolling at the memory. 

You share a reminiscent stare before scoffing and with synchronicity, reciting, “The clambake with no clams!” 

“These ones will blow your mind!” She reassures. 

“I’m sold. It’s a date!”

Not a moment later the shadow of a six-foot man casts over your crisping skin,

“A date?” Harry gasps dramatically, walking into view, “Y/n, are you two-timing me?”

“You haven’t set a date.” Your head tilts up to scold him eye-to-eye but the first thing you see is his thick thighs practically squeezing the yellow material of the tiniest of swim trunks hanging low on his hips. 

He’s still strumming up a retort, and you have to peel your gaze away from the muscular divots of his hip bones- and how his unintentional flexes are fastly stirring a deep desire within- when Savina becomes a surprising saving grace, 

“We’re taking a catamaran to see the island.” She informs. Problem solves. For a beat, before she pulls a classic Savina and enthusiastically suggests, “Come with us. You and Jack!”

“Savina.” You hiss between clenched teeth. 

“We’d love to!” He’s all too enthusiastic and you hold back a scoff.

“How does Wednesday sound?”

“Wednesday it is.”

Once again, you are victim to a group consensus that would be harder to argue against than to just cave in and follow along. That’s a problem for Wednesday’s Y/n, though. Today’s problem is still towering over you, cruelly blocking the sun. 

And when you need her most, Savina checks her watch and hops up, 

“I better get ready for lunch with Jeff.” This is news to both you and Harry and Savina must notice when she adds, “One last gossip session before he leaves.” 

What the hell are those two talking about at these lunches? You’re almost certain that it mostly surrounds this bizarre dynamic between the two of you. Is it that confusing that people on the outside have noticed? 

The thought is enough to make you sick, stomach twisting from a cocktail of fear from drawing attention to yourself and the still present arousal that started the moment you walked into the kitchen and were met with Harry. 

 If anyone asked Harry himself, he would say that this day has been more than enjoyable, in fact, his excitement is through the roof at the subtle validation he receives at the idea that maybe the approval of outsiders may soothe your constant doubts- give you permission to take a chance with him. 

What he wants to say is ‘you can see this undeniable chemistry, cant you? I’m not making things up, right?’ but refrains and says,

“I hope you have nice things to say about me.” 

“Darling, we always do.” 

Savina sends the least subtle of winks your way and bids her goodbye’s. Harry wastes no time in taking two large strides towards the pools edge, raising his arms to the sky, arching his sculpture-like body, his back muscles contorting and you know exactly where this is going. 

Just as his feet are about to turn into a bouncy spring aimed for the water, you hurriedly yell out to Harry,

“Don’t splash-” But it’s no use- he’s in the air, a breaching dolphin landing in the water, followed by a large splash that sprinkles your almost fully dried skin with cold droplets. You squeal out, and when Harry finally resubmerges, face slick with water and a sly smile, all you can muster is a simple, “I hate you.”

“Do you though?” He wonders, paddling along the waters surface.  

“Loathe.”

“Go on.” He treads closer before standing up, water bumping the skin of his waist down. 

“Detest.”

“Mm?” Harry closes the gap between your bodies, his glistening chest bumps against your knees like boats in the docks.

“Despise.” 

He shifts to stand to your left, leaning his back on the pools edge, his elbow perched just inches from the bare expanse of your thigh, and his free hand settles just above your knee, fingers faintly tapping rhythmically,

“You’re so hot when you turn me into adjectives.” 

“Pesty, irritating, frustrating, antagonistic bastard.”

Harry’s hand encloses over your thigh and squeezes in tune with an sarcastic- erotic- groan, 

“Stop or I’ll bust.”

The insinuation shatters all self control and your body shudders under his hold and his stare. There’s that familiar ache of neediness- neediness for Harry’s hands to do more- for him to do something to finally rectify that disastrous encounter in the kitchen. 

Harry isnt making any further steps, but he’s well aware of the way your body seems to tense with anticipation under his touch- the same as it does whenever he’s has you cornered- and he wishes you would say it aloud. 

It seems on the tip of your tongue, lips weakly parted, trying your hardest to find the least pathetic way to tell Harry to just fucking have at it. 

But ego runs deep. So deep that you gently shrug off his hand and swiftly stand up, body coming to attention as an automated response slips from your lips, 

“You are the worst!”

He’s laughing and your lower body shudders. Now you cant tell if your bikini bottoms are soaked from the swimming pool. As unlikely as the chances that Harry isn’t shamelessly staring at the way your ass gracefully bounces with each stroppy step you take towards the sunbed. 

🍷

In all fairness, Harry had started it. And then he re-started it. And now, he definitely hasn’t stopped as he strode past the sunbed you occupied, teeny tiny trunks fully drenched- streams of water descending his thighs as he purposefully picks the sunbed furthest from your own and practically throws his body atop the rolled out beach-towel. 

You were pushing it- and it was obvious- but you’ve been teased with the littlest of tastes all day and you are just salivating for more.

Its impossible for any thoughts to remain innocent- each move he makes is as tantalizing as it is taunting- he doesnt even seem to know it. Just looking so relaxed and unbothered, as if your presence means nothing. As if you’re the only one about to explode from pure sexual frustration. 

It’s infuriating, and mortifying, and only adds to the shameful arousal you cannot shake off. It’s all consuming- he is all consuming. 

And when Harry obnoxiously stretches for a third time, you fugue into a complete frenzy- eyelids hooded and hungrily watching the muscles of his flexed arms, his ridiculously tiny swim trunks slipping lower, creating the sultriest of trails from his stomach to his hipbones for your gaze to happily follow. 

No longer willing to hide behind the most adorable of pastel pink heart-shaped sunglasses, you’re a roast on a spit and if Harry won’t take the hint and bite, it’s time to catch a hint.

Harry’s pretty features are hiding behind an aged-denim baseball cap, one arm flexed behind his head as a makeshift pillow. This has you wondering if he’s even awake and that’s the final push you needed to get up and stealthily stroll over to his sunbed. 

Bending down and leaning your body over his own, your bikini-clad breast brush against his chest as you reach across him for a book you couldn’t even currently recall the title of- resting next to his half-empty lemonade on the side table. 

“You’re kidding.” Harry mumbles through the material.

“What?” You feign innocence, pressing further into him, waist coming down on his stomach.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” He torts but lets you continue with your teasing.

“Getting my book?” You ponder, taking much longer than necessary, letting your fingers dance along the cover, tilting down and further sticking your sun-kissed skin to his own.

Harry removes his flexed arm from its position as a pillow, using his thumb to hook under and remove the cap from hiding his face. He looks at you with a stern furrow of the brows, but his eyes are nothing but amused, and egregiously aroused,

“You’re a little liar.”

With ease, he wraps his arms around your waist, giving you a good squeeze as he flips you over, causing you to snatch a hold of the novel just as you find yourself bent and folded over his lap, ass up in the air, your chest resting against his thighs.

“What the-”

Now Harry has you, and you feel silly for thinking you could have ever gotten away with being so clueless, banking on the falseness of his lack of interest in your presence. He had lured you right in leaving you lying across him, completely at his will.

Not that you would want to be anywhere else, but you can’t help the embarrassment stirring at your stomach, ringing in your ears, you hope Harry doesn’t notice, and it seems he is far more focused on the sultriness of your arched back, your bikini bottoms becoming a frame for the ass cheeks that Harry quickly deems an artwork.

His fingers glide along the curve of your spine, satisfied with the shiver that shakes your body beneath his touch,

“You’re a naughty one, aren’t you?” He notes, letting his hands continue to trail along your curves. 

He ponders for a moment, watching for each reaction you might let slip, hyper-focused on your shaky breaths, the rise and fall of your breasts against his legs. He needs more though- needs to hear you,

“I think it’s time you’re punished for all of this brattiness.”                                           

“I’m not a brat.” You huff defensively for no reason but to protect your pride, still stuck and at his will.

“But you act like one.” He tuts factually, his hands gliding along your lower back before his palms finally settle on your ass cheeks, giving you the softest of pats.

You can’t admit such just yet, it was clear you were behaving like a true brat, but your words would be the last thing that would confirm that. Instead, you start to let the book slip and attempt to let it drop with little care,

“That’s the same-”

Harry refuses to let you finish, his tone dripping with discipline, his hands squeezing at your skin to ensure to cut you off and keep you focused on his filthy intentions,

“Read your book. Must be interesting if you were willing to go to such great lengths to retrieve it.” He is keeping you hooked like an floundering fish, baiting you with the promise of leaving little red marks along your pillowing bum cheeks.

Your lips part with the desire of protest, letting the book loosen in your hand, waiting for it to finally part from your palms. But Harry is watching like a hawk- waiting for you to misbehave once more, knowing you far too well. Still, you rally all of the defiance you have to spare,

“I-”

“Read the book.”

He gently digs his nails into your skin, and you want to protest even harder, but his simple sternness is salivating and instead, you choose to repent for your sins, balancing on your elbows, sighing and reopening the page to your bookmark with zero intent in actually reading.

With satisfaction, Harry kneads at the mounds of your skin before suddenly lifting his palm and bringing it down against your cheek with a sweet slap.

Your neck tilts back against your will, and your grip on the book starts to slip once more, biting back a surprised sigh.

“Uh, uh.” He scolds, “Read, Y/n.” 

And you prop the book back up with embarrassing haste. 

“So bratty…” By this point, Harry speaks with astonishment.

You cannot resist scoffing at his statement, busy regaining the strength to snap back at his ridiculous demand, but his hand comes down against your cheeks with a sterner smack and you switch back to the pretence of reading in hopes of another spanking.

“Tell me about the plot.” He insists, enjoying his little power trip far too much, whilst shifting back to pinching and squeezing at your skin.

“You’re being ridicu-” You try but another harsh smack followed by the soothing rub of his palm over the blooming mark buries you in submission, “Fernando just showed up at Fermina’s house…”

“Tell me more.” 

“Then… I… I have no idea.” Your head bows with shameful admission. 

Harry seems more than satisfied, kneading and squeezing at your skin. He decides that your honesty earns you points, it would be cruel to deny you sympathy for such an important attribute. But he truly does know you too well, doubting your little relinquishment, and he needs reassurance,

“Gonna be a good girl from now on?”

He doesn’t expect you to nod along so quickly, never mind so avidly, and now, Harry is gripping onto your dips and curves for dear life. But he cannot stop the teasing that slips past the gap in his teeth,

“For who?”

You roll your eyes, well aware it goes unnoticed by him, but Harry can feel the way a huff causes your chest to rise and fall, his own starts to expand with a light chuckle. And said chest catches a sharp breath and keeps it there at the feeling of your body slumping against his own as you bravely say, 

“For you, Harry.”

To say Harry was elated would be an understatement- his whole body alight with the mere sight of your body slung across his lap, let alone the feeling of your soft flesh moulding like clay beneath his hold. 

