#then i had to go fucking ruin it for myself

[csainzsgirly]

cs55 - “Your father will kill me if he finds out I watched his little girl fuck herself”

bodyguard!carlos x reader, inspired by this wonderful moodboard by @sunflowerlando 💓

smut (18+), p in v, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), masturbating (and use of toys/vibrators), age gap (6 years), he's trying to be cool but he's down bad fr.

tags: @softhecreator

His hands were squeezing your ass, his lips were on your neck. He was hot, truly hot. His name was Charles - which had sounded as good to you as 'stranger' did, because it sounded like a hot night in a club bathroom and not ever seeing each other again after. Just what you needed.

All fun ended when a hand wrapped around your arm and firmly pulled you away from the hot stranger, making you leave without saying goodbye. "What do you think you're doing?" you snapped, roughly pulling your arm back. People were looking at you, but you didn't care. "It's time to leave, because I'm not letting you embarrass yourself." His deep voice was audible even over the loud music. Your bodyguard towered over you, the jacket of his suit pulling taut around his biceps and his chest, stretching over the expanse of his back. "Get in the car, or I will take you there myself. Your father wants you home in half an hour," Carlos said.

"I was just having fun," you complained. "I haven't said goodbye to my friends yet." You twirl around on your heels, but you're swooped off your feet barely a second after. Dangling upside down with your bodyguard's hand on the back of your thigh - to keep you from flashing everyone while you hung over Carlos' shoulder - wasn't exactly what you had in mind as a graceful exit. After meeting Charles and making out with him on the dance floor like you were teenagers, you were sure you could escape from his sight for an evening. But your dad hired a bodyguard who saw everything. Nothing you did got by unseen by him.

It was annoying yet funny at the same time. He hated it when he had to watch you while you were going out. He hated it when you went on a date. He hated to see little boys, who didn't know who to appreciate a woman, all over you. His broodiness never seemed to leave him, causing him to look at you with a frown or a scowl etched on his face. "Are you drunk?" he barked. "No, sir," you replied with a roll of your eyes. "So I won't throw up. But if you shake me around like this upside down any longer, I might," you mutter. You yelped when Carlos put you back on your feet when you reached the car. You hadn't even noticed he held your coat in his other hand while he lifted you all the way to where the SUV was parked.

"Turn around," Carlos said, still having no reason for a small smile or to look you in the eyes. "Turn around," you mocked him, yet turning around to let him help you get your coat on. He opened the door of the car for you, looking away before his eyes could drop to your ass. He knew this was going to be a hard night when he watched you walk out of your room with the short, sparkly dress. Carlos got behind the wheel of the Bentley, fingers curling around the steering wheel till his knuckles turned white. You were the death of him. He glanced in the rearview mirror as you moved a hand through your hair, then whining when you finally took the heels off your feet. He hated how short your dress was, and the fact that his fingers were itching to ride up the material further.

While your legs wrapped around his hips and the ruined material of your panties would grind against his growing erection.

"You're such a cockblock," you complain after a couple of minutes on the road. Carlos looks at you again through the mirror, but doesn't respond. "You're the reason why I haven't gotten laid in like... three months," you continue, knowing you were pushing his buttons. "Like I said, your dad wanted you home before two," Carlos said, while he knew he was taking the bait. "You're no fun," you continue, ignoring his previous words. "I'm plenty of fun. I just don't mix business and pleasure," his voice sounds sharp, almost judging. You're used to it by now. "Oh look, a boring cockblock," you sigh, resting your head against the leather seat. "I'd call it a smart cockblock, but sure." You snorted at his response. "Sassy tonight, aren't you," you catch his eyes again in the mirror before he turns onto the porch of your family's residence.

"You're a pain in my ass, as always," Carlos says, stopping the car and turning off the engine. "Get your shoes," he adds, looking over his shoulder and watching you look back at him stubbornly. The banter, the teasing, the mocking, he loved it. He pulled the door of the backdoor open to let you out. You scooted over to the edge of the seats, reaching for your heels to put them back on your feet. Carlos sighed softly, taking the patent leather pump with the red sole from you, the detail of the red colour another simple, stupid thing that caused his slacks to tighten. He didn't miss the way you shivered when his fingers brushed over your ankle. He put your shoes on without a word, offering his hand to help you step down. His nostrils caught a whiff of your cherry perfume.

"Thank you," you softly said, looking up at him, well aware of the ten centimeters that are probably between the two of you. Carlos stepped back to let you walk by, closing the door of the car and locking it as he watched you walk towards the door. The glittery ends of your dress were hanging just below your ass, teasing him some more. The gentleman he was, he waited downstairs, his back towards you, while you walked upstairs, a hand on your thigh attempting to hold your dress down enough, but he knew it would be too short anyway. He knew your routine by heart: kicking off heels, getting rid of dress, wash off make-up, do skincare, two glasses of water, let phone charge on nightstand, set alarm, go to sleep - either in an oversized shirt and panties, shorts and a top, or just panties.

You knew Carlos would wait before he was sure you'd be in bed, because he was probably still traumatized by the one time you walked out of the bathroom at the end of the hall, almost naked. His jaw had clenched, his hands were folded together behind his back, knuckles white from squeezing his fingers, and his eyes had definitely dropped to your tits. But you were forbidden territory, like he was for you. It was tempting, very tempting. A part of you was wondering what was underneath that layer of broodiness. He was always so calm and collected, annoyed with whatever you did, but you were sure a part of him secretly cared. Because you trusted him, no matter where you went. But he was a pain in your ass as well, because fuck, there was a deep itch inside you, and he didn't let anyone satisfy it.

Carlos went upstairs to take his usual position close to your door. He had the night shift whenever you went out. By the orders of your father, he stood by your door the whole night. It was silent in the large residence, his footsteps audible on the marble floor. He eyed your door, which was slightly ajar. He heard you stumble around the room quietly, but the light on your nightstand soon turned off, silence returning in your bedroom. He remained in his position for a couple of minutes before wandering around the hallway. He passed your door not much later, standing still when he heard something. Carlos halted, listening. It was a low, buzzing, pulsing sound, rustling of sheets following, your breathing pattern changing. His jaw slacked, knowing he should just continue, get out of hearing distance, but he couldn't move.

The door was left ajar far enough for him to look inside your room, to see your silhouette on the bed, hand clutched in the sheets while the other disappeared between your thighs. Carlos' lips parted with a soft breath, feeling the heat creep up his neck, his button-up suddenly choking him. He was no stranger to sex, no stranger to women's bodies, but this felt too intimate. He shouldn't stay and watch, but his eyes couldn't pull away from the scene in front of him. Your back arched off the bed while the vibrator pulsed in and out of you, the silicon top nestled against your clit. Your curtains weren't fully closed, the moonlight that entered through the window emphasizing your silhouette. He could see your hard nipples as your chest rose with more erratic breaths. If he held his breath, he'd hear the squelching noises of the toy fucking your wet cunt.

He was going crazy. His cock was throbbing against the seam of his slacks, the material becoming uncomfortably tight. Carlos planted his hand against the wall, unable to stop watching you pleasure yourself. It was so hot, so sexy, so raw and beautiful. Soft whines and moans escaped your mouth, your hips bucking in desperation. He imagined how your snug pussy would feel around him, how pretty you'd look underneath him. Carlos was nearly embarrassed by the way he stayed as still as he could, not making a sound, not wanting to disturb you and stop the show you were putting up for him. A side of him figured you were doing this on purpose, just to rile him up even further. At the moment, he didn't care why you left the door open. He watched your body tremble as you came, the vibrator against your clit making you convulse with sensitivity. For a moment, it was quiet, and he was almost relieved.

