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nico-di-genova · 5 days

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Late Night Talks - Strollonso

Written for the prompt: [Lance and Fernando] dead-tired in bed, curled up to each other and they keep making dumb jokes and laughing at them

Warnings: NSFW, not super explicit, but mentioned.

@raapija hopefully this is sort of what you were looking for, I started with answering your prompt and then it just sort of got away from me.

Post Singapore is quickly becoming Lance’s least favorite post-race kind of feel, second only to Qatar which exists in a league of its own. He doesn’t do well in the heat, his body acclimated to colder climates and snow that comes up to his knees. Miami is about the closest he’ll come to acceptable humidity, and only when he can couple it with the lukewarm temperature of the ocean and the salty spray that comes from zipping through the waves on the back of a boat’s tow. But Singapore is the sort of wet heat that clings to you until you can’t breathe around it, it makes driving a car for two hours in on-the-limit conditions near impossible.

“I feel disgusting,” he complains to Fernando, drying the back of his wet hair with a hotel towel and grimacing. He still feels like he has sweat clogging his pores, embedded in his hair follicles, couldn’t seem to get himself clean no matter how hard he scrubbed at his skin.

Fernando, who had taken a shower in his own room because if they had shared it wouldn’t have resulted in attempting to get clean at all, wears a matching expression of discomfort. He’s sprawled across Lance’s bed, in nothing but his boxers and normally that would inspire something in Lance. But sex, especially with Fernando, is a sweaty endeavor and he would like to avoid adding to his already uncomfortable state.

Doesn’t stop him from getting hard anyway, noticeably tenting the towel low on his hips.

Fernando arches an eyebrow, peaks down at Lance through heavy-lidded eyes.

“No, ignore that.”

“Hard to ignore,” Fernando quips, but he’s just as exhausted as Lance and it shows when he doesn’t make an effort to sit up and pull Lance closer. Instead he closes his eyes and readjusts his arm where it’s resting under his head, lets out a sigh that Lance knows is a prelude to quiet snores.

“Don’t fall asleep there,” he complains, shucking off the towel long enough to slide on his own underwear, “You’re taking up the whole bed, asshole.”

He still needs to brush his teeth, probably make an attempt at skincare before the grime of the day sets in and breakouts quickly follow. But standing is beginning to take a lot of effort. It’s like he can feel the weight of the heat bearing down on his shoulders, even though they’re inside, can still feel it pressing on his chest. It’s a good thing they have a late flight tomorrow because Lance’s future plans include nothing more but sleeping until the bone deep exhaustion makes its way out of him.

Fernando hasn’t moved, still lays with his knees hanging off the bed, one arm flung out beside him, legs spread just as wide, like he’s intentionally trying to take up as much space as possible. He nudges Fernando’s knee with his own and it’s the only warning the man gets before Lance is collapsing down beside him, the full weight of him landing on Fernando’s outstretched arm and half on top of his body. They’re laying sideways on the bed, and Lance is too tall for this, immediately finds it uncomfortable. But Fernando smells nice, and he’s warm where Lance presses up against him, so he allows it for the time being. Even if Fernando’s arm is bony and uncomfortable where it’s digging into Lance’s side.

“You are still wet,” Fernando grumbles, still with his eyes closed, still half-asleep, “Off.”

“It’s my bed, old man,”

They share a hotel room most nights now, the separate bookings nothing more than a charade, but they are still technically in Lance’s room. Ignoring Fernando’s griping, he presses closer, throws a leg over the man’s body, finds the crook of Fernando’s neck and nuzzles his nose there, lets his wet hair brush against Fernando’s cheek, until Fernando is wriggling away in discomfort. Annoyance is not a tactic he employs frequently, nor is it one that typically works on Fernando, but it works tonight.

“Like a soggy cat,” Fernando chastises, and then sits up, taking his comforting scent and presence with him.

Lance smiles, satisfied, shifts until he’s right way up on the bed and can let his damp hair soak into the pillows. Fernando lets him get comfortable and then he lays back down, this time with his head resting on Lance’s chest, an area devoid of the moisture from the shower. His breathing evens out pretty quickly, tells Lance he’s quickly drifting back toward unconsciousness. One of his hands splays across Lance’s bare stomach, low enough that his fingers brush along the hair there.

And now it’s his turn to be annoying, because Fernando knows he’s sensitive, uses it to his advantage when he lets his pinkie inch down further.

“This is a dangerous game,” he warns, feels himself grow harder in his underwear.

He can feel when Fernando smiles against him, prickly beard rubbing against the raw skin of his chest with the curl of his lips, “You don’t want to play?”

“Too tired. It would be pretty boring, anyway. I don’t wanna move,” Lance lying flat on his back, Fernando half asleep, both of them pawing at each other’s dicks with flagging interest until the exhaustion won out and the draining adrenaline finally took the last bit of energy they had left. He doubts he could even cum, as tired as he is. And if he did he’d have to trudge back to the shower because no way is he waking up in the morning with cum dried tacky on his stomach alongside the inevitable sweat from being pressed next to Fernando, the human furnace, during the night.

Fernando laughs, quiet, rumbling, “You are a pillow princess anyway.”

“Hey.”

“Is true.”

“It is n-“ he thinks of last night, how Fernando had tried to goad Lance into riding him and he’d made himself more at home on his back. He liked looking up at Fernando, liked burying his head in the crook of his neck and scratching desperately at his back. All things that were pretty hard to do if he was sitting in the air having to dictate the rhythm himself. Lance wasn’t lazy, he just knew what he liked, so sue him.

Fernando knows he’s won when Lance changes the subject. “How do you even know that word?” he’s absentmindedly threading his fingers through Fernando’s hair, the strands mostly dry where Lance’s was still soaking into the pillow. His hair is soft, always well-maintained, soothes something inside Lance because the texture is familiar.

Fernando hums, pleased. Lance tries not to preen at the sound. Pillow princess his ass, he likes to make Fernando feel good too. He can put in the work. If the work is done easily on the comfort of his back.

“I am only forty-two, Lance. Not so old I do not know things.”

“One foot in the grave practically.”

Fernando scoffs, pinches Lance’s stomach in retaliation, “Yes. We go shopping for my headstone tomorrow, pick out flowers.”

Age used to be a thing between them. Back when this started a year ago. When Lance was twenty-four and Fernando still looked at him like he was seeing that kid standing in the Ferrari garage. It had been a thing approximately until the moment Lance took matters into his own hands, took Fernando’s cock in his mouth with practiced ease and any internalized war Fernando was fighting went right out the window. And then it had resurfaced with force the first time Fernando fucked him so hard he was sobbing into the sheets, the sex quickly aborted when Fernando got scared he’d done something wrong, no matter how many times Lance tried to promise it was only that he’d been doing everything right. So they’d had to have a serious discussion, establish boundaries, ensure Lance was in the right headspace to be in a relationship with a man he’d known since he was nine. Now they could joke about it, had put in the work so that the gap in their ages no longer mattered.