He doesnt think he can get used to how pliant and responsive you become under his touch. If this is what happens when he pathetcially parades about hoping to attract a pretty girls attention, Harry doesn’t mind behaving like a peacock more often. 

“Now, what exactly were you expecting to happen with this… little act of yours, hm?” His hands squeeze at any available skin,  “Think you’d get away it?” His fingers glide dangerously close to your undeniably damp bottoms, “That I’d just pretend it was all just an innocent mistake?”

“It was a mistake-”

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Yes-”

The harsh crack of Harry’s hand colliding with you left cheek has your back arching, squeaking out a whine, toes curling all at once.                         

“Are you sure, Y/n?” 

“...No.”

Your head drops, cheek resting on his thigh as your body slumps in full submission, and, hell, Harry wishes you could see how wide his smile is at the sight. His hand circles soothing strokes atop the palm-sized pinkish mark starting to bloom- beyond satisfied with his brilliant work. 

“Was that so hard?” 

“No, sir.” 

You answer with a haste that takes Harry by such surprise that he feels all sense of superiority substitute itself with the fear that maybe you were right, maybe you’re more than he can handle. 

“Christ.” His chest is tight, heart racing, and he feels a harsh sugar drop, suddenly trapped beneath your supple figure- dominance is dissipating, Harry comes to the realisation that he is never in charge- not even when you feign submission. 

He fears the unfamiliarity of letting his partner take control. Being intimate is one area of his life that he can truly make decisions that he wont spend an eternity revisity and cruelly critiquing the outcome. This is a place where he can act freely and intuitively- all he’s ever known is a dynamic where his lovers follow suit. 

Why does he want to do this forever? Why is he already planning all the ways he can show you just how desperately he’s willing to become your personal plaything? 

You’ve grown impatient with the slowing of Harry’s actions- you may have sacrificed your stubbornness, but your pride surely wont have you slung across the lap of a man if he’s not at least making you squirm with pleasure. 

Harry can’t find the words as you slyly and swiftly escape from his hold. It seems like you’re about to make a break for it but when you only turn to face him and confidently sling your leg over his lap, he’s quick to shift for your ease, helping your body settle in his lap. 

Your arms snake up his arms, palms splaying out atop his shoulders. Harry’s hand are already trailing any part of you he hadnt previously had access to, starting with the curves of your waist, his cock twitching as his fingers rake along the waistband of your bikini and you shift excitedly. 

He squeezes at the creases where your pudge pushes against the restraint of the stringy swimwear straps, and Harry tauntingly twirls them around his fingers, threatening to dismantle the carefully-tied bows, 

“So flimsy, all it would take is one little tug...”

“And you’ll deeply regret it.”

You press your lower body further into his lap, biting back a satisfied sigh as his cock continues to stiffen, brushing those pesty swimwear along your progressively soaking slit. He needs to be closer- you need to ensure he is just as wrapped up in this all encompassing bubble of desire as yourself. 

“Why’s that, angel?” 

Harry tries to keep his voice steady as you press your breasts against his chest, the aroma of sunscreen, salty water, and sweet conditioner suddenly surrounding him, intoxicating his senses with a swift dose of dopamine. His body is sinking further into the sunbed as you start building a staircase of sloppy kisses towards the shell of his ear, 

“Because I’ll stop doing this.” You move back slightly- its obvious he wont let you get far- and your body mimics that of a person ready to run, “In fact, I’ll leave and take care of myself.”

And as mouth-watering as that visual is, Harry tugs you back into place- even closer- until his nose is brushing the curve of your collarbone, his hand gliding along your goosebump-riddled spine until it cups the back of your neck and in between timid kisses to your sternum, he tuts, 

“Well, we wouldnt want that, would we?”

Your head shakes in agreement, tilting down to get a better look at him beneath those unruly brunette curls. 

The moment his glossy lips leave your skin and he peers up at you through lust-driven eyes, you throw all snark, games, wit, and stubbornness to the wind. All you want is to suffocate him with your kiss. 

Maybe Harry really can read your mind because he tilts his chin, lips puckering in anticipation for your own, and how sweetly he lets your hand wrap around his jaw- lets your thumb flick his bottom lip, parting them so politely as your finger slips into his mouth and he selaciously sucks on it. 

Your thumb is barely out of his mouth when your teeth latch onto his bottom lip, giving it a gentle tug before your tongue slips past and seeks out his own. 

Harry kisses you back like it’s life or death, lips slipping, exploring, and when you capture his tongue and suck it between your slick mouth, he wants desperately for you to soothe his aching cock however you see fit. 

Your kisses have strayed to the curve where his jaw and ear meet, sloppily trailing down his simmering skin, taking a little nibble of the creamy crook of his neck- which earns a surprised yelp from Harry, 

“G’na show me how good you can be?” 

“Ask me nicely.” 

He can’t muster anything more than a deep chuckle- turning to mush at the playful streak peaking through your lustrous stare. Harry, unlike yourself, doesn’t mind a little grovelling- in fact, he thinks he’s made that more than clear. 

His voice turns as tender as his touch, sincerity seeping through the thick layers of his arousal as he lets his lips graze your ear,

“Please, Y/n.” 

That feels good to hear. Criminally good. Like, the type of good that has you missing this exact moment while it’s still happening. 

It’s as if he’s uttered the secret password and it’s your duty to ensure his success doesn't go to waste. 

All remnants of Harry taking control are null and void the moment your hips rock along his own. Your clit brushes atop his throbbing cock- begging for release from this hellishly restrictive swim trunks- and with a sharp hiss snaking past your lips, Harry’s sure he’s about to cut off all blood circulation. 

He decides to be the most helpful boy he can be, cradling your ass cheeks, letting your hips guide them wherever you pleased. With deliberate and curious swirls, you hold back little mewls each time his cock brushes along your throbbing and increasingly damp pussy. 

Your hands cant decide where to graps as they switch between pressing into his lower abdomen, trailing along his forearms, one hand wrapping along his neck while the other impatiently tugs at his chin, tilting his mouth to latch onto your own. 

Harry doesnt hide the pleasure pulsing through him with every touch and hitch of your breath, gliding his tongue along your lower lip and with a subtle thrust, he coaxes a hushed sigh from you, taking the chance to slip his tongue past your teeth, lapping at your mouth with such lewdness that your hips rock on their own accord. 

Less calculated, more explorative, swirling left to right, up and down atop his full length, testing what feels good, what makes his body twitch and whine with approval. 

It’s hard to focus, Harry’s pressing into whatever part of you he can reach, holding onto your hips as if he feared you might evaporate into another silly fantasy, hoping his little moans of satisfaction express how desperately he wants you. 

You’ve never heard something as beautiful as Harry’s moans- they haunt your dreams and often coax your hands into your panties on lonely evenings. Raising slightly, your right hand reaches back and strokes along his thick length and Harry’s hands needily glides up and harshly cups your breast. 

He’s tauntingly tugging at the flimsy material, perversely tugging it to the side to reveal your pebbled nipple and his teeth are around the perky bud before you can say something about the dangers of getting caught. 

In honesty, you’re not thinking about that at all- it only stirs fiercely at your lower belly, pulsating with filthy excitement. Your hand wraps around his neck, pressing him further into your chest as his free hand cups and kneads at your other breast. 

Thighs working harder than most days, you try to keep a consistent pace, needily chasing a high, searching for that sweet spot, and Harry wants nothing more than to assist. 

His hands retreat to your ass, one raising you slightly as his other adjusts his cock to line up with your dripping entrance. You’ve soaked through your swimwear- so slick that Harry can feel his swollen tip dampening at the contact. 

He’s pushing  up into you, and there’s something so lewd about fucking you through your swimwear that has the two of you feeling more feral than ever before. So good that the world around you is still, nobody else exists, and the only thing you care about is being so close to Harry’s cock pushing past your entrance. 

It’s teamwork when you hastily stand and turn around, seating your drippy pussy right atop his length. Harry guides your body back and forth, releasing a gravelly groan when your thighs tighten and generously knead his balls, hand reaching between the two of you as your hands press and stroke the expanse of his cock, from tip to taint. 

Huffing out each time he brushes against your throbbing bud, the need to have him closer is overwhelming. And the way his hips are starting to jut impatiently, you might not be the only one. His hips are bucking up into you, possessively searching for your pussy.

Harry does needs more, needs to see those erotic visuals of your pleasure-soaked face that have plagued his mind for the last three months,  

“C’mere pretty girl.” 

He has you facing him again, pinning him to the chair, arching your hips to up so that each grind targets his tip and aims for your slit, triggering a new current of euphoria to send shockwaves up your spine. 

Maybe he’s stopped thinking completely because Harry reaches out for the top of your bikini, using one hand to spread the material apart until they are framing your bare breasts like an artwork- which, Harry deems they certainly are. 

He’s squeezing at you, nipping and nibbling, and your nails are piercing into his shoulders, holding on for dear life. When Harry sinks his teeth down onto the supple skin of your throat, harshly sucking as your thighs clench around his at the sudden and arousing sting.

His tongue lovingly licks at and soothes the soon-to-bloom bruise. You know he’s marking you to prove a point, and it shouldnt have you reeling with such excitement at the thought of being his, enough to break your silence, 

“Fuck, Harry.” 

“Feel good, sweetheart?” His name has never sounded so special.

“So fucking good.” You pant, pushing yourself down onto him with ferocity. 

And Harry couldn't predict that you would shuffle back, hook your fingers into the band of his shorts and free his cock from its cruel confinement. Only just past the tip is visible and the harsh sting of the cool air is quickly replaced by the warmth of your pussy. One layer separating him from the tight embrace of your hole. 

Your breasts are still in line with Harry’s face, one of his hands still lazily squeezing while the other slides down your torso, tickles at your ribcage before abrasively cupping your pussy and he’s grunting out, “So, so wet.” 

Your head lulls back at the obvious observation, and the desperate need to coat his length until he’s just as soaked has got your eyes rolling in ecstasy. 

Harry heinously loops his finger into the side of your swimwear, tugging it to the side and whining out, “My God” at the sight of your bare pussy, slick and begging to be fucked hard and proper. 

You’re pressing down on him before he can truly marvel at how puffy and pretty you are when riled up, but as your torso arches back, breasts searching for the sky, hand digging into his stomach for balance, Harry gets a view so tasty, there is actual drool pooling at the corner of his lip. 

The tip of his cock is disapearring between the folds of your pussy, instantly soaked and twitching from sensitivity, you’re bucking at a rapid pase, synchronising your bursts of pleasure. Harry knows this will be a core memory, something that will project across the lids of his shut eyes every single night for eternity. 

His hips are thrusting up to meet your own with soft slaps, all-encompassing pleasure twisting at his lower abdomen, building and peaking, and then you mewl out the most salacious of sounds- a wordless plea to help push you over the edge, and Harry is jutting with haste, wrapping his arms around your back, guiding your body atop his until the orgasm you’ve desired so deeply starts to reach its peak, and you’re urgently, desperately using Harry’s cock. 