Carlos leaned his head against the wall, gnawing on his bottom lip as he watched your chest rise and sink with a few deep breaths. Sheets rustled as you turned around, and he was sure you'd put the thing in the drawer of your nightstand and go to sleep. He needed to stop watching, but once again, he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, not missing how you got on your knees, whimpered when you turned the vibrator on again and tortured your overstimulated clit some more. Carlos nearly groaned when you turned on the fake dick as well, and it was pulsing, thrusting again against your pussy before you let it slip inside. Carlos turned away, closing his eyes as he leaned against the wall. He needed to turn around and take a breath, because he couldn't look at his boss' daughter this way.

He barely said a word to you for a week. You didn't ask why he was excessively moody with you, but you definitely knew. You knew what you had done to him. It was making you smile at the thought, knowing he was struggling whenever he picked you up from the gym, a dinner with your friends, or a simple grocery run. Carlos couldn't look at you, knowing that if he did, he wouldn't be able to wipe the scenes of you fucking yourself and cumming while he was watching, from his mind. He really tried to put more distance between the two of you, but you could see his own plan failing. You could see it in the way he held your eyes when you looked at him through the mirror in the car. You noticed it in the way he held you to his chest whenever you were walking in a crowded area, the way his eyes raked over you when you were dressed up for an event, the soft compliment that slipped from his lips before he could stop himself.

"Do you want a drink?" the question threw him off guard as you both reached the top of the marble stairs in your family's residence. Your parents were on a cruise for two weeks, they had left this afternoon. It meant that the house would be empty, except for the staff. "Since when are you making drinks in your room?" Carlos asked. "I just keep a bottle of rum there, that's all," you chirped, twirling around on your heels, your dress floating around your ankles. "I'm still working," he said, pushing his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "Weren't you also working when you were watching me for an hour last week?" you ask, cocking your head sideways while looking up at him. Carlos felt his heart stop in his chest for a couple of seconds, watching you close the distance between the two of you.

"Watching you is my job, sweetheart," he replies. "Hmm," you hum, turned around and walking into your room, reaching into one of the cabinets to get the bottle of rum and two glasses. You poured the liquor in for him anyway, handing him one of the glasses. You laughed a little as he remained in the hallway. You took a sip and leaned against the door, your heels left in the closet already. His eyes were so intense. You had felt them on your body when he watched you. It made you feel hot all over while the silence lingered between you. "I will need your help to unzip my dress," you spoke up, leaving your empty glass on the coffee table in the corner. Carlos knew he should say no, ask one of the maids to help you - and then leave, but he found himself stepping over the threshhold and into your room.

His eyes quickly scanned the bed, the desk against the wall, the floor to ceiling windows, the walk-in closet with a huge mirror. You stood in front of it, taking your earrings out before unclasping your necklace, rings dropped next to it. Carlos towered over you as he looked at you through the reflection of the mirror, brushing your hair away from your back to find the top of the zipper. His fingertips tickled a little in your neck before he took the zipper down agonizingly slow. "Did you enjoy watching me?" you ask, eyes burning through his soul when he looked up at the mirror again. There were many ways he could answer that question. He went over them in his head, reaching the end of the zipper. His fingers gathered your hair behind your shoulders again, watching the way the material of your dress loosened around your body.

The straps fell down your shoulders, but you made no attempt to keep them up. You let the dress pool around your ankles, feeling comfortable despite his broader, bigger body hovering over you. "I always enjoy watching you," Carlos' voice rasps in your ear, making your breath hitch in your throat as his lips brush over the shell, finding the sensitive skin beside the lobe. One of his hands lift to nestle in your hair in the back of your neck, a gentle, yet strong, tug on your roots tilting your head aside. Goosebumps cover your flesh when his lips kiss your neck. "But I loved the part where you became desperate to cum while that toy was fucking you." Carlos watched you shiver. "Not so mouthy now?" he hummed. "Give me permission to touch you, mi reina," he breathed, making you nod quickly. "Please," you say, a little breathless as well. His grip on your hair tightened, making you tilt your head back as far as you could.

His palm glided from your throat to your neck, finding the swell of your tits before cupping one of them, moving on to your stomach. "You're so goddamn beautiful," Carlos nips at your neck again, groaning when he feels your ass against his crotch. "I had to stand and watch pathetic boys beg for your attention," he continues, his voice alone enough to harden the pearls of your nipples. "Watch you dress up in the prettiest dresses, but I couldn't touch you," he mutters, hot, open mouth kisses covering your skin. "Your father will kill me if he finds out I watched his little girl fuck herself, but breaking a contract never felt this good." You slipped from his grip, but only to turn around and face him. Your hands grabbed onto the lapels of his jacket to close the gap between your bodies, your lips colliding in a hard, long-awaited kiss.

You could feel through his slacks how hard he was, your hands leaving his chest to pad down his abs, finding the leather belt and undoing the clasp. Carlos slipped his arms out of the jacket, revealing his athletic, muscled form in the crisp white button-up he was wearing. You groaned at the sight of his vest with a holster underneath. A man wearing a gun has never been this hot before. He captured your mouth with his again, feeling your hands unbuttoning his slacks, zipping the material down and slipping inside to find his growing erection. "Shit, baby," he breathed as he watched you sink to your knees in front of him, the right side of your body angled to the mirror. He looked into the reflection of it, watching you free his cock from his Calvins. Carlos grunted lowly at the sight of your doe eyes eying his cock, nimble fingers wrapping around the girth.

Your mouth was watering at the mere feeling of the veiny shaft, fingertips exploring the ridges and veins that would feel so good inside you. Your saliva wetted the palm of your hand before you started stroking him slowly, a sigh falling from his lips. Carlos gathered your hair in his fist, watching you wetten his cock some more before you took him into your mouth. You moaned at the weight of him on your tongue, tasting the salty drops of pre-cum when you swirled the muscle around the tip. You felt the corners of your mouth straining when you took more of him, licking and sucking what you could take. Your lipgloss he had seen you reapply throughout the night was smudged already, smeared around the base of his cock when you tried to take him completely, the sounds of you gagging on him making throb against your tongue.

Carlos started taking control when you established a comfortable rhythm, his abs contracting as he listened to you slurping and sucking his cock, occasionally letting him hit the back of your throat. He looked sideways into the mirror again, eyes glued to your head bobbing up and down, his cock left glossy with your saliva. He pushed you further down, gently holding you there and seeing his cock bulge in your throat. You let go with a gasp for air, a string of spit connecting your lips to his cock before he pulled you up. Without a word, he lifted you up as if you had the weight of a feather, walking you to your bed that was still so perfectly made up. You scrambled up to your knees when he dropped you on the mattress, watching him stand near the end of the bed, finally getting his vest off and placing the gun on your desk.

His cock pulsed when he looked at the red apples of your cheeks, your bambi eyes and your pretty being waiting for him. Your fingers teased your nipples, other hand threatening to drop between your thighs if he let you wait any longer. A soft breath passed your lips when he finally got rid of his shirt, your eyes drinking in his toned body, his hard abs, the broad planes of his chest and biceps you want to put your teeth in. Your hand wraps around his cock again, but his palm finds the side of your neck, his lips leaving a delicious kiss on your mouth before he pushed you onto your back. A laugh escapes you when his hands curl around your ankles to pull you to the edge of the bed. Carlos nearly folds you in half after he put your ankles on his broad shoulders, his hand guiding his cock through your slit. His eyebrows furrow together with a groan, watching your sticky wetness ooze from your hole with a mere brush of the tip over your clit.