“A suit too?” Lance teases, accompanying the press of his words with the pads of his fingers against the base of Fernando’s skull, a pressure he knows helps because of all the times Fernando has done it for him.

Fernando laughs again, more gravely, barely there, “We are planning a funeral or a wedding?”

Lance thinks, stares up at the ceiling and tries to think of a reply that won’t leave him sounding strangled. Wedding. He is startled to find he likes that word, likes it coming from Fernando’s mouth with the concept of Fernando being the person waiting for him at the altar.

“Both. Two birds with one stone,” and then the image of a funeral wedding, both of them standing in a half-dug grave, an arch being replaced with a gravestone, becomes suddenly so funny he can’t stop giggling at the thought of it. “We could leave the reception in a hearse.”

It maybe speaks to his level of exhaustion that he can’t seem to stop laughing at the nonsensical turn in the conversation.

Fernando is still smiling, Lance can still feel it, “You are weird.” He says, and Lance can hear the alternate meaning in the statement, how fond it sounds.

“Been called worse,” Lance jokes, makes sure it stays that, because they both know there’s an element of truth to it. “You almost podium and you are talking about funeral weddings. Strange.”

Oh, yeah, P4. Singapore maybe had taken so much out of him because he’d pushed himself to nearly P3 with nothing but pure spite to fuel him. .3 of a second back from Sergio, chasing the unfamiliar sight of a Red Bull to the finish. He’d felt the desperate need to make up for last year, shut up a certain faction of people that couldn’t seem to keep his name out of their mouths. It wasn’t a podium though, only nearly one, so he still wasn’t particularly satisfied. Fernando had carried most of the excitement for him, praising him in post-race interviews and hugging him as soon as they climbed out of their cars. Lance had already seen pictures of the moment caught from his still active onboard, Fernando’s hand drifting to its natural place at his waist, the other on the back of his helmet. There was of course no sound, so no one had heard the praise Fernando showered him with before they went to be weighed.

‘So proud, cariño. So proud.’

“Almost a podium, Nano. It was P4,” Lance says now, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, slinking down further into the pillows. Fernando shuffles with the movement, until he’s beside Lance and then they’re both on their sides, parallel to each other. Fernando’s arm wraps around his waist, pulls him closer.

Lance studies the wrinkles forming at the corners of Fernando’s eyes, reaches out to trail the pad of his thumb along them. It is probably one of his favorite features, the mark of years’ worth of laughter. Lance likes to think of Fernando happy, likes when he can make Fernando smile enough that the lines deepen. He doesn’t like when Fernando presses his lips together as he’s doing now, a thin line of dissatisfaction.

“Still a good result.”

Lance concedes, “Yeah, it wasn’t bad.” Could have been better, would have been if he’d been able to manage his tires better on the entry to turn seven like his engineer had requested.

He yawns again, curls closer to Fernando so now he’s the one with his head tucked under Fernando’s chin. If they were still outside, still in their cars, the warmth rolling off Fernando would be unbearable. But the temperature of the hotel has been set to freezing, so his body is beginning to return to a stable level of self-regulation.

“Next time you will get around Perez.”

“He’s in a rocket ship, man. You want me to teleport to P3?” He mumbles against Fernando’s neck, eyes drifting shut, weight of his body sinking further into the mattress.

“Lawrence can hire people. Make that possible. He would invent this for you, I think.”

They both laugh, and then Fernando is rambling something about holding Sergio back next race, letting Lance take P3, and then P2 and then, impossibly, they both know, P1. It’s half in French, half in the bits of Spanish Lance is picking up but is too tired to follow, and then it trails off into nothing because Fernando finally lets the exhaustion win. Lance follows behind not long after.

When they wake in the morning it is to the ringing of Fernando’s phone, to the frantic texts buzzing through on Lance’s. They missed their flight, which means the morning sex isn’t rushed. It means that Lance gets to lay on his back, lazy and selfish, while Fernando teases him but continues to thrust with measured accuracy above him. He lets Fernando mark the skin at the nape of his neck as compensation for doing all the work, lets him suck at the soft skin there until Lance is sure the hickey will take a while to fade.

And maybe Singapore isn’t that bad after all. Despite the heat. Lance thinks he could justify the humidity like he does for Miami, if P4, senseless late night talks, and Fernando’s smile when Lance pants his name are the reward for enduring the climate. It all feels worth it in the end.

#strollonso #strollonso fic #my fic #I once again ask #is this even anything?#at this point I think I write about them just to senselessly ramble #idk if this is even good tbh

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feckcops · 10 months

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The migrant shipwreck near Greece is a horrible tragedy – but it wasn’t an accident

“The Greek coast guard’s conflicting account states that the vessel was first spotted by Frontex, the European Border and Coast Guard Agency, at midday on Tuesday, June 13. It claims that once it achieved contact, those on board repeatedly stated that ‘the boat was not in danger, they wanted no help other than food and water, and that they wished to continue on to Italy.’ The coast guard states that at 1:40 a.m., the boat ceased moving, and at 2:04 a.m., a coast guard floating vessel reported that the trawler had capsized.

“International legal experts have noted that even if those on board the trawler said they did not want to be rescued, the coast guard had the obligation to independently evaluate if it was seaworthy and intervene if it was not. Photos of the trawler show that it was clearly overpacked, those on board did not appear to be wearing life vests, and the vessel was not flying any flag …

“These tragedies are no accident, but a product of political choices. Over the past decade, the EU has reduced access to asylum and made arriving on the continent ever more difficult — increasing policing and surveillance along its borders, erecting and expanding walls, and illegally pushing back thousands of people …

“There are years of evidence that Greece and Frontex regularly engage in and cooperate on illegal pushbacks — pushing migrants back over the border despite their right to seek asylum. In recent years, these pushbacks have been stepped up, both on the country’s northern land border and at sea. Those caught on the northern border are usually beaten, robbed of their phones and all their valuables, often stripped naked, and put in boats on the river Évros. People who arrive on Greek islands are usually gathered up, put on rubber boats, and abandoned at sea. Boats intercepted in the Aegean Sea are often damaged or have their engines removed, or else the Hellenic Coast Guard will simply tow them back to Turkish waters.”

#migrant shipwreck #boat crossings #migrant crisis #refugee crisis #migrants #refugees #asylum seekers #asylum #immigrants #immigration #humanitarian crisis #fortress europe #greek coast guard #frontex #greece #european union #eu #europe

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joelswritingmistress · 9 months

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Oh Captain, My Captain: Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: You join Joel off the beaten path for a clam bake where you spend hours talking. Will the night end as you hope?

Night was creeping in, though the last rays of sunshine glowed on the horizon. You walked side-by-side with Joel toward the beachy dead-end were you had seen the kayakers pulling up earlier. When he abruptly towed you to the left down a narrow path of sand between rows of trees, you acknowledged this was hitting every "no-no" check mark on the list.

A guy you barely knew. Check. Seclusion. Check. A couple of drinks first. Check. Unknown territory. Check.