You gazes lock- eyes blackened, lids hooded- and you utter out the sweetest and softest of pleas, “Wanna come.” 

Harry’s nodding avidly, holding you tighter, pressing you nearer, bucking his cock up into the folds of your pulsating pussy, each time his tip slip and brushes your entrance, he knows he wont last longer. All he can do is honestly ask of you, 

“Please.” He’s smothering you neck in kisses, “Please come for me.” 

That does it. You don’t care about Harry witnessing the pronographic whine that follows- you don’t care who hears or sees, all you care about is the earth-shattering pleasure swallowing you whole, your body crumbling, struggling to keep up your movements as your orgasm takes over completely, grabbing at his arms, his back, his torso. 

Harry’s stare is frozen as you start to unravel above him, but his hips are working overtime, pumping himself against your pussy and your chest is humming in tune. 

Sloppily, one hand raises to tenderly cup his cheek and you latch your lips to his in a sensual, slow tongue-tango. The unfamiliar feelings of affection fusing with arousal is the final straw for Harry. 

There’s no time to vocalise anything before he’s pushed completely over the edge and can only manage a filthy moan that vibrates against your lips as Harry comes undone and his thrusts turn uneven before his cock is spurting thick pleasure between the folds of your pussy. 

Your bodies slow down to a halt and you can no longer hold yourself up, collapsing atop Harry’s chest as he works to even his breathing. Both of you are surely sticky messes, and reality is rapidly returning. 

It’s only now that either of you glance around to see if anyone may have noticed, and though shame is sure to follow, that can only happen once you separate your sweaty, lethargic bodies. 

You let the moment linger a while longer before regretfully loosening your hold and peeling your skin from his own. When Harry whines out disapprovingly, you almost crawl right back into position, but that will be the start of round two. You need time to process round one. 

Harry puts up little fight, though every part of his living being wishes to have you cradled in his arms, cuddling up against his tired torso, instead pulling his trunks back up to hide his cock, he shifts and takes in the magnificent of views- you stand and gather your book, eyes glazed-over, cheeks flushed and chest unevenly heaving. 

“So you can be a good girl.”  

“So you can be something other than annoying.” 

Harry’s already thinking about the next time, and the next. But your thoughts are swiftly veering towards uncertainty and the excuse for a shower is the only thing keeping you from passing out right in front of him. 

“I can be anything you want, Y/n.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You definitely will. 

Harry acts completely unbothered when he returns his body to the position that started this entire encounter, retrieves his hat and settles in for what seems like a nap. Relaxed son of a bitch. Why isn’t it rubbing off on you? 

“I hope you do.” Harry hums from beneath the cap and all you can do is wander away from him and into the house in a complete daze. 

🍷

Dinner with Savina is, at best, depressing. Fork aimlessly stabbing at the same piece of lettuce, you clearly aren’t on this planet anymore. 

Dazed, avoiding the air around you as if it might trigger another feral response. Worst of all- you’re ashamed of how shameless you still feel in Harry’s wake.  

Savina has been eyeing you from across the table for well over ten minutes before that ghostly look on your face becomes too much to tolerate, 

“Why do you look like you just witnessed someone being ejected from a vehicle?” 

She’s squinting suspiciously when you briefly glance up at her with sheer mortification,

“That’s awful.”

“You’re acting like something awful did happen.” She defends, and you cave in an instant, quickly mumbling some type of explanation that has Savina asking, “What’s that?”

“He spanked me.”

Silence thickened with surprise settles between the two of you. In defeat, you put down the fork and settle back in the handcrafted dining chair and pout at Savina, clueless of how to process this information on your own. 

Her forehead and bushy brows are raised, her own meal discarded at this sizzling new development. But she’s observing the way your features morph from mortified to confused to sheer helplessness, and Savina will get to the bottom of this,

“And this is the face of someone who enjoyed it far more than they care to admit?”

“This is the face of someone who enjoyed it.” You sigh out. 

It’s just getting weirder, Savina finally concedes that you weren’t exaggerating when you expressed how confusing the dynamic you and Harry share truly is. Savina doesn’t know where to start,

“That’s… messed up, Y/n.”  

Then she tries the ‘positive reinforcement’ tactic, “Harry seems-”

“Don’t say his name.” You shush. 

“You’re so dramatic!”

“Yes!” Your hands flail wildly, “And he’s driving me crazy!”

Savina finds this all-too amusing, returning to her food and reveling in this obscure situation she is so grateful to witness first-hand, she hums provokingly,

“Ugh. I want a summer love.”

“We’re too old for this.” 

You’re trying to remind yourself of this- of any possible reason to prove the impossibility of getting closer to Harry. The only things currently going for you is memories of the past, and even those are being muddled by new perspectives. It’s nauseating. 

In a cheeky conclusion, Savina only coos out a request for one last thing,

“Please, let me live vicariously.” 

🍷

Déjà fuckin vu. 

A new day and… why is Harry here? He’s splayed out on that sunbed again, and you won’t be caught falling for it this time… regardless of how the sun casts sultry shadows along his torso, highlighting the divots of his stomach muscles… 

You hasten the drying process, roughly rubbing the towel along any damp skin- eyes trained carefully on his still and shining body.

But, you can’t help yourself from at least letting him know that you are well aware of his tactics, he must understand that you are nowhere near as easily tempted as you were before- that a lapse in judgement had lured you straight into his lap. (How many lapses can one’s judgement have before you have to admit it wasn’t a mistake?) 

Your softened feet pad along the warm tiles until they stop just before Harry’s resting figure. His ray bans hide any sign of consciousness, but it’s obvious that he’s already hyper-aware of your every move. 

You steal a couple of glances for your personal ‘before bed’montage, which by now consists mostly of visuals of Harry just, being Harry. 

It certainly helps to daydream about him warming beneath the rays, golden skin glistening, arms and torso taught and littered with all those tattoos and freckles, flexing just for you. 

Your figure hovers over him like a cloud and Harry is quick to tilt his sunglasses, balancing them on the bridge of his nose as his amuse-soaked gaze is peering up at you through wispy lashes. 

He waits on you, knowing that this is the second step in his trap. And how easily he seems to have coaxed you into it once more. He’s prepared to be chewed out, and his stomach twists in delight at the thought. 

And how simply you exacerbate his excitement when your arms come to rest across the curves of your underboob, brows furrowing and fresh-berry lips pursing to firmly inform Harry that,

“Try all you want, it won't work this time.”

“I wasn't trying last time.” He shrugs smugly. 

“... Well it won’t work today.”

Harry shifts himself to an upright position, his large palm lazily sliding the shades from his face, as he plans to ensure you get the perfect view of him. 

He feels like a teenager, attempting to convince you of his attractiveness, but there’s an underlying giddiness that always follows and he prays you feel it too. Even if he could resist teasing, the silly scrunch of your nose and squinted searing gaze guarantees he won’t stop.

“Spiralling again, sweetheart?”

“After interacting with you? Always.” You scoff and Harry’s skin melts under your glare. 

“Why does that turn me on?” He whines tauntingly.

“Dont ask me, I rarely understand you.”

Harry almost laughs aloud and with each passing second, the ache to shamelessly rake your stare along his limbs becomes a challenge not to succumb to his will. Yet you cannot possess yourself to walk away just yet. 

So you keep your eyes fixed on his own, watching as playfulness and enticement colour his eyes in hues of deep green, desperate for his next words to be enough to dismiss you from dangerously slinking back onto his lap. 

It’s like Harry has figured out that he occupies a space in your head. Like he’s weaselled his way in there and anticipates your every thought- your every move. 

Why else would his next move be to slightly part his legs, like a damn invitation, juicy thighs begging for a bite? His elbow presses into his thigh, balancing his chin atop his hand as he watches you like it’s his only reason for living, choosing his next words carefully, 

“I don't believe that. I think you understand me just fine.”

“Whatever. I need to head inside before I burn.” If that were true, it wouldn’t be from the sun's rays, but the desperate desire to fuck him senseless.

“Ever the cautious little one.” He coos through the fondest of grins.

You muster the will to take a step back, and then another, shrugging knowingly at laxness,

“Take that up with the sun, Harry. Put some sunscreen on while you’re at it.”

One final glance and you turn on your heels, heading for the sliding doors as Harry’s boastful voice sings out, 

“Not necessary, but thank you for being such a doll.” 

“Don’t come crying to me.” You hum contently, proud of how well you had resisted his charm, but body still pining for his hold.

🍷

Sunset painted the blue skies with pastel candyfloss peach and pink, clouds casting the trees into shadows, and with the most idealistic view of the orange-streaked ocean visible from your balcony, allowing the last soft rays to cast the villa in warmth, lulling you into a cosy daze in front of the tv, legs splayed out on the sofa, eyes slipping in and out of focus. 

Everything slowly melts into euphoria, the dialogue on screen turns to muffles, waves kissing the shore, and you can’t recall the last time things felt so easy- so still. 

But your departure from consciousness is cruelly interrupted by the thudding of a fist against the front door. Whoever knocks has hasty determination as they hardly pause before tapping the hardwood again. 

All remnants of a possible nap were gone with the setting sun and your bare feet were padding along the cool linoleum without thought, heading towards the persistent knocking with a desperate desire for it to just stop. 

It must be Savina, and she must have left her keys behind again, and if that’s the case, she’s about to receive a mouthful and a half. You’ve already sucked in a scolding breath whilst unlocking and opening the door, only to be met with the surprising sight of a very flustered and very red-faced Harry, frowning brow matching his pretty puckered pout. 

All you can do is exhale and before the giggles can even register to bubble, he’s taking a desperate step forward, pointing his finger and warning,  

“Do not laugh.”

You can’t even, staring back at him in utter shock, scanning the unbelievable redness of his skin, 

“Oh, dear God.”

Harry’s shamefully tilts his head, rosy arms folding atop his chest as he bashfully peers up at you through puffy lashes, 

“Help me.” 

Without hesitation, your body steps aside to welcome him, watching as he pitifully slinks past, discarding his slides, and making great effort to avoid garnering your attention. 

Shutting the door, latching the lock, and giving Harry one more look over before beginning to walk past his sulking stature, you make for the bathroom. Certain that he’s trailing closely behind, you allow a good laugh to slip, shaking your head with incredulity, 

“What did I tell you?”

You can hear him change directions as his feet squeak and shuffle away from the kitchen in pursuit of your recently occupied spot on the sofa. 

All you can do is embrace an eye-roll whilst wandering toward the bathroom and locating your trusted tube of after-sun before heading towards Harry’s now resting body, slumped far too comfortably into the cushions. You mutter,

“Make yourself at home.”

Something resembling a glimmer of hope flashes across his features, followed by a grimace of further flaring his skin as you hold out the half-used tube of eucalyptus, patiently waiting for him to accept the offer. 