"You got this wet from sucking me off, hmm?" he asks. "It better feel as good as it did in my mouth," you reply, jolting a little when the big head teases your cunt, slipping through last minute to tease your clit instead. You were in heaven as soon as he entered you, filling you up to the brim, stretching you out. It had you gripping the sheets from the start. Carlos watched his cock split you in half, giving you a couple of seconds to adjust before finding a pace that had you arching your back off the bed and your fists squeezing the sheets so tightly in your palms. He was rewarded with an 'oh my god', ah's and oh's following that told him not to change anything about the rhythm. Your eyes rolled back as he pushed your legs further to your chest, breathless cries mixing with the sounds of your bodies slamming together, the wet noises of your cunt gripping his cock and sucking him in.

You would say you've had good sex more often, but this was better than good sex. You were on the brink of a release embarrasingly fast, your body doing a weak attempt to meet his thrusts. He was in you so deep, so hard, and you were so wet, you were sure you were leaking down your thighs. He hadn't even taken off your panties, he had simply slid them aside. The material was begging to be removed from your body, the seam threatening to break against the side of his cock. "Such a perfect little pussy," Carlos breathed. "I imagined how fucking wet and tight you'd be," he continued, fuelling the heat in your lower abdomen. "Don't stop," you moan as he let your legs fall open, but only to wrap them around his hips, his hand having free access to your clit. "Carlos!" you cried out, his cock hitting you g-spot over and over again. You were a writhing mess underneath him, body tensing up as you felt your orgasm so close.

Carlos felt your pussy squeezing him, your wetness soaking him. Nothing could prepare you for the peak your body reached, freezing your muscles for a split second before the warmth washed all over you, pleasure dotting your vision, curling your toes and making your legs shake as you gave in. His cum filled you up, cock throbbing inside you. Carlos looked at you through hooded eyes, his hot breath softly ghosting over your face. His lips pressed to your neck again, watching you catch your breath as well. He slowly pulled out of you to get a couple of tissues and clean you up, eyes darkening again at the thought you'd go to bed with your pussy filled with his cum. He reached for his underwear to pull on again, soon finding you in front of him, pulling him down into a kiss. "Don't go," you whisper against his mouth. "We need to do that again in the morning," you add, making him laugh softly.

His lifts you up with ease, groaning as he feels your nipples against his chest. Carlos drops you on the bed again, hovering over you with slight hesitation. Would his boss find out if he was inside your room instead of guarding the door in front of your room? "I need you to fuck me in the car," your words distract him from the thought, nails tickling his chest. "And on every surface in the house," you continue, flipping the two of you around, so you're straddling him. Carlos looks up at you with admiration, making your heart beat a little faster. You lean over him, looking into his eyes. "Starting with my father's mahogany desk," you whisper, not missing the way his lips curled up in a grin.

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

An Arranged Marriage, part 28

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27

1.4k words

A much calmer Zen has a lot to unload.

(I am feral over my own character, ask box is always open for talking about my writing or just monster fucking in general!)

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Zen’s fluffy, shaggy hair tickled your nose as he stirred a bit and woke you. In the nearly two months you had been together you could not recall a single time when he slept in, seeing him still in bed was quite a surprise.

You kissed the top of his head and immediately felt him nuzzle against you, though you were not really sure if he was actually awake or if it was a subconscious reaction. His breathing was deep and even, and he seemed much calmer at least.

“Are you awake?” you whispered.

He nodded, apparently still not feeling quite up to speaking.

“Are you alright?”

Again he just nodded.

“Everything is alright my dear, I promise” you scratched the side of his head where his hair was cropped short, the only spot where you really could get through his dense hair to scratch his scalp.

“I ruined everything” his voice was so quiet as he spoke.

“No, no. You didn’t ruin anything Zen.”

“I hurt you the first time yesterday, then I went and did that.”

“And it’s ok, things happen, but you didn’t ruin anything.”

He stayed quiet and did not acknowledge you.

“I’m not mad or upset or anything” you tried to assure him, “I’m just worried about you, I just want you to be alright,”

“I am upset at myself.”

“I know” you kissed the top of his head again, “and we’ll figure it out together, I promise.”

That seemed to at least somewhat satisfy him, he gave another little nuzzle against you and you swore for just a moment that you heard him purr.

“How about I make us some breakfast? You’ve got to be starving by now, you never sleep this late” you offered.

“You are not good at cooking.”

“Then come sit with me and tell me what to do and keep me company.”

He nodded and shimmed off of you so you could get up.

Zen stuck at your side as you sat at the hearth, a blanket still wrapped around himself and his chin resting on your shoulder while he watched you closely. With a little guidance you were able to make a serviceable enough breakfast for the two of you.

It was a bit smothering how Zen chose to sit behind and a bit to your side so he could lean his chin on your shoulder. He decided to eat breakfast like that too, his arms wrapped around you as he reached for things, restricting how much you could move but you did not have the heart to try to get him to just sit next to you instead.

“It should not be like this” you heard him say softly.

“I know, but this is where we are, and we can go back to taking things slowly” you leaned against him and nuzzled him a bit, “and if it makes you feel any better, you felt incredible last night. But I can wait while we figure things out.”

He buried his face against your neck as best he could with his tusks getting in the way. It was faint, but you could hear his soft purring for just a moment.

“I am just so tired of waiting. I waited for so long for this war to end so I could just go home. And now instead I am here, where I barely get to speak my own tongue, my festivals are not celebrated here. I fought so one day I could go home, and I still cannot. And now I do not want to wait more to have you.”

It never occurred to you that Zen might be homesick. You knew he was not from the city, but he usually seemed happy. He knew so many people, always stopping to smile and chat with when the two of you were out, he knew his way around the city well, everything always seemed fine anyways.

“Have you gone back to visit recently?” you asked.

“Not since the end of the war. I went home to see everyone, and then almost immediately got summoned here and offered the position.”

Six months then you figured at least since he had been home. Six months since Zen had started living somewhere where everything was new and different, where he did not have his family, where he could almost never speak his own language. The irony that neither of you were home here was not lost on you.

“Why not go visit?” you asked.

“I do not have the time. There is just to much to do here” he said.

“Even just for a week or so?”

“We are rebuilding after a war. It is a puzzle of constantly changing and moving pieces trying to figure out what is needed and where.”

“And no one on the council ever takes time away?”

“Some do.”

“So why don’t you?”

He stayed quiet, his face still buried against neck.

“We can go visit together, if you want” you said.

“Maybe.”

‘Maybe’ was better than ‘no’ at least you figured. Though it felt odd that for someone who seemed to be homesick to also be so resistant to visiting home.

“I haven’t met any of your family, well except Bira. I think it would be nice if we went and visited.”

“I did not tell my family I got married.”

You pulled away from him just enough to look him in the eye, “What?”

“It was decided pretty fast, and at the time it did not seem like a big deal, so I did not say anything.”

“Zen! We’ve been married for almost two months! What do you mean you never actually told your family? When you found out you were getting married you didn’t send them a letter or anything?!” you could not believe what he was saying.

“I was told I was getting married in a month’s time, but at the time I did not consider it real. It was just another thing I had to do. It did not seem worth making a big deal of and getting my family involved.”

