#the sun started to rise at 4am this week so

[illfoandillfie]

farmer!Jack au where when he has to get up super early sometimes (like 4am) to help him wake up he likes to fuck you, but you don’t want to get up that early so he has permission to do it anyway…

Blurb Advent 2023: Day 22

😈😈😈

Warnings: somnophilia, p in v sex, unprotected sex, reference to oral and anal as well

You’d never imagined yourself dating a farmer. Not that you’d have ever totally ruled it out but rural romances were your least favourite sort and you preferred working behind a desk to out in a field. And the thought of having to do anything at the crack of dawn was, frankly, against human nature. You simply weren’t a morning person and couldn’t picture yourself on a farm. But then, you’d met Jack and somehow you’d fallen in love with one. He loved fresh air and the satisfaction of fixing things with his own two hands. And while he said he liked sleeping in too, for him that meant still being abed at 6.30 in the morning. It was something of a miracle that you worked so well together but it was undeniable that you did. Of course, it helped that he only rarely expected you to join him when he rose before the sun. He had a couple of hired farm hands that helped him get through the work, and you had your own job in town to worry about. So it was only on very special occasions that he asked you to rise with him.  

Earlier in your relationship, just after you’d moved into his ranch, he had tried to convert you to the wonders of a 4 AM start. He’d tried to play up the romance of it, providing a thermos of coffee as you watched the sun rise and things like that, but it was hard for you to feel the same. It was still 4 AM. Then, when romance didn’t work, he tried bribing you with sex. Not the worst idea in theory, but in practice sex just made you sleepy. You’d just roll over right after and drop off again. And it was the same story no matter what position or form the sex took. So, rather than a good start to the morning, he was just momentarily interrupting your sleep and tiring you further. And, eventually, he had to accept you would never feel the same about early starts as he did, which would have been easier if he hadn’t conditioned himself a little.  

In the weeks he’d tried his sex tactic, he’d discovered he quite liked starting the day with a good fuck. Getting off put him in a good mood. Sex helped shake off sleep and get his blood pumping and his heart racing and by the time he’d cum he was ready to get into the day. Better than coffee he’d said to you whilst trying to make you see things his way. Of course, it became clear you disagreed and he lost his newly discovered favourite ritual. Mornings became harder than they ever had been after that. It just wasn’t the same waking up on his own. His arguments became less about you joining him in his work and more about convincing you that a brief interruption to your sleep, just long enough for a good fuck, was good for the relationship and good for you.  

In the end, you’d given in. Not entirely - there was no way in hell you’d get up that early without a very good reason. But you’d come to an arrangement that suited you both. As long as he didn’t expect you to wake, Jack could fuck you at whatever time he wanted. He’d been unsure at first. He was a gentleman for one thing, he’d been raised not to touch a woman who wasn’t conscious enough to ask for it. And, once you’d gotten him over that hurdle, he’d become concerned that it wouldn’t be as good if you weren’t actively participating. But he’d agreed to try. So, you went to bed without underwear on to make it easier on him, and he’d discovered so as he gently parted your legs, very mindful of what might wake you. He soon found out you were responsive even while asleep. You made little sighing sounds and small moans as he touched you. You got wet as easily, if not easier, than when you were awake. And your body seemed to react innately to his touch, legs falling open with minimal guidance, pussy clenching as he pressed into you. He came fast that first time, mind blown by how easy it had been to do. How well you’d taken him without even thinking about it, how he’d still been able to make you cum, how the risk of waking you made him feel naughty and dirty and so very hard.  

He experimented a bit – tested out how much you could handle before you woke, tested out how you reacted to being eaten out and having your ass fucked. The first was fun but he preferred doing that when you were able to fully appreciate it, the second was also enjoyable but so much more effort and harder on you. In the end he decided it was easiest and best if he just stuck to using your cunt. Which suited you perfectly. Occasionally you’d wake up with him thrusting into you, groping your tits, shamelessly and somewhat possessively staring at you. Sometimes you’d wake alone with a mess of his cum between your thighs. It was hard to decide which was hotter. You loved seeing him of course and being fully aware of what he did to you, but there was something very arousing about knowing he’d used you like some sort of sex toy, masturbated with your body while you’d been asleep. That he found you so irresistible he couldn’t keep himself from taking you. Sometimes waking with cum stuck to your skin and your cunt still wet from his touch, you couldn’t resist getting yourself off. Though waking in such a state was also a good extra push to get you out of bed each morning before you looked at your phone.  

And then there was the unforeseen side effect. There was one hole Jack wasn’t game to use while you slept, and frankly you were a little glad for that. But, because he couldn’t use your mouth in the mornings, he became extra excited by the idea of a blowjob at every other moment of the day. In fact, the routine somnophilia had only seemed to increase the amount of sex you were otherwise having. It was understandable for you since you didn’t always get off when he did, and even when it happened you had no memory of it. For Jack though it was obscene. He’d would wrap up his morning’s work and return to the house in time to meet you while you were getting ready. He’d invariably catch sight of the unmade bed, be reminded of how completely you’d given yourself to him, and be ready to go again. You’d have just washed one load off when he’d hop in the shower to give you another, or else you’d end up kneeling on the kitchen floor, licking the sweat from his cock while he groaned about how good you were to him. In the evenings he was more interested in using your ass since it was easier to do while you were awake, or else he’d want you to ride him and do some of the work for a change. You laughed the first time he said it but he’d meant it, laying back with his arms behind his head while you bounced on his cock. He’d eaten you out after though, until you were begging him to stop, as repayment for everything. 

Because he woke so early, Jack usually went to bed before you but even so, there were nights he still managed to convince you to warm him through the night. You’d go to sleep full of him, his hand resting over your cunt like he owned it. You’d cum like that a few times when the heel of his palm touched your clit just right. And you were never quite sure if it was accidental or intentionally to keep you wet and make you easier to fuck when he woke. 

[mostlyonthefloor]

Brotherband Sleep Headcanons

Source(s): Bro trust me

Edvin sleeps unreliably - sometimes he gets to bed late, often he wakes up early, because of the work he does for the crew making meals. However, his hardline is that he cannot be woken up between midnight and 4am. He is not a naturally grumpy person but if you wake him up at 3am for any reason less than his life is in imminent danger he will bite your head off (your life doesn't count. your life your problem he still has an hour of sleep left) That's not to say that he only sleeps four hours a night but those are the only four hours he will consistently sleep every night.

Ulf's favourite time to take watch is in the middle of the night. He loves how serene it is, and tracking his time by watching the moon set over the ocean. Also, nothing really happens in the middle of the night because all the potential enemies are also asleep. Has a symbiotic relationship with Edvin.

Wulf's favourite time to take watch is the last watch, in the morning. It means he gets a block of uninterrupted sleep earlier in the night, and he loves watching the sun rise while everyone stirs and wakes. He's memorised who tends to wake in what order, and he enjoys the feeling of being the first one up.

Hal tends to sleep very little on board ship, since he's either steering or subconsciously paying attention to the ship's movements. So when they're on land for whatever reason, he sleeps a lot. Unless he's in the grip of some idea, he might sleep twelve hours in one night (and then go back to sleeping two hours a night for the next three weeks 😬). Thankfully, he doesn't need a lot of sleep to function.

Stig needs a reasonably high amount of sleep to function well. He can live life on a little bit of sleep, but he won't really be having a lot of fun unless he's had eight hours at least. It doesn't all need to be taken during the night though - Stig is a big napper. He also sleeps in really weird positions, since he's quite flexible. A favourite of his is scrunched up on his side in a rowing well with his back against the side of the ship and his head halfway under his knee. It's a bit creepy.

Jesper sleeps all. the. time. He loves to sleep it's his favourite activity <3 It's because he's never sure when the next time he'll get to sleep somewhere safe is

Stefan remembers nearly every one of his dreams. He doesn't dream every night, but he remembers them all. They're mostly a bit mundane, but once every year or so he has a mildly prophetic dream. However, he doesn't usually realise it until after the event has happened - he looks back at his dreams in the few months beforehand and goes ahhh.

Ingvar takes a really long time to fall asleep but he doesn't mind because it's really calming and restful just to listen to the waves and everyone around him sleeping.

Lydia naturally goes to bed really late and loves the feeling of being awake when no one else is. Like Stig, she's also a big napper to make up the sleep she loses during the night. (They are nap buddies.) However, if she's tired enough she will go to bed and fall asleep Instantly.

Thorn must have 12 hours of sleep per night or he starts killing (this is why he is such a deadly warrior he's Sleepy)

[saintescuderia]

The Artist’s Way (pt. 1)

Week 1: Recovering a Sense of Safety

I would like to personally thank Saudi Arabia’s time difference. 

Last night I was faced with two options: stay up another two hours and watch FP1 in a fatigued haze where I would surely spend the entire time scrolling through Instagram, barely paying any attention to what was happening and wake up tired the next day. Or, I could use the 4am start time of FP2 as a motivator to get up early. 

The universe rewarded me for going with option two as I watched Fernando Alonso take the top spot that was, for once, not occupied with Max Verstappen. I then was faced with the next decision of go back to sleep and wake up in a few hours tired and sluggish? or commit to staying awake and make the most of an early morning. 

And the universe rewarded me with a burnt coffee at the cafe I walked to spend the rest of my morning being productive. 

Still, coffee aside, I am currently writing this at a cafe where I don’t feel the need to drown out the noise. The fashionable 70 year old woman who came to sit beside me commented on the fact that I was handwriting. We had a nice exchange about life and careers, how the times have changed and, of course, travelling. Because strangers can always talk about travel. 

The ink smudged on my hand was from the pages upon pages I had done as part of this week’s tasks from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. A three month commitment where you follow a week by week break down as to how to get over an artist block - or how to get back into being creative as a whole. And it’s not just for artists in the sense of painters or musicians. It’s writers as well. 

It wasn’t as if I had planned to start this in March. However, scrolling through the Books app on my iPad as I wanted something to read - I was trying to be more productive than spend the next twenty minutes on Instagram - and I found the book I had gotten and forgotten. Without anything else to do and no other better options, I started reading. 

I skipped the introduction. I had read that before. I went straight to Week 1 and read through it. It was not long and pretty easy to follow along. I found myself considering how simple the tasks outlined would be to follow. So I made a plan to start following them. 

Week 1 is about healing. That is, getting over any self-doubts you may have had about being creative. This meant affirmations and what social media would call shadow work. Where does these doubts come from? Let’s journal about it!

And I would like to personally thank Saudi Arabia’s time difference that I ended up at a cafe for my ‘artist date’ because if I had stayed in the house I would’ve fallen asleep. Instead, I watched the sun rise in a cafe where I had that soul enriching experience that only comes from connecting with a kind stranger and journaled through all the past ‘horrors’ that stemmed my insecurities about why my writing wasn’t good enough. 

Turns out, that bitch of an English teacher from when I was in Year 10 hit me more than I thought. 

And so, the month of March and its daily writing has coincided with the start of me trying to get through The Artist’s Way. I never thought this would be where I was but I also didn’t think I would manage the 4am wake up and go for a walk to a cafe and meet a lady with a cool bag. But here we are. 

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Morning Below the Skies

A FabFiveFeb - Gordon. But surprise! Gavii wrote Scott.

I used the prompt - the top. Hopefully I will have another, perhaps a birthday fic, but just in case. Happyyyyyy B-Dayyyyy fishhhhhhy

Summary: Scott and Gordon have a quiet morning

Characters: Scott Tracy, Gordon Tracy

Words: 1.7K

Post-SOS

Scott doesn’t expect an answer when he knocks on Gordon’s door. It’s out of habit that he does so. Though, he quickly follows the knock with a slow turn of the handle despite the lack of response. He silences his footsteps and gently closes the door behind him because he wants to wake him, not startle him. And out of respect for his brother’s rest, he treads carefully into the darkened room. 

His blinds are not completely light-blocking, though they are drawn closed overtop of the open window, muting the gente rush of the waves outside their villa. Generally, once Gordon falls asleep, he sleeps restlessly, deeply. But as the clock starts ticking into the early hours of morning, those many years of swimming training kick in. His mind is attuned to the first sign of the sun, and he can spring up at a moment’s notice for a rescue with a level of energy that, honestly, Scott admires. The fact that Gordon hasn’t yet awoken with the creak of the door speaks to the exhaustion residing in his muscles. Physical therapy has been draining for him.

Scott quietly hovers over the starfished sprawl of his younger brother, tangled in a mess of blankets - his comforter, the quilted sailboat designed by their grandmother, the handmade afghan that was their mother’s and passed between the brothers when they needed it most. With his fingers interlaced with the open parts of the design, between the threads of warm yarn fibers, the blanket drapes along his side and towards the edge of the bed, as if he’d been holding it and not using it for warmth. It strikes Scott just how young his brother is. 

Gordon would hate to be called small, but it's that too. Not so much in height, though he would be the shortest with Alan inching his way towards Scott. No, it was the lingering effects from his injuries retrieving Braman, the fact that he was still building up the strength in the broken arm and leg that had laid him up for weeks. 

Better than the alternative. 

Scott gently rests his hand on Gordon’s arm, giving it a slight squeeze while he says his name. As expected, it doesn’t take long for Gordon’s eyes to flutter open, and he turns to find his older brother at his bedside. 

“Scott?”

“Rise and shine.” Scott retreats, gesturing for him to come with him. He takes a sip from his water bottle while Gordon rolls himself out of bed and towards his dresser, testing his weight on leg and stretching with his whole body as he reaches for the ceiling with a yawn. 

“4AM already,” Gordon groans, though he’d fallen asleep knowing the hour of the next day’s wake up call. He and Scott planned for their excursion the day before, and part of seeing the sunrise meant getting up early to do so. “Give me five.”

Gordon eventually exits after him, having changed into a pair of light blue sweatpants and a workout tank in a pastel rainbow tie-dye. Scott raises an eyebrow at the attire, aware just how strongly his brother’s style clashes against Scott’s own favorite pair of joggers in gray and a simple black muscle tank. Scott likes clean lines and easy shades; Gordon likes loud and colorful the way John likes the stars. 

It is actually nice to see him out and about with his usual beam of brightness. For too long, his wardrobe was limited by his lack of mobility. Casts will do that to a person. And for a person like Gordon, who expressed himself fully and wholeheartedly, the limitations would’ve felt like a prison sentence. It’s finally a nice change of pace, a sign that normalcy is right around the corner.

Gordon shuts his bedroom door behind him, and frowns at what Scott knows is probably the most bewildered of proud smiles. “You’re looking at me weird. Did you sleep?” he asks him. 

“When we get back,” Scott answers without giving him time to argue, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair. “Come on.” 

The villa is silent as they traverse the bedroom hallway and step gingerly through the common areas, only speaking again once they reach the poolside patio where they won’t accidentally wake the island residents with their morning chatter. Gordon tells him about the dream he was having a few moments ago, where Sherbet was the chauffeur for FAB1 and was teaching him all of Parker’s techniques for driving a lady. 

He never finds out just what voice Sherbet sports in Gordon’s dreamworld. Caught up in the action of the dream, something about the mafia and apple strudel, Gordon misses when Scott stops at the storage shed to the side of the trail’s entrance. 