He wants to hold your hand and wishes you would linger a moment longer so he could revel in this foreign feeling of appearing before you in such a ‘weakened’ state. Instead, all he can think of is the need to complain choking at his chest,

“Feel like Satan put my face between his ass cheeks.” 

“You look it.” 

“Everything hurts.” He whines.

“I’m sure.” You concur with a cheeky lilt. 

Your gaze hasn’t wavered from his face, and Harry wonders if you can see the shy blush mixing into his sunburn- would it be worse if you did? 

Luckily, there isn’t much that can deter your examination, no longer masking amusement as your features freely raise in awe at the sudden thought,

“How long did it take for you to notice?” 

He says everything by shamefully darting his gaze into the distance, and it would be cruel to deny you the right to laugh aloud- hand pressed to your forehead, chest bobbing with each chuckle- which he allows you for longer than you imagined before interjecting,

 “S’not funny!”

Harry knew he had to leave all pride on the welcome mat when he made the almost instant decision to ask for your help- especially since a sunburn could be dealt with on his own- but he was only and he sure feels a sting of humility. 

He scoots to the edge of the couch, returning his feet to the ground before leaning forward and balancing one arm atop his swim trunk-clad thigh. Harry wastes no time in uncapping the lid, smearing a large dollop into his palm, about to rub his hands together and presumably smother and lather his face.

A tiny part of you has faith that he’ll treat his skin with a tender touch, but he practically slaps his palms across his cheeks before transferring the cool gel and it becomes all to clear how rough he intends to be and you can’t stop yourself from a gasp of frenzied panic, 

“What are you doing?” You try to keep your tone from expressing how disturbed you are by the man on your sofa, especially when he peers up at you through a curiously innocent gaze,

“What?” He peers up at you with such pretty innocence. 

“You’re so aggressive. It hurts to watch.” 

Your lips form a pout to match his own, and if you weren’t so sure that Harry was only here, in your home, out of convenience, you might be swayed to believe that the small smile swallowing his pout was a result of your kindness.

He remains as still as a statue, too fearful of making another mistake that would surely result in another sigh of disappointment on your part. With his stare frozen and directed at your own, he makes it perfectly clear that he plans to make no moves without further instruction, seeking guidance by asking,

“What am I supposed to do?” 

“Give it here.” You offer him your hand and his own darts out to accept, forcing you to ignore how nice it feels to have him at your will. 

He seems to feel the same, at least from the soft smile threatening to dimple at his cheeks. With your free hand, you swipe your fingers along his palm and collect all remnants of lotion, edging forward and leaning your body over his own. 

With a lack of certainty, you release his hand and with the lightest of touches raise your palms to his face, left hand cupping at his jaw, confidently, but tenderly, tilting his chin to the ceiling.

Harry peers up at you through those charcoal spider leg lashes, curious to see you continue your mission, totally at your will- nothing new. He gratefully lets you guide his face wherever you feel need be, and he fights hard against allowing his eyes to flutter shut. 

And you do, gently spreading the gel along his forehead, creating little circular swirls along his skin, pretending that your palms don’t have a pulsating electric current, creating sharp sparks as they trail his soft, freckled skin. You worry that any further contact will cause your body to short-circuit, allowing all shyness to surface in blotches across your cheeks. 

Your featherlight touch only leaves Harry in desperate need of further comfort, almost instinctually pressing his forehead into your palm like a needy cat. 

If he’s getting a taste of what it’s like to be welcomed into your bubble, Harry wants to have another bite, and another, coating his skin in your sweet, sugary loves, hoping you won't ever let him go. 

But you do, swirling your ring finger along his forehead once more for good luck before sorrowfully releasing his face. Neither of you let your disappointment surface, instead sharing shy smiles as you lazily step back.

Harry’s gaze follows you, and even now as your head tilts to scan the room, the intensity of his focus is palpable, drumming the pulse beneath your own wrists, it feels like you’ve been cluelessly lured into a pressure cooker, slowly boiling you inside out. 

The only way to cool down is to return your attention to his own, eyes like magnets desperately seeking out their counterpart. And as the two of you glue your gazes with such ease, Harry would be amiss to tease,

“Who knew you had a soft side.”

“Don’t start.” 

You shut him down before his observation has the chance to further sink in, knowing that if he catches your sympathetic gaze for a moment longer, it would only reinforce how correct he was- and worse, how good it felt to love on him. 

No longer in contact with his skin, the feel of warmth refuses to let his touch leave, your fingertips burning like his face was past boiled. 

He sits idly, merely enjoying the soothing sensation tingling along his burns, swiftly sinking into the cushions, his heart swelling and full, and his head… which, now that he noticed, is throbbing in tune with his singing chest. 

Harry can’t avoid the sudden wince surging up his spine as he stupidly presses a palm to his forehead and reignites the burn, 

“Head still feels like a rave.” 

He’s cute- too cute for your heart to retreat into trepidation- and for a change, you bask in the fuzzy fondness, face and limbs all relaxing under the goofy gaze of his adorable helplessness. 

Once more, you disappear down the hallway, rummaging through a cabinet for painkillers. As reach your next destination- the kitchen- you retrieve a glass and call out, 

“How have you survived this long?” 

“Pure luck.” He thinks. 

Harry looks like he feels sorry for himself- the idea alone warms you with familiarity. You extend out your offering of meds and water and instruct him to, 

“Drink the whole glass.” 

He does, with enthusiastic haste, evoking an odd excitement at the sight of his enthusiastic submission. Attempting to rid this sensation, you subtly shake your head and walk over to the vacant spot on the sofa, plopping down with a soft thump.

Harry wipes away the trail of water dripping down the corner of his damp lips, turning to look at you with increasing admiration, 

“You’re an angel, I owe you.”

“Don’t you always?”

“Add it to my tab.”

This is surely the part where Harry gets up and says goodbye, but if anything, he seems more comfortable here than anywhere else. You’re watching him intently, attempting to anticipate his next move, praying he will leave you to pine on your lonesome. 

Instead, Harry slinks back into the cushions, shuffling himself until comfortable. It takes little to give up and give in to his company, taking the liberty to pull your legs and fold them to rest (), reaching out for the remote and unpausing the show Harry so woefully interrupted. 

He glances at you, and then the television, and then back to your still features, 

“What are we watching?” 

“Fleabag.”

“Seen it before?” 

“Plenty.”

Expecting Harry to sit quietly was extremely optimistic. He does try- really- but there’s just so much to digest! “Is that her sister?” He whispers. “What’s the deal with the statue?” Two minutes later, “Are they married or…?” 

“Let’s start over.” You make sure to groan dramatically, 

“You don’t have to-”

“Zip it, strawberry boy.” 

Confusion orbits his moony eyes, wondering if he missed out on something. You must notice because you simply shrug and casually elaborate,

“Y’look like one, with your pink cheeks and little freckles.”

Harry likes that. He really likes that. He’s still watching you- all lovesick- as your focus fixes on rewinding from the very final episode to the very first. 

As the intro starts, he tilts his head and seeks your attention,

“Y/n?” 

“Harry.”

“I always knew you had a soft side.” He teases knowingly. 

“Shush.”

It’s strange… why does it feel as peaceful with Harry by your side? Perhaps more than. But you’re not gonna think about that right now. Not while a sweet strawberry boy is sitting so near, looking cosier than ever, ready to embrace one of your favourite shows. That can wait until tomorrow.

---

Let me know what you think! - Emmy. xo

[szollibisz]

I'm a big mush and I forgot to send you something for the ask game, so for Curt and Owen:

-33- redeeming qualities

I see my elusive lover spirit is being called upon after all my haterism towards these two <3

I wanna preface by saying that a lot of their generally positive/neutral qualities unfortunately become twisted into bad qualities due to the times they were living in and the lifestyle they led, but I'm still going to mention said traits as good. And also that most of this pertains to pre fall, since it really brought out the worst in them, and minimised many of these otherwise good qualities.

Curt:

- His optimism. It's mentioned multiple times by other characters in the show, but he truly is a very hopeful person, who wants to do good in the world. I feel like his aggressive optimism might've saved him and Owen a few times. Since Owen is very logical, he may get lost in trying to figure out how to get out of a tricky situation, and may even become overcome with a sense of dread after not finding a good solution, but Curt has this almost naive hope, a sense of being untouchable when together with Owen, so he may make impulsive choices that may not seem logical at first, but end up saving them in the end, or generally help Owen relax until he can properly figure out his plans.

- Being caring and affectionate. It's clear throughout the show that the people he loves, he loves very much and that when he's not in his post-fall depression spiral he's quite personable. He initiates the hug after him and Tatiana agree to be friends, and while she's hesitant he doesn't seem awkward about it at all, which to me comes across as both a. He's used to being like this with people, close, friendly etc and b. He really needed a hug which you know. He does. But yeah, overall when he's not trying to hide behind his macho spy persona too much, his kindness shows through. (Chronic case of kind but not nice most of the time)

- Spontaneity/thinking on the spot. I explained most of this in the optimism paragraph, but yeah, to elaborate that's not just about missions, but the way he generally lives his life. While it does mean he's kinda unreliable, it also means he's always ready to do things and enthusiastic about everything. He's the kind of guy that plans a week long vacation from scratch in like an hour, and even if there are many faults in the plan he will still find a way to make it enjoyable. Also ties in to being sociable and constantly set on having a good time.

- Helpful. I think much of his youth was about helping people, and making up for the things he did wrong/lacked in. He genuinely wants people to be happy, he's just at odds with himself which constantly ends up causing trouble. He gets bad grades, he gets in fights etc etc. He tries to fix it all by being a helpful member of his community. Imo it's not just his hero complex and McCarthyism that fuels his need to be a spy and make a difference, it's a genuine hope for a better world and wanting better things for people.

Owen:

- Logical. Pretty self explanatory, we see it a lot in a1p1, but it's also part of his entire world view. He overanalyzes every feeling and every thought he has and he has a very specific idea of how things work now and how things should work ideally. His logic gives him the capacity to change these ideals, albeit not easily. He's still less susceptible to propaganda than Curt, purely on account of the constant self checking. I think he's the kind of guy that wants to hear multiple perspectives before making a decision, especially since he himself is in a marginalized community, and knows how the most popular opinion on something is not necessarily the "right one"

- Devoted. Whether to ideals or a person this man is all in. Since he is so logical, he often justifies his (very intense) feelings with facts and is more firm in his beliefs than a lot of people are, shaken out of them very rarely. This is especially true with Curt, who he can't stop loving even after the fall. He'd do basically anything for him, or the other ideals he has. So all I'm saying is, if there is only one loyal man in the world it is Owen.