But it also made you feel.. alive. Your heart was racing, and each time Joel looked over his shoulder it amplified that feeling inside of you. Your eyes met, you shared a smile and off you went into the darkness to parts unknown. What a rush.

You almost forgot his friends were trailing you until one of them laughed at something that the other whispered. A moment later you emerged onto another little beach. The smell of seafood hung in the air and music played from somewhere.

People of all ages were strung about the area in small groups talking around firepits that sat in holes dug out in the sand. Near a row of wooden tables where food was being served there were several kegs and tiki torches surrounding the area.

"What is this?" You asked, looking around.

"One weekend a month in the summer months we do this," Joel explained. One of his buddies parted him on the back and the two guys headed to the food tables.

You soaked it all in. The atmosphere was inviting and had the potential to be romantic. You didn't want to get ahead of yourself. Hell, you thought you were in a bit over your head.

He's so much older than me, you reminded yourself. At the same time, the thought made you shiver with pleasure for reasons unbeknownst to you.

"You like clams?" Joel asked. "If not there's burgers and dogs."

"Clams are good." You nodded and trailed him to get a plate and then filled up a cup at the keg. The two of you settled on a dock that stretched out into the ocean just out of the reach of the fire's glow.

Joel set his plate down and kicked off the flip flops he had on to let his legs dangle off the side. You mirrored his position and felt the cool chill of the water nipping at your toes.

"How long have you lived here?" You asked him.

"My whole life." He smirked and took a sip from his drink then leaned back on his hands with a sigh.

"How about the boat? How long have you worked there?"

"In some way, shape or form since I was fourteen. Started off getting paid under the table in cash," he chuckled to himself, "And then got more formal jobs. I learned how to drive the boats early on." Joel shrugged. "It's not bad."

"Do you get sick of the tourists?" You asked, drawing a chuckle from both of you.

"Honestly?" He turned and you nodded. "Sometimes. But not always. Day-to-day it can be different. Your crew was alright." Joel winked and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and smiled. The darkness hid your blush.

He then turned the questions on you. "Why don't you talk to your parents about your career? And your art?"

You scrunched your nose and looked over to him. "Because they wouldn't take it seriously." It was true. They wouldn't. And part of you thought that was okay. Another part of you felt a bit sad.

"How do you know?"

"I brought things up before, more just on a theoretical level, but it was obvious I was talking about myself." You laughed for a second and then continued. "And both my parents just dismissed it. Childlike dreams I think they repeated a few times."

"Tell that to Andy Warhol."

"You know who that is?"

Joel chuckled. "Yes, I know who that is."

"I'm sorry." You shook your head and could see he clearly didn't take offense.

"Don't be."

The two of you sighed at the same time and it caused you to look at one another. Joel was the first to smirk and it made you giggle.

"Why are you here?" Joel asked you now. Again, he took you off-guard.

"Because.." you thought for a minute and the heat fell back into your cheeks. "It seemed like fun."

"Is that all?"

You weren't used to be so put on the spot, but if you were reading the signals right you were sure Joel had the same type of interest in you that you did for him.

"And because of you." Oh no, you knew the word vomit was on its way out. "I was attracted to you when I saw you on the boat, and now that I've actually had a few conversations with you, I kind of like the decision I made to-"

"Stalk me down to the bar?" He teased.

You laughed. "I mean.. I was there first so." It made Joel laugh a little louder.

"Oh, that's right," he played along.

"You don't care that I'm in my early twenties?"

Joel grinned wide. "Do you care that I have some grays in my hair?"

"No." You smiled at him.

"Then I think we're alright."

You were right where you wanted to be. For the first time in a long time you weren't thinking about anything except living in that exact moment. You didn't think about your job or the future or any of the pressures of your daily life. You didn't think about impressing anyone, including the man you couldn't stop talking to for the better half of the night. Things just flowed. You weren't aiming to impress. You were just being you; and that seemed to reel Joel in. It was good enough. More than enough.

In fact, you hadn't realized the number of texts and the several missed calls you had from your family members until midnight was approaching.

"Shit," you said aloud to yourself, "I forgot to check in." You typed away at messages to your brother begging him to lie to your parents and say you were there with him. He agreed without much of a fight and so you managed to take a deep breath.

"Come on," Joel rose to his feet and leaned his arm in your direction. You linked yours through his. "I told you I wouldn't let you turn into a pumpkin."

You didn't want the night to end. You could've stayed there until sunrise without a care in the world. With your parents in such close quarters while on vacation, however, you did feel like you had to be in by a certain time.

Walking back down the wooded, sandy path with Joel had your heart racing again. Fantasies took over your mind again. It was everything from him turning and kissing you passionately to the two of you ravaging one another right there in the sand.

When the street by the bar came into view and none of those fantasies manifested you felt the slightest twinge of disappointment. As if anything like that was about to happen. You almost rolled your eyes at yourself.

"How far is the place you're staying?" Joel asked as the Lamp Post mermaids came into view.

"Oh, it's like two blocks straight away." You pointed down the sidewalk and the two of you continued on.

"I'll just make sure you get there safely. Not that there's a ton of crime in the vineyard."

You smiled and wanted to reach for his hand. You suddenly realized you didn't know if you'd get to see him again. It left a knotted feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Could you ask for his number? You wish he'd ask for yours.

I'll just wait and see, you thought. You didn't know if you were bold enough to ask.

A silence hasn't fallen upon the two of you all night, until the final hundred yards or so of the walk home. That was when your anxiety finally climbed after feeling so content and at ease all evening.

"It's right here," you told him, motioning to the side by side townhouses where your family was staying. You turned to him like you were expecting him to hand you a Christmas gift or something. You wanted so badly for him to ask for your number. You wanted just as badly to kiss him.

"Did you want to do something again?" Joel asked.

Yes! Yes, yes, yes!!!!! Inside you were jumping up and down.

"Yeah, I'd like that." The words came out surprisingly calm despite the tornado of joy that lingered just below the surface.

"I have to work all day but why don't you wander down for the 6:00 cruise tomorrow night. Same thing, it's our last one of the night. On the house, I'll put your name on the list."

You grinned wide and bit your lip before nodding. "Sounds good to me."

"And maybe I could get your number so you don't disappear on me."

Fuck yes. You rattled off your digits and Joel put them into his phone. It was the ending you were hoping for. Well, mostly.

"Alright, well, get inside so I know you're safe."

"Thanks, Joel." You leaned in to give him a hug and closed your eyes when your bodies connected in the warm embrace on the sidewalk. When you pulled back and the two of you were face-to-face you couldn't help yourself. He was too close. He smelled too good. His eyes looked into yours for just a second too long. And so you did it. You leaned in and you kissed Joel Miller.

NEXT CHAPTER

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visceravalentines · 1 year

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Medium Distance

A Gentleman and a Scoundrel, Chapter 6

Dilf Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

6.4k. Smut & drama. Some angst (I know I know, you'll be okay, he just cares about you so much baby girl). Bo's shitty attitude makes an appearance and he snaps at Reader. Oral (Fem!receiving), PnV sex. So soft and tender near the end omg. Bittersweet ending (this is NOT the final update!).