“Gordon.” He interrupts the story, he knows, but it catches his brother’s attention. The shed is barely enough space for him to enter and turn around in, but it’s there he keeps his trekking poles for longer journeys.  His brother looks up at him wide-eyed and betrayed when he presses them into his hands. “Don’t look at me in that tone of voice. Use those.” 

“I can do it,” Gordon scowls.

“So can I,” Scott tells him, “and I still need these sometimes.” They assist with stability and balance and take pressure off the knees, and the only way Scott will agree to take Gordon the rest of the way to the top of the mountain is if he agrees to use the resources available to him. Crossed arms go a long way, and Gordon adjusts the length to his height before working the straps around his wrist.

“Happy?” The words are intended to bite. 

“Very.” 

From there the trail bends and spirals and though they are working their way up hill, up to the top of the island, there are plenty of sections where their walk is flat, and also plenty others where it gets steeper as they go. Gordon has to take breaks frequently. Though he’s been working his endurance back up, his leg has been out of use for a while. This was never intended to be an easy trek. 

Scott checks his watch at the top of one such hill, where Gordon is halfway down from him, dodging tree roots and leaning heavily on one of the hiking poles. Scott can hear his heavy breathing from where he waits. 

“You aren’t feeling nauseous are you?” He calls down to him. 

“No.” Gordon gulps a swig of water from the water canteen at his side. "I’m good for it. Just need… a moment.” Scott watches him visibly steel himself before he almost sprints his way up the remainder of the hill, just to call it done. “We gonna make the sunrise?” he asks once he’s alongside Scott.

They make it though. 

Scott nods, giving him that moment to breathe, a keen eye watching for signs of trembling in his weaker leg or wavering in the determination they’ve come to rely on from their resident aquanaut. He’s easier to see in the soft early light and moonshadow.

There’s false peaks along this trail. Scott knows they’re frustrating, and it’s his brother descending into a series of grunts, as nondescript as Virgil before coffee, that clues him in to just how his brother is struggling. 

The top of Tracy Point before sunrise, and the colors start to flicker over the sea just as they sit to catch their breaths, as if the sun had waited for them to make it before the show began. Scott has watched it from here thousands of times, a couple hundred of them directly after they’d lost Dad. Too many sleepless nights, and his heart had wanted the sky - as close as he could get to it from Earth. 

It hurt too much to fly, back then. 

Gordon’s eyes have glazed looking out to sea, towards a home he’s known for so long. The two of them have settled on a large boulder at the lookout; it holds them both easily, but Gordon’s got his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms locked around his legs to pull himself smaller against the face of all of that ocean, all of that sky.

“You ok?”

He nods into his legs, then slowly stretches the sore one out along the rock. “Wanna hear something funny?” 

“Hm?” 

“Bertie. I just remembered he spoke like Buddy Pendergast in my dream.” Gordon smiles at him, a brightness at the corner of his eyes. “Here in this rainy, inhospitable environment, -”

“Don’t tell Penny all that.” 

“ -I’m your driver. Bertie Creighton-Ward.” 

“You’re so strange, you know that?”

“You love me.”

Scott grabs Gordon by the shoulders and pulls him close. “You scared me.”

Gordon sighs and tries to straighten his hair where Scott’s messed with it, and there’s something suddenly so ridiculous about Gordon’s particular brand of rainbow clashing against the explosion of orange in front of them that Scott laughs. 

And laughs. 

And can’t stop himself from laughing

Because Gordon is still here. 

Gordon laughs too, either because he’s still thinking about Bertie and the mafia, or because he finds Scott laughing as an invitation or because he’s Gordon and Gordon can pry a laugh out of the most solemn of moments. Maybe not always with tact, but at least always with good intentions. 

The air is crisp, the sky easing into the comfort of blue.

Scott’s always said the downhill journey is harder than the upward, and Gordon’s knees start to give out on the way back down to the villa. After he stumbles and catches himself with the hiking poles a few times, Scott wordlessly moves to hitch him up on his back, and Gordon’s arms fall into position loosely around his neck. 

“I know what this is all about. By the way.”

“What do you mean? I just decided to go squid hunting this morning.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just drop me off at the bottom of the hill. I’d like to retain some dignity when you tell Virgil I’m not fit for duty yet.”   

“Hm, not sure that’s what I was going to suggest.” 

“So am I cleared?!”

“Light duty, Gordo.” Scott tells him. “That means the desk.”

“That means you can’t use my health as a reason not to listen to me when you’re in Four,” Gordon teases. “I’ll take the win.”

[ronanceautistic]

it’s so crazy the objectively summer is complete ass and yet people still try and defend this annoying ass season. like i literally cannot do shit without any of my devices overheating including charging it to full. there’s bugs everywhere, it’s hot, there’s thunder, you just will not sleep comfortably for four months, water is warm, i’m always sweaty, the sun rises at 4am and sets at 10pm, the neighbours start building shit in their backyard every morning, my birthday is summer which means i’m expected to socialise like what is there to like it’s just one four-month long autistic meltdown for me. I don’t get meltdowns in the winter and on the rare occasions i do it’s usually social related. In summer they are like once a week and always sensory i hate it i hate it i hate it

[hellbrainspeaks]

Something that just tickles me is the fact that things are classified as "disorders" when they have a significant negative impact on your life and functioning. But this irregularity doesn't have a negative impact on my life when I'm allowed to sleep and wake how I'm naturally oriented. (Also DSPS/DSPD is a circadian rhythm disorder, not a sleep disorder. Moderate difference.)

My circadian rhythm is completely upside down. Left to my own devices, I naturally like to fall asleep between 5-6am and wake up sometime in the early afternoon. I am wide awake at night and get sleepy when i see the sun rising. I have 100% blackout curtains to keep it dark because, bizarrely, i find it hard to fall asleep in the light, but seeing the sunrise makes me sleepy. (If I have pulled an all-nighter, I will be miserably tired while the sun is out, but be fully alert again once it's dark and still not fall asleep until ~4am.)

When I was still required to live on a "normal" schedule, i.e. getting up for school at 6am or work as a barista at 8am, we thought i had your average insomnia, where you just never sleep. I averaged 2 hours of sleep per night with at least 1 all-nighter per week. It wasn't until I changed to night classes in college and a later work shift that I realized I could sleep consistently every night, I just needed to be allowed to wake up later.

I now work 3pm-12am. And I love it. I fucking love it. My mental health improved so much JUST from this switch. With some sleep training to get myself falling asleep and waking up at the same time every day this became doable. I wake up feeling rested. I have energy. The bags and dark circles under my eyes are gone. I can think clearly. I'm up within just enough time to start my shift and can do all of my chores and hobbies at night. I am one of the highest performing agents in my office. And they benefit tremendously from my odd hours because it means a senior agent is available to junior agents that still need help at night. Not that I give a shit about how I benefit the capitalist hellscape when the capitalist hellscape should actually be conforming to the people that power it, but to the people that invest in late night help, it is a noticeable advantage.

YOU are not the disrupter. YOU are not the disorder. Your natural state of being is not the abnormality here. Nature did not design the 9-5. The 9-5 came from unions less than a century ago. Nature designed a social species with varying sleep-wake cycles so the pack has protection from predators at all hours. You are not the problem, but once you have identified the real problem (this job doesn't suit your health needs), you can try to find solutions. There are jobs in all sorts of sectors that need after hours help.

i fucking hate

this is literally just labeling someone’s natural circadian rhythms as disordered.

“may fall asleep later than intended and feel sleepy during the day”

WHAT IF

hear me out

WHAT IF

WE JUST LET PPL LIKE ME W NATURALLY “DELAYED” CIRCADIAN RHYTHMS SLEEP WHEN THEY NATURALLY WANT TO AND STOP FORCING THEM TO CONFORM TO A BULLSHIT CAPITALISM-FUELED NIGHTMARE SCHEDULE!

like!!!!!!!!! WHY is this a DISORDER!!!

i remember during lockdown when i had nothing to do and i just started naturally letting my sleep return to what felt most natural, and that happened to be around 3am-10am ish. and i felt fucking fantastic!!!! i felt the best i’d ever felt!!!!!!

and now i’m back to bullshit trying to knock myself out using nyquil or weed or benadryl so i can wake up at 8am and get to work at 9am which is apparently “late” and i feel like shit all day and can never find the motivation to work on my books!!! during the pandemic i wrote an entire fucking book!!! usually between the hours of 11pm and 3am!!!! and now when i start to feel that itch to write i have to ignore it bc i have to go to bed at a time that feels so unnatural!!!!! fuck!!!!!!!!

i hate everything!!!!!!!!

[sociologyonthemove]

A Littered Trail by Annabel Rawsthorne

This paper will provide a descriptive account of my walking study through the student accommodation area of Cardiff; Cathays. Having spent three years familiarising myself with the area I’ve increasingly noticed the key factor that stands out above all else in this environment; the litter. Puwar (2019) conducted a walk with the key focus of litter. Within her study she points the finger at students claiming “Whilst the walls of the university extend across the city and into our neighbourhood so does the litter and rubbish”. Granted, students are publicised as careless and polluting humans (Lewis 2018). However, can we simply state the litter is due purely to students or, additionally, those non student residents? With Cathays as my urban laboratory I equipped myself with a camera in attempt to understand and break down how students interact with their surrounding environment. 

My home, in the centre of the student hub of Cathays, is where I will begin and end my circular walk. The bright blue sky, which has been hidden for the last few days, matches my positive mood. I step out of my home onto Wyeverene road, the street I’ve walked down almost every day of my university career. However, today is not like those days, I will be paying attention to aspects I usually wouldn’t acknowledge, becoming more aware of my surroundings. As I begin my walk I notice the peace and tranquillity that exists between the 4am stagger home and the 9am hustle to make the first lecture. It’s not often I manage to leave the house in this five-hour window and I hadn’t appreciated Cathays could be so quiet. However, this tranquillity comes to a swift end when the stench of the weekend hits me, with the stale smell of alcohol lingering in the air along with Wales’ victory of the six nations. The remains of cider cans are sprinkled along the street like glitter as they catch the sun almost continuing the weekend celebrations. Not long after I begin my walk I notice a recyclable bin bag on the street (0:39) and I begin to think, how is it a person makes the effort to ensure paper and plastic are disposed of in the correct coloured bag but then results to being littered so carelessly in the street? Alongside it an abandoned black umbrella which provides no use on this bright day, however would have been critical at the time it failed its owner, leaving them to the elements. With the sun gleaming in my eyes I continue to walk, I notice a bin bag that perhaps has come under attack by the abnormally large seagulls we breed here in Cardiff, with household rubbish such as egg boxes covering the side walk (2:25).

As the consistent trail of litter guides me up Wyeverne Road I begin to develop a sense of shame in the way Cardiff students are living up to the stereotype labelled to us. As Puwar (2019) states “walking is full of litter”, this statement is beginning to make sense to me, as I walk a piece of litter is never far from where my foot falls. I reach Salisbury road and the remains of take away boxes become more frequent after being discarded in people’s drunken states. As I begin to think with all my senses, I can almost taste the curry sauce from the polystyrene boxes as the smell becomes so dominate below me, which at this early hour turns my stomach (Bates and Rhys-Taylor 2017). Crossing the road, I come to two large blue bins (4:27), however rubbish seems to surround them, almost guarding them. What sense does this make that these large bins sit empty but yet around them lies rubbish? Turning on the Rhymney Street my first acknowledgement is the sudden rise in accumulation of litter. It seems storm Gareth and bin day make a lethal combination. People must be starting their day, as I begin to pass more students walking towards the city, as I get half way down Rhymney Street (5:20) I reach a pile of rubbish which I assume had been blown from the 90 mph winds we had experienced over the last week. One element I found amusing was the juxtaposed litter consuming the area around a pristine BMW, with a slight smile on my face from the contrast I continue focusing on my surroundings. The mass litter is spiralling out of control on this student dense road with no sense of care from residents (5:38). Even the small brown food waste bins remain outside, almost a week after the day of bin collection displaying how disorganised and careless students really are (7:23). The smell of fermented food which remain decomposing at the bottom of each bin dominates its surroundings, a waft of rotting banana hits me but then floats away as quickly as it came. I pick up my pace in an attempt to escape the smell.

Further down from the sea of brown food waste bins lays the remains of a desk, dismantled outside a house, the bin men have clearly declined collecting it as they so often do in Cathays. This begins to present an argument that the issue of litter is not only due to students but related to multi structural issues. A desk (7:46); a necessity at university, how is the owner coping without it? With each piece of litter I pass, endless questions pop into my head about the life of each object and their past owner. Looking forward at my route all I can see is the endless scattering of rubbish, almost like a treasure hunt; I continue to follow the trail (8:12). As I walk I notice a dark green ‘Travis Perkins’ bag lying on the floor, next to it, its trusty sidekick; a full bin bag (8:41). I begin to see patterns, where one abnormal piece of litter lies, more accumulate around it. Students clearly determine that if someone else has left an unwanted item then it sends the all clear for others to do the same. As I follow the road I enter a more residential area and the rubbish seems to subside suggesting it is the students at the core of this field of garbage (9:44). While acknowledging the lack of litter in this area I approach a house under construction, with a mass amount of rubbish both outside and inside the metal fence surrounding the home (10:45). A literal ‘dumping ground’ as people have thrown their unwanted wrappers over the fence, I notice a can of red bull propped up by the brick, I wonder whether it was once owned by the builder or student as both are always in desperate need of energy.

When weaving in and out of the scaffolding, I come into contact with an older male, who I assume is a local resident in this area. When trying to pass the narrow section simultaneously, we both stand aside in order to let the other go past before he politely says “go on”. I move through replying “thank you” (10:51). It’s nice to see residents don’t seem to hate students as much as displayed in the media, despite consuming their neighbourhood and as seen; destroying their landscape. When I reach Woodville road my first interaction is the loud noise of a lorry, maybe doing its morning deliveries to Sainsbury Local. When the vehicle comes in to view it is in fact a bin lorry (11:35). The loud engine ploughs through the road and I question why it is leaving Cathays when so much rubbish remains? However, it is known that rubbish disposal is a key issue in student areas (Munro and Livingston 2012). Again, displaying the wider multi structural issues, highlighting the complexities of this problem within the student environment. Turning right I instantly notice the minimal rubbish on the roads, perhaps those with shops make an extra effort to ensure their shop face is clear of debris or maybe we’ve left the student nest.

As I walk along the main road the absence of rubbish continues until I come across a pair of black bin bags stuffed with litter in the centre of the main pavement and on the left a bright red umbrella as well as a travel case for an animal (0:14). Why have these peculiar things ended up here? I think back to other places in the UK I have been and I realise how bizarre the rubbish around Cardiff really can be. The sound of cars rushing by the main road, splashing through puddles and the smell of melted cheese from the pizza parlours consume me. I feel my tummy grumble as I remember I haven’t even had breakfast yet! Behind a blue fence I notice a pile of what looks like abandoned clothes, what I would state as rubbish. However, I remember the big problem of homelessness we have here in Cardiff and think how these clothes may actually be an individual’s only possession and is certainly not rubbish to them (0:45). It’s interesting to think how people define rubbish and the way this definition differs from person to person. I have been walking through these streets mindlessly defining objects as rubbish. But what actually classifies something as rubbish? This is determined by the individual observing and differs throughout culture and time.