- Detail oriented/persistent. He's very good at focusing on the little things, which is why he's such a good spy and actor. He knows how to pick very specific character quirks to get people talking or pay attention to the small mannerisms of his targets to catch them in lies and whatnot. He's also very organized because of this, having specific methods for everything, from packing his clothes to torturing information out of someone. It's also useful in his relationships, it makes him seem sort of insane and obsessive (he is) but he remembers every innocuous detail about Curt, and he cares for him according to those. Often Curt won't even say things, Owen will just pick up on the and remember for later, like watching how much sugar Curt puts in his coffee and making it the exact same way for him next time.

- Adaptability. He could survive anywhere anytime, because honestly, even though he's a mess post fall I still think he managed better than 99% of people would. Just cause he doesn't win the idgaf war doesn't mean it isn't crazy he survived and managed to carve some semblance of a life out for himself. Even before the fall he had to survive ww2 era London, spying, A Situationship and so on. He can stay mostly composed and rational in most situations, until he figures out what to do, and if not he has Curt to rely on for moral support.

There are more for both of them but I want to keep this. Well not short and sweet it's already not short but yeah.

[capitclkarma]

(  dylan o'brien .  cis man  .  he/him  )  .    ⸻  kazimir cannon ,  a  twenty-nine  year  old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have  lived  for  twenty-nine years  .  the  giver is  known  for  being  patient  and  stressed and  is  often  associated  with  a cup of coffee sat untouched from sun up to sun down , white-knuckled hugs in case it's the last one , gritted teeth and gritted determination to fix the impossible .  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as deputy  word  travels  fast  .  it’s  hard  to  keep  a  secret  ,  and  it  looks  like  the  boogeyman  knows  that  redacted . 

BIO.

The first born son to kristofer and marge cannon .

his father was a small time lawyer , working hard to make a name for himself . his mother was a therapist . both had ambition to help the local community , the thread that bound them together .

he's always looked after his younger sibling (ooc note: check out my wc on the main!) -- their parents were out saving the world , so he stayed home and made sure they were taken care of and never felt lonely . he'd always understood the gravity of their parents work and the gravity of what they had to give up so others could gain .

kaz always worked hard -- in school and at home . he wanted to be something his parents would be proud of . he wanted to set a good example for his younger sibling .

he can't find it in the news , but when his mother left , kaz swears there was an earthquake in red creek that day .

their father fell apart . slowly , his clients left the practice as kristofer cannon was a laughing stock with a losing streak .

kaz was optimistic . their mother was just on vacation to relax from the pressures of listening to everyone else's' problems all day . she was making money or making a name for herself somewhere else , so the cannons could have a comfortable life when they moved back in with her . the passing years have done nothing to dull his delusions optimism about the situation .

but as their father sank into misery , kaz assumed the mantle of man of the house . he had to step up and help where the gapping hole in the family was . instead of college , he stayed in red creek and joined the police force . he rose to the role of deputy quite quickly , utterly determined to make a difference in the town , to fix what was broken as if it would do the same for his home life . his eyes are firmly set on sheriff , aiming to one day be the youngest sheriff red creek has ever seen .

his family always on his mind , yet forgotten in reality . he has to focus on work , on his duty , on his obligations . so busy trying to fix things , he often forgets that means he needs to talk to his family .

PERSONALITY.

kaz is patient and ambitious . rome wasn't built in a day -- his mantra . he pushes his negative feelings down deep , deep , deep . he focuses on the good and the possible future he and his family could have , pointedly ignoring that their mother ditched them . he thinks it will be different with him , that if he proves himself , she'll have to come back and congratulate him .

but of course he's stressed with everything going on , a sense of uneasiness worn like a jacket .

his intentions are always in the right place . now , he doesn't always know how to act on it . he views himself as the provider for his family now that his father is " retired " . so he throws himself into his work , often forgetting they want him around , not just his legacy .

self-imposed isolation as his his suffering will lead to martrydom .

thinks he can do better this time around than the past police force . thinks he's cunning , but he can be played for a fool .

HCS.

song : over and over by hot chip

he's been writing letters to his mom that he's never sent because he doesn't have her address (despite his many attempts to look it up) .

typically , has a stubble or a beard because he often forgets to shave . and for that same reason , shaved his head to reduce the upkeep of his hair .

has a box of all of his younger sibling's milestones under his bed . their report cards , art , awards .

likes to journal in the woods . in his elena gilbert era <3 .

song : the scale by interpol

WCS.

friends and enemies from high school .

someone bent on cracking him open . he's always a shoulder to lean on , but he doesn't like talking about his problems or what's going on his life outside of work .

a prodigy . bonus points if their unwilling . someone he wants to take under his wing and lead on the " right path " . someone he thinks can take on the role after him and follow his lead . someone he sees potentional in .

people who think he's annoying and a ball of negative energy .

we can brainstorm more :)

[hamstermastersamster]

Mental health stuff under the cut I guess (mostly positive???)

Between Sept and my long Christmas vacation I came super close to another time-off-work-required breakdown. I spent my week off for my birthday in November having a week-long panic attack (with near-constant physical palpitations) triggered by some bad work news, but ultimately just the final nail in a coffin of bad thoughts and neurotic feelings.

Finally put on my big girl pants and (thanks to advice from @fowo <3) took myself to the doc to talk about trying antidepressants for the first time. Between my Christmas break (2.5 weeks off, GLORY) and started the meds just after new year, I was feeling a bit better because I actually let myself REST, guilt-free, for those 2.5 weeks, so it's now hard to tell whether they are making a difference or if it was just the rest itself that got me back to a slightly more stable foundation. I know it can take a couple of months for them to really settle into your brainjuices. But aside from 3-4 days of nausea/headaches at the start, I haven't really had any negative side effects so I'm sticking with them for now.

I've gone cold turkey on reading, watching and consuming World News. Some stuff still creeps in past my copious filters and blocks and that's okay - it keeps me lightly informed - but it stops me dwelling on stuff I can't control and drowning myself in terrible things and existential dread.

A first-world privilege to be able to do this, I know. But I was becoming non-functional so something had to give. I donate regularly to charities and fundraisers that are important to me and I started some local volunteering work and that's the best I can personally do right now.

And I think I'm doing better. I keep feeling little bursts of optimism and excitement for things I know could happen in the future. That's not been the case for a long time - there was only The Dread. I'm still following a burnout!rest routine of letting myself not do productive things and letting myself not feel guilty about it, but sometimes, now, when I AM resting, I get the little restless tickle that says . . . "I feel like I COULD do something productive right now, and even WANT to do something". Not gonna force anything, but it feels a little bit like recovery.

I drew a nice picture of Lara the weekend, first art in ages. I'm about to join a local life drawing group to try and get back to basics with my creativity. Even mustering the energy to think about doing a regular social/creative thing before Christmas was off the table, so that's a tick in the 'feeling better' box, too.

I'm gonna be saddled with this anxiety and these depressive episodes and these compulsive ruminating thoughts for my entire life, I know. There's no cure. But maybe it can be managed.

Now watch me relearn all my therapy lessons again and then immediately forget them once I'm on an even keel and think I don't need them anymore lmao. I'm predictable >:[

[buckets-and-trees]

Exactly Like You

Not a fic, but an IMAGINE? It's borderline a fic.

Characters/Pairings: Nick Fowler x female!Reader Word Count: 1k  Summary: This trip was for YOU.

Content Warnings: non-descriptive brief smut, stockholm syndrome

Additional Notes: This is what happened when I got carried away playing the Once Upon a Spooky Time sleepover game for the Bucks & Noble Book Club launch week... This is not my typical writing style, but this is actually how a lot of my plot notes go for when I do write fic. The game was to imagine yourself in a spooky film or tv show. Not edited. SCENE SETTING: Imagine this is a film. We're going to go single film, psychological thriller, director TBD, but let's make it an A24 flick. Michael Giacchino is scoring the soundtrack, because he's masterful creating exactly the vibes with the music to create the optimal viewing experience (from big to tiny background) AND shows up with clever track names.

You are a very competent, normal, hard-working, single millennial female who has focused on building up a good career finally gets a nice career-worthy promotion. It's nothing crazy, but it's noteworthy. Now that you have worked a few months on the position, with a bit of that salary increase that came with it, you decide to and are encouraged/supported in taking a three-week vacation during the brief slow time for just a beat before the company's busy season starts to build up again. You always wanted to write, and so you’re going to a cabin in the forest - close enough to some civilization but far enough that she can be secluded and revel in being alone, about a 30-minute drive from a tiny town, any other cabins aren't close together, etc. It’s a few hours from where you live. Aside from liking the location and the look of the place when you were scoping it out online, the thing that sealed the deal on THIS cabin over the others you were looking at? This extended stay Airbnb is a listing that can be booked automatically and SELF-CHECK IN so you don’t have to awkwardly meet up with the host/owner at any point. You *can* be outgoing, you have good family and friends, but you also like your alone time, and so when you also tell everyone you’re going to go and disconnect from everyone and not to expect to hear from you, they don't bat an eyelash too much. It’s not your first solo trip, just the first extended one.

You show up, the area is gorgeous, and the cabin is not ostentatious by any means, but it's a little bit bigger and a little bit better than you were expecting, and it feels a little too perfect and you jokingly text some people back home that this place has settled it, you’re officially going to embrace the semi-hermit author life living in a cabin in the woods, and you’re never coming back ha ha wink wink.

First days are so nice. You do a bit of writing, surf a bit of internet, watch some movies and shows that have been on your list, do some reeding, really just unwind with no obligations for the first time in a long time. Internet goes out, you message the owner through the Airbnb app on your phone, and the owner says he's on a work trip, but will either try to get someone out to fix it or come by when he's back in town and fix it himself in a couple of days. He apologizes for it being an inconvenience, you reassure him it's fine because you wanted to be disconnected from normal life in general any way, no big deal for a couple days sans wifi.

No one from the company could get out to fix the wifi, so he shows up himself two days later. He's also shown up with some lunch as a peace offering - but no pressure, he'll just leave the food if she doesn't want to have lunch with him, and he'll definitely fix the internet first. He's far too attractive and very down to earth but just a little too charming, and you’re a bit disarmed and thinking this is way too romance-novel perfect, and that even having that thought is silly, but you’ve just been reveling in books/movies/tv/your own writing so you just tells your brain to calm down.  He goes about "fixing" things. Wifi's not working on your laptop still, so he asks to see it to "fix" it. You are checking and see it’s not working on your phone yet, either. He asks you to hand it over, and you do because he clearly seems to be competent and know how to fix the system. He says it might take another few minutes, but shoots you a smile and apologizes again for the troubles with the wifi. And his gaze on you is so nice but so intense, and you make an excuse to go unpack the lunch instead of hover/so you can get out of there and breate for a second.

When lunch is ready, so is he. Lunch is charming and normal, feels too nice. You clean up together, you thanks him for coming by to fix the wifi, he casually says he fixed it for him, but not you, and you’re like, “Wait what?” and he explains he’s not leaving, either. And neither are you. If he’s not actually Nick Fowler, he is Seb playing another Nick Fowler character – money, well connected, government background/worked with too many criminals and turning too many assets, and so he's set up this little “trap” waiting for exactly the right person, and it’s you.