You really were not surprised that it was not something he made a fuss over, he already had told you that arranged marriages were not a thing here, it was just another duty to him on par with anything else really. But it did surprise you that months after he still had not told his family.

“So they really don’t know?” you asked.

“No, just Ba and Bira, and I asked them not say anything.”

“And you’re sure they haven’t said anything?”

“If my mother knew I was married and she was not here for the wedding she would have made the trip here to yell at me in person by now. I would never hear the end of it.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to somehow never tell your family that you’re married?” you snapped a bit at him.

“No! No” he tried to press his forehead to yours, frantically tugging at you so he could face you and reach you. “I just do not know what to do now.”

“Tell your family” you answered him flatly.

“I know, but now I do not know how to do that now. I do not want to just show up and surprise them, ‘Hi mother, I have not seen you in months. By the way this is my wife, we have been married for two months and I never told you’ because that will go well.”

“Why not send a letter? Just explain the same thing you told me” you suggested. His family would probably still be annoyed, but at least it would help smooth things over.

“It is not easy to send a letter that far” he protested.

“So you would rather just show up and surprise them?”

“No.”

“Then send a letter.”

He sighed and nuzzled his forehead against yours, “I will send a letter.”

“And perhaps we’ll visit for the next festival?”

“Maybe.”

“You can’t avoid your family forever.”

“Not forever, just long enough to not be yelled at too much.”

“Zen” you pushed back.

“We will go for the next festival” he finally conceded.

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Tag list

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[ones-g]

use your mouth

—You're doing so fucking well

His raspy voice made my knees go weak. I hit the ground with a dull thud. —Shit…— She cursed softly, guiding my movements with his hand around my hair.

She was stressed. Her tense and grumpy body from the daily day of being on duty in these horror games had exhausted her in a not so friendly way.

—Oh yeah... fuck— She was so loud, yet so grateful at the same time.

I offered myself as a fucking damsel offering her services to anyone who crosses her corner. Ignoring the fact that I was her coworker Another guard, of low rank as I wore the circle on my black mask. —Baby, you do it... so good...— She growled.

How did it come to this? Hell, I have no idea, but I was enjoying the attention I was giving her and the attention she was giving me. It was reciprocal.

Her juices spread around my entire jaw, running down my neck in drops. I had achieved my goal.

Her dry laugh escaped her throat, so ecstatic. Looking at me from her position as if she was proud to cum in my mouth. —You got a little dirty— She murmured mockingly, running his finger along the corner of my lip, wiping away any remnants of his orgasm.

She raised my gaze with just a gentle tilt of my chin around his hand. “Did I do well?” I asked in a small voice.

The curve of his lip exposed her. No-Eul threw his head back, laughing delicately. —Baby, now I have the need to ruin you— She murmured with his slanted eyes, injected with desire, pure lust and madness.

BOOM SHACALAKAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

And one more.

Edinburgh, best parts, continued

- The Air B&B

Before I arrived in Scotland, I told myself repeatedly that I have to remember, it isn't a magical fairyland. I know I've been romanticizing Scotland since I was friendless ten-year-old who became an obsessive Harry Potter fan for several years, where the plot is that you can be whisked away from your friendless life and go somewhere cool and magic, by getting on a train that takes you to Scotland. This has definitely skewed my perception, along with all the folk songs about their magical Wild Mountain Thyme. But you have to remember it's just going to be a place like any other. My Air B&B is in a suburb a 50-minute walk away from the Edinburgh city centre (because, you know, money - I got it for quite cheap), and suburbs are boring no matter where you go, so be disappointed when you're staying a normal boring suburb that's just like any other place. Okay?

That's what I told myself. Then I woke up on that first morning in the Air B&B, looked out my bedroom window, and took this picture of the back garden:

Even their boring suburb is a magical fairyland. My Air B&B was lovely, the woman who ran it was very nice, that was great.

- Canal walk

I did get stuck staying a 50-minute walk from the city centre, because I couldn't afford accommodation any nearer than that. But it was quite nice. Every morning, I left around 7 or 8 AM, and walked into town. Arrived by 8 or 9 AM. Explored the city until noon or so, when my schedule of shows would start. It was a nice schedule.

But even the walk into town was pretty. The whole walk was on a path that ran along a canal, with bridges and old buildings, and I listened to a lot of Bobby Watt along the way, because in Edinburgh, even the boring suburbs are nice:

- The city in general

Holy fucking God. I saw a lot of Edinburgh on Google Earth before I visited there in person (I spent way too much time on Google Earth in Edinburgh, over the several years that I spent planning this trip), and I saw that the place looked really cool. Like, and I'm sorry I keep saying it, a fantasy novel. The old buildings, the cobblestone streets. I kept telling myself that while anything can look cool on the internet, I have to expect it to seem more mundane in person. Everything seems like just a part of everyday life, when you're there.

But when I got there, it was far, far more amazing than it seemed online. No amount of comedy routines about "tourists think Edinburgh is some beautiful thing, when actually it's full of alcoholics vomiting in the street" could take away the magic of it. It's my favourite city I've ever seen.

I mostly walked everywhere I needed to go in Edinburgh, and one day I took a bus down to the ocean, but when I had to go uphill in pouring rain to get back from the shore - and I was worried that if I walked or waited for buses I wouldn't get there early enough for David O'Doherty, to be first in line for best seats - I got an Uber. I asked my Uber driver if he hates living in Edinburgh during August because all the tourists ruin his city, and he said no, he likes the extra business (I realize I shouldn't take his answer as representative of most Edinburgh locals - their answer is probably different if their income doesn't depend on tourists who will pay a premium to get to sit slightly closer to David O'Doherty).

He asked me if I'm American, based on my accent and I said no, Canadian. He was extremely apologetic, as he (correctly) assumed that it's highly insulting for a Canadian to be labelled an American. I told him not to worry about it, as I've been known to make a hobby of horrifically offending Kiwis by telling them they sound Australian.

Anyway, after that conversation, as I had established a rapport with this friendly local, I told him that I'm sorry to ask such a tourist-y question that he must hear all the time, but I'm curious - do you get used to it when you live there? The beauty of the city, the hills and the castle and the limestone buildings; the fact that they have buildings older than (the colonized version of) my country that are owned by Starbucks or whatever, because they have so many historic buildings that even their shitty chain stores are using them. Does that seem beautiful to people who are used to it too?

He said that stuff does seem normal when you live there, and that he finds it interesting to see it through tourists' eyes every August, and remember that most places are not like that. But that sometimes when he's walking by the castle, he'll look at it and think "Damn, this is a beautiful city." And I think that's cool.

Well, I've abandoned this post's one-picture-per-bullet-point policy some time ago. Here are a whole bunch of them.

- The Royal Mile

This had all the cool stuff about the rest of the city - beautiful sandstone buildings, stone streets, amazing views. But it was also the centre of the comedy festival, so it had all this other magic going on there too. And I don't mean the magicians. The magicians were annoying. I like whimsical, metaphorical, vibe-based magic, like a city that feels like it's straight out of a fantasy novel, where the amazing art that I've fallen in love with for years - the art that usually just lived on my screens and in my headphones and felt like messages from a far-off land across the shining sea - on this street, that art is all around us to the point where it's thick in the air. I like that kind of magic. Not the kind of magic where someone stands in an already unfeasibly-crowded street and plays irritating music from a speaker while waving fire around. There was some of that on the Royal Mile, and I realize that is part of the art we're supposed to be celebrating, but when I say that it's cool to be surrounded by the art I fell in love with, I mean British stand-up comedy. The kind where one person stands behind a microphone and tells tenuously interconnected stories of increasing thematic depth, as God intended. Maybe I can let in a sketch or character piece or two, if they're very good. But I'm never going to come around to wanting to see magicians.