When I reach Flora Street the return of the brown food waste bins signify that I have just re-entered the student’s territory (3:57). I come across an obstruction on my route; a large amount of cardboard that has turned soft, meaning it has been outside for a number of days absorbing all the rainfall (5:18). I slowly reroute around it without too much thought, but why is it we automatically revert our route when I could have simply walked through the mushing remains of cardboard with little problems? Linking back onto Woodville road and I notice yet another bin bag (5:48). But this one is clinging to the front wheel of a car, almost imitating a clamp as it wedges itself between the curb and the wheel. Further along the road one house appears to have a junk yard as their front garden (7:38). The smell of rotting food once again filling the air around me. Their food waste bin emptied onto their gravel and bin bags dotted around, beautiful daffodils trying to break through the rubbish to shed some light. It is clear students occupy this property due to a lack of pride in their surroundings. It is unlikely they would treat their home away from university like this, is it a statement of intent, to live in these conditions?

Finally, as I reach the beginning of Wyeverne road, the home stretch, I feel the crunch of shattered glass at the sole of my shoe (8:58). The scratch like nails down a chalk board making me shiver and clench my jaw. A shelf of a fridge has been shattered outside the house. I can’t help but wonder why only a shelf has been binned? What happened to the rest of the fridge? Just a few steps forward and a group of coat hangers lay coatless on the floor. As I’ve walked my eyes have been opened and I’ve noticed my surroundings of disregarded objects in a much deeper sense than before, confirming how Smith and Hall say “gain understanding of the everyday experiences” (2017, p40).

I have come to the end of my walk and I can identify the areas where students reside by simply looking at the surrounding rubbish. It is clear those whom are permanent residents take more pride in their neighbourhood and ensure their streets are clean. Whereas the students are aware they are simply here for term time over a three-year period therefore bare little responsibility or pride for the area. University students are associated with being intelligent individuals however the abundance of litter shows the lack of intelligence. It is clear these students don’t think about their actions and assume once they let go of litter it is no longer their responsibility. However, this rubbish will not simply disappear. This is a popular topic in the media, educating society on how this rubbish will last hundreds if not thousands of years, but yet people are happy to let it go wherever the wind blows. 

Using the method of video was very beneficial as it enabled me to continue my analysis. Reflecting on the walk, I begin to answer the questions I presented myself. One key development is applying the use of broken window theory which states if a broken window is left unrepaired it displays how little the neighbourhood care, therefore, the deviance is tolerated and therefore more likely to reproduce (Kelling and Wilson 1982). This is evident in Cathays, as the discarded rubbish polluting the streets has been left untouched by other residents, thus resulting in others partaking in the deviant act. This answers the question of whether this rubbish is due to students, it can be said with confidence that all residents play their part in normalising this behaviour of littering. 

References

Bates, C. and Rhys-Taylor, A. 2017. In: Bates, C. and Rhys-Taylor, A. eds. Walking Through Social Research. London: Routledge, pp. 1-11.

Kelling, G.L. and Wilson, J.Q., 1982. Broken windows. Atlantic monthly, 249(3), pp.29-38.

Lewis, A. 2018. Filthy scenes as university students leave piles of rotting rubbish and abandoned cars in streets before summer break. The Mirror. [online] Available at: https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/filthy-scenes-university-students-leave-12850760 (Accessed on the 8th April 2019)

Munro, M. and Livingston, M., 2012. Student impacts on urban neighbourhoods: policy approaches, discourses and dilemmas. Urban Studies, 49(8), pp.1679-1694.

Puwar, N. 2019. Walking through Litter. Life Writing Projects. [online] Available at: http://reframe.sussex.ac.uk/lifewritingprojects/place/nirmal-puwar/ (Accessed on the 19th March 2019)

Smith, R.J. and Hall, T., 2017. Seeing the need: Urban outreach as sensory walking. In Walking through social research (pp. 39-53). Routledge.

[atomicallysound]

27/7/23 - late

growing up is hard. it’s 4am right now. well, 3:56am if you wanna be technical about it. i remember the first time i stayed up until 4am i was 8 or 9 years old and i stayed up cuz i was was watching american dad with my sister… then she went to bed and i went playing on my computer. i was listening to spanish flea by herp albert on loop for like three fuckin hours, i remember cuz i drew my oc cakies playing the trumpet. it was actually a pretty good drawing for what i could do at the time, with my fucking mouse and mspaint and all — but that’s besides the point. after all that i went on minecraft and joined random servers and started arguing with people just to be annoying. man, it was so entertaining! it got to 4am at that point and i remmeber thinking “wow, this’ll probably be the latest i’ll EVER stay up!” then my dad came home from wherever the fuck he was and i went to sleep.

but about that… isn’t it something how when you were a kid; staying up was this monumental unheard of action? i always felt so wild staying up to even midnight. now it’s like whatever. just another night.

i’m not even tired yet. i’m TIRED, of course, but i’m not sleepy. i have this fucking headache too. and i can’t stop sneezing, so even if i could sleep, i’d be too busy sneezing to do anything about it. i think i’m getting sick. i don’t know where from since i haven’t really gone anywhere since i quit my job. man, i really fucked myself over by taking a nap earlier! at like 3 or 4pm i was depressed as all hell so i thought i’d sleep it off. it worked, i felt better when i woke up, but i woke up at like 8pm and royally fucked my sleeping schedule… oh well, i’ll just drink a shit ton of coffee tomorrow. or, later, i guess… i don’t really consider past midnight to be “tomorrow” until the sun rises. i don’t really drink coffee anymore… i used to be all about it but the last time i drank it was a deeply terrible latte from like, 3 weeks ago…

i got that deeply terrible latte because i went to starbucks to have a table to write at, and the employees were all having a lovely conversation with eachother and i suddenly felt sorry as hell for coming up to them because then that meant they’d have to stop talking just to give me my stupid drink. i wanted to jump out the fucking window at that point but i’d already walked up to the counter, and i wanted a caramel macchiato but i couldn’t remember if that was simple or hard to make — and i didn’t want to be any more of a bother than i already felt i was, so i decided to order the most basic simplest drink i could think of so they could go back to their conversation sooner, and ordered just an iced latte, please.

maybe i shouldn’t have gone to starbucks anyway because the latte sucked, it was like four fucking bucks for this muddy puddle water with a few ice cubes in it, the table i was writing at sucked & was sticky, these girls behind me kept laughing in my direction and i couldn’t tell if they were laughing AT me or just laughing & happened to look near me, i felt like an idiot, i didn’t even have anything to write about, the fire alarm kept going off cuz they were testing it, honestly why am i even talking about this? who cares? what is wrong with me? why do i feel like the scum of the earth for daring to buy a drink from people who make drinks for a living? maybe there is something wrong with me… or maybe it’s just starbucks. i don’t really like starbucks that much. 90% of my starbucks visits where id buy something have been thoroughly unpleasant. there was an incident with a certain vegan breakfast sandwich. there was a muffin i bought to share with my friend who then decided she didn’t want any and i had to sadly eat this muffin by myself while she just watched. there was a hot chocolate i burned my tongue on. but i will admit, their caramel macchiatos are good.

the birds are singing outside. it’s like 4:30 now. 4:29 if you wanna get technical about it. how have i spent half an hour writing already?

i kinda wanna stay up and go watch the sunrise. but at the same time… sleeping sounds good. goodnight friends

-yellow

[riosnecktattoo]

lmao!! the things we go through for this show! I really felt this! it's gonna be 5 am for me too, and with two episodes to digest idk if I should even bother trying to go back to sleep lol

I'm so embarrassing when I saw my bestie and told her the show was changing days she just looked at me and said "......so you changed your work days as well......."

5AM CREW! Forreal I'm normally up screaming after an episode airs for at least another hour or two so tbh what is the point in going to sleep at 7am 🙃

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In between the city walls of dying dreams

This if for @buckyownsmylife​​ 2k challenge. I chose the character Andy Barber and the AU ex-con.

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); somnophilia, drugging, breeding, oral, fingering.

This is dark! (ex-con) Andy Barber x shy!reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: One night, you’re saved by the last person you expect, but you don’t know that he’s only saving you for himself.

Note: So I woke up at like 4am and couldn’t sleep. My biggest mistake during my insomniac fits are scrolling tumblr and then I see a writing challenge and decide, hey I hate myself enough to write 6k+ words for a tatted up Andy Barber so here we are.

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The streets were shiny and slick as the rain pattered across the pavement and the eaves trickled loudly. The door of the convenience store chimed as you stepped out into the drizzle with a plastic bag hanging from your elbow. It was late and you were eager to be home after a ten-hour shift, your return delayed by your visit to the shop.

A man stood beneath the beaming ‘lotto’ sign and you kept your head low as you passed him. He kept his hood up but you recognized the grey sweater. You had waited behind him as he paid before you and offered only grumbles to the cashier. You weren’t too talkative yourself although the clerk recognized you from frequent visits. You only lived a block away and it was one of the only places open after your evening shifts.

Your boots splashed through shallow puddles as you passed by the alleyway you took in the daytime, keeping to the halo of the streetlights along the grimy stretch. You had no illusions about the neighbourhood and it often reminded you of its vices. If you kept quiet and faded into the background, it couldn’t eat you up. Living downtown meant that you had to learn to ignore the alarm bells in your head and just keep going. Be vigilant but don’t be bold.

As you cleared the mouth of the alley, you heard footsteps emerge behind you. You picked up your pace and gripped the strap of your purse slung across your torso. You pulled out your phone and angled it to see the shadow following you.

There was a shawarma shop on the next corner. You could hide out there until the creep got tired and left. It was your usual trick and the owner, Mo, was especially skilled at scaring away the rabble. 

The man got closer and you gulped. You would have to start running if he got any closer. You thought of swinging at him with your plastic bag, the bottle of vitamin water would give him a good knock. You walked faster and squeezed your phone as you brought up the dial pad. There was no one you could call who would get there fast enough.

You tripped and felt the hand on your arm. You were spun back against the wall and you threw your bag around to hit your accoster. It bounced to the ground as it was batted away and the plastic bag tore in half. The bottle of vitamin water rolled over the curb and your can of soup was dented on impact. The candy bar was tangled in the white plastic and you were trapped against the brick.

“Wallet.” The man’s knife slid from the handle with a threatening whisper. “Phone!”

He wrestled your cell from your grasp as the blade kept you from resisting. He cut the strap of your purse and yanked it free from your body. Shit. That can of soup would likely be your only meal for the rest of the week… if he didn’t stab you anyway.

You readied yourself for the worst but it never came. You were suddenly released as the man was shoved away from you and the blade clattered to the ground. The stranger in the grey hood kicked his ass so he sprawled across the pavement and bent to grab the blade. He retracted it and booted the mugger a second time.

“Stay down.” He warned as he knelt to pick up the can of chicken and rice and the dark chocolate. He fished the vitamin water from the gutter but the seal had broke and it was mostly gone.

The mugger groaned and pushed himself to his hands and knees. The other man stood and pushed down on his back with his thick sole until the attacker was on his stomach.

“I’m gonna crush your ribs if you don’t get outta here. Now.” He jabbed the mugger’s side sharply. “Go!”

The man scrambled up to his feet and wheezed. He stumbled away and the other watched him until he disappeared. Finally, he turned to you and held out your goods. You took them shakily and shook your head at the vitamin water. He bent to grab your purse and your phone and held them out in turn.

“You okay?” He asked.

You nodded and took them shyly. You never said much to anyone but even if you tried, you expected your voice wouldn’t rise. You huffed at the broken strap of your bag and the scratch across the back of your phone. The screen protector was a spider web of cracks and you were thankful it wasn’t entirely fucked.

You clung to everything and warily sidestepped the man. You dropped the wet bottle in the stinking bin behind him and turned back. You looked at him and froze. He was taller and broader than the man who attacked you. He still held the knife and could do worse.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

“It’s fine.” He slid the knife into his pocket. “He didn’t cut you?”

You shook your head again. Even as his face was shrouded in shadows, you couldn’t look directly at the man. You never really looked anyone in the face, you often spoke to their shoes or the void above their heads.

“You live far?” He asked and again he received a negative gesture. “You want me to walk you? Or I can watch?”

Your eyes widened at the spatter of rain against the concrete.

“Miss,” he said with exasperation.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” You whispered as if convincing yourself too.

You slipped past him quickly and he stepped back with a surprised stammer. Your soles slapped the pavement as you rushed away from him. You couldn’t be sure he wasn’t as bad as the other man. He might follow you home and try to get even further.

But he didn’t pursue you. You didn’t hear his footfalls behind you, only the steady fall of rain.

“Good night,” you heard quietly as you got to the corner. 

You didn’t look back and kept on around the bend. You sprinted all the way to your building at the end of the side street and fumbled for your keys at the door. You took a breath when you were inside at last. You were lucky but not many downtown were. That wouldn’t happen again.

🌆

After your close call, you didn’t return to the convenience store for several days and you only did so in the daylight. You had a rare day off and the spree of rain finally ceased. The sun beat down on the buildings and reflected hotly off the sidewalks. There wasn’t much to do, or much you could afford to do, so you didn’t do much in your free time.

You had to get out of your apartment, had to enjoy the nice day before you were once more trapped behind a desk. You walked up to the store and grabbed an ice cream bar from the freezer. You paid in change and claimed your treat with a tight-lipped smile.

As you approached the door, it swung outward and you retreated before you could collide with the other body. You muttered a sorry and stood aside as you waited for your path to clear.

“Hey,” the deep voice was familiar and sent a chill through you. “It’s you.”

You looked up at the man as the ice cream added to the cold flow through your veins. The same grey hoodie and broad shoulders. The man’s deep blue eyes shone beneath his tidy undercut and a thick beard trimmed his chiseled jaw. He was less sinister than the shadow you met days before.

Your eyes quickly flitted away as you remembered yourself and you looked at the door. You nodded as you cleared your throat. Speak, goddamnit.

“Thanks���again,” you croaked weakly. “S-sorry, I’m in your way.”

You tried to step around him but he was still firmly planted in front of the only exit.

“Wait,” he said gently, “Hey, I… don’t wanna seem weird but I was worried about you.”

“You don’t know me,” you said quietly to his shoes.

“Yeah, but that’s a scary thing to deal with.” His voice was firm but comforting, almost warm. Your eyes clung to the tattoo between his thumb and index finger.

“But…” you swallowed, your ice cream would start to melt soon. “You helped me. I’m okay now.”

“Well, good,” he said and finally moved. “I’m happy I could help.”

“Thanks.” You reached for the door but he beat you to it. He pushed it open and held it for you, forcing you to brush against him as you left.

“Be safe.” He called after you as the door chimed and you stumbled out onto the sidewalk, barely missing another pedestrian.

You crossed the street and stepped over the low hedges between the café and the pawn shop. The small park was oddly peaceful amid the chaos of the city and you didn’t mind sitting under the shade of the fragrant leaves. You sat at an empty picnic table and unwrapped the chocolate dipped bar.