Plenty people have come and gone, he’s been watching and waiting. This is it, though. He’s picked, he’s sure of it. He’s never giving the phone or the laptop back, but he’s sure you will love this, too. There’s a typewriter for you to write, and as he’s saying all of this, he’s been closing in closer and closer to you, and he’s been charming and intoxicating this entire time, but now that he’s turned on his hunter mode, you’re quickly falling under, and he presses you up against the counter, cutting off your feeble protests and questions and excuses with the feel of him pinning you with his hips and then kissing you. He fucks you on the counter, and it’s too much to process because this isn’t what you want – except that most of it would be if you’d been able to write it your way instead of being caught in his game – and oh what he’s doing to your body feels too good. And he moves things to the couch, then to the bedroom, and keeps you fucked out and worn out all day, and over the days and weeks gets you so insanely drowned in Stockholm syndrome and the sex…

And he’s soft, but also dark, demanding, doting, dangerous… he’s all of it. TBD if you survive. If you’re a good girl for him, there’s nothing to worry about.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[cyberbabyangell]

₊˚⊹☆ rant

i'm at the point in my life where i left shifting for too long and now it's weighing on me.

shiftblr saved me and opened my eyes around august, at the end of the summer vacation and changed my mindset way healthier and also a lot less complicated

but school broke everything for me and made it all crash down, and i felt like i was wasting my time and life. i honestly don't remember anything from september to november because of how..like anguish i was feeling.

i ended up in an environment that i absolutely hated and vowed i wouldn't end up there. i used my shifting/loa mindset to tell myself, "i will not get there." and when not only it didn't work but i ended up in the worst outcome/reality it made all my loa mindset lose credibility in my eyes. and on top of that i was juggling so, so many things i just didn't have time to keep myself motivated so i gave up everything.

last time i "attempted" or had a mindset remotely close to shifting was in october. we're in february, and i'm starting to feel empty, the kind of emptiness that shifting fills. it's almost been 4 years for me and i'm at a point where i know deep down that this isn't the life i'm meant to live, the one i'm excited about. even if i'm pushing 17 and all the serious shit is starting for me, that i need to find colleges, that it's becoming "fun" because of art classes, i know in the end that this mindset of living here forever to me is wrong.

i spent 3 years drilling into my brain that i will live happily ever after like i'm meant to in another reality and there's no way i'm forgetting or giving it up. the fact i'm starting to become bored in a way i know only shifting can help is a telltale sign that even if i wanted to convince myself that i could live here after all, it'll be too late and i can't settle for this place anymore.

i don't know how to get back into shifting. i'm not sure of what i'm doing or if this is truly the optimal time to do that. i'm still struggling with a lot of things and i'm scared of adding myself an additional burden. but i'll try :)

────୨ৎ────

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　　

[cubstories]

Lynx

I feel like I should begin with an apology, Lynx. Hindsight can be a curse, especially when you come to the realization that you used to be, in fact, quite the asshole. Not you, I mean, me.

Back then, something about your "unapologetically gay" persona infuriated me, and I lashed out by constantly diminishing you. I can see it clearly now, but at the time the thought that my little cousin had his head in a bigger mess than mine comforted me, it was all subconscious. Not that excuses anything.

I hated your confidence. Your optimism. The way things just seemed to go your way when there was no conceivable reason that they should. Your smile, the way people reacted to it and embraced you so easily. I was jealous of you. I wanted to be you. But I couldn't. So I made it look like you were just some silly, goofy, clueless kid. So that being you wouldn't appear so... appealing.

But you always knew. You knew what you were and what you wanted. You weren't ashamed of being yourself. I was the one scared, terrified of admitting to myself and everyone around me that my life just wasn't what I wished it was.

I didn't even stop to consider that maybe you, too, were struggling. I took for granted your attention and affection as signs of my superiority and control. Dismissing your alcoholic mother and the nights your father would spend at the club as another part of your cool and exciting life instead of blaring sirens that I should retribute those gestures to you tenfold.

You don't need to tell me how stupid that is, I already figured it out.

Not that you would, would you?

You always stood by my side, always trying to shelter me, even from my own stupidity. Putting on full display who the immature one was. Even if I've grown distant and barely talk nowadays, I'll never forget the last words you've told me before I left for college: "I'll always be here if you need me, just call me."

The reason I haven't is, honestly, because I don't believe I deserve it. Whenever I check on you, you're always so busy with life. The load you used to carry was distributed by friends I didn't have back then, and look what it has done for you. You're free, thriving. And I'm sorry.

So, instead of dragging you back with a call, I'd rather tug on the happy memories we shared together, whenever I miss your warmth. The yearly race to wish each other happy birthday, when milliseconds mattered. The sleepovers where nobody would actually sleep. The conspiracies against the world. The summer vacations at grandma’s.

And your untainted, precious smile.

[bloodandhedonism]

RAPID-FIRE QUICK OPINIONS OF CITIES I'VE BEEN TO IN RECENT HISTORY

Rochester, New York (and other upstate NY cities in general) : Feels generic, but perhaps not necessarily in a bad way in this case. A resident said it's rare to see and live a place where kids still play in the front yard these days, so take as you will. New York, New York: What you'd expect these days. Allentown, Pennsylvania: Lots of industrial traffic as you'd expect, but cute town and good people. I made multiple and different kinds of friends here, which I consider very good for this sort of thing. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: Homey. Don't go too far west, though or you'll run into Pennsylvanians. Remember James Carville! Baltimore, Maryland: Cutesy, gives vibes of home. Funny to see products from businesses by people I grew up with in places there. Washington, DC: It really does try to be a commercial with everyone perfectly chosen from central casting. Bad vibes, avoid, avoid. Get out if you live there. Imperial capital though, what does one expect. Norfolk, Virginia: Military city as you'd expect, and by far the most "Southern" feeling city in this list. Interesting contrast between the attempted beachiness and the dominating military stuff. St. Augustine, Florida: The best city in Florida by far, but losing its soul over the years and I'm very worried. Flagler College students will be window dressing for the upscale middle-aged tourists coming there. Tampa, Florida: Genuinely horrible. Worst city on this list, one huge slum posing as a 'regular' city. Unfriendly people. Telling every other billboard is for a lawyer promising to get you big money. Bad sign of the future. Orlando, Florida: Better than Tampa I suppose, but leaning way too hard into being Red State America's family vacation Mecca, which will lead to issues for it in the future. This city isn't for me. Denver, Colorado: People there like me, at least one person recognized my face from before, and mountains are cool. Las Vegas, Nevada: Very middlebrow, which I don't say as a compliment. Seeing middle aged people in cosplay out in public in non-convention contexts was embarrassing. Only interesting bit was seeing where Balrog's Street Fighter II stage was IRL. Reykjavik, Iceland: Neat place. Felt like the USA but cold and barren, of course. Icelandics are a unique people, and a small part of me almost wants to classify Iceland with North America than Europe since the society just feels different from regular Europe. I always thought it was worth noting the tectonic plate cleaves through the island. London, England: Honest with itself in that it's big, very big, and touristy too, which for said honesty reasons I respect it. I liked it. British people really are the Americans of Europe. I shouldn't, but I like the UK. I will visit the midlands soon, so I hope to see a fun contrast. Brussels, Belgium: Also an honest city, in this case in that it's a transnational confederal capital for a lot of places. Mons, Belgium: Lovely. Friendly and great people. Taking the train to it and seeing the scenes of rural life reminded me of the countryside I'd see back home. Paris, France: Genuinely lovely, and my favorite city of this list. More cities should be like Paris. I didn't see or deal with any of the bad stuff I heard about it. Friendly people. I need to go back here. Frankfurt, Germany: Definitely generic. Lisbon, Portugal: Touristy because it's warm and honest with itself about it in that case, which is also fine. I like warm weather so I liked Lisbon. Warsaw, Poland: Likable. Quite a nice city, and Poles are a very welcoming people. (Be proud of your country, @aomitois.) A friendliness emanated from the city which I liked. Has an optimism which I find intriguing. Budapest, Hungary: Strangely, I was reminded most of Salisbury, Maryland with this one: there was an odd familiarity driving and walking through the city. Like with Warsaw, it's legitimately trying hard, but that makes sense for Eastern Europe in this era.

I'm sure there's more cities that can go on here, probably a lot more, but this is off the top of my head and the entry is big enough as is. COMING SOON: The Middle East and East Asia! Maybe Latin America. Africa is more likely than Australia. Watch as I wind up in Antarctica for some dumb reason.

[lyledebeast]

Last year, I was threatening to write a meta series on mothers in classic Christmas movies, but other things got in the way as this is Things Getting in the Way of Plans Season. So, let's try this again.

To recap from last year, most of the mothers in my favorite Christmas movies have one important thing in common: they're dead (Prancer (1989) and the House Without a Christmas Tree (1972). When they are alive, they are often stay at home moms (Christmas Vacation (1989), A Christmas Story (1983), The Year Without a Santa Clause (1974) and probably more that are slipping my middle-aged mind). The first mother I want to talk about, though, is none of these things. Jon Favreau's Elf (2003) is a new classic that draws heavily on much older Christmas classics made by Rankin-Bass with one notable exception. Emily Hobbs (Mary Steenburgen) is a working mom who provides an example of the kind of work/life balance that alludes her husband until the end of the movie.

The first time we meet Emily, she is hearing for the first time about something Walter (James Caan) has been grappling with for two days at this point: he has a son from a previous relationship who believes he is a Christmas elf. Emily handles this news with surprising optimism and is nothing but generous and kind to Buddy. In some respects, this puts her in company with other Christmas movie moms whose main job is dealing with the fallout of their husbands' choices with as much dignity as they can manage. What makes Emily different is that it is not only her family that benefits from her accommodation of others. When Jovie sings "Santa Clause is Coming to Town," Emily is the first person to join her. Although both of these women have been drawn to Central Park in the same way--seeing people they care about on the news--there is no indication that the have met or that Emily is able to identify Jovie as Buddy's date from earlier that evening. Emily just sees a stranger in need of support and gives it to her.

There is a limit to Emily's accommodations, though, and she is as admirable for what she will not do as what she does. When Walter suggests that she stay home with Buddy, she refuses: "I have a budget meeting tomorrow." Although we never learn exactly what Emily's job is, it is taken seriously enough that Walter does not press the matter any further. She is still the person who does the most domestic labor, but when her husband takes his share of the dinner she has prepared to eat in his room, she lets her son know that is not acceptable behavior. "It's no secret that you haven't really been there for [Michael]" she tells Walter later. Unlike other Christmas moms, she does not accept that it is her job to run interference between her husband and their child. If Walter wants to repair his relationship with Michael, that is up to him.