The time has come for you to go back to college. Bo does his best to be supportive. Unfortunately, his best in this case is not very good.

For you, a return to campus for the start of a new semester was bittersweet. It meant new classes, new routines, the combined relief and anxiety of a return to independence. It would be exciting for a week if you were lucky, and then the mundanity of homework and midterms would set back in for another four months.

For your parents, it was merely the change of the seasons. With you out of the nest, they had become snowbirds, spending most of the fall and winter months on a beach or a boat. In fact, they had left for Cancun last week. They no longer felt the need for tearful goodbyes, knew you were capable of packing yourself up, moving yourself in. Adults all around.

As far as Bo was concerned, it may as well have been your last day on earth. He was so anxious you would’ve thought he was the one moving 200 miles away. For the last few days he had hardly let you out of his sight, staying over every night, sleeping pressed tightly against you in your childhood bed. Truth be told, it melted your heart, the way he followed you around like a puppy as you packed up your things.

“I think that’s everything,” you said as you locked the front door of your parents’ house.

“Y’didn’t forget anything at my place, did ya?”

“No, I’m leaving a bunch of stuff there, remember?” He hmmed in response, hands on his hips. “Even if I forget something, it’s okay. I’ll be up here in two weeks and I can get it then.”

“Well what if you need it?”

You slipped your arms around his waist. “Then I guess you’ll just have to bring it down to me right away.”

That almost got a smile out of him, but only almost. He appraised the mountain of your belongings packed securely in the bed of his truck. “Y’sure that’s everything? Thought you had more shit.”

You smiled up at him. “This is not my first rodeo. It’s like, my seventh. I promise, we’re good to go.”

He sighed. “If you say so, darlin’. Just lemme check the hitch real quick and then we can go.”

Rather than letting you drive your car down, he insisted on towing the damn thing behind his truck. He had already checked the trailer hitch at least once if not twice. If it gave him some sense of control over the situation, you supposed you could humor him.

You meandered over to the driver’s side and leaned against the door. When he was absolutely sure the hitch was secure, he came around the side of the truck, frowned when he saw you.

“What d’you think you’re doin’, baby girl?”

“Figured I’d drive down since you’re going to have to drive back,” you said.

He snorted. “Oh, y’got jokes now?” You grinned and he swatted at you. “Get your ass in the passenger’s seat.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bo shot you a glare and you scurried away around the front of the truck.

His hand was on your leg before you’d even left the driveway. You put your hand on top of his, fingertips caressing the scars on his wrist. He turned a faint smile in your direction; said nothing. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet all morning.

For the last couple weeks, he had pestered you with questions, made you recount your weekly schedule to him five times, insisted you provide him with the names and numbers of your roommate and a few other friends. You talked about visiting each other on the weekends, phone calls in the evenings, meeting somewhere in the middle. To be sure, it would be an adjustment, but he seemed to be handling the transition as well as could be expected.

However, the silence in the truck this morning was stifling, taking up all the extra space in the cab. You glanced at him a few times. He did not look back at you, eyes fixed firmly on the road. Once he pulled onto the freeway, he turned on the radio at a volume that was not conducive to conversation. You chewed your lip and decided let him be for a while. It was a long drive; he couldn’t ice you out forever.

“We could stop for lunch at that cute place by the river,” you said when you couldn’t bear the tension any longer. “Maybe walk around a little bit?”

“Sounds good, baby girl."

You frowned. He sounded apathetic. "I thought maybe I could take you around campus after we unload. Show you a couple of my favorite places," you tried.

"Whatever you want."

He seemed detached. “You okay?” you asked.

“’M just fine, darlin’.” He squeezed your leg.

Evidently this was not the case. “Do you…want to talk about it?”

“No I do not, thank you.” The sharpness of his tone surprised you. He was never short with you. You watched as he took his hand off your leg to turn the radio up.

You frowned. “Bo.”

He turned the radio up two more clicks.

You sat up straight, turned it off. “Bo.”

“Don’t touch my radio while I’m drivin’, girl,” he snapped. He turned it back on.

You stared at him, taken aback. “Are you upset with me?” you asked loudly over the wail of Bon Jovi. He hated Bon Jovi; he wasn’t even listening to the damn radio.

“’M not upset with you.”

“Well then will you please just talk to me?”

He didn’t respond.

You smashed the power button on the radio with more force than intended. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“We’re not fightin’.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. It sure felt like you were fighting. The two of you had never fought before. He didn’t turn the radio back on, but he didn’t say anything either. You folded your hands in your lap and looked out the window.

You knew today was going to be hard, but you’d expected a sort of mutual sadness, not this abrupt hostility. You couldn’t fathom why he was lashing out at you; as far as you knew, he approved of you going back to school.

A defensive sort of anger flared in your chest. Whether he approved or not, it’s what you were doing. You weren’t about to abandon three years’ worth of hard work just because he didn’t want to have to drive a few hours to see you.

If he wanted to pass the next ninety minutes in animosity, that was fine with you. You reached over and turned the radio back on, scrolled the volume up even higher for emphasis, crossed your arms over your chest. He shot you a glance; you ignored him.

Streetlights flew by. Bo was taking his aggravation out on the gas pedal. The damn radio was so loud your ears were ringing. The fight went out of you fast. This was not how you wanted to spend this drive, this last day together for the next two weeks, this time with him that was now a precious commodity.

You looked over at him. His expression was blank. It hurt to know he was hurting. There wasn’t much you could do to fix it, but you badly wanted to try.

“Hey,” you said too softly to be heard above the music. Your fingers found the dial and turned the radio way down. “Hey, Bo.”

“Yes, darlin’,” he said, eyes on the road.

“Would you look at me please?”

He obliged, and his mask of stoicism slipped into a guilty expression at the forlorn look on your face.

All the sudden your throat was thick, eyes stinging. “Can you pull over?”

He did, and you stared twin holes in the roof of the cab, refusing to cry. You felt his gaze on you as you rubbed at your tear ducts, looked down, looked outside, anywhere but at him. He was patient, waiting for you to speak first; it was so unlike him it made you feel worse.

You cleared your throat and when you spoke, your voice was almost steady. “Look, I’m sorry that I have to go.” Despite your best efforts, the tears welled up and you made a frustrated sound as the dashboard blurred. “I-I’m sorry that—”

“No no no.” You heard the sound of his seatbelt coming undone, his seat sliding backwards, and then he unfastened your seatbelt and took you by the arm and by the knee and pulled you toward him. “C’mere, baby girl, don’t cry.”

You offered no resistance, straddling his lap and burying your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pressed kiss after kiss to your head. “Y’got nothin’ to apologize for, sweetness, don’t do that.”

“But I am sorry, I—”

“Stop it, darlin’. I’m the one should be apologizin’ for gettin’ snippy with you.” His hold on you tightened. “’M better than that.”