You listened to the birds and watched the squirrels as you ate. You pulled out your phone but didn’t have enough data left to do much. You put it down as you licked clean the little wooden stick and shoved it back into the wrapper.

You flinched as a shadow blotted out the sun and you blinked up at the figure as it stopped before you.

“You again.” He smiled and your eyes fell back to the grass around his boots.

You crumpled the empty wrapper nervously and let out a nervous, “heh, yeah.”

“I’m not… following you.” He said and chuckled. “I know we kinda keep running into each other but I swear, I’m not some creep.”

You nodded and watched his fingers straighten. The ink on his knuckles made you nervous.

“Can I sit?” He asked.

You looked beside you as he pointed to the bench and you shrugged. “Could I stop you?” You uttered.

He turned and sat beside you. He took a breath and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a pack of smokes. He opened it and offered you one. You shook your head and he closed the carton, tucking it away without taking one himself.

“I won’t smoke around ya then,” he said. “I’m Andy.”

He held out his hand and you eyed it. Your lashes fluttered nervously and you squeezed the garbage. He waited patiently. You felt the heat on your neck and you reached to shake his hand. He gripped yours firmly and his strength made your wits flurry. You gave him your name and looked down at your lap as he let go of you.

“I don’t blame you not wanting to talk to strangers. Especially around here.”

You stayed quiet and twisted the wrapper around the stick. Your leg jiggled and he ran his nails over his jeans.

“Maybe you’re just shy and that’s okay too. I just thought, well, there’s a lot of shady characters around here and it’s good to have someone lookin’ out for ya.” He scratched his beard and leaned back against the table. “I just wanted to say that if you see me around and you need someone to scare off the other hounds, I’m more than happy to give them a good bite.”

You pushed your tongue against your cheek and stilled your leg. You nodded.

“Alright,” he stood and the whole table shifted with his weight, “Now, I’ve said my peace. You take care of yourself.”

“Thanks,” you wrung your hands around the bending popsicle stick entwined with the wrapped.

“Oh, and… I think I grabbed the right one.” He reached into his hoodie pocket and you noticed the awkward shape jammed into the pocket. He revealed the bottle and placed it on the table. “I’ll see you around.”

You stared at the label. It was the right flavour. You looked up and watched him head out along the path. He unzipped his sweater as he went on and pushed his hands into the pockets. You pinched your lip with your teeth and took the bottle of water. Maybe there were nice people in the city or maybe you were just that pathetic.

🌆

Back at your building, you were relieved to be out of the sun and the stifling humidity. It would be a rough summer and your box fan would do little to stave off the heat. 

After your run-in with your hero, you decided to take a walk and finished the entire bottle in your casual stroll around the paths and the little creek on the other side of the park. It was later than you thought when you got back and fought with the jammed key slot.

You opened up the inner door of the lobby at last and grunted with frustration. Not only did the slot threaten to bend your key but the door was heavier than you. You climbed the first short flight of stairs and grabbed the old banister to continue your trip up the winding case. 

You stopped as the platform above creaked and as another resident came down with a basket of clothes in hand. You stayed at the bottom to let them pass but as they descended, they stopped a step above you. Your name had your head up and your eyes, for the second time that day, met two stunning blue irises.

“I didn’t know you lived in this building,” Andy said as he cradled his laundry and turned to face you. “Small world.”

“I didn’t--” your words dwindled and you focused on the lip of the basket instead of his face. You didn’t talk to your neighbours, not since the old man had threatened to choke you in the lobby.

“I just moved in.” He said. “My first place since… well, the first place I’ve had to myself.”

“Oh,” you breathed and picked at your frilly shirt.

“Well, let me just get out of your way,” he angled away from the stairs. “I’ll probably see you around. Don’t hesitate to say hi.”

You nodded and gripped the railing as you continued up the stairs. As you reached the platform, you glanced back and he was still watching you. He smiled and finally turned away, heading towards the laundry room as he began to whistle. You climbed the next flight and took a breath.

Coincidences happened but you just couldn’t handle so many at once. Andy had been nothing but nice, he saved you from being robbed and he even replaced what he didn’t owe you. You just couldn’t believe it. 

People could be good, they could be kind, just not in the city.

🌆

Your run-ins with Andy continued. You passed him in the hall several times before you realised he lived on the same floor. Your suspicions were confirmed as you grabbed your take-out and saw him unlocking the door only a couple away from your own. You even managed to drop your fliers on his boots when you were grabbing your mails.

Each time, he was friendly and each time, you barely said a word. He was a curious man. His tattoos labelled him as dangerous but his demeanour was welcoming and compassionate. He was entirely off putting and you lived in the city long enough to be wary. And you were shy enough to be evasive.

You were tired after another late shift. The bus ride had you yawning by the time you reached your stop and your short walk to the building was less than enjoyable as the usual weirdos were out with the full moon. You shoved your key into the slot and swore under your breath as it refused to turn.

Finally, it pivoted and you yanked on the handle as the door behind you swished open and closed. A hand grabbed the side of the door and helped pull it back all the way. You peeked over your shoulder as Andy held it and you thanked him with a squeak before heading through.

He followed you a few steps back as you started up the stairs.

“You work late a lot.” He said from behind you.

“Yeah…” you said as you turned up the next flight.

“You work far?”

“Not very,” you replied as you turned again.

“Yeah, I used to be on nights and that was hell.” He humoured as you pressed on.

Your toe caught on the lip of the top step and you went hurtling forward. You tried to catch yourself and cried out as you landed on your wrist and felt an agonizing twinge. You hissed and turned over, holding your arm as it throbbed.

“Shit, are you okay?” He asked as he stooped to look you over. 

Your purse had landed in the corner of the platform and your flat had slipped off in your descent. Embarrassed, you lowered your arm and nodded. “I’m fine. Just… hopeless.”

“Here,” he took your shoe from the step and slid it onto your foot. “Hey, it happens. I almost did the same thing the other day.” 

He paused and you felt him staring. You looked him in the face nervously but his eyes weren’t on yours. You felt a tickle as he pulled your skirt back to your knee. You hadn’t realised how far up it had flown.

“Let me see your arm,” he said as you rested it on your leg.

“No, it’s fine, I--” You waved him away with your good arm and but he took your other gently and bent to look closer.

He tutted as he touched the flesh and you winced. 

“It’s swelling,” he felt firmly along your wrist, “I don’t feel a break but a sprain is a serious thing.”

“How do you--” you stopped yourself. “I’ll be okay.”

“You need to wrap it.” He let go of your arm and stood. 

He grabbed your other elbow and helped you to your feet. He stepped up onto the platform and scooped up your purse.

“You have something to wrap it? You’ll need the proper support.”

You shook your head. “It’s not that serious.”

“It is. You landed on it with all your weight. I’m surprised you didn’t break something.” He insisted. “I have something, I’ll wrap it for you.”

“Really, I can…” you voice fizzled as you tried to steady yourself. “I can do it myself.”

“But will you?” He kept his hand on your arm and guided you up the last steps to your floor. “Please, for my own peace of mind, let me help.”

You stared at the stained carpet as you stopped beside him. “Why?”

“Why are you so afraid of me?” He asked.

“I’m not-- I…” You frowned. “I just don’t know you. I-I-I’m just quiet.”

“I’ve tried to know you so why don’t you let me?”

You drew away from him and watched his hand drop. You stared at the tattoos and he curled his fingers.

“Oh, yeah, well, I guess I can start by being honest.” He sighed, “Yes, I’ve been to prison. I’ve been out for a year now, I’m finally off parole, I have a job, and I’m working to live a clean life. Is that it? You think I’m some goon?”

“No, I…” you looked at the floor again. “I don’t care about that. I’m just… I don’t know what to say to people so I don’t say very much.” You swayed nervously on your feet. “And no one ever really tried to hear me anyway.”

“Well, I can do the talking or we can both just say nothing, but please, you’re wrist, an untreated sprain can do a lot more damage.”

You tilted your head back and forth and another stab of pain went through your wrist. You nodded and looked to the wall. “O-Okay.”

“Alright,” he exhaled and nudged you lightly as he urged you down the hall. 

He stopped at his door and you waited for him to unlock it. You stared inside as he pushed it open. You didn’t really know him and what you did know wasn’t reassuring. He was a convict and you were about to be completely alone with him.

“Or I can grab the bandage and meet you at yours?” He offered.

“No, no, I’m… tired. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said.

You entered and he followed. He put your purse on the small square table beside the shoe rack and you stepped out of your flats. He bent to untie his boots and left them beside your shoes. He urged you on and you looked around at the surprisingly cozy apartment. It was tidier than yours and smelled like fresh linen.

“I’ll be right back,” he gestured you to the living room and went down the short hall to closet at the very end.

You ventured past the couch as you looked around. There was a degree hung on the wall and you went closer to read it. You heard him searching the closet as you raised your brows at the framed certificate.

“Got it,” he entered and you turned away. “Ah, yeah, they disbarred me when I was charged but ah, well, it’s something to work towards. The old me.”

You bit your cheek as you stepped away from the wall and he beckoned you to him. He had you sit on the couch with your arm up as he pulled a chair close. He unwounded the beige bandage and placed the end against your wrist. He began to wind it around your arm and hooked it between your thumb and index. You watched him work and it calmed you. He pinned the loose end and placed your hand atop the cushioned arm of the couch.

“There.” He said as he sat back. “How’s it feel now?”

“A little better,” you pulled your hand into your lap. “Thank you.”

You stood awkwardly and played with the pleat of your skirt. “I should probably go.”

“If you want to or… I have some wine. It might help with the pain.”

“Oh?” You weren’t much of a drinker but you didn’t want to be rude.

“It was a gift from my parole officer since I can legally drink now. He said it better last me the next year but I haven’t even opened it. Don’t really have a reason to but… so you want a glass or should we say good night?”

You scrunched your lips and thought. You felt as if you owed him; for the night he chased away the mugger and then the park and now this.

“Uh, sure, but just a little. I don’t drink much.”

“No problem,” he stood and you sat back down.

He went to the kitchen and you listened to the clink of dishes and click of the cabinets. You looked down at your wrist and moved your fingers. Your wrist hurt a lot but the bandage alleviated some of it.

“I realised I don’t have any wine glasses,” he said as he approached, “So, I hope you don’t mind wine in a mug.”

He handed you a cup and sat down with his own. Yours had flowers around the rim and his read ‘Best Dad Ever.’

“Got ‘em from the Good Will,” he chuckled, “I’ve been meaning to replace them but you know, work.”

“Yeah,” you raised the cup and tasted the bitter red. You wrinkled your nose and he gave a low snort.

“Yeah, I never really liked cabernet but it was a gift,” he said and took a drink himself. “So what kinda work do you do?”

“I’m just a temp.” You tried another mouthful and nearly choked.

“Like office work?”

“Yeah, a floating secretary. Nothing special.”

“Mmm, yeah, I got a job down at the factory. Another favour from my parole officer but it’s not bad work.”

Your lips slanted as you thought. You didn’t say much but your face was good at filling the silence.

“What? Go on, ask it.” He leaned forward with elbows on his knees as he took another gulp.

You mirrored him and swallowed the sour wine. You wiped your lips with your sleeve and crossed your legs. “You said you were a lawyer before, isn’t it kinda… I dunno.”

“It’s different but it’s better than prison.”

“Yeah, I guess it would be.”

You looked down as silence laced the air and you didn’t know what else to do but finish the wine. You could leave then. You drained the cup and set it on the round table next to the arm of the couch. You blinked as you felt the buzz of the alcohol already.

“It might just be me, but that was strong,” you said.

“No, it is,” he put his mug down too, “like thirteen percent or something. I think maybe he was trying to sabotage me.”

You tried to laugh but it came out an awkward sniffle. You tapped your foot as you tried to think of what to do or say. 

“Well, thank you but I think I should--” You stood so fast you got dizzy and nearly fell back as you held yourself up against the couch arm. “Whoo, okay, I’m going.”

“Yeah, alright,” he stood too. “It is late, I guess.”

“Mhmm,” you focused on your footsteps as you passed him and he followed you to the entryway. You took your purse and faced him. “Thank you.” You held up your wrist. “I owe you.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna say it myself but… you can repay me with one little thing.”

“Oh?” You pushed the strap of your purse up your shoulder as you slid your feet into your flats and swayed just a little.

“Finish the wine with me. I’m free on Saturday, we could order dinner and maybe watch a movie.”

You pouted in surprise and your eyebrows shot up. “Well, I…”

“Friends.” He said quickly, “That’s all. You pick the movie and I’ll bring the cabernet.”

You sucked in your lip and thought. He hadn’t done anything wrong to you. He had done more than he should have for you. And you were being stupid. He was older than you, certainly. The short greys poking out at his temples betrayed at least forty years and he was just another person trying to get by. 

“Okay, I can do Saturday. I work till five, just a half-shift.” You explained. “Should I meet you here or?”

“Yeah, we can do it here.” He touched your shoulder and his hand slowly slipped down your arm. He reached past you and turned the knob and pulled open the door. You moved closer to avoid it hitting you and smelled his woodsy cologne. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” you backed through the door clumsily, “thanks.”

“Saturday.” He pointed at you and then his temple, “Don’t forget.”

“I’ll… try.”

You left him and felt him watching you until you reached your door. You didn’t look back as you let yourself in and locked it behind you. You heard his own shut and let out a breath. What were you doing?

🌆

You couldn’t forget your promise to Andy. You never made plans. You were content to be alone and watch old reality tv shows and forget about your responsibilities. You hoped instead that he might forget and spare you another awkward encounter. You were never a social butterfly and conversation was like pulling teeth. It wasn’t that you didn’t long for companionship, it was that it was so impossibly difficult.

But he was waiting for you. As you passed his door at 5:46, he opened it and nearly had you jumping off your feet.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry.” He said, “Just a friendly reminder.”

“Yeah, I just need to get changed,” you fidgeted, “fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Take your time,” he smiled, “any thoughts on a movie yet?”

“No,” you cringed, “sorry.”

“Go on. I’ll be waiting. You can let yourself in.” He closed the door and you went onward to your own.

You pulled out your most comfortable jeans and a shirt that wasn’t too formal or casual. You changed and fixed your hair a little and switched your socks for less sweaty ones. You slid on some shoes and reluctantly left your apartment. You went to his and knocked before you dared to enter.

“So, uh, I know I said take out,” he called from the kitchen as you inhaled the scent of garlic, “but I got a bit carried away.” “Andy,” you kicked your shoes onto the rack and crept down the hall. “You didn’t have to--”

“I haven’t cooked like this in ages. Oh, and,” he turned as you peered in from the doorway and turned back with two wine glasses poured to the brim, “I got real glasses.”

“Wow, uh…” You took the stem and carefully held it so as not to spill.

“So how was work?”

“Slow.” You answered honestly.

“Saturday’s usually are,” he turned back and stirred the frying pan. “I’m almost done so why don’t you go look for something to watch and I’ll be out with dinner.”

“Okay…” you voice trailed away nervously. He wore a tee that exposed the rest of the tats that stretched up his muscular arms. You couldn’t help but stare at the skull that seemed to look back at you.