Elf's representation of women is pretty solid considering how few of them there are in the story (I recently learned that Wanda Sykes was originally cast to play Buddy's manager at Gimbels, which no doubt would have been delightful!) I want to comment further on Jovie and Buddy's relationship, but that is a subject for a different post. It is worth pointing out that when Buddy visits the North Pole with his family at the end of the movie, he is holding his baby daughter for the entirely of the scene, showing the audience a final time the importance of balancing roles in a relationship. Although she is not one of the more dynamic central characters, Mary Steenburgen gives a portrayal of a mom who is kind, generous, and strong all at the same time. Christmas moms have come a long way since Rankin-Bass!

[brainrattlers]

Play It Cool - Tyson Jost (43/n)

Pairing: Tyson Jost x OFC (AJ)

Word Count: 2860

Warnings: A little bit of angst, but nothing bad, I promise. Probably language.

Need to start from the beginning? Here's where it all began! https://at.tumblr.com/brainrattlers/play-it-cool-tyson-jost-1n/p7no8u1hzuza

Want to catch up? Check out the Masterlist!

Author's Notes: I. Am. BACK!!! Short chapter, struggling a bit to find words, but I figured I'd get something posted, and then add some of the stuff brewing in the next few weeks than rush it all at once. It's been a wild few months, looking for a new job (I'm still employed, just looking to upgrade), but also adding a bunch of side gigs to my list of things I shouldn't be doing but here I am.

So what's going on with Tyson and AJ? Summer vacation has started, and these two have a few months to do whatever they want. Let the planning begin!

*****

While the season didn’t end quite as hoped by the Sabres, Tyson remained optimistic about things to come. His end-of-season exit interview went well, according to him, saying he wanted to be back with the team. Locker cleanout days are always a little emotional, but Tyson was in good spirits, all things considered.

AJ was trying to keep the same level of optimism, but her gut kept her guarded, knowing that a lot of what was to come was actually hinging on a few other players on the team. If Okie and Girgensons stay put, there was a good chance that there wouldn’t be a spot for Tyson. Not only that, but of course Tyson becomes a restricted free agent July 1st. And as is, Okie was signed to a single year contract. It now was falling on the fate of Girgensons.

So really, it was a game of “hurry up and wait.” AJ was starting to feel like that might just be how life was going to be from here on out with Tyson until a team realizes how much of a gem Tyson is. Granted, AJ is a little biased in her description of Tyson’s style of play and how much teams really could use a player like him…

“You know, we can go do whatever we want, right?” Tyson jostled AJ’s foot on his lap, noticing she was scrolling aimlessly on her phone. “I have some friends up in BC asking me to come out. You want to go on vacation? Grandma and Grandpa would love to see you again…”

“... really? Using Emily and Jim as bait to get me to up north? You play dirty, Tys.”

Tyson grinned, knowing AJ had a soft spot for his grandparents. She had lost hers years prior, and missed the grandparent vibe. You know the one, where you get spoiled, either with a favorite meal, or a $10 bill slid into your hand when mom wasn’t looking. It really isn’t even about the getting spoiled part either, there is something so special hearing all the stories from their past, learning bits and pieces about what made them the people they are today. It truly was something she missed with her own grandmothers since their passing. Emily and Jim definitely brought that vibe to her, and embraced her as their own grandchild.

AJ thought about it though, and Tyson could see the gears turning in her head. He waited patiently for her to say something more, because an idea was definitely brewing.

“What would you think about some summer shenanigans?” AJ squinted at Tyson, gauging his response to the vague proposition.

“What kind of shenanigans?”

To be honest, AJ was missing some of her old friends. The world can feel so small with the internet, bringing people together digitally, but it’s just not the same as in person. AJ missed seeing Jess. It’d been months since they were in the same space, meeting up back in February in St. Louis. She missed Nate. She missed some of the other friends she made in Denver during her brief time there.

“I was thinking maybe talking to Jess, and as soon as she could, maybe a couples’ trip with her and Nate? Like maybe they come up here, or we go out there, or… we meet up somewhere? I’m not sure yet. I hadn’t really asked her either, but I know she’d be down. The only hindrance at the moment is…” AJ got quiet, realizing what she was going to have to say, “Nate’s still in the playoffs.” 

AJ cringed at having to say that, considering how last season went. Thankfully, Tyson’s work on himself last summer and this year with family and a sports psychologist really helped his mental game. He nodded in understanding, and didn’t even flinch. Buffalo made a good run at the playoffs, but just came up short. It was going to whole new level for the team next season, so right now, his feelings were not hurt by the statement.

This time, it was Tyson that got a little quiet, chewing on his lip for a minute before responding.

“I’m sorry I hadn’t brought it up sooner, but a few of the guys are talking about heading down to Hilton Head, kind of an end of season guys trip,” Tyson sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, “We’d be leaving Monday.”

“It’s okay, you know I’ve got plenty going on here, besides, it’s not like my plan can happen quite yet anyway. But would you be interested, if they are?”

A smile broke out on Tyson’s face, followed by a nod. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to AJ’s temple. 

“Yeah, that sounds like a blast. You’re the best babe!”

AJ chuckled as Tyson skipped off to the bedroom. Looking around the living room, kind of lost in thought, she grabbed her phone.

AJ: Would you and Nate be up for some shenanigans this summer?

Not even a minute had passed before AJ’s phone was vibrating in her palm.

Jess: We’re in.

***

AJ got used to Tyson being away on roadies, and she always found things she could do that she enjoyed while he was gone. Eating food that he didn’t like (or shouldn’t eat, and likely, she probably shouldn’t eat either), sprawling out in bed, listening exclusively to her music, staying up late and watching cheesy movies… stuff like that. It was nice to have AJ time. 

But truth be told, AJ missed Tyson while he was on the guys’ trip. He was checking in multiple times daily (and getting absolutely roasted for it), but it didn’t make up for the little things she was missing, like him wrapping his arms around her midsection as she’d chop vegetables for dinner, swaying to the music they had on in the kitchen. The random notes that would be written in the steam on the bathroom mirror.  The way Tyson would pull AJ in as the little spoon, mumbling incoherently as he drifted off to sleep.

Even the kinda gross things, because, let’s face it, Tyson’s a guy, AJ missed. The way Tyson would burp after chugging a protein shake. How he’d stick his stinky sock feet in AJ’s face when they were laying opposite each other on the sofa together. The occasional facial hair clippings littering the sink in the bathroom. (Although that was just more irritating than gross.)

AJ was simply missing Tyson.

After cleaning the kitchen up from breakfast, AJ headed to the hobby room, and flopped on the sofa, where one of Tyson’s hoodies was thrown on. Rolling over, she reached up over her head and grabbed it, spying which one it was. It smelled faintly of his body wash as she inhaled, sighing into it. Although not really cold, AJ put it on and fell asleep in a somewhat warm embrace of his hoodie.

The buzzing of her watch urged AJ to open her eyes as a certain someone was wanting to FaceTime.

A very groggy looking AJ appeared on Tyson’s screen.

“Hey baby girl, I didn’t wake you up, did I? Is… that my hoodie?”

AJ rubbed her eyes and looked down, and back at her phone camera with a smile.

“I suppose it is. I was napping but I really shouldn’t be if I want to get to bed at a decent hour tonight. What are you guys up to today?”

Tyson told the tales of going golfing and hanging out at the beach with the guys. All the different restaurants they stopped at. But there was something a little off about how he was acting, but AJ couldn’t put her finger on it.

Finally when he stopped talking, AJ piped up.

“You good?”

Biting his lip, Tyson put his thoughts in order before opening his mouth.

“I mean, yeah, but, no. It was weird, last night we went clubbing, and the guys were pairing off with girls they met there, and there were two that wouldn’t leave me alone and…”

AJ’s heart was pounding hard, worried about what might be said next.

“... I had to just get out of there, I took a Lyft back to the house. I… just miss you.”

The breath AJ didn’t know she was holding came out in a gasp, and Tyson caught the tear coming down her cheek. It wasn’t her intention to get emotional, but it hit her hard. And seeing AJ tearing up, made him get teary-eyed as well, but he wasn’t sure why she was to begin with.

The dam broke.

“I miss you too babe, so much,” AJ just let the words fall out of her mouth without a filter, “It just hasn’t been the same here without you. You make my world better.”

Tyson was wiping his eyes, trying to act like he wasn’t crying at all when one of the guys came by him asking if he were about ready to head out. 

A mumbled, “Yeah, uh, I’ll be just a minute, no, my allergies are acting up or something, I’m good,” was overheard, before he looked back at his phone. “Hey, we’re heading out for another course, call you tonight before bed?”

“Of course. Go kick some ass on the green! Love you.”

“Love you too, talk tonight,” Tyson blew a kiss at his phone.

AJ “caught” it and smooshed it on her lips before ending the call.

Now wide awake from that unexpected conversation, AJ sat up and started thinking about what she could do to fill some time between now and this evening when Tyson would call. There was only so much cleaning she could do around the apartment to ease her racing mind, so she grabbed her tablet and started looking at vacation spots, texting Jess along the way.

AJ: Would you guys like to come up here? I know it isn’t fancy like Denver is, but there is so much cool stuff to see and do here, really! 

Jess: Hmm… I’d be down, but I’m thinking we should get away from EVERYTHING. Mexico has been calling my name here lately, I miss it.

AJ: I’ve never been. I’m looking up some places though. Cancun looks fun, and there seemingly is a lot to do around there. Ooh, they have a big art museum nearby, that sounds good. And Chichen-Itza and Tulum aren’t terribly far either.

Jess: You’re forgetting margaritas and all the amazing food!

AJ: Yes, that too! lol

AJ could feel Jess rolling her eyes at the choices of things she wanted to see. That was the funny thing too, if Nate had heard what AJ was saying, she was pretty sure he too would be rolling his eyes in the same way. Those two really are perfect for each other.

As the afternoon and evening went on, texts were sent back and forth about potential places to stay. It was just going to be a game of figuring out WHEN, with Avs in the playoffs, and knowing Tyson, he probably already had a summer packed with things to do. AJ knew that he was planning on heading out to Edmonton, and had mentioned something about maybe working out with some trainers in Vancouver for a bit. Tyson was never one to really stop and relax somewhere for an extended amount of time, other than with his family whenever he could.

The planning texts were interrupted by a facetime with Tyson, who seemed far more chipper than he did previously.

“How was golfing? Your nose looks a little pink, shoulda worn more sunscreen,” AJ joked, knowing he always gave her shit as she was pasty white and burned within minutes in the sun.

“It was good, shot five over, not bad for a course I’d never played on. Yeah I got a bit of sun today. Thankfully we’re heading out tomorrow. You still picking me up from the airport? I get in around noon.”

AJ looked panicked, looking at her watch, then back at her phone screen, seeing Tyson’s face contort into concern. 

“You are picking me up, right? I mean, I can get a ride with one of the guys, but…”

The giggles couldn’t be contained, and fell out of AJ’s mouth. 