You nestled into him, hands tucked beneath your chin. His heart pounded against your ear. With every deep breath your nose filled with the smell of his aftershave, the indelible musk of cigarette smoke ingrained in the fabric of his clothes beneath the scent of laundry detergent. You’d joked about bringing your laundry with you on the weekends so it would smell like his house. At least, it had been a joke. Now it seemed like a desperate and necessary way to keep him with you.

“Hey. Baby girl.” Bo nudged you, curled his finger beneath your chin to direct your gaze to him. “I’m sorry I took a tone with you. If I do that again you flip me the bird and tell me I’m makin’ an ass of myself.”

You almost smiled, sniffled instead. “I just…I thought you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” he said. You furrowed your brow and he grimaced. “Alright, I been better.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” You put your hand over his heart. “We don’t have to talk about it, I just want to know.” He started to shake his head and you stopped him with delicate fingertips on his jaw. “Bo. Please. It matters to me.”

He looked pained for a moment before he masked it with a smile not quite free of sadness. His pretty eyes flitted over the features of your face one at a time and all at once. “I want you to go. I’m excited for you, I am. ‘S just….” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Just what?” you urged.

Bo sighed, staring intently out the window. “I feel like I’m losin’ you and I just don’t know how to be alright with that.” He furrowed his brow, met your gaze with an expression bordering on desperation. “I’m tryin’, baby, I promise I am. I’ve just never been good at lettin’ go of things.”

You frowned, took hold of his face. “Bo, we talked about this.”

“I know we did.”

“You don’t have to let me go. You’re not losing me. You couldn’t.”

There it was again, that careworn look in his eyes. The one that made you feel like he knew something you didn’t. That heavy thing he held onto and wouldn’t let you see.

“Is there something you need to tell me?” you prompted gently, uncertain, not wanting to push him too far.

He said nothing, just looked at you for a long moment—too long. You searched his face, trying to transmute a growing anxiety into patience.

Finally he leaned in to kiss your forehead and said, “No, darlin’. Just wonderin’ how a grumpy ol’ fuck like me ended up with this angel right here.”

You offered a furtive smile. “You give really good head,” you said. That caught him off guard and a laugh burst from his chest. He had a smooth, booming genuine laugh and in spite of it all, it made you feel better.

“It’s going to be fine, baby,” you said, fiddling with his shirt. The fabric was soft in your fingers. “It’s just medium-distance for just a few months. We can do that.”

“We can do that,” he repeated like he was trying to convince himself.

“We’re gonna have an obscene amount of phone sex,” you reminded him. “Just a gross amount.”

“And you’re gonna show me how to use Snatchchat or whatever.”

“Fuck you’re old.”

Bo cracked a smile. “Nah I’m just playin’, I know what it’s called. C’mere.”

He pulled you close and kissed you, achingly sweet and hungry, his arms locked around you like he couldn’t bear to have you anywhere but pressed against him. “If it was up to me I’d lock you up,” he murmured. “Never let you go.”

“I know you would.”

“I mean it, baby.” He slipped his tongue in your mouth, trying to memorize your taste, squeezing the air from your lungs. “Alright, darlin',” he said breathlessly when he released your lips at last. “I think I can drive like this but you gotta stay real still.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” you said, grinding slowly against his fly. He groaned and shut his eyes. “I really don’t think I can.”

“I s’pose if we crash and die you ain’t leavin’ for college.” He leaned his head back against the seat. “Think your daddy will let ‘em bury me next to you?”

“I doubt it.”

“Damn. Ain’t worth it then.” You felt his dick flex in his jeans and he smacked your ass. “You best knock it off before I haul you outta here and bend you over the hood.”

You scoffed. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

He chuckled, something like wonder in the way he looked at you. “Dammit, baby girl, I—” The words seemed to crowd one another in his throat and he just shook his head. “Get back in your seat, g'on.”

You kissed him one more time before disentangling yourself and struggling back into your seat. “You know, if you need me to, I could give you—”

He held up a hand to stop you. “Do not make me an offer I can’t refuse. I need you to sit there and look pretty, that’s all. You’re doin’ a great job.”

Beaming at him, you buckled up and switched the radio back on at a civil volume as he signaled back into traffic. Bon Jovi was playing again. Bo scowled.

“Anythin’ else, please.”

Hours later, after a stop for lunch and a walk by the river and kisses not stolen but eagerly shared on the bridge, you finally reached your destination. Bo pulled up to the row of brownstone buildings on the edge of campus where your apartment was tucked away.

"This it?" he said, scrutinizing the building with a critical eye.

"This is it. We should be fine to park here for a minute. I want you to come up and see the place first."

"'S this a sketchy neighborhood?" Bo asked apprehensively.

You rolled your eyes. "No, it's fine. Come on."

“Are you sure? Looks sketchy,” he said, locking the truck.

“I’ve lived here for two years, I promise it’s fine. The building’s just old.”

He shook his head ruefully. “We had all summer. I shoulda given you a gun and taught you how to use it.”

“Jesus, Bo, I don’t need a gun.”

“Everyone needs a gun.”

“Your redneck is showing.” He swatted your ass and you squeaked. “Do you have a gun? Besides the one above the fireplace?”

He smiled grimly. “Never you mind.”

You tugged on his hand. “What kind of answer is that?”

“The only one you’re gettin’, sweetness. I don't want you comin' home late in the dark," he persisted as you led him up the steps.

"I am absolutely going to be coming home late in the dark sometimes."

"Darlin'," he said sharply.

"Bo, I can take care of myself, I promise. Look, the front door is always locked and we keep the apartment locked too." You flipped through your keyring for the right key.

Bo grabbed the handle and rattled the door. "I could break into this in thirty seconds."

"Well then it's a good thing you don't have to do that because I have a key, you animal."

You unlocked the door and flung it open. Bo caught and held it, gestured for you to go in first. You led him up one flight of stairs to your second-floor apartment halfway down the hall.

"Your roommate's name is Sammy?" Bo confirmed.

"Yeah."

"And we like her fine."

You giggled. "Yes, we like her. We've been roommates for a year. She's great."

He grunted in response. You unlocked the door but didn't open it, turned around to face him instead. "This guard dog thing you have going on is really sweet, okay? It's very sexy. But I need you to trust me a little bit. You don't have to interrogate Sammy or anyone else down here. I'm a pretty good judge of character."

Bo snorted and shook his head. "Sure, darlin'."

"Just please be nice? I know you can be nice."

“I don’t think you know shit.”

You took half a step towards him, pressing your body against his front. “Daddy,” you whined, and he snapped to attention. “If you be nice right now, maybe I’ll be nice to you later,” you said softly.

"I can be so nice," he said. He almost managed to suppress the patronizing tone.

“Prove it.” You turned away from him and opened the door. “Hey Sammy!” you said brightly as you barged in with Bo on your heels. “How was your summer?”

Sammy, a dark-haired girl sprawled on the couch in a cloud of vape smoke that reeked of cannabis, swore and scrambled to sit up straight and shove the vape under a pillow. “Dude, you didn’t tell me you were bringing your dad!”