You went to the couch and sat in the corner. You sipped the wine and it still burned your nostrils and tongue. You set the glass down carefully and turned on the television with the remote. 

You curled your legs up under you habitually and flipped through the titles. No rom coms, that’s awkward, and no horror movies or he’d pull that old high school trick. Maybe a war movie? Oh wait, that one’s about lawyers, that would be good. Or it might make him sad. Hmmm.

You settled on a superhero movie and waited with the intro paused. He appeared shortly with two plates and set them down on the coffee table as he sat beside you on the couch and pulled it closer.

“Nothing too special. I made my own spaghetti sauce though, so much better than the jarred stuff.” He combed his hair back as he set out your cutler with a napkin. “What are watching?”

“I’ve never seen this one,” you said as you hit play and the title flashed up, “Have you?”

“Oh, I don’t really watch that stuff but hey, never too old to start.” He picked up his fork and leaned forward. “Hope you enjoy. I might be a bit rusty. My-- People tell me I put too much garlic in everything.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” you pushed your legs over the edge of the couch and sat forward. You took your cutlery and carefully spun the noodles.

You were thankful for the loud crashes of the movie’s opening scene as it meant you could eat and not have to talk. The spaghetti was good and compared to your usual quick and easy meals in a box or can, it was gourmet. When you finished, you wiped your mouth and took a long gulp of the wine without thinking.

You sat back as you grew engrossed with the superheroes origin story and nearly forgot about Andy until he got up to clear the dishes. You offered to pause and he bid you to keep on. He was back in a moment and leaned back beside you. You squirmed and reached for your wine again. The taste was less stringent with each sip.

As the hero readied to face the villain, you emptied the glass and hugged yourself as a warmth glowed in your veins. You felt a hand on your leg as your eyelids drooped and you slumped into the couch. You could still feel the fingers as your fly was unzipped and you groaned as your limbs would not obey you.

The noise of the final battle faded and a heavy weight settled between your legs as tickles lined your neck and jaw, a final hungry kiss on your lips sealing your consciousness.

🌆

Andy’s POV

The wine was potent but Andy was sure to add a little extra kick. Her nerves kept her drinking the dark cabernet and she couldn’t taste the crushed pills through the acidity. He could taste the fermented grapes on her lips though and she moaned beneath him as he rolled her shirt up her torso.

He sat back to make sure she really was out. He snapped his fingers in front of her face and tapped her cheek. She mumbled but only lolled her head. He was done being patient with her. She was so shy it was enraging. He did everything he was supposed to do and she still wouldn’t even look at him. Oh, but she would feel him.

He ran his hands along her figure and basked in the warmth of her skin. How long had it been since he’d felt a woman beneath him? He didn’t like to think like that; didn’t like to remember the past and all he’d lost. He was trying to rebuild and this was the first step.

His hands settled on her stomach. It wasn’t flat and it was bit squishy, he liked that. He closed his eyes and pictured how it would grow. He would be a father again, and a husband. He would be the man he once was.

He shuddered and opened his eyes. He stripped her shirt off completely and bent to catch her nipple in his mouth as it spilled from her bra. He reached around her to unhook the bra entirely and yanked it from under her. She twitched but could not wake as he sucked at her tit and then the other.

He recalled that night on the street when he chased off that other man. It wasn’t the first time he saw her, in fact he had followed her to the store. She didn’t notice him slip in behind her or that he paid for a magazine he wouldn’t read. He remembered how he resisted that night. How he wanted to put her against that wall and finish it then and there.

Her pants slid down her legs easily as he backed off the couch. Her panties tasted like her as he pressed his mouth between her legs. He slung her knees over his shoulders and nuzzled her through the cotton until she soaked them entirely. He pulled them aside and continued to coax her. She came as a ripple flowed through her body and he drank up her unconscious excitement.

He tore her panties down her legs and looked down at her with heavy, hungry breaths. He read that women were more likely to conceive if they were aroused. He swiped his shirt over his head and undid his jeans impatiently. He was incredibly hard and he needed her around him.

He bent her legs, one leaned against the back of the couch as the other hung over the side. He dragged his fingers along her cunt and growled. He shoved his fingers into her and spread them. She was so tight it made him throb.

He pulled out and grabbed his dick. He pressed his tip against her clit and rubbed circles around it. She muttered again and turned her head but he wasn’t afraid of her waking. Even if she did, she couldn’t stop him.

He positioned himself against her entrance and pushed his tip just inside. He gasped and bit his tongue. He could’ve cum at that. He snapped his hips against her and her whole body jerked as he reached his limit. She gurgled and he thrust again.

She clenched around him, her walls hungry for him. He rocked his hips into her and watched her squirm, her eyes flitting back and forth behind her eyelids. He bent over her and pulled her arms above her, holding her hands together against the arm of the couch. He fucked her hard as the entire couch jolted beneath their bodies.

“You like that?” He whispered in her ear. “Huh, this is what you wanted. What you were so afraid of.”

He grunted and bucked even faster. Her body reacted to his and as she came, her juices added to the noise of his intrusion. His flesh slapped against hers loudly as the movie’s effect faded into the background. He grabbed her chin and watched her sleeping face as he pounded into her.

“You want it. You want me. You want me to fill you up.” He snarled. “You want my baby inside of you. You want to grow for me.” He sucked on his tongue as his body began to tense. “I’m going to fuck my baby into you, you bitch.”

He buried his head against her neck and bit into her flesh as he came. He shook on top of her as he emptied inside of her and slowed. He whimpered as he stopped his hip and lingered inside of her. He sighed and panted as he fell limp over her.

“Don’t worry, we’re not done.” He promised her deafened ears.

🌆

You were sore and stiff. You were trapped and suffocating. As you rose back to the surface, you felt the weight over you and began to panic. Your thighs were raw but numbed and your core felt hollow. You tried to remember more than the taste of wine but it was all a fog.

You opened your eyes and felt along the shoulder against your chin. The tattooed skin smelled of sweat and you could barely move beneath Andy. As you tried, you felt him inside of you and squeaked. Then the real panic began and you couldn’t breathe at all.

You beat on his shoulders and he grumbled. You felt him growing inside of you and you flailed against him.

“Please, please, get off.”

He shook his head and raised it slowly. He sat up but brought you with him as he kept you around his hardening dick. He held you in his lap and watched you struggle with his tired eyes.

“What’s the matter, honey?” he asked languidly.

“What did you--What are you doing?” You shoved against him and yelped as he tilted into you from below.

“What did I do? Oh, you don’t remember?”

“Don’t remember? Let me go! Please.” You whined. 

“Come on, don’t be like this. You asked for it, honey.”

“Wha--”

“Oh, you really are a lightweight,” he whistled, “you said you wanted me. You practically begged me to fuck you.”

“I didn’t-- I--”

“Well, what do you remember?” He purred as he subtly rocked into you. “Huh?”

“I don’t--I can’t remember.”

“You really going to do this to me? Act like you never wanted it? Like I didn’t try to resist you, honey, but you wanted it so bad.”

“No, I…” you stared at the tattoo across his chest.

“Look at me,” he gripped your jaw and your eyes flicked up to his. He thrust into you as far as he could and you yelped, “Tell me you don’t want this.”

He bit his lip as he continued to fuck you. Your thighs clenched around his but you couldn’t escape his grasp.

“You look at me when I fuck you, huh? Yeah, look at me.”

You covered your face and he pulled your hands away. He twisted your arms behind your back and sped up as he bound you against him.

“It’s alright, honey, I already filled you up nice and good,” he cooed, “This. Is. Just. For. Good. Measure.”

He spoke between shallow breaths and your own heartbeat picked up. Your eyes welled as you couldn’t resist the waves and you came with a pathetic mewl. He pulled you close and turned his face up to kiss you. He nibbled your lip and growled as he came inside of you. 

You closed your eyes and waited for him to stop. When he did, he wouldn’t let you go. You fell forward and hung your head beside his as a sob lodged in your throat.

“It’s alright. It’s what I want.” He caressed your lower back, “You’ll want it too. You just need time.”

[that-milo-kid]

Day 3: Fear

Warnings: Slight swearing, heavily implied child abuse and neglect

Fandom: Stranger Things

Word Count: 1006

Characters: Steve Harrington, mentioned Jonathon Byers

Notes: this was the second thing i wrote today because i despised the first one so much that i simply started over, all new characters and themes. once again ty so much to @toastertravels and also the love of my life tex for proofreading <3

Fear was a weird sensation.

It was similar to hunger, in some ways. Growing pain and heightening suffering, before it was just… gone. And then of course, a few hours later it would return with a vengeance.

For Steve, hunger and fear were often interchangeable. Hunger meant his parents were home which meant hours and days of yelling and cold glares and angry words. And the fear. The terrible, overwhelming fear.

His dad didn’t want him eating too much. Said that he didn’t earn all his money just so that Steve could go and waste it all, so Steve didn’t eat too much. Didn’t waste his dad’s money. He did work for it, after all.

Steve was 9 when he figured out that kids weren’t supposed to be scared of their parents. He learned this on the day that his parents had officially left him home alone for 3 weeks, no phone calls or messages or contact of any sort. And while it was a bit frightening (looking back on it, Steve is horrified that they would ever leave a 9 year old alone for 3 weeks), he was much less scared than he was around his dad. Maybe that made him weird.

He asked one of the other boys in his grade 4 class, Jon Byers, if he felt better when his dad wasn’t there. Jon said yes, and Steve felt normal again. Until he had asked the same question to Benji Porters and Benji had told the teacher and Steve had to go to the school councillor. He didn’t like the councillor. She smiled too much, and her eyes were too bright. Steve didn’t think he’d been around anyone that smiled that much in his entire life.

Maybe there was something wrong with him. Jon didn’t have to go to the councillor, so maybe it wasn’t the question that was the problem, but Steve. That was probably why his parents left too, and why his dad was so angry with him all the time.

Over time, Steve stopped seeing the councillor. By grade 7, Steve was staying home alone for months on end.

The hunger was less, and so was the fear. So, Steve managed. He got by, surviving off of the occasional cheques his dad sent him from his various overseas ‘work trips’ (Steve had figured out they weren’t actually for work on his 4th Christmas alone).

Until, of course, a girl died in his pool and suddenly his world was alight with monsters and kids with powers and… Christmas lights? For whatever reason? Joyce seemed to be going through enough though, so he didn’t mention it.

And every once in a while, he would steal a glance at Jonathan Byers and wonder when he figured out how monumentally fucked up his dad was. Had it been before Steve asked him that question in grade 4? Or after?

As the stress and fear began to grow again, so did the hunger. It wasn’t his dad this time – no, now it was stress and forgetfulness and nightmares about actual, literal monsters.

Not just his dad with his belt and his yelling.

Steve would go days forgetting to eat. The fear and the hunger blended seamlessly together after all these years, becoming an unidentifiable hole in Steve’s chest.

And eventually it was all over, and Steve could go back to his massive empty house and let the fear and the hunger fade away for another couple of months, until his parents decided to stop in at home again.

But it didn’t fade.

Steve would lie awake at 12pm, 2am, 4am until the sun would rise and he had gotten no sleep. The fear that would weave in and out of his life had tangled itself into a knot, and it had trapped Steve with it. The tiptoeing around at night to avoid his father had become wide eyes and shaky hands and a deep, instinctive need to have a weapon in his line of sight at all times. The hunger that seemed to come hand in hand with fear was ever present, a constant nagging in his gut. Or maybe that was the fear. Maybe the shaking hands were the hunger. It was becoming impossible to tell them apart.

Eventually, Steve stopped trying to.

Days became told apart by how intensely his stomach was trying to tear itself to shreds. He couldn’t stop long enough to eat, and the hunger put him on edge. He couldn’t end the cycle if he tried.

Jon seemed to be doing alright. Well, not alright alright, but he wasn’t falling apart and given everything he and his family had gone through in the past few weeks he was doing a hell of a lot better than Steve.

He was still stealing looks at the other boy. Now that the crisis was averted, he should go back to mostly ignoring him, maybe exchanging small pleasantries when they passed each other in the hallways. But he didn’t. Steve thought about Jon more than what was probably socially acceptable.

Their lives weren’t being threatened by an interdimensional monster anymore, but the fear was still there. He wondered if Jon felt it too. In every little flicker of lights, whenever he drove past Steve’s house.

More often than not, Steve thought about their conversation in grade 4. It had only lasted for a minute, but Steve never really stopped thinking about it. Only pushed it to the back of his mind when he needed to. Maybe Jon did the same thing. Maybe he remembered the conversation too.

He wondered if Jon was ever as scared of his dad as he was of the Demogorgon. In some weird, fucked up way Steve kind of hoped he did. Mostly so that he wouldn’t have to be alone.

After being alone for so long, he might’ve finally found someone like him. And they might’ve bonded in the one thing Steve knew best – fear.

Maybe being scared wasn’t so terrifying if there were people by your side.

[twinklelilstarkey]

Roommates (Pt. 1) - Jamie Oleksiak

Words: 4.4k+

Type: ANGST

Summary: After many years of being best friends with Jamie, you’ve grown tired of hiding your true feelings and fearing the end of your friendship.

Warnings: Female!Reader. Mentions of sex while intoxicated (consensual). Age gap. Sad, sad reader.

Jamie Oleksiak. The name of your best friend and the defenseman of the team Dallas Stars. As well as your roommate for the past few years.

You two met at a bar a few years back. He was playing for the Penguins at the time, and you were in college. 

You weren’t a big fan of hockey at the time, so you actually needed the help of a friend to know his name in the first place. Something, he found funny for some reason, while you, just felt deeply embarrassed.

It’s no secret that you two had sex that night. You two were equally tipsy, which did make everything seem easier and more fluid, in a way. Yet you never forgot the night.

Not only was it the beginning of an amazing friendship, it was also the best night of your life.

It took you two a few weeks to reconnect again and have your share of laughs. Your humor helped you out with him liking to hang out with you more and more each day. As well as the fact that it never seemed like you were interested in anything else but a conversation and company for lunch or periods in between classes.

You were just different, in a way.

Years went by and he was traded back to Dallas.

By the time it happened, you two were still heavily attached and, also, calling each other best friends. And yes, you had to be the first one to call him that.

You had finished your degree at that time and Jamie took that as a good reason to try and make you move in with him to Dallas. You were shocked, to say the least. You had just gotten used to living in Pittsburgh and now he wanted you to go with him to a whole different place.

It took a lot of pleading and being way too annoying for you to say yes, but he got you to do it. It was easy after he mentioned that you could live with him in the center of the city, where everything is, and also that he will pay for most of the rent. What can you say? You’re a simple girl.

And who says ‘no’ to free things?

Oh, and why most of the rent and not all? Because you felt bad at one point (that point being: one week in) and made a whole tantrum until he allowed you to pay a small percentage of the large rent.

Being best friends with Oleksiak got you a lot of things. Got you happiness (which can be discussed). Got you to like sports, especially hockey - which surprised your family since they had been trying to make you like it for years.

Got you Instagram followers. Since you know, that’s the most important thing of this whole friendship (*sarcasm*). Which, by the way, did made you more active on social media and be Big Rig’s fans’ personal provider of content.

Got you to live in a beautiful city with him. But most importantly: It got you to fall in love with him.