Anyway. If you ignore how doubt my previous paragraph will cast on this claim, I do mean it when I say I found the whole "art festival" thing fucking cool. I'm not an artsy person. I was an athlete in high school. I was an athlete in university. I was a coach ever since. Almost all my friends in real life are athletes and coaches. I'm used to being the one nerd in a friend group, and the fact that I'm into any kind of remotely non-mainstream media or live performance, makes me a bit of an oddball among the people I know. On the other hand, when I go to online places that celebrate the nerdy stuff I like, I immediately become self-conscious about how I feel like a jock who has no business being here, because I don't have the theatre kid background to what clowning is or why clowning is, and I don't want anything to do with magicians. Or puppets. Puppets creep me out.

So being in that weird in-between, the Edinburgh Festival was a rare chance for me to be somewhere in person that's entirely dedicated to the nerdy stuff I love. It definitely made me feel like a Philistine jock, by comparison to all the artsy people around me. But I loved it. I loved seeing where all this stuff comes from, having proof around me that this does exist in the real world. Feeling immersed in it.

The Edinburgh Festival is incredibly immersive, and I think that's what made otherwise-annoying things seem fun to me. Except the magicians who got in everyone's way in the middle of the street - they were still annoying. But besides them, I liked it all, even stuff I otherwise hate. Crowds. I was warned about the crowds, I was braced for the crowds because I hate crowds (see: my review of London), but on the Royal Mile, I loved it. I just kept marvelling at how many people were there for the same thing, all these cool people who love this cool stuff, gathered in one place. Also, it helped that even when the streets were packed, the Royal Mile was closed to vehicular traffic, so there was enough space for the crowds to spread out a bit. There were no areas where I felt like I couldn't stop walking, unlike in central London.

Also, it was cool to think of the history of that place. The real-life history was cool in all of Edinburgh, but the Royal Mile had history of all those old comedy stories, that comedians tell about what happened at festivals-gone-by, or my favourite comedy shows that got recorded (officially or... otherwise) at festivals gone by. It was all there. How cool is that?

I got lots of time to explore that area, luckily. On a few different mornings, I walked all the way from Arthur's Seat to the castle - the whole length of the Royal Mile. Which hopefully made up, physical health-wise, for spending 7 or 8 hours of the afternoon/evening/night sitting down watching shows. Luckily my blisters had healed by then.

- Ceilidh dancing

I said I was going to write about the best parts of my trip to Edinburgh that were not covered in the spreadsheet with the list of shows I saw. The one event I attended that did not get into that spreadsheet was Ceilidh dancing, because it wasn't a show, it was a participatory event.

I very nearly didn't go. It was such an out-of-character thing to sign up for. I mean, I've loved listening to traditional Celtic folk music since I was a kid, and I love watching people do that type of dancing. I've never been to a Ceilidh before, but I've seen plenty of people do impressive traditional dancing at folk festivals, and it's great fun to watch. To watch. I don't actually do that stuff. Like I said, I am not artsy. It's not my thing.

When I booked my Edinburgh events, I figured it's not like I'll get another chance to do something like a Ceilidh dance, and at least there's no chance of running into anyone I know, who would see how awful I am at dancing, so I may as well try something unusual and see if it's fun. I thought that while buying the ticket months in advance, but when the actual night arrived, I began to panic at the thought that I have no artistic ability whatsoever, and that extends to the art of dance, and I should just go to a pub instead.

But I went, and I'm so glad I did. First of all, I got more than my fill of an interior Harry Potter building, in the room where the evening took place:

I'm pretty sure they held Hogwarts balls in there. Anyway, then we spent two hours trying to follow instructions from a guy shouting at us about dance moves, and none of the tourists knew what they were doing, and I had a fantastic time. It was all these different people from all over the world. Will go back this year.

- Posters

This goes back to what I said about the Edinburgh Festival being immersive. I know I shouldn't put this on the "best parts" list, because I'm sure it has an awful environmental impact, in addition to being probably a bad sign, in terms of the festival's integrity. That it's supposed to be a cool offbeat fringe festival, but instead it's become all about PR and advertisement, including bigger and bigger posters that are surely contrary to the spirit of an artistic collective.

On the other hand. It was pretty fucking cool to walk all over the city through that. It really did feel like one giant theme park, dedicated to stand-up comedy (apologies to the many people who live in the city and might not want it turned into a theme park for 1/12 of the year). It was everywhere.

I'd heard before about the Edinburgh posters, of course. I'd heard comedians talk about planning their posters, getting them printed, having them put up, deciding how many to get. There were also, of course, stories of having their posters defaced or torn down, of seeing this happen together comedians.

I'd been a bit confused by this before, but I'd been picturing pieces of paper taped to lamp posts and things like that. It seemed like a lot of fuss over some pieces of paper. If someone tears down your poster, just print another one and tape it back up, right? And by "print another one", I mean "hook up your laptop to a printer somewhere and press CTRL+P".

Nope, it turns out we're dealing with something far bigger than that. Giant cardboard things that fill entire walls, entire tunnels. And sometimes, they just grow out of the ground where there's no wall at all:

I hate to turn this post into even more parts, but Tumblr has just informed me that I've hit the 30-image limit for a post. So I'm going to post this, and I'll add one more part later, as that will reset the image allotment.

I’m planning my 2025 UK (and, this time, Ireland) trip, and I’m really really excited about it. But as 2024’s come to an end and we all do retrospectives, I thought it would be interesting for me to look back on my 2024 UK trip now, and see what, with a few months of hindsight, still stands out as the best and worst parts.

Reasons why I’m making this list: 1) it’ll be helpful, when planning for next year’s trip, to know what cool things I want to repeat, and what uncool things I want to try to avoid, and 2) I miss my trip and want to mentally re-live it by making a list and looking at the pictures again.

My 2024 trip was divided into three overall parts. Part 1 was five days in London. Part 2 was taking trains – London to Edinburgh, Edinburgh to Glasgow, Glasgow to Fort William, stayed overnight in Fort William, then Fort William to Mallaig, Mallaig to Glasgow, Glasgow to Edinburgh. Then Part 3 was five days in Edinburgh for the festival.

Part 1: London

Best parts of London, listed in whatever order they occur to me

- Trains: There were so many trains. The stations were cool. The tracks were cool. The seats were cool. The vehicles were cool. The speed with which you could get around the city was cool. The “Mind the Gap” voice was cool.

I joked before I left on this trip that this is like the stereotype that says all autistic people are 8-year-old white boys obsessed with trains, and then there's a cute/inspiration porn story in the local paper about the little autistic boy who's all excited to meet a train conductor. I said I'll be like that when I go to Edinburgh and see all those comedy shows, because in this simile, I am an 8-year-old white boy and these are my trains.

Then, once I actually got there, I remembered that trains are also my trains. Some autistic stereotypes exist for a reason. For example, I am a 34-year-old autistic white woman, and I fucking love trains.

- Highgate Cemetery

So beautiful. I wandered around it for nearly an hour, just appreciating all the history. And it was really cool to see Douglas Adams' grave - I left two pens, from my dad and I, as we used to read his books together. I went there mainly because I was interested in Douglas Adams, but was amazed by how lovely the whole place was.