Bo rolled his eyes and scowled as you cackled. “I didn’t, this is my boyfriend. Bo, meet Sammy.”

“Pleasure,” he said dryly.

“Oo, a foreigner,” Sammy said.

“He’s from Louisiana.”

“Where’d you guys meet, Mardi Gras?”

“We met back home over the summer. He’s, uh…a friend of my dad’s,” you said at the same time Bo grumbled, “Mardi Gras is in February.”

“That’s kinky as fuck,” Sammy said, digging the vape back out from under the pillow. “Bet your mom is thrilled.”

“My parents do not know and it’s going to stay that way so some discretion would be much appreciated,” you said.

“Gotchu.” The vape hissed. “I’m all about discretion.”

You grinned. “I’m going to show him my room and then we’re going to bring my stuff up, so don’t mind us.”

“I won’t.” Sammy flopped back on the couch, flashed a peace sign. “Nice to meet you, Mardi Gras.”

“Charmed, Samantha,” he said as he followed you down the hall. "She seems fun,” Bo muttered. “She always high off her ass?”

“Since when do you have a problem with recreational drug use?" you shot back.

"I don't, I just–"

"Maybe Sammy will give you a hit off her vape and that'll chill you out." You pushed open the door to your bedroom. “Here we are.”

The air was stale from months of stagnation, but it was comforting to be back in your own space. You watched Bo meander around the room, looking at the photos of you and your friends stuck on the wall, the knickknacks on your desk, your closet overstuffed with clothes despite the fact you had packed a full summer’s wardrobe back home with you.

“’S cute,” he said. “Nice and cozy. Feels like you.”

You wrenched the ancient window open to air the space out. “I really like it here. It’s too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, but it’s cheap and has good parking.”

Bo came over beside you. “This window lock?”

“Yes, it locks,” you sighed.

He put his hand on the small of your back. “Just makin’ sure my baby girl’s gonna be safe without me, that’s all.”

You leaned against the windowsill and slid your arms around his waist. His brow was lined with concern and you couldn’t help but be a little touched. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Ain’t nothin’ sweet about it,” he said. “I’d have to beat the shit outta anyone who laid a finger on you and I’m real attached to my clean criminal record.”

“You're a selfish bastard.”

“I know it, darlin’.” He kissed your lips but didn’t linger, tilting your chin delicately to the side so he could work his way down your neck.

“Once we bring some things in I can put clean sheets on the bed,” you said.

“Don’t need sheets,” Bo murmured. “Hell, don’t need a bed.”

You laughed and ran your fingers through his hair. “We do need to unload though so you can move the truck before it gets towed.”

He froze. “Before it what?”

“It’s only thirty-minute parking out front.”

“Well what the fuck are we waitin’ for?” He was out of your room so fast he all but left a cloud of dust in his wake.

The two of you made short work of carting your belongings inside and backing your car off the trailer. Unpacking could wait. Instead, you took Bo around campus and the surrounding neighborhood, pointing out your classroom buildings, the library, the patch of trees on the hill. If he couldn’t be there, if he couldn’t be a part of your everyday, you at least wanted to show him what it was like.

The tour ended at your favorite dive restaurant for dinner. By the time you walked out, the sun had begun its descent behind the trees.

Bo’s hand slipped out of yours and he paced a few steps away. He gazed down the road at the streetlights as they lit up all at once. “Well darlin’…think I better get goin’.”

You frowned, slowed to a stop, confused and caught off guard. “I thought you were staying over.”

“Yeah…thinkin’ maybe I should get home though.” He was not looking at you, looking instead at the part of your world unfamiliar to him, mouth set in a line, hands shoved in his pockets.

I feel like I’m losin’ you and I just don’t know how to be alright with that. Who was losing who?

Your heart sank. “You said you’d stay.”

He turned to you, met your sad eyes, and the furrow of his brow cracked his aloof expression. A quiet, resigned sigh slipped from his nose and he conjured up the ghost of a smile. “Dunno, y’think that bed of yours is big enough for two?” His hands found your hips and pulled you toward him. “I could sleep on the couch I guess.”

You shook your head. “Don’t be an ass. You’re staying the weekend. You said you would.”

“Did I?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes!” You thumped your hand on his chest.

Bo chuckled, wrapped you in his arms. “I know I did. Just wanted to be sure you ain’t changed your mind. I know you got a lot to get done before classes start.”

“No.” You squeezed him tightly. “Stay with me.”

“You sure?”

“Bo!”

“Alright, alright, y’got me.”

Tucked under his arm, you wandered home, clinging to him for fear he might disappear into the twilight like cigarette smoke if given half the chance.

Back at your apartment, he helped you make your bed and put away a few essentials and afterwards you curled up together in front of some early 2000s horror movie. Bo changed into sweatpants; you also changed into a pair of Bo's sweatpants. He spooned you on the couch, your back flush to his chest and his fingers moving lightly down the skin of your arms, over the curve of your thighs. His lips found the nape of your neck again and again.

"Can I help you?" you laughed as his teeth grazed your skin.

"Mm-mm," he said. "You just keep watchin' the movie."

"What about you?"

"Don't worry 'bout me, I'm entertainin' myself."

“We don’t have to watch this if you don’t want to,” you said.

“I’m perfectly happy, darlin’.” His hand snuck beneath your shirt, cupped your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple.

You arched your back and pressed your ass against his groin. "You sure, Daddy? You don't wanna go fool around a little?" You craned your neck to steal a lopsided kiss.

"I just want you to relax, baby girl. You been so busy." His fingers trailed back and forth over the exposed flesh of your stomach. After a minute, he shot you a sidelong glance. "Y'mind if I have a snack?"

"We just ate," you laughed as he sat up and scooted down the couch.

"I know, I just got a particular craving is all."

"Go for it, I don't know what we have in the pantry though."

"That's alright, me neither," Bo said as he tucked his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and slid them and your panties all the way down your thighs in one fluid motion.

You jerked in surprise. "Baby!"

He shushed you, looping his arms under your legs and nestling in so close you felt the heat of his words on your skin. "Watch the movie, darlin'."

Grinning, you repositioned yourself against the pillow behind your head. "What if Sammy comes back?"

"Door's locked. I set the deadbolt."

You laughed. "You son of a bitch."

His eyes gleamed over the crest of your hips. "You know I get what I want, baby girl."

Biting your lip, you turned your attention back to the TV. A vocal sigh slipped from your throat at the first solicitous pass of his tongue. He lapped at your sex, teasing the breach of your slit.

You snuck a glance at him and smiled. His eyes were closed, his thumbs stroking your hips, his brow furrowed slightly as he devoured you with absolute devotion. He looked up at you through his lashes and slowly raised one eyebrow.

“You’re awfully distracting,” you said.

“Speak for yourself,” he murmured. He swirled his tongue around your clit and sucked pointedly and you threw your head back on the pillow with a groan.