You first realized you were falling in love with Jamie back when you were in his old apartment. You had just woken up from a big party, with a big headache and his large arm over your waist.

It was early in the morning and the sun was starting to rise. Jamie was sleeping next to you, with his back to the windows, protecting himself from the harsh lighting. You looked back at him and his peaceful look as he slept silently next to you. You turned and laid your head back on his pillow, admiring his face. You were bold enough to bring your hand up to his face, and smoothly running your thumb over his cheek as you cupped it.

You could kill to have that every morning. To have him quiet and leaning into your touch unconsciously like it was your morning routine. Welcoming your hold as if it was his safe haven when he needed someone.

And even though all of those things already were true and present in your day-to-day life, it was never how you liked it. Always in a friendly-loving type of touch. Never a whole another loving type of way.

And that’s when you got it. You were falling in love.

Those feelings got stronger and stronger with each day that passed, and Jamie... Well, he’s completely oblivious to it all.

Your friends tease you about it. Always saying stuff like “close your mouth, you’re drooling” when in games or other innocent things like that.

They imagine your stares and glances as just a possible small crush, or that it was your way of looking out for your introverted friend. Never that you were staring at the man you’ve completely fallen in love with.

Nobody knows how you feel. Nobody. Except for you and your overthinking mind.

God, you don’t know how many times you cried over him. All when he was just a few doors away from you as you laid in bed. Or how many times you tried to be independent and look for love in another man, but always ending up disappointed, heartbroken, and unsatisfied.

You had and still have to see him bring girls home late at night, sometimes even talk to some in the morning while he sleeps. Fake being happy for him when he gets a new girlfriend and falls in love with her. Fake liking his girlfriend and act as if she’s exactly who you’d love to see in his life.

Yes, maybe you were being an awful friend, but your feelings were too much for you to just ignore them and not let them affect you.

You’re starting to grow tired with all of this.

“Hey, how was practice?” You ask Jamie right as you walk in the kitchen, not expecting to see him standing there on his phone.

“Good.” He answers, obviously distracted.

You don’t care enough to tease him over the short answer like you always do, so you just walk over to the fridge to get your water bottle. 

You just woke up, your eyes feel swollen from crying last night and, god, you feel dehydrated.

Jamie brought a girl home yesterday after the game, right when you were supposedly asleep. You heard them walking down the hallway, him shushing her as she giggled away.

You weren’t all that affected until you met her in the kitchen at 4am. And she had the audacity to be nice. She knew you were the roommate, so she wasn’t shocked when she saw you. But you were to see her.

You had just finished binge-watching a show, and she, well, she had stopped at least moaning an hour before.

You adjust the hood of your hoodie to try and hide your face and eyes from any morning light, and of course, a particular pair of eyes. Jamie leans back on the counter, putting his phone back on his pocket, eyes completely on you, now.

“What’s wrong with you?” He teases, smile prominent on his tone.

“Nothing.” You answer, head still low on the ground.

You put your water down and you scrub your face with your hands, harshly trying to wake yourself up to the day that you still have to experience.

It’s god damn 12pm.

Jamie leans back a little on the counter and takes a look at your face. God, you look sad. Your eyes are puffy and your lips are slightly swollen, just like under your eyes. You, for sure, had been crying.

“What happened?” He asks, concerned.

You look up at him to already find him staring. You plaster one of your usual fake smiles over your lips and shake your head.

“Nothing, dummy. I’m just tired” You say with a completely different tone than before.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.” You reassure, shoving your hands on the front pocket of the hoodie you’re wearing, his hoodie.

He looks at you worried and you smile more wide, walking close to him and wrapping your arms around him. You rest your head over his chest and he hugs you back right away.

“I’m okay.” You whisper.

You close your eyes as you feel him squeeze you close to him and try your best to enjoy the moment. Not that you don’t get a lot of hugs from the giant man, but these ones are different. They’re the comforting ones. The ones that almost make you, not only cry all over again but also, be in a better mood in a few more hours.

You blink your tears away and try to pull away from him, but he doesn’t let you. You look up and he’s staring back.

“Can I go take my shower, now?” You ask him with a playful tone.

“Nop.” He says, squeezing you back to his chest, “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” You say with a small chuckle.

“Stop lyiiing!” He sings the words and you smile a little.

He kisses the top of your head and you sigh.

“I’m tired. I didn’t sleep at all, tonight,” You tell him and he lets go of you for a bit, “Can I please go now?”

“Why didn’t you sleep?”

You shrug, stepping back.

“I saw a horror movie.” You lie and you know right away that he didn’t believe you. “I’m serious.”

“You’re lying!”

“I’m not!”

“You. Are.” He says with a playful tone, definitely not wanting to start an argument since you’re not in the best mood.

You sigh and turn around, walking over to your room before he could even reach to hold you back and make you talk.

(...)

Jamie expected you to be in a better mood after you showered, but that did not happen. You took your shower, walked to the kitchen to get something small to eat, and closed yourself back up in your bedroom.

He thought about going over to your room to talk to you but he hesitated when he realized that he didn’t even know what to say or ask. 

So, he stayed in the living room, playing video games while giving you some time. As well as promising himself that if you don’t walk out in an hour, he’ll go in to check if you’re still alive and haven’t turned into a zombie.

You scroll through your social media on your phone. You watch everyone’s Instagram story with a serious look on your face, some of them just make you grin slightly at their contagious laughter or bad jokes, but most are just boring.

You slide off the app and click on your gallery. You scroll to the top and a grin appears on your face as the memories all hit you at once. You scroll and stop midway, where most of your videos are.

You click on one specifically and stare down at it.

It was a short video of you in the kitchen playing around and singing along to a song. You smile at your dramatic dancing and pointing towards an off-screen Jamie, and you turn up the volume.

You were singing along to the lyrics of the sappy breakup song while pointing at Jamie, as if you were dedicating the whole performance to him.

You stop dancing for some seconds, panting, and you hear Jamie laughing loudly off-screen over how tired you were.

“You danced for like 30 seconds!” He exclaims and you glare at him.

“Fuck off.” You curse.

He laughs again and you smile before walking back to your phone to stop recording and change the music.

You swipe for the next video and it’s another whole performance, but this time Jamie was on the screen, just in the corner.

You smile as you scream the lyrics and laugh like a maniac at his expression of complete terror. The video ends with you randomly hugging him as you laugh, which meant that you cut the rest, for some reason. You swipe again and the videos of that day ended there. 

You look through more videos and you find some others that are just as funny, and others just completely random. Like the one where it’s just 5 seconds of you zooming in on Jamie washing his teeth in the bathroom while you’re laying on his bed.

Things only drunk you understands when doing them.

You go through all of the random ones and find some with your friends. Most of you all drunk in a club screaming “Happy new year” before everyone starts kissing one another. 

A knock on your door makes you look up and Jamie peeks in.

“Can I come in?” He asks and you nod.

You continue laid on your bed and Jamie lays beside you.

“What have you been doing in here all day?” He asks and you look over as he also looks down at your phone.

“Not much.” You say with a shrug, “Just scrolled through social media, and now I’m watching old videos”

“Of...?”

“Nothing in particular, even though most of my stuff is me annoying you.” You say and he smiles.

He takes your phone from your hands and you let him, grabbing your pillow so you can rest your head over something that isn’t your fist or arm.

He clicks some random video and you see that it’s the one you were smiling at not too long ago. He smiles as he sees you do your whole performance and scrolls down for more.

You stay like that for some time and you sigh.

“I’ve been thinking-” You start and he nods.

“That’s good.”

You chuckle under your breath and continue.

“I think I should move out.” You admit, ignoring the small pain building up in your chest.

Jamie looks up from your phone and gives you a look, scowling in what looks like pure confusion.

“What? Why?” He asks defensively.

You shrug before answering, “I just feel, like, we don’t have a reason to live together anymore.”

He blinks at you, not getting it, and you sigh.

“Jamie, we started living together so we could hang out more. We almost don’t even have time to hang out together.” You tell him and he’s still scowling. “You have practice every morning. I work all afternoon. You have games when I get out of work and when you get here after games, it’s not exactly... appropriate... for us to hang out”

“What do you mean?”

“Yo-you always have girls with you.” You explain.

“Ooooh, are you jealous?” He asks with a small smile, his hard expression breaking.

Oh, God.

“I’m serious.”

“I know, but what you’re saying is ridiculous. We hang out every day I have off, always have lunch together and I even let you sleep in my bed on Sundays.”

You roll your eyes and look away, turning on the bed to stare at the ceiling. He’s not lying. You two do spend time together, but, god damn, you need to complain about something for you to be able to get out of this... situation.

“We would hang out just as much if I had my own apartment.” You spit and he locks your phone.

“Is that really your reason?” He asks and you nod, “I don’t believe you.”

“I just... forget it” You sigh.

You sit up and a familiar weight starts resting over your shoulders and chest, it’s like if guilt and heartbreak had a love child. That’s how you’ve been feeling for the past few months. And it’s just awful.

“No, don’t get upset on me, now. Just explain what’s wrong” He says, pulling you to lay down again next to him.

You stare at him for a second and you take a deep breath.

“It’s personal things, Jamie. I just feel like we both could use some privacy, you know?” You ask.

“Personal things...?” He questions, more to himself than anyone else.

“It’s stupid, just forget it.” You repeat, looking away, “You won’t get it, we can talk about this in another time.”

He stays quiet for a bit.

“Do you really want to move out that bad?” He asks, his tone is different, softer, worried too.

You shrug. You don’t want to do it, but you can’t help but think that this is what’s best for you. After so many years of fighting your feelings for him and having them double each day over having to see him every day, is just frustrating.

You need your own space and your own time.

At least somewhere you can cry over heartbreak and not have to worry about the person behind it walking in your room.

“Since when have you been feeling like this?” He asks, breaking your train your thought. “About... moving out?”

“A few months.” You admit.

He stays quiet and you continue to eye the wall intensely, while at the same time have Jamie stare sadly at you.

It’s not every day your best friend says that she wants to move out of your home.

“Is there anything I can do to make you stay?” He asks, feeling helpless.

You think for a second.

“I’m afraid you can’t.”

You sniffle quickly and let out a loud sigh. You’re battling every emotion in you but for an outsider, you just look frustrated. Not sad.

Jamie continues to stare silently and you feel his eyes on you. Your heart is breaking at his silence, and it’s painful. Yet you don’t know what else to do.

You’ve felt like you’ve done everything you could, and this... this is just what you’re left with. This and your unconfessed feelings.

“Are you still planning on staying in Dallas?” He asks, breaking the heart-wrenching silence.

“Yeah,” You say, blinking some tears away, “Of course, I am. Or at least close. I might have to move out of the city and stay in the suburbs, but-”

“Why?”

“I’m not that well paid, Jamie.” You say in an amused tone.

“I can he-”

“No.” You say quickly, staring at him.

Your eyes are almost pleading for him to not do anything of the sort, not pay for rent or even be responsible over anything of yours.

If you want to start fresh, you can’t let him do it.

“Why not?”

“I have my own money” You assure. “I’ll be okay on my own.”

You blink some more tears away and he frowns at the sight of them.

“Are you telling me that or telling that to yourself?” He asks you.

“What?”

He doesn’t repeat the question, he just continues to stare at you silently and your urge to cry intensifies.

You’re so used to look at him as your safe haven that breaking down in front of him is just engraved in your brain as something natural. But this time it’s not about work, it’s about him.

“Why are you crying?”

You snap back to reality and bring your hands up to your face, forcefully wiping them.

“It’s...”

Jamie sits up quickly, not letting you move away from him or the conversation, and a small shaky sigh escapes your mouth.

“Talk to me,” He pleads and you breathe in sharply.

You look down at your hands and your heart starts to speed up in your chest. He also looks down at your hands and sees you angrily play with the string of the hoodie you’re wearing.

You want to open your mouth to confess everything, but your emotions get the best of you. Just the thought of how ‘it’s all going to be now’ makes you freeze. 

This could be the moment that will change everything and make him never look at you in the same light.

The moment when your friendship dies. And you can’t let that happen.

Jamie’s hand rests on your shoulder and your body shakes with your cries and he looks at you worryingly. He wraps his arms around you and your face meets the soft fabric of his shirt.

He holds as you cry it out, fear still present in you even though you have already talked yourself out into not saying anything. It’s like it’s permanent now.

“Is this about work?” He asks, trying to guess.

Guess you got to do what you do best: Lie.

(...)

Some would honestly agree that destiny, or whatever you believe in these situations, was on your side, when Jamie, days prior to you leaving the apartment, needs to go on a roadie.

He felt absolutely awful that he wouldn’t be home to help you move out, even offered you to wait until he came back, so he can help. But a ‘it’s fine’ was your answer.

You felt awful. He’s your best friend in the whole world and you were destroying your so ‘healthy’ and loving communication so you could get some peace in return.

“I’m gonna miss you.” You tell him as your voice is muffled by his shirt.

“I’m gonna miss you too.” He says as his arms hold you close to him. “I can still call you like before, right?”

“Of course, you can.” You tell him, in a tone as if you would be stating the obvious.

He’s wearing a suit, ready to get on the team’s bus before departing to whatever state he will be playing in. He smells like his cologne, strong as ever, since it hadn’t been long since you two left home.

You, on the other hand, are wearing an oversized t-shirt and some jeans. Nothing too special. Just good enough to take your best friend to wherever he’s getting a bus to work.

“Hey, Rig! Let’s go!” One of the guys screams from the bus door.

It’s not like he’s holding back anyone from leaving, since there are still staff members dragging piles of equipment in the bus’s trunk. But every player is already making their way up to their seats or is already seated.

“You need to go.” You tell him as you try to pull him away by resting your hands on his torso and pulling yourself off, “You have a big trip ahead of you.”

“I know.” He says before squeezing you closer to him.

You feel him lay some kisses on the top of your head and when you look up at him, he just has a small grin over his face.

“You better pick up every single call, uh?” He threatens and a smile reappears on your face.

“Or what?” You challenge, eyebrows held up as if to wait for his answer with an attitude.

He laughs, yet he doesn’t say anything, he just lifts his gaze from you to the bus. His hands lift from your back and rest on your shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze.

It’s time for him to go.

“I’ll call you tonight, okay?” He asks and you nod.

You two pull away from each other and he leans down to grab his bag. You watch him silently, trying to fight off your emotions that keep on building up whenever he’s about to walk away, and he looks down to give you another look.

“See you at the home game?”

You swallow harshly and nod at him again, a small smile on your face.

The game is 2 weeks away from happening but it will eventually be the end of this roadie. Jamie comes back and stays until the next ‘non-home’ game, which is just a week later, giving you enough time to run through your plan.

You’re not sure if you want to be there. What you’ve planned until now was something over the phone with one of your parents. They offered to help you out and said something along the lines of ‘why don’t come home for a bit?’.

You’re not going to lie, it sounds nice to go home. Maybe take a month or two away from Dallas, away from Jamie.

It’s just that you will miss the home game, or, really, many home games.

You stare as your best friend walks towards the bus and you blink your tears away. He gives his last bag to a worker, who carefully carries it to the trunk, and he takes his first step into the bus.