“Of course, goof, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I haven’t seen you in like a week,” she grinned, “Besides, I found a new burger place I want to try, figured we could swing by on the way home.”

A wave of relief washed over Tyson, knowing he was going to get to see AJ as soon as he got out of the airport. AJ then saw Tyson squint a bit, and roll his eyes after his phone buzzed. Quirking her eyebrow, he could tell she was wondering what was going on just by the subtle movement.

“The rest of the guys went back clubbing again tonight.  It’s just not as fun, not without you here. I just didn’t want a repeat of last night, it just felt… wrong. In fact, I just got called an old man for turning in early. I’m not going to feel like shit on the plane at least.” 

The two chuckled, and continued talking for a bit, until it was evident Tyson really did get a bit of extra sun and he was pretty wore out, getting sleepier with each new topic that was brought up. After a few minutes of being disgustingly cute and sending kisses to each other, they finally ended the call.

Tyson laid in bed, still feeling awkward about the previous night, despite nothing actually happening. It did occur to him just how much he and AJ complemented each other. Dancing with random women in a bar no longer was exciting. He’d rather dance in the kitchen with AJ. Taking a woman back to his hotel was the furthest thing on his mind, unless that woman was AJ. 

“Maybe I really am turning into an old man!” he thought to himself, as a smile crept up on his face as he drifted off to sleep.

AJ woke up late the next morning, relaxing in bed, completely sprawled out, for one last time before Tyson would be back. Spending an hour scrolling through Instagram, she finally got up, got a shower, and a quick breakfast before grabbing a small baggie from one of the cabinets in the kitchen and heading out the door. AJ and her black Soul hit the road, heading to the airport.  

Once the car was parked, AJ headed inside, outside of the security area. Looking around, AJ saw her target… and it wasn’t Tyson.  With a smile and a wave, she headed over to Karma, whose ears perked up when Ann waved back, asking if Karma knew who was coming.

“Hey Karma, who is a good girl? IT IS YOU!!!” AJ scratched Karma’s ears before giving her a treat from the bag. “Hey Ann, how is it going today?”

So who are Karma and Ann, you might ask? Karma is an adorable, frosty-faced Jack Russell Terrier/Beagle mix, and Ann is her owner. Together, they patrol the Buffalo Niagara International Airport as a therapy dog team. Most dogs you see in airports have patches on their harnesses saying “SERVICE DOG, DO NOT PET”... but Karma has a bandana on that says “PLEASE PET ME!” AJ met them earlier in the year during one of her trips to see Tyson on the road, and had since become friends with the human/canine duo. Ann always asked how Tyson was playing, and Karma always was up for a belly rub as the two would chat. Today, Ann was in for a treat, she’d never actually got to meet a professional athlete despite all her time at the airport. 

Finally, coming out of the secure area, Tyson spied AJ sitting on the bench petting a dog.

"AJ found the only pettable dog in the whole place, that's so her!"  Tyson thought to himself, smiling the whole way to her.

Putting his bag down, Tyson found AJ already clinging her arms around him for a tight hug.

“Hey Tys, this is Ann, and…”

Before she could even say anything else, Tyson was already leaning down petting Karma’s head.

“This must be Karma, I’ve heard so much about you already from AJ!” Tyson leaned up and shook Ann’s hand, “And you too, it’s nice to meet you!”

Ann was usually chatty as all get out, but she was in awe of the Buffalo Sabres player standing before her. Finally breaking her out of the spell, Ann finally was back to telling stories and giving advice on where to go get dinner for the night. After gabbing for a few more minutes, and a few more treats for Karma, AJ finally convinced Ann that there were probably more passengers and airport/airline staff that could use some Karma pets and kisses. Everyone parted ways, with AJ promising she’d be back soon to see them again.

Walking hand in hand to the parking lot, AJ posed a question to Tyson.

“So what would you think about going to Mexico?”

The gears were already turning in Tyson’s head.

[tricornes]

i feel bad talking about my life recently because things have actually gone very well. and i doubt that many people are having the same experience, so i think i will squirrel this update away on this blog with zero followers and bask in my own amazement.

i doubt my future self will forget what happened but just in case: everything was fine until it was not. in october, i was told that my performance was subpar at my semi-annual review. the lack of clear goals, isolation from the rest of my team, and sheer chaos of the job had started to wear on me. i bumbled through into december, when i was told that i could either walk away or go on a PIP.

i chose the PIP, which turned out to be the right choice, even if it made january a living hell. i continued to try and fail to achieve something. my optimism, fortunately, was not great enough to make me think i would stay at this company. so i applied like mad for something else. i got a few rejections, refined my resume, and kept going.

two more weeks went by. on a random sunday, i got a message from a recruiter at a company i recognized, complimenting my resume and asking if i would interview. it turns out that interviews are much easier when you have actual experience to draw upon. it also helped that my potential coworkers were pretty easy to talk to!

friday 1/31, i was set to have a meeting with my managers. and i was prepared to quit. but i saw that an HR rep had started the meeting, so they took action before i could. and that was fine. it was mildly humiliating, and i could tell that my supervisor hated me. but i no longer required her approval. i had an interview later in the afternoon anyway.

that interview went about as well as an interview could go. i could tell that the manager liked me, and i was near 100% confident that i would be hired. they said i'd hear early the next week, so i did prepare for the possibility of rejection. but! as i was preparing to leave the house for a get-together with my now ex-coworkers, i put my phone on to charge. when i checked it, i had a text from the recruiter, informing me that the team wanted to hire me :)

so i was unemployed for about 8.5 hours. and now i am on a paid vacation thanks to the PTO i accrued! it is hilarious that i stuck around this long because i got 48 hours at the start of the year. i'm sorry, but i'm not. because even though i was definitely not great at my job, the training i got SUCKED. the support i got SUCKED. i got conflicting messages all the time. by the end, my supervisor didn't want to believe ANYTHING i said. and dragging myself to the office 3x/week was taxing. i think being mostly remote will also be taxing, in a different way. but with therapy etc i think i may have a chance to not fuck it up.

as a wise man once said: if you don't get punished, you don't have to learn.

i will miss all the parts of my job that are not work. i feel a little bad knowing that i am taking a not-insignificant chunk of joy and whimsy with me when i leave! even though i wasn't particularly close to any of my cohort, i think they will miss the comic relief, if anything. and i'll miss my spanish class.

i'm not sure that anyone in my life knows all of this information, or how bad it really was. so in case i get amnesia, i guess i'll have to figure out that tumblr exists in order to remember how batshit (in a positive way) i can get when the chips are down.

i guess that's all for now.

[piercingnovember]

i’m stuck again. it’s selfish of me to feel stuck but who am i but myself. who can i understand in the ways i understand me. i wish i could kill myself. most days it doesn’t feel worth it to keep trying. the loneliness is eating me alive. its killing every joy i’ve ever felt. the anger and the depression overcome me, they overcome anything i could feel.

i’ve tried to be positive and look at life differently but every time i do, someone reminds me that i shouldn’t think happy thoughts. they tell me im stupid and young and unrealistic.

i wish i was not in a relationship with an addict. i thought about saying “in love with” but at this point im not sure. grief is so heavy and it hangs off his body but why must i throw away any pieces of optimism or joy.

today he told me to be quiet when i laughed loudly and joyfully and then got angry at me for - well - becoming silent. how am i supposed to live as a perfect person. i think what’s expected of me is being a caring machine. he wants me to be perfect in the way a mother should be (but never is). nostalgia is lying to him about what he had so he takes the anger out on me for not filling the shoes that have never actually been walked in before. it’s exhausting. i just want to be a machine.

i think it’s because i don’t care about him anymore. i just don’t. my empathy ran out years ago when he showed his cruelty time and time again and it’s been dwindling me down.

sometimes i just want to cry when i think of how he’s stolen my youthful joy. he hated it so he carved it out of me. im only me when im away from him but is that even true? maybe the hateful, unempathetic, empty person that i am with him is now the truth.

i don’t know what to do for him. how do you act when someone has stolen your kindness. how do you act when they demand you find some? fucking thief. i cannot pull kindness from nowhere because i expect machines as well. we’re alike in that way.

i hate his grief and he hates my apathy. we don’t like the complicated shit. i’m the selfish one. i know that.

tonight we fought (reasons mentioned previously about the silence following the request for silence) and as he cursed and yelled at me i said that thing you should never say to anyone. and i don’t even know if i think it’s true. i told him that he’s using his grief as an excuse to be an asshole - to tell and fight and binge drink and always say that i’m the fire starter. that’s when he told me he can’t even look at me.

we’re on vacation. which i also fully paid for as an escape for him. and we have almost an entire week left. what am i supposed to do with an empty pit in me feeling so alone. this must be a fraction of how he feels.

[alexanicholsauthor]

Extended vacations. And bitch-slapping your friends.

I’m an overly creative person, and that often gets me in trouble. 😄 Whether it be with my writing or relationships, my imagination often gets the better of me, causing all sorts of issues that ordinary people simply don’t have.

No one is safe. Not my big brother, my Baby Squirrel, my Subscribestar Adult members, or even my friends.

Because of this, I’ve learned it’s best to occasionally withdraw from everyone for a while and funnel my energy into my current writing project.

Sometimes, isolating myself like this doesn’t work, however. Especially with the people closest to me won’t let me. Even when I yell and cry at them to leave me alone because my emotions are bouncing everywhere, sometimes they just refuse to listen and assure me that they know what’s best. Like mansplaining, but with friends. Friendsplaining? Is that even a thing? Fuck it; it is now. I mean, I understand that they have the best intentions at heart, but my reaction to their attempt to pacify me is a bit startling: I want to get physically violent with them. Like, hit them. Slap them. No, bitch-slap them. Most of the time, I repress my hostility and just smile, but sometimes I slip a bit. I don’t hit them or anything (well, my big brother doesn’t count), but I do yell.

And it doesn’t matter where I am. Believe me, I’m not bragging about it. I’m actively working on it.

If you’ve ever argued with me, you know I can cut deep when I’m upset. I hurt you. Again, it’s not something I’m proud of, and I’m trying hard to change this about myself, but it’s a long, hard battle to fight. I think one of these days I need to go to one of those rage rooms I occasionally see on TV, where you can just walk in and destroy shit. Every time I see someone in one of those rooms, I start salivating because they look like so much fun! My inner loli bloodlust kicks in, and I find myself reacting to each yell or breaking of something.

If I could just figure out some sort of middle ground or substitute…

I have no idea why I’m the way I am, but at this stage of my life, it wouldn’t matter if I knew why. It’s just who I am. It’s hardwired into me. So, since changing it seems to be out of the question, I need to find a way to cope with it in a non-destructive manner. Holding it in doesn’t work, and lashing out at the people I love (whether they understand or not) isn’t optimal either.

So, if anyone has an idea, let me know…