- Taskmaster house

Obviously that was cool as fuck. I also went on a walk by the river to where they have the bandstands where they did location tasks for the first few seasons. I took this picture by holding my phone up over a fence:

- Really good non-shawarma on park bench

A couple of years ago, I heard Nish Kumar recommend a specific Montreal shawarma place on The Bugle, because he performs in Montreal sometimes. I'd never been to that place, but I was a bit skeptical of his recommendation, because I've tried shawarma outside my own city, even in other big cities, and it's always terrible. My city has a lot of shawarma places, due to various factors that mean we have a high Arab immigrant population, so I've gotten used to quite a high standard of shawarma. I know several people who've grown up in Middle Eastern countries where shawarmas actually originated, and told me that our city has their favourite shawarmas in the world.

So, I wasn't sure about Nish Kumar's recommendation. Not because I thought there could be no good shawarma in Montreal (that's not where I live, but it's a big enough city so it'll have some good stuff, better than Toronto), but because I was not sure if I should trust someone from England to know how shawarma is meant to taste. I hear British people talk about kebabs a lot, but they never mentioned shawarmas, so I figured they don't really have shawarma there. Just kebabs, which are not the same thing.

Having said this, when I went to Montreal to see some Just For Laughs shows in 2023, I tried the shawarma place that Nish had recommended, and it tasted amazing. So I had to admit that maybe he does know what he's talking about. I told all this to my friend who lives in London, and when he went to a Nish Kumar gig long before my UK trip, he went up to Nish after the show, and asked what his favourite shawarma place in London is. Nish said some place called Kebab Kid, and I put that on my list of places to visit, to see if England does have good shawarma after all.

So I made a special trip out there. I traveled pretty far out of my way to get there. I took some trains, and then I walked about forty-five minutes, across quite a lovely neighbourhood, enjoying how pretty London is. I arrived at the restaurant, and became a touch concerned that the place I was using to prove to England does have shawarmas and not just kebabs, was called Kebab Kid. But when I went inside, they did have shawarmas on the menu. I ordered one.

The guy behind the counter asked me if I wanted chili sauce or barbeque sauce. I said no, because... obviously. Obviously you don't put those on a shawarma. He said, "So no sauce, then?", and I realized those weren't optional extras, they were the only sauce on offer. No garlic sauce, no hummus. I said... okay, barbeque then. He put misc. salad in there instead of pickles and turnips. It was so clearly not a shawarma. It came with fries, even though fries obviously do not go with shawarma.

Skeptically, I took it down the road and sat down on a park bench to eat. And God, was it ever delicious. It wasn't a shawarma. That's absolutely not what a shawarma is. But it was a very, very good chicken sandwich. A guy sat down next to me and chatted to me for a while. He asked what I was eating, I said a shawarma, and he said he's from Turkey and they don't have proper shawarmas here, not like at home. I said yes, I can see that. They absolutely don't.

But it was a really really good chicken sandwich and I ate it in a really pretty park, surrounded by pigeons, and had a genuinely nice chat with a random stranger, and it felt sweet and peaceful, and I liked it a lot.

I told myself I was going to keep each item on this list pretty short, just a couple of quick sentences to explain them. I did not expect the first list item to make me break that rule would be a shawarma place. I'm going back to the rule now.

- Sunday roast

I flew all Saturday night. I arrived at 8:30 AM. My wonderful hosts picked me up at the airport, I showered and changed and dropped my stuff off at their place, and then, while fuelled entirely by adrenaline and no sleep, I accompanied my friend from a British comedy message board, whom I'd just met in person for the first time, to a pub with a Sunday roast.

I've been informed that he chose this pub specifically because it has a great Sunday roast, they're not all as good as this one. But this one was very, very good. I had horseraddish for the first time. I had Yorkshire pudding for the first time. I was very surprised that this things called pudding was just bread, until I tasted it, and I decided that anything that delicious can call itself whatever it wants. It was the perfect way to start a trip.

- My wonderful hosts

It's weird to write this part because he'll probably read it. But I stayed in the spare room of a guy I'd met two years earlier on a comedy message board, as I've said many times, I cannot believe lucky I got in messaging a guy because I just wanted a few old comedy recordings, and ending up with a wonderful new friend (and more comedy recordings that I could have imagined, that's cool too). We spoke regularly for a couple of years before my trip to the UK, which is relevant because, as my dad pointed out, it's inadvisable to stay with a man from the internet you've not met in person, but if he's been talking to you most days for two years, that's a lot of work to put in just to lure someone to your house to murder them. There are easier ways to murder someone. So it's probably fine.

He did not murder me. He has a wife whom I'd not spoken to before but she was so incredibly nice; I'd been slightly concerned that she might be put out by having to play host to some woman from Canada whom she didn't know, but it wasn't like that at all, she was so friendly and welcoming, and so was her husband of course, it was super cool to meet him in person and spend time with both of them, it was great. And they had three cats who were the absolute best cats in the world. I won't post a picture of the cats here, because, you know, those are other people's private cats. But they were excellent cats.

- The Bill Murray, Nish Kumar

Many, many hours of my favourite comedy I've of my favourite comedy I've ever heard was recorded at The Bill Murray pub, for Angel Comedy. I was so excited to see the venue in person, and I was not disappointed. I saw a Nish Kumar WIP there just before he went to Edinburgh, and holy God, it was one of the best evenings of my life. I arrived at the pub an hour before the show, partly so I could awkwardly hang around the door to the comedy room and get the best seats (I achieved this, of course), and partly because I wanted to spend time in that building, to take in the history.

And it was full of history. The walls were covered in pictures of great comedians who've performed there. There were murals with drawings of comedy legends. And the actual comedy room was perfect - small and intimate, definitely good at those technical things that I don't have enough expertise to know how they work but I know good ones when I experience them (sight lines, acoustics, comedy-conducive lighting). And I watched Nish Kumar perform an absolutely fantastic version of one of my favourite stand-up hours ever. It was a perfect night.

- Crystal Palace

I spent one morning in Crystal Palace. I ate breakfast. It's a very very pretty neighbourhood with cool little buildings and a sense of history and everything that I romanticize, when I romanticize the UK. It had a big beautiful park with dinosaur statues. I went into a cool independent bookstore, which has hosted performances by some of my favourite comedians ever, and I bought a beautiful children's book to donate to the autism centre where I worked at the time. If I'm honest, those hours were the ones I most enjoyed in London, aside from the time at actual comedy shows/venues. I just wanted to have a look.

Pictured below: not a tourist attraction (according to Elis James, who is wrong), but some cool dinosaurs

- Cambridge

On one of my days in London, I got trains to Cambridge and back. At first I was pretty disappointed in the place, because it had so many tourists that I couldn't really appreciate anything. But then I paid about 10 pounds to get into the grounds of St. John's College, which had an entry fee because it was one of the extra beautiful colleges. It was also Douglas Adams' college, so I'd wanted to see it anyway for Britcom tourism reasons. But holy God, was it ever gorgeous. I felt like I was in some sort of unnamed British fantasy novel.

The gardens. The old buildings. The history. The picturesque rooftops, the river with boats punting by like a postcard. The stained glass in the chapel. The courtyards that seemed from another world. The pillars. This was exactly what I wanted when I said I wanted to go to the UK and see "Harry Potter buildings". Not filming locations from the movies, I don't care about that. Magestic buildings with fantasy novel vibes. Also, you know, all the genuine history there. Douglas Adams, and I hear the history of Cambridge University might even go back slightly further than the 1970s.