You inhale sharply, face warming up as your emotions start getting the best of you. The wives, a few feet away from you, are incapable of noticing what’s happening to you, but either way, it could be mistaken just by the ‘goodbye’ for the trip.

You look back up at the bus and see Jamie take his seat by the window, beside one of the guys, you can’t really tell who it is by how tinted the windows are.

His eyes soon find you again and you force your small smile to come back.

Your breathing is sharp and shaky, all because you’re trying to focus on every step of your plan and not on the man that is staring back at you.

All you gotta do is move out, act as if time and distance are pulling you two away, ignore some of his calls... And just let it happen. But, god, why does it hurt so much?

Jamie frowns as you look down at your shoes for a few seconds and his heart clenches as he sees you wipe your tears away, hidden from any of the wives’ eyes.

He eyes you and your head lifts as soon as the bus starts, vibrating under him and loudly signalizing to you that he’s about to leave.

You stare back at him as if in the long lost void, biting your own lips as if to hold back any sobs and eyeing the tinted windows, deep in thought.

You love Jamie. Love him with your whole heart, with your whole being. More than you can even put it into words. But, you can’t just lose him. Not by your confession.

You can’t bear to feel any more hurt, more broken.

The bus soon starts moving and you look through the glass to see Jamie look at you with a worried look. You hide your emotions, once more, with a smile and give him a wave of goodbye.

He waves back and soon enough, the bus leaves, leaving you with nothing but your emotions and self-hate.

Your phone vibrates in your hand and you look down at the screen, tears covering your eyes and making it hard to read. Your urge to break down multiplies by each time a person around you walks away.

Riggy 🥰: I’ll come back before you know it

Am I proud of this? No. 

Do I know how to make it better? No.

Really hope it’s not too shitty. I’ve had this on my drafts for so long, I just had to post it. 

[lillian-nator]

YBLN!Ranboo

His Ranboo is a year older than Tubbo, Tommy, and Purpled. 

Tommy meets Ranboo when he is a Junior and Ranboo is a Senior. 

Ranboo had moved to their town the year before and became the soccer team’s goalie. Due to the fact that Tommy plays offensive, he never interacts with Ranboo, however, he heard Fundy talking to Ranboo once and deemed the tall boy cool. 

They first talk in the senior English class, because Tommy is a year ahead in English, and Tommy tells Ranboo that he will be eating lunch with him and his friends. 

“You are going to sit at my table during Lunch today, and you are going to meet Tubbo and Purpled, and you are my friend now. No arguing."

Very much 2 extroverts adopting Ranboo, and Purpled just vibes on the side. 

But Ranboo turns out to be weird as fuck, and Tubbo vibes with that SO fucking hard. 

They T-pose at eachother in the hallways, its SO cringey that it’s almost okay. 

Most people in The Gang were shorter than Tommy, but since Ranboo is taller, sometimes Tommy likes to lean on him2

Niki gets a scholarship to a preforming arts school nearby, so, on weekends she volunteers at the school's library, and Niki and Ranboo become really good friends - Niki instantly takes the kid in 

ANYWAYS, so Ranboo gets the keys to the library from Niki one day, and the four of them play a game of Manhunt throughout the school - it’s chaotic as FUCK

Overwhelming Social Anxiety - what can I say

He has one sister, she is like 13 years older than him, he never really felt related to her, so then Niki shows up in the picture - OH BOY

Sibling Issues immediately resurface, and then were fixed by one Niki Nihachu. Thank you Niki Nihachu for being a good role model, and surrogate sibling. 

His sister pointed out how strangely deep his voice was when he was like 9, and he got really anxious over talking ever since. 

AND THEN, Ranboo meets Tommy, who some how describes the exact thing that Ranboo is always feeling. He meets Purpled who mutters “mood”, without looking up from his phone, when he explains he has an older sister who in his eyes wears devil horns. He meets Tubbo who cheers when he's willing to speak to him, who's willing to have t-pose battles in the hallways during school. 

Ranboo barely remembers his sister now, only a haunting memory. But he has Niki now, who smiles he rambles about anything, who helps him find books in the libraries, he has friends now, and he cheers internally. 

Ranboo has found his people. 

Ranboo was a MAJOR pushover before he became friends with Tubzo, Tommy, and Purpled. 

He doesn’t mean to be a pushover, he doesn’t. But he’s the kid who will do everything in a group project without telling the others they need to help. He becomes known for being the new kid that will give you homework answers. He doesn’t want to, he wants to help them before giving them straight answers, but he’s new and he’s quiet and his dad told him to make friends and apparently this is how you do it. Everyone asks him to give them things without a return, and he can’t tell them no because he doesn’t want to be the kid that everyone hates. He doesn’t want to be the butt of every joke.

Ranboo is the kid that nobody knows too much about but knows of. They know Ranboo as the one that does homework, the one that somewhat regulates things. They call him a suck-up. But when he is with The Gang and Tommy, he knows he can be demanding, sometimes. 

He can take the path of least resistance everywhere else, but when hes with his friends, he can let go for a second. He doesn’t have to "go with the flow" because the flow is always changing and moving forward and turning, and he will not turn with it. 

For once, he will fight against the tide, because where he is going, is a place that feels like home. He can joke about not doing things without being guilt-tripped into doing things anyway, and his choice is respected, and he doesn’t need to be stubborn for hours on end before breaking to get the people to listen, because they will listen regardless. 

But

But

Ranboo + Tubbo + Tommy + Purpled = Full Out Teen Indie Movie Vibes

Ranboo, Tommy, Tubbo, and purpled borrowing the keys from Niki and totally legally entering the school at like 4am on a Saturday the fifth week of summer break. They play tag along the whole campus with flashlights and ""walkie talkies"" and regroup just before the sun starts rising and sit outside on top of the car they drove here and share a bunch of capri suns before they give in and drive home to pass out for twelve hours and repeat the next day.

They go to Walmart and drive eachother in shopping carts, and eat Subway. 

Ranboo barging into tubbo's room like "i know you have this one specific ring you took it so long ago but i really wanna wear it" and Tubbo just. points at the box he keeps all of them in.

OH YEAH

Ranboo is just always dressed up. Sometimes he shows up in a literally full 3 piece suit. Most times he just wears Hawaiian shirts, and buttons up with black jeans, but - it’s so much better than how Tubbo and Tommy dress. 

He wears a lot of rings and necklaces. He also wears sunglasses inside. Let him have that. 

Tubbo still has a bunch of Ranboo’s rings (Tubbo steals Ranboo’s rings and necklaces, for those who didn’t know) when Ranboo goes to college. He keeps them in his bedside drawer, and puts them on when he feels lonely. Ranboo has to come back on a weekend to get one of his favorite rings back. Tubbo’s plan works out. He keeps stealing jewelry.

Tommy can finally borrow his friend’s clothes, because Ranboo is bigger than him

Tubbo and Purpled always borrowed Tommy’s sweatshirts and shit, but 

Tommy could never borrow any of theirs because it would be extremely awkward because Purpled is 3 inches shorter than him, so it would be just a small bit too small, and Tubbo’s would just straight up not fit him, I mean, the kid is literally 10 inches shorter than him

Tommy feels so fucking warm when he can finally borrow someone else’s hoodie. Of course it is all completely platonic, but all of his friends did it, and now he could finally participate.

Purpled flicking a lighter against his hoodie sleeve absently and tubbo whacking him on the head for it because "it makes the sleeves feel weird" - Purpled has a habit of playing with lighters. And Tubbo has a habit of wearing Purpled’s hoodies. 

Piercing their ears at home like IDIOTS. It doesn't go as bad as you think it would and now Ranboo, Tubbo, Tommy, and Purpled have matching earrings. 

The four of them lying next to each other on the floor with the lights off talking about college, talking about where they're going and where they've been accepted and what they'll do. 

Just very much teen movie shit.

Sitting on old creaky swings, sleeping on the roof, going nuts on Tubbo’s trampoline idk man

TAGS BELOW

@gxd-cxmplex @rmbz101 @introverted--pineapple @seilee @carry-on-my-wayward-why @iluvu3ooo @tubbanna @confusionnoises @yummygummysouls @wassupmygays

[little-diable]

Will you be my date? - Jasper Hale (fluff)

I’ve just found those types of imagines (for example ”deep end” by @sdicapriox totally obsessed with that one) and I wanted to try my own version. So, here is “5 times I’ve asked you to prom and the time you said “yes””. Enjoy my loves. xxx

(Credit to gif owner) 

i. Running late

Rain was patting against the windshield of (y/n)s car, a frown was prominent on her features, hands were tightly gripping the steering wheel, she was running late, again. (Y/n) wasn’t quite sure, how she had managed to stay up until 4am, to engrossed into her book, to realize that the sound of her alarm clock would try and wake her up in less than three hours. 

7.50 she still had ten minutes to make it to class, (y/n) was jogging towards the entrance of her high school, already out of breath as she came to a halt in front of her locker, hands rifling through it, desperately trying to find her history book. 

“Good morning darlin’”, she was too focused on trying to find her book, to pick up the sound of Jaspers smooth voice, not noticing the way he was leaning against the locker next to hers, golden eyes attached to her trembling frame.  Adrenaline was pumping through her veins, she detested running late. “I was wondering, if you’d do me the honor and -”, a sigh left (y/n)s lips, eyes finding his, “sorry Jas’. I’m running super late, whatever you want to ask me, this has to wait until later, okay?”.  

His golden eyes watched her disappear down the hall, his jaw was clenched, a wave of disappointment crashed upon him, (y/n) was one of his closest friends, someone he admired, someone he loved. It seemed as if (y/n) was quite oblivious to his feelings, not picking up on the fact, that the pale boy was deeply crushing on her. 

ii. Lunch 

It took Jasper two days to work up his courage, to try and ask (y/n) again, prom was fast approaching and Jasper felt the need to keep her close that night. He wouldn’t trust the vision of his sister, knowing how much the future could change, Jasper couldn’t remember a time, where he felt that nervous, (y/n) managed to make him feel like a human being, something he terribly missed. 

Jasper spotted her at the far back of the lunch hall, nose buried in a book, not truly listening to her girlfriends blabbering, “just ask her”, Alice nudged her elbow into his side. His fingertips were hammering against the tabletop, pondering about wether he should walk over there or not. 

“Jasper Hale is coming into our direction.”, one of (y/n)s friends whispered, ripping (y/n)s eyes off her book, taking in his nearing frame, she felt her heart skip a few beats, her palms were getting sweaty, did she look alright? (Y/n) ran a hand through her (y/h/c) hair, trying to smooth out the knots, she bit down on her lower lip, averting her eyes. 

“(Y/n)? Would you have a second for me?”, his accent made her swoon, nodding her head “yes”, while grasping her book and her backpack, following him out into the hallway. (Y/n) shifted her weight from one foot to the other one, why would he want to talk to her in private? “So, darlin’”, a smile on his lip, Jasper grasped a loose strand of her hair, twirling it around between his fingers, golden eyes focused on hers, “as I’ve wanted to ask you beforehand, you probably know that prom is coming up and -”, a hand grasped (y/n) shoulder, making her turn around. Mike Newton. 

“Hey sorry, (y/n) I desperately need your help with the math homework, please.”, a groan left Jaspers lips as he glared at Mike, finally understanding Edwards annoyance with the boy. (Y/n) whispered a small “sorry”, before following Mike down the hall, she found Jaspers eyes once again, a smile on her lips as she disappeared around the corner.  

iii. Library 

(Y/n) loved to hide away in the library, it was her own safe space, a place where she could keep to herself, not having to talk to anybody. She was a sucker for new books, would read through them in a single day, not keeping herself from getting sucked into the fantasy world, wishing she could disappear for a while and start her new life in one of her books. 

Her mind began to wander, making Jaspers golden eyes appear in her thoughts, her right leg began to bounce up and down, oh how she’d wished to be by his side right now. She could already feel her cheeks flare up, hands pressed onto the hot skin, desperately trying to cool herself down. 

“Are you alright, darlin’?”, she whipped her head around, eyes ripped wide open, her heart was rapidly beating against her ribcage, of course, he had to appear, while she was in her flushed state, dreaming about the way he’d hold her at night, keeping her safe and sound, hands wrapped around her waist, head buried in the crook of his nec- “(Y/n)?”, he grasped her hand, eyebrows furrowed together. 

Jasper wasn’t one for giving up, it just wasn’t in his nature to back down from anything, his primal instincts were leading him towards (y/n), he had to ask her, hoping that they’d finally be on their own in the library, no Mike near to disturb their little bubble of peace. He sat down next to her, still not letting go of her hand, tracing the veins on the back of her hand, “I think now would be a good time, to finally ask you, if you’d-”, the “silence” that hallowed through the library, interrupted him once again. 

The vampire pressed his forehead against the tabletop, jaw clenched, he felt anger rise in his chest, apparently he needed to take this to the next level. (Y/n) silently chuckled as she watched him, wondering what was going on inside of his head, why did he seem that annoyed? 

iv. Headphones 

Her back was pressed against the grass, hands crossed in front of her chest, eyes closed, another lunch break to give her a small break from studying. (Y/n) took a few breaths, cursing the clouds from hiding away the sun, she wasn’t the biggest fan of the cold weather. Birdys voice hallowed from her headphones, a smile danced on her lips as she listened to the lyrics, head whipping from side to side. 

Emmett pushed Jasper towards (y/n)s direction, noticing that none of her friends were near, she was completely on her own, the perfect time to finally ask her, if she’d accompany him to prom. Jasper took off his sunglasses as he placed himself next to her on the grass, eyes taking in her features, he was obsessed with her, in the best way possible. 

“(Y/n), I’ll go insane, if I don’t ask you this right now. Please, would you do me to honor and be my date to prom?”, his eyes were closed, waiting for an answer, but (y/n) didn’t say a word, not a single one. Slowly he opened up his eyes, maybe she just didn’t want to go to prom with him? Maybe somebody had already asked her, he wouldn’t blame them on that. 

But, (y/n)s eyes were still closed, she wasn’t moving an inch, her heartbeat was slow and clam, was she asleep? Jasper tilted his head backwards, hands running across his face, this was getting old. He could hear Emmett snicker from a few feet away, eyes trained on him and (y/n), he loved to watch his brother struggle. 

Jasper slowly ran a hand up her arm, fingertips tingling as he felt her soft skin underneath his, backing away as soon as she ripped her eyes open, it took her a few seconds to realize, that Jasper was sitting next to her. (Y/n) pulled out her earbuds, “sorry, Jas, didn’t hear you. Are you okay?”, his eyes looked darker than usual, he wordlessly shook his head “yes”, rose from the ground and left the confused girl behind. 

v. Hospital 

Just as Jasper left his fathers office, he bumped into something, or rather someone, hands grasping the person, keeping them from falling. He didn’t need to look up, to see who he was holding onto, her scent was enough for the venom to pool in the back of his throat, something he should be used to by now. 

An embarrassed chuckle left her lips, (y/n) stepped out of his embrace, dusting off her jacket, cheeks flushed in a deep red color, “sorry Jasper”, god, why did she have to be that clumsy? (Y/n) slung her bag over her shoulder, shooting him a quick glance, before striding past him, desperate not to.make a fool out of herself for the second time that day. 