He was relentless. You tangled your fingers in the hair at the base of his skull, squeezed it in your fist. Your hips lurched involuntarily against his face time and again and it only made him shift his weight to pin your legs down so he could redouble his efforts.

“Please,” you gasped, legs trembling. “It's so much…it’s too much.”

Bo trailed kisses down the inside of your thigh, letting you catch your breath. “C’mon, baby girl, Daddy ain’t done yet.” He licked a matching path up your other thigh. You whined and squirmed and he lifted his head, fixed his smoldering stare on you. "You want me to stop?"

"Uh-uh." You pulled his head back to you and he chuckled.

“You’re doin’ so well, sweetness. Just a little more.”

He caressed you with his tongue, slick and silky, slipped two fingers into you and adored you from the inside out. You were floating, bliss incarnate, twisting your hand in his hair and grinding on his tongue until at last something primal and powerful snapped deep in your core and you arched your back and melted on his lips, moaning, hot and sticky and sweet.

"That's my girl." He nipped the flesh of your thigh, made you jerk and whimper. "Goddamn, I love makin' a mess of you."

"Come here," you sighed, reaching for him. He sat up and took your hand and kissed first your fingers, then your wrist, leaning in to let you hang your arms around his neck and meet his lips. The combined taste of his mouth and your lingering pleasure was delectable, smooth and sharp.

You gazed up at him, the lines worn into his brow and the corners of his eyes, those lips, the scar on his chin. Something was tangled in your heartstrings, tugging at your diaphragm, words sitting precarious in your mouth.

"Bo…."

The knob of the front door rattled furiously and someone pounded at the door only seconds later. "What the hell?" Sammy yelled, muffled. "Are you guys fucking or something?"

Bo was off you and out of the room in mere seconds. Hastily you hiked your pants back up and tripped over yourself on the way to the door. The deadbolt was crusted in fifty years' worth of paint and you had to really throw your weight behind it to get it open.

"Hey Sammy, so sorry," you panted. "Bo's just, like…super paranoid."

"I would be too if I was whipping my dick out in the common living area," Sammy said without a hint of malice.

You bit back a laugh and felt your face heat up. "That is…not what was happening."

"Get it girl, why do you think I walked to Taco Bell instead of DoorDashing like a sensible person? I figured you had designs on that old man. I'm glad you locked the door. I don't need to know you like that." She took a hit off her vape. "Good for you, babe. 'Bout time you found yourself a man worth a damn. Bradley sucked ass."

"Bradley did suck ass, you're right."

"Baby girl, you get abducted?" Bo called from your room.

"No," you called back.

Sammy winked at you. "You better get back to it, I bet he gets real bossy when he's horny."

"How'd you know?" You rolled your eyes and retreated down the hall.

"I'll be out here minding my own business with headphones on," she grinned.

You ducked into your room and shut the door behind you. The string of lights hanging around the perimeter of the ceiling shone gentle and golden and Bo was tucked in your bed, reclining bare chested on your pillows. Goddamn gorgeous. You wanted to wrap yourself around him, map every inch of him with your mouth and hands.

"I missed you," he said with a crooked smile. He beckoned you with two fingers. “C'mere."

You shed your clothes as you crossed the room and crawled into bed. Straddling him, you nudged his half-hard cock with your pubic bone, pressing him between your skin and the palm of your hand.

"Pretty thing," he said. "Wanna take a ride?"

"Yes sir." His shaft was velvety soft between your lips, slippery with a mixture of your arousal, the gentle friction against your clit verging on overstimulation.

Bo made a contented sound. "Think I'd like to sit back and watch you fuck me, darlin', how d'you feel about that?"

With a hitch of your hips you took half his length, eliciting a startled, satisfied grunt from his pretty mouth. Another thrust and you groaned in tandem as he found his place inside you.

"Feels good," you murmured. "I feel good about that."

Ecstasy rolled through you with every rock of your pelvis. Bo pinned his lip between his teeth, glazed-over gaze fixed on the joining of your bodies. You splayed your hands on his stomach and reveled in each clench of his abdomen as you worked him in and out.

Arching your spine, flexing around him, you felt a flash of satisfaction when he threw his head back and inhaled sharply, face flushed. His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs when you sighed his name.

“Darlin’,” he mumbled, “angel, beautiful, fuck.” With gentle hands on your waist he stabilized you so he could rut up into you, meeting each sway of your body with a rise of his own. “I adore you, baby girl, you know that?”

Your nails pressed into his skin. You met his eyes, pupils blown and glassy. “I know that.”

“Nah, you got no idea,” he said breathlessly, with a small shake of his head.

Your hands found his wrists, fingers wrapping loosely around them. “Then tell me.”

Bo licked his lips desperately. “Best thing I ever had. Y’hear me? Best thing that—shit—that ever happened to me.” The snap of his hips grew frenetic, his grip on you tightening. “I’d do anything for you, anything you want.”

His scars were smooth and uneven under the delicate caress of your thumbs. Your head lolled to the side and you graced him with a sultry smile. “Come for me?”

He moaned. “Hell, baby girl—”

You moved like the tide, steady, relentless. “C’mon, Bo, come for me.”

A grunt escaped his throat in pieces as he bucked beneath you, wringing your name out on his lips, clawing down your sides. His climax resolved into a low whine and he stared up at you with that heartrending astonishment you always hoped for, like he couldn’t believe a sweet thing like you could make him feel like that.

Goosebumps flared across his skin as you ran your hands up his arms to meet in the middle of his chest, bending over him to press a kiss between his eyes. The words came quickly, unbidden, all your thinking over and done with. “I love you, you know?”

You felt the air catch in his lungs. “I…I know.” He was holding onto you like a lifeline, something bewildered and exultant blooming in his expression. “…I love you too, darlin’.”

You smiled. The phrase was foreign to him; you could hear it in the way his tongue touched each syllable like he was afraid he might break it. “Say it again,” you whispered.

His hand came to your cheek and he grazed your lips. “I love you,” he said carefully, like maybe you might tell him he was doing it wrong.

You kissed the pad of his thumb. “One more time?”

Those blue eyes seized you, held you, intense and ardent, and quietly he said, “I’m in love with you, baby girl. ‘Course I am. You’re everything to me.”

He pulled your mouth to his and kissed you with an unexpected tenderness. It made you shake inside. It wiped everything from your mind but thoughts of him, thoughts of his rare laughter and that damn smirk, the thought that you wanted to commit to memory the way he tasted so you could never, ever forget it.

He rolled onto his side, taking you with him, strong arms wrapped tightly around you. You could feel a peculiar tension in his body even in the wake of his orgasm and you tried to soothe him with caresses on his chest and collarbones. He pressed his lips to your brow and held you to him for a long time, breathing slowly, like he thought maybe if he let you go you might slip away.

You had to wonder, curled up with his heart pounding under your hands, if he had ever given it to anyone else. You were almost certain the answer was no, and this gave you a secret sort of satisfaction. You knew he had never been married, and he’d been a bachelor as long as he’d known your father.