I also ate lunch at a pub called The Eagle, because it was called the oldest pub in Cambridge, and I think that's even true (as in, I didn't just wander into any pub that had a sign saying "oldest pub in Cambridge" outside, I looked this up beforehand). Because I like history. The pub was so cool on the inside, and yes I'm aware that that's probably not even because it's several hundred years old, it's because they made it look that way so they can trade off tourists like me. I know that - that any pub that's several hundred years old is a Theseus' Ship situation. I don't care, the pub was beautiful. And I had an amazingly delicious lunch there.

- Regent's Park

One of the first places I went when I got to London. So much amazing comedy history there. Pretty park, I enjoyed walking around the pretty park. But I mainly enjoyed looking at the theatre, even though we couldn't go in, and standing on the spot of some of my favourite nights in comedy history, it was fucking cool.

- ABC Comedy, Romesh Ranganathan

This is another very cool comedy club in London, where a lot of really really awesome comedy has happened over the years, I've gotten to experience a lot of it from Canada via the magic of technology but was so excited to be there in person. And I saw Romesh do an hour-long WIP there (I think it was less WIP, and more just messing around and saying whatever came up), which was really funny and a great time. Weird to see someone so famous in person. He was taller than I expected. His reputation is for the grumpy thing, but he's so funny when he says something silly and then gives the crowd a huge grin. It was loose and great fun.

And thought I'd been told before that it's a small room, I was amazed to see in person, and confirm how very small it is, giving how regular it is for big names to perform there (Romesh Ranganathan, for a start). Just like the Bill Murray.

- All the big pretty buildings in the Parliament area, and St. James' Park

I spent a few hours wandering around the big pretty buildings in the Parliament area and St. James' park. It was old and nice and impressive. I kept walking by Big Ben and saying "There's Big Ben!" like in that Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

- Square Mile neighbourhood and Leadenhall Market

Another time, I spent an afternoon wandering around a neighbourhood that I believe is called Square Mile. It had a lot of little alleyways, and I'm a sucker for little alleyways. It had big and impressive buildings that I enjoyed looking at. I went into a pub that had chandeliers.

That neighbourhood had Leadenhall Market in it, which is an exception to me not caring about places where the Harry Potter movies were filmed, because it's not just where they happened to film Diagon Alley the movie, it looks like how I pictured Diagon Alley in my head from the books. There were a bunch of little market areas like this in London, which I liked. But this one was my favourite:

- Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese pub

I spent nearly three hours in this pub. I ordered several alcohol-free Guinesses, because I was trying to stay away from alcohol throughout the trip. I was there by myself. So why did I spent three hours in a pub, if not for the alcohol or the company? It was just one of the coolest buildings I'd been in and I wanted to be in there for longer. I was in a basement room where I couldn't even get internet, so I couldn't even browse on my phone. I just sat there, for hours, alone in the room, and it was fantastic.

The pub had several different rooms, as you move downstairs, and one of the rooms was totally empty so I sat down there. This definitely sated my desire to see the other type of Harry Potter building - rather than the big and majestic ones that could be a wizard castle, this was a dimly lit basement that looks like it hasn't been updated since the 1600s, which is apparently when this pub was built. Knockturn Alley. Okay I'm done with the Harry Potter references (to be clear I did not, and would not, do any official Harry Potter stuff that could generate profit for the author because fuck her - I didn't even do any unofficial Harry Potter stuff like the Edinburgh tours or pictures with that Kings Cross cart - I just wanted to sit around in old buildings and feel like I was in a fantasy novel).

This gave me the thing I wanted to find in tourist attractions, but didn't. I visited some large old cathedrals, and wanted to feel a sense of history and magic and the gravity of a place like that, but it was packed with other tourists taking pictures, so I couldn't get into it. I sat in St. Paul's Cathedral trying to feel magic, and finally said to myself, "Yeah, God's not here" and left (metaphorical God, I'm not religious, but I'm often impressed with the weight of human wonder that goes into religious architecture). I found the Cheshire Cheese just after that, sat down in that old building, and felt all the stuff that I'd wanted to feel in the church but failed.

I'm genuinely glad there was no internet signal down there, because I took out my phone, and did write a whole big Tumblr post in my notes app, figuring I'd post it when I got back upstairs (okay, I didn't just stare at the wall for three hours). That magic of the building overtook me. That post was so incredibly cheesy, even for me. It contained the line "I didn't find God in a church, but then I found God in a pub," because apparently I thought I was John Robins now. And that's one of the less cheesy lines, since I'm willing to share it now. I think there were a bunch of reflections in there about struggling with my drinking problem, but written in ways that only made sense while sitting in that room. The rest of the post will be thankfully lost because I got upstairs, returned to the real word, said "this is bullshit" and deleted it. But I hope that this year, I can go back to the magical pub where the real world doesn't exist.

- Other pubs

I didn't drink at all in the UK (okay, I had one beer in a pub by the ocean on my last day in Edinburgh, but literally only one pint), and it wasn't the first time in my adult life that I've gone two whole weeks without alcohol, but it was the first time I've done that and found it easy, because things were going so well that I didn't even miss it. I did, however, drink a lot of alcohol-free Guinesses. Because I sat in a lot of pubs and wanted something that at least made me feel like I was drinking.

The worst part of London was the heat and the crowds and the fact that everyone moves so fast that you're not allowed to stand still for half a second without people getting angry at you for blocking the sidewalk, and there weren't a lot of options for refuge from that. A lot of the restaurants seemed to be takeaway-only, or just a few tables, and were always packed. So a lot of times, I found myself ducking into pubs to get out of the heat and the crowds. The pubs were old and nice and quiet and comforting, and I enjoyed sitting in them a lot.

- Egg Sluts

Okay, I'm going to change the tone a bit from the darker, drinking problem-based stuff. I had a fucking excellent breakfast sandwich in a place called Egg Sluts. I did not take a picture, but it was so good that I have to go back there in 2025. I'm a big fan of the egg + meat-based breakfast sandwich, and that was probably the best one I'd ever had.

- Sausage rolls

The first time I ordered a sausage roll from Gregg's, I did it while giggling about how I feel like a character in a story that was told on a panel show. The WILTY people are always making up stuff about Gregg's and sausage rolls. What a cute British thing to do. I'm going to eat a sausage roll on a train. This is so British.

The second, through, by my best estimation, 504th time that I ordered a sausage roll in Britain, I thought, "Fucking hell, am I ever glad we don't have these in Canada. I don't think I'd have lived to this age if I had the option to order them all the time. Sausage... in bread... it's brilliant. Why didn't we think of this in Canada? We must never think of this in Canada. This needs to remain a treat abroad."

- Lamb being a common food there

Here, it's a delicacy, often not available in places that serve the more common meats like chicken, pork, and beef. Some places offer it, but for a higher price than the same dish with another meat. Britain just puts lamb in everything.

- On a similar note, one day I went up to the roof of a high building and ate a lamb kebab while looking out at the entire city, and that was very nice:

- The Soho Theatre

Same deal as the other comedy venues - cool place full of comedy history, I've heard so much stuff from there and loved getting to see it in person and physically be in that space. Also, the walls were full of posters from shows that had performed there over the years.

- The London Underground when it was not packed with people

Fun stuff. Sometimes it was all dark and felt like a sci-fi movie. The cars made fun noises and went fast.