He couldn’t stop himself from grasping her shoulder, wouldn’t hurt to try it a fifth time, would it? She visibly gulped as he opened up his mouth, but, no words were leaving his lips, he took in her flushed state, picking up on the uncomfortable feeling that was flooding through her. 

(Y/n) was sure, that she’d black out any second now, her heart was beating unbelievably fast, why did he have to have that effect on her? Why did she have to crush on one of the most famous boys from her school? Jasper was staring down on her, it seemed as if he was in some kind of trance, he was probably just making fun of her clumsy self. Wordlessly she shook off his hand and left him behind, tightly clutching the fabric of her bag, desperate to hold onto something. 

+Will you be my date? 

Prom wasn’t even a week away and (y/n) still had no date, maybe she just shouldn’t go at all, she couldn’t turn up on her own, not in the mood to embarrass herself any further. God, the things she’d do for Jasper to ask her out, but he had probably already asked one of the popular girls, why would he even bother with her?

Her head was pressed into her pillow, trying to swallow down the lump, that began to form in her throat, tears were welling up in her eyes - stop it, you’re not going to cry over a boy. She was too far gone, to pick up on the sound of the door bell ringing, only raising her head as her mom called for her “it’s for you, (y/n).”. 

She had to drag herself down the stairs, not bothered by her attire, who’d turn up at her house anyways? Probably just the mailman or one of her friends, but as she found Jasper Hale standing in front of her door, she felt frozen on the spot, (y/n) couldn’t move her legs any further, panic overcame her, oh god.

Jasper couldn’t stop his smile from spreading as he found her frame, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, no makeup on, she probably had been asleep a few minutes ago. “Hello darlin’.”, he reached his hand out for her to take, pulling her against his chest, inhaling the all too familiar scent of her shampoo, smiling against her hairline. 

“I know it’s late, I’m sorry for that. But this can’t wait.”, her eyebrows were furrowed together, wondering why he looked that serious, “please, (y/n), will you be my date to prom?”, he bit down on his lower lip, eyes trained on hers. It took her a few moments to process what he had just asked her. Prom? He wanted to go to prom with her? 

He began to feel nervous, once again unsure, if she’d liked to go with him anyways. “Of course I want to be your date.”, (y/n) pressed her head against the crook of his neck, giggling as he wrapped his hands around her middle, pulling her tighter. 

Finally. 

[sociologyonthemove]

A Littered Trail by Annabel Rawsthorne

This paper will provide a descriptive account of my walking study through the student accommodation area of Cardiff; Cathays. Having spent three years familiarising myself with the area I’ve increasingly noticed the key factor that stands out above all else in this environment; the litter. Puwar (2019) conducted a walk with the key focus of litter. Within her study she points the finger at students claiming “Whilst the walls of the university extend across the city and into our neighbourhood so does the litter and rubbish”. Granted, students are publicised as careless and polluting humans (Lewis 2018). However, can we simply state the litter is due purely to students or, additionally, those non student residents? With Cathays as my urban laboratory I equipped myself with a camera in attempt to understand and break down how students interact with their surrounding environment. 

My home, in the centre of the student hub of Cathays, is where I will begin and end my circular walk. The bright blue sky, which has been hidden for the last few days, matches my positive mood. I step out of my home onto Wyeverene Road, the street I’ve walked down almost every day of my university career. However, today is not like those days, I will be paying attention to aspects I usually wouldn’t acknowledge, becoming more aware of my surroundings. As I begin my walk I notice the peace and tranquillity that exists between the 4am stagger home and the 9am hustle to make the first lecture. It’s not often I manage to leave the house in this five-hour window and I hadn’t appreciated Cathays could be so quiet. However, this tranquillity comes to a swift end when the stench of the weekend hits me, with the stale smell of alcohol lingering in the air along with Wales’ victory of the six nations. The remains of cider cans are sprinkled along the street like glitter as they catch the sun almost continuing the weekend celebrations. Not long after I begin my walk I notice a recyclable bin bag on the street and I begin to think, how is it a person makes the effort to ensure paper and plastic are disposed of in the correct coloured bag but then results to being littered so carelessly in the street? Alongside it an abandoned black umbrella which provides no use on this bright day, however would have been critical at the time it failed its owner, leaving them to the elements. With the sun gleaming in my eyes I continue to walk, I notice a bin bag that perhaps has come under attack by the abnormally large seagulls we breed here in Cardiff, with household rubbish such as egg boxes covering the side walk.

As the consistent trail of litter guides me up Wyeverne Road I begin to develop a sense of shame in the way Cardiff students are living up to the stereotype labelled to us. As Puwar (2019) states “walking is full of litter”, this statement is beginning to make sense to me, as I walk a piece of litter is never far from where my foot falls. I reach Salisbury road and the remains of take away boxes become more frequent after being discarded in people’s drunken states. As I begin to think with all my senses, I can almost taste the curry sauce from the polystyrene boxes as the smell becomes so dominate below me, which at this early hour turns my stomach (Bates and Rhys-Taylor 2017). Crossing the road, I come to two large blue bins, however rubbish seems to surround them, almost guarding them. What sense does this make that these large bins sit empty but yet around them lies rubbish? Turning on the Rhymney Street my first acknowledgement is the sudden rise in accumulation of litter. It seems storm Gareth and bin day make a lethal combination. People must be starting their day, as I begin to pass more students walking towards the city, as I get half way down Rhymney Street I reach a pile of rubbish which I assume had been blown from the 90 mph winds we had experienced over the last week. One element I found amusing was the juxtaposed litter consuming the area around a pristine BMW, with a slight smile on my face from the contrast I continue focusing on my surroundings. 

The mass litter is spiralling out of control on this student dense road with no sense of care from residents. Even the small brown food waste bins remain outside, almost a week after the day of bin collection displaying how disorganised and careless students really are. The smell of fermented food which remain decomposing at the bottom of each bin dominates its surroundings, a waft of rotting banana hits me but then floats away as quickly as it came. I pick up my pace in an attempt to escape the smell. Further down from the sea of brown food waste bins lays the remains of a desk, dismantled outside a house, the bin men have clearly declined collecting it as they so often do in Cathays. This begins to present an argument that the issue of litter is not only due to students but related to multi structural issues. A desk; a necessity at university, how is the owner coping without it? With each piece of litter I pass, endless questions pop into my head about the life of each object and their past owner. Looking forward at my route all I can see is the endless scattering of rubbish, almost like a treasure hunt; I continue to follow the trail. As I walk I notice a dark green ‘Travis Perkins’ bag lying on the floor, next to it, its trusty sidekick; a full bin bag. I begin to see patterns, where one abnormal piece of litter lies, more accumulate around it. Students clearly determine that if someone else has left an unwanted item then it sends the all clear for others to do the same. As I follow the road I enter a more residential area and the rubbish seems to subside suggesting it is the students at the core of this field of garbage. While acknowledging the lack of litter in this area I approach a house under construction, with a mass amount of rubbish both outside and inside the metal fence surrounding the home. A literal ‘dumping ground’ as people have thrown their unwanted wrappers over the fence, I notice a can of red bull propped up by the brick, I wonder whether it was once owned by the builder or student as both are always in desperate need of energy.

When weaving in and out of the scaffolding, I come into contact with an older male, who I assume is a local resident in this area. When trying to pass the narrow section simultaneously, we both stand aside in order to let the other go past before he politely says “go on”. I move through replying “thank you”. It’s nice to see residents don’t seem to hate students as much as displayed in the media, despite consuming their neighbourhood and as seen; destroying their landscape. When I reach Woodville road my first interaction is the loud noise of a lorry, maybe doing its morning deliveries to Sainsbury Local. When the vehicle comes in to view it is in fact a bin lorry. The loud engine ploughs through the road and I question why it is leaving Cathays when so much rubbish remains? However, it is known that rubbish disposal is a key issue in student areas (Munro and Livingston 2012). Again, displaying the wider multi structural issues, highlighting the complexities of this problem within the student environment. Turning right I instantly notice the minimal rubbish on the roads, perhaps those with shops make an extra effort to ensure their shop face is clear of debris or maybe we’ve left the student nest.

As I walk along the main road the absence of rubbish continues until I come across a pair of black bin bags stuffed with litter in the centre of the main pavement and on the left a bright red umbrella as well as a travel case for an animal. Why have these peculiar things ended up here? I think back to other places in the UK I have been and I realise how bizarre the rubbish around Cardiff really can be. The sound of cars rushing by the main road, splashing through puddles and the smell of melted cheese from the pizza parlours consume me. I feel my tummy grumble as I remember I haven’t even had breakfast yet! Behind a blue fence I notice a pile of what looks like abandoned clothes, what I would state as rubbish. However, I remember the big problem of homelessness we have here in Cardiff and think how these clothes may actually be an individual’s only possession and is certainly not rubbish to them. It’s interesting to think how people define rubbish and the way this definition differs from person to person. I have been walking through these streets mindlessly defining objects as rubbish. But what actually classifies something as rubbish? This is determined by the individual observing and differs throughout culture and time.

When I reach Flora Street the return of the brown food waste bins signify that I have just re-entered the student’s territory. I come across an obstruction on my route; a large amount of cardboard that has turned soft, meaning it has been outside for a number of days absorbing all the rainfall. I slowly reroute around it without too much thought, but why is it we automatically revert our route when I could have simply walked through the mushing remains of cardboard with little problems? Linking back onto Woodville road and I notice yet another bin bag. But this one is clinging to the front wheel of a car, almost imitating a clamp as it wedges itself between the curb and the wheel. Further along the road one house appears to have a junk yard as their front garden. The smell of rotting food once again filling the air around me. Their food waste bin emptied onto their gravel and bin bags dotted around, beautiful daffodils trying to break through the rubbish to shed some light. It is clear students occupy this property due to a lack of pride in their surroundings. It is unlikely they would treat their home away from university like this, is it a statement of intent, to live in these conditions?

Finally, as I reach the beginning of Wyeverne Road, the home stretch, I feel the crunch of shattered glass at the sole of my shoe. The scratch like nails down a chalk board making me shiver and clench my jaw. A shelf of a fridge has been shattered outside the house. I can’t help but wonder why only a shelf has been binned? What happened to the rest of the fridge? Just a few steps forward and a group of coat hangers lay coatless on the floor. As I’ve walked my eyes have been opened and I’ve noticed my surroundings of disregarded objects in a much deeper sense than before, confirming how Smith and Hall say “gain understanding of the everyday experiences” (2017, p40).

I have come to the end of my walk and I can identify the areas where students reside by simply looking at the surrounding rubbish. It is clear those whom are permanent residents take more pride in their neighbourhood and ensure their streets are clean. Whereas the students are aware they are simply here for term time over a three-year period therefore bare little responsibility or pride for the area. University students are associated with being intelligent individuals however the abundance of litter shows the lack of intelligence. It is clear these students don’t think about their actions and assume once they let go of litter it is no longer their responsibility. However, this rubbish will not simply disappear. This is a popular topic in the media, educating society on how this rubbish will last hundreds if not thousands of years, but yet people are happy to let it go wherever the wind blows. 

Using the method of video was very beneficial as it enabled me to continue my analysis. Reflecting on the walk, I begin to answer the questions I presented myself. One key development is applying the use of broken window theory which states if a broken window is left unrepaired it displays how little the neighbourhood care, therefore, the deviance is tolerated and therefore more likely to reproduce (Kelling and Wilson 1982). This is evident in Cathays, as the discarded rubbish polluting the streets has been left untouched by other residents, thus resulting in others partaking in the deviant act. This answers the question of whether this rubbish is due to students, it can be said with confidence that all residents play their part in normalising this behaviour of littering. 

References

Bates, C. and Rhys-Taylor, A. 2017. In: Bates, C. and Rhys-Taylor, A. eds. Walking Through Social Research. London: Routledge, pp. 1-11.

Kelling, G.L. and Wilson, J.Q., 1982. Broken windows. Atlantic monthly, 249(3), pp.29-38.

Lewis, A. 2018. Filthy scenes as university students leave piles of rotting rubbish and abandoned cars in streets before summer break. The Mirror. [online] Available at: https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/filthy-scenes-university-students-leave-12850760 (Accessed on the 8th April 2019)

Munro, M. and Livingston, M., 2012. Student impacts on urban neighbourhoods: policy approaches, discourses and dilemmas. Urban Studies, 49(8), pp.1679-1694.

Puwar, N. 2019. Walking through Litter. Life Writing Projects. [online] Available at: http://reframe.sussex.ac.uk/lifewritingprojects/place/nirmal-puwar/ (Accessed on the 19thMarch 2019)

Smith, R.J. and Hall, T., 2017. Seeing the need: Urban outreach as sensory walking. In Walking Through Social Research. London: Routledge, pp. 39-53. 

[pearlescentttttt]

@goldenphlox tagged me in this lovely questionnaire. ✨

Nicknames: My name, alas, has no viable nickname options, but my go by on tumblr is Pearl and it feels very sweet to me. The pearl is my birthstone.

Zodiac: Gemini sun, Virgo moon, Libra rising. (I love astrology and will always talk about it happily with anyone, especially if you want help looking up your chart.)

Last movie: Cronos. I am taking a film class and this was assigned for the week of Halloween- it's Guillermo del Toro's first movie and was a really interesting inversion of typical vampire/monster flicks. Would recommend if you like spooky things or thoughtful things.

Height: 5’5- which feels to me to be quite average.

Last thing I googled: "pink floating shelves"- I am decorating a new apartment and I want a shelf to put my iPad while I do dishes.

Fav musicians: Adrianne Lenker, SZA, Moses Sumney, Mac Miller, Phoebe Bridgers, Joan Baez, Laura Marling, Frank Ocean, Anna Mieke, Stevie Nicks, Vashti Bunyan, Billie Eilish, Waxahatchee, Billie Holiday, The Staves, Solange, and so many others.

Song stuck in my head: Godspeed by Frank Ocean

Other blogs: @locketfullofpoetry - but I forget about this blog a lot. It's just a place to keep poems I like as I read them.

Amount of sleep: Oh god, this is so variable. I have started waking up at 4am no alarm no nothing, even before daylight savings kicked in, and it sucks.

Lucky number: 6

Dream trip: Going to visit Emily Dickinson's grave and doing a literary tour of Amherst, Massachusetts.

What I’m wearing: Velvet headband, cat eye glasses, pink and red striped fluffy sweater, black mini skirt, black tights, black patent oxford Doc Martens.

Languages: Regrettably, I only speak English. I have taken Spanish classes, but I don't use those language skills enough, and they have atrophied.

Play an instrument: Absolutely not. I love to listen to music, but I cannot sing or play an instrument, and I have no desire to try.

Fav food: Cheesecake. Of absolutely any variety.

Fav songs: Go Gina by SZA, Dreams by Fleetwood Mac, Only the Strong by Laura Marling, Good Woman by The Staves, Cranes in the Sky by Solange

Random fact about me: I was an English teacher for quite a few years.

If you see this and you do it, please tag me so I can read your answers! Especially @honey-eyed-kisses and @ohsofttouch @aatalante and @andromedae-veritate if y’all have time. ✨🥰