- I saw Daniel Kitson live twice, a couple of nights apart. One of the times, I met him after the show. My brain shut down and I forgot all the words in the English language and he stood there looking at me and I couldn't speak to him. He performed what I think is one of the best shows he's ever done, and I got to see it live, and that was cool as fuck. So incredibly cool. But oh my God, I felt terrible later that night (and the next day, and the next few days) when I realized how badly I'd Got It Wrong when I met him.

It's okay though, because I did eventually manage to look at the pictures my friend took, and those pictures confirmed that he at least found the situation amusing (I could not confirm that at the time as I was physically unable to look at him):

Worst parts of London, listed in whatever order they occur to me

- The British Library

It might be unfair to call this one of the worst parts of my trip to London, because it was still pretty cool. But most of London was good, so by the standards of that, this was… weird. I went on the day I arrived, right after the Sunday roast, when I’d flown all night and not slept in well over 24 hours by then, so that definitely did not help. I took a guided tour of the place, and the tour was super weird. Our guide was obsessed with telling us that the government had secretly killed Alan Turing. Every part of the tour was basically a way for him to bring it back to that subject. Which almost sounds like a gimmick, but the guy seemed quite serious about it. He also told us several facts that other people on the tour pointed out were incorrect (not just the conspiracy theory thing, but factual stuff like confidently mis-labelling what language certain books were in). The whole thing was just weird, and the fact that I was reaching “asleep on my feet” territory made it feel like a weird drug trip.

- The heat

I realized a few months before the trip that this would be taking place in the middle of summer, and I need to factor in how much I cannot stand being outside in the middle of summer. I hate it. I hate it I hate it I hate it. My body cannot stand excessive heat. I am meant to live in Arctic temperatures. Where I live now, the weather has been mostly between -10 and -20 degrees Celcius for the last few weeks, and that's about where I feel comfortable. As soon as it starts going above 0, I don't like it.

London in the summer was well above 0. To be fair, it was slightly less hot there than it was at home. I was told that I was there during one of their heat waves, but even their heat wave temperatures were not quite as hot as what I get at home on a regular mid-summer week. So that would normally be nice. But at home, I'm not usually walking outside all day, for several days in a row, in the middle of summer. I'm usually hiding in my house with a fan blowing directly on me and cold wash clothes draped all over my body, telling myself that autumn will come soon.

So. Summer tourism might not be the best call for me. I got very miserable being in the heat for so long, and that made everything else harder to deal with. The crowds. The blisters on my feet. I could stand them all more easily if my body were not in horrible pain from the elevated temperatures, dealing with the sensory nightmare of sweat everywhere. Not to get too graphic or anything.

- The crowds

Oh my God, the crowds in London. I already covered most of this when I wrote about crowds before, but fucking hell, it was bad. The whole sidewalk. I'd often been surprised when I saw people on panel shows talk about how much they hate people who stop walking on a sidewalk ("pavement"). "Why don't you just go around them?" I wondered. Well now I know why - you can't! You can't go around them. There is no area of foot traffic that's not full of people. I think it was the lack of ability to stop moving that bothered me even more than just the proximity to so many people, but both were bad. And worse in the heat.

- I got awful blisters all over the bottoms of both feet on my first day there, and they didn't start to heal until after I'd left London

I still don't know why this happened. I mean, obviously it was because I was walking around all day as a tourist. But I had a job at the time where I was on my feet all day, so it's not like I wasn't used to some of that. I had good shoes. New enough to still be good, old enough to be broken in. I think I'm maybe just not used to walking on paved surfaces for so long. They were hard on my feet.

The blisters started to get better when I spent a couple of days on the trains to and around Scotland - got off my feet for nearly two straight days, just sitting in the train seats. Also, at the Edinburgh train station, I "bought some plasters from Boots", which I found to be an amusingly British thing to do. Those helped. So it wasn't such a problem when I was walking all around Edinburgh.

But for those five days in London, I couldn't put weight on either foot without it being in terrible pain, and obviously that's not ideal for an holiday where I walk around a city all day. The worst was in Cambridge, as I walked around that utterly beautiful St. John's College, and kept thinking... I wish I could be here without it causing excruciating pain to the bottoms of my feet. Then I could enjoy it more.

I need to look up good preventative blister stuff before I got back in 2025. At the very least, I'll bring some Band-Aids ("plasters") with me this time and put them on when it first starts.

On the best-of list, I put pictures of each bullet point. Be grateful that I'm not doing that here. Because I did take a picture of them one day, so I could have a record of how bad they got (seriously - the ran all the way across). But I'll spare the public that.

- Covent Gardens

Oh my God, I hated that place. I planned to spend a few hours there because there was so much touristy stuff that I figured I should see, but it was awful, for the reasons I've already outlined. Heat, and no escape from it. Giant crowds. Blisters on the bottoms of my feet. Walking around this busy square.

I went to get a something from my UK trip pictures folder to put here, but it turns out I didn't take any pictures in Covent Gardens. I was so miserable that at no point did I think "I want to save this for posterity". I'm not doing that place again.

- Buckingham Palace guard changing

The palace itself was cool to look at, but if I went back there again, it wouldn't be when they change the guard. It turns out the Buckingham Palace guard are just Mounties. We have Mounties at home. It was a bunch of guys dressed as Mounties doing the guard-changing routine that the Mounties in Canada do, but with fucking thousands of people gathered all over the square and the streets so you couldn't get anywhere near it to actually see. It might have been cool if I'd been able to get near it - I enjoy watching the Mounties do their thing sometimes. But I'd rather just go look at the pretty Palace sometime when it's not so full of people.

- St. Paul's Cathedral, Westminster Cathedral

I was looking forward to this stuff because as I've said, I like that kind of architecture. But the number of tourists meant that vibe-wise, it felt more like a very fancy shopping mall than the site of centuries worth of humans trying to connect to the Divine.

- The London Underground when it was packed with people

Extremely uncomfortable, do not recommend.

- The show I saw at the Soho Theatre

It wasn't very good.

I was going to add parts 2 and 3 of my trip on the end here, but this post has got too long, and I know Tumblr has a limit to the number of pictures you're allowed to add in one post. So I'll just post this one now, and then I'll add the other parts in a reblog later. This has been a fun exercise in remembering stuff.

[bl00dh0rs3]

nothing quite like fixating on some technological bullshit to the point of Tears in the middle of the night to. Ruin your night!!!!!

[rapidhighway]

[bloodrock-lobster]

Desperate need to socialize and make new friends vs Irrational fear of messages from strangers on friend making apps, FIGHT

[todayisafridaynight]

sometimes i get nishiki i really do

[camgoloud]

you ever just. become overwhelmed by a sudden out-of-nowhere wave of tenderness and affection and longing for reconnection directed towards someone to whom you no longer speak for Very Good Reasons

[ef-1]

girlhood

[w1tchybusiness]

i could write a 100 page essay about what a fucking masterpiece warframe is. i will write many words in the tags. please readem if you want my 'tism.

[arillusionist]

IM ACTUALLY GONNA HAVE A BREAKDOWN WHAT IS THIIISS???????? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEYRE BREAKING UP????????

[skitskatdacat63]

Please save me, I'm reading a reddit thread about Seb vs Max(bcs Tost said he thought Seb would win out), and none of these people know how good Seb was in his prime

[zaynes-left-chesticle]

Happy Tuesday! Back with another life update:

F U C K .

[leatherbookmark]

daily reminder from my mother that I don't matter and shouldn't even expect to matter yayyyyy yayyyy wahooooo yippeeee

[innielove]

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