Now that you thought about it, was it odd that he’d never settled down? That a charming, charismatic man with a James Dean jawline and a steady job hadn’t ever found himself a long-term partner?

And were you certain that was even the case? He didn’t talk about his past, about his younger years, about Louisiana. There was trauma there, a time when the scars on his wrists were fresh, a time when his brothers had been his whole world. Maybe there had been a time when he hadn’t been alone.

It occurred to you suddenly that you knew almost nothing about his life before he moved to your town. That was odd, wasn’t it? Or was he just protecting himself, the part of himself that was painful and private? And if so, did you have any right to go poking at it?

Bo hmmed softly. “Why so quiet, darlin’? Thinkin’ some big thoughts?”

You tilted your head back and met his gaze. The way he looked at you—with hunger, with reverence—no one had ever looked at you the way he did. Like he wanted to dismantle you piece by piece and then lovingly put you back together just so he could become intimately familiar with every last part of you. Most people lived their whole lives without someone looking at them like that.

What did it matter that he was a mystery? He was yours, and you were his.

You smiled and kissed his chin. “Just thinking about you.”

A faint smirk settled on his lips. “Well now, ain’tcha always?”

Your fingers wandered through his hair, brushing it back off his brow. “Yes,” you answered truthfully.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Good.”

He left Sunday evening, hours after the sun had set and the roads were dark.

You knew he needed to get home, had a long drive ahead of him, but every attempt you made at a goodbye was casually but firmly shut down. Bo would not be leaving until he decided to leave.

You sensed he was struggling; you could see it in fits and starts of alternating detachment and clinginess. But he shrugged you off if you tried to pursue it, and so you stopped pressing him. Everything would be fine once he adjusted to the change, once he realized you weren’t going to forget about him just because you didn’t see him every day.

Finally, he let you walk him down to his truck. He took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, possessive, almost aggressive. It left you flushed and gasping. "I'll see you in a couple weeks, baby girl," he said, drawing his thumb across your cheekbone.

“Just a couple weeks. Text me when you get home?" you asked pleadingly.

"Sure thing, but you best be sleepin'."

"I will."

"Good girl."

You embraced him tightly. "I'll miss you."

"I know,” he said. “Miss you already."

You tugged him close for one last kiss. "I love you."

His eyes moved over your face like he was searching for something. You wished you knew what it was he was looking for. You believed—you hoped—when he was ready, he would tell you.

"Love you too."

With one final peck on your forehead, he pulled away and climbed into the truck, and then he was gone.

Taglist at the bottom bc this is a monster post already: @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @slutforguts, @brandnewhuman, @fluffy-little-demon, @cypressnmarigolds, @slasherlouvre , @g0thl3zz, @frankiethedarkangel, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @likeacidrainn, @thatoneidiotlol, @jdbxws, @confused-gender, @xhorror-nerdx, @uwunuzzleowo, @spicysimpura, @gremlinfuck, @the-pinstriped-hood, @vixorell, @hope4rain15, @hamburgerslippers. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair fanfiction #dilf bo sinclair #slasher x reader #agaas #a gentleman and a scoundrel #my writing #bo sinclair

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seat-safety-switch · 2 years

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If you’ve never given much thought to towing a car, be thankful. There is a sort of moment that passes as you descend further and further into car-ownership madness. Originally, you are just a tow consumer – a random person of good breeding and upbringing who needs their broken car moved to a place where it can be fixed. Then, as you start to get a taste for the good stuff in life, you quickly realize that you must transition into the provision of tows.

Let’s think about the economics of a tow. You’re paying for the truck, the fuel, the driver’s labour, their boss’s labour, their boss’s labour, and a vig to whatever organized crime group (the police?) that they work for. Do that two or three times in a year, and buying a shitty truck with a halfway-shitty car hauling trailer starts to make a lot of sense. If you’re like me, and you’re pulling home broken garbage every weekend, you don’t need an accountant to tell you it’s a good idea.

Here’s the Catch-22, though: any truck and trailer combo I can afford is so broken that they themselves would need a tow truck to get them back to my home. Trucks have become expensive luxury items, and trailers are required for my neighbours to store non-running quads and boats on, so that they can never take them anywhere. So I’m stuck with using some of my garbage to haul home new garbage. This is where the innovation of the “flat tow” comes from.

Although it’s illegal in most municipalities, and considered to be an affront to God Himself by the Vatican, flat towing is often the most practical way of moving one car when all you have is another car. You loop a rope or chain between the two cars and then drive away, pulling the broken car behind you like a sort of two-ton rattlesnake. Your most expendable buddy sits in the unpowered car and strongarm-steers it around corners (assuming the steering still works) and you try not to kill them. Then, you make sure not to stop too abruptly (i.e. for lights) just in case the following car doesn’t actually have brakes, and try not to turn too sharply either, lest you sever the rope and have to make a new friend. When you get to your house, you only have to replace the transmissions in both cars, and you’re done.

Is it a good idea? Absolutely not. Is it an effective technique? Yes, in moderation. For instance, you don’t want the cops to see you, so it’s a good idea to only do it at night, or in especially bad weather. And hey, even if you fuck it up, you’ll be paying money to be towed for a shorter distance than you would otherwise. That is, assuming you don’t do a lot of this flat-towing near particularly steep mountain roads.

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centuryberry · 11 months

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@peachshadows / @terrible-leviathan Here it is: the final chapter of this extremely self-indulgent AU of an AU. A million times: thank you for inspiring me with your creativity <3

(While this is the end of this fic, I’m more than happy to continue answering asks about this AU of an AU beyond what this fic covers and about the Triplets!)

Life didn’t exactly turn back to normal the moment MK came back home.

He tried to force it, of course. More than anyone, he was desperate to pretend his little trip to an alternate universe was nothing more than a fever dream. He wanted things to go back to normal - to go back to delivering noodles, playing arcade games with Mei, and training with his mentors so he could be ready to face his demon of the week.

But that didn’t even last a day. MK’s efforts to slide right back into his usual routine was hindered by his constant anxiety that started the moment A-Dan was whisked away back to Flower Fruit Mountain by her parents. He couldn’t eat or sleep for the next few hours, so sick with worry. It was completely irrational. MK had nothing to worry about since she was back in her parents’ arms, but the feeling persisted. His anxiety didn’t settle until a harried looking Wukong and a distressed Macaque dropped by in the middle of the night with a sobbing A-Dan in tow.

“Gege,” she sniffled heartbreakingly into his shirt when she was passed over to him. “Gege. No go. No go.”

MK wasn’t the only one who left the experience with scars.

For the sake of both of them, MK temporarily moved out of his apartment above Pigsy’s Noodles and moved into Flower Fruit Mountain.

It helped with some things. It also made things worse.

Sometimes, MK would forget that he wasn’t in the other world anymore. It was stupid. It was like small things like jokes and quirks were landlines that would send him back to the other world.

Jokes about MK being a little too much like Wukong weren’t taken too well even though they weren’t new. At best, he’d make faces and try to quickly change the subject. At worst…

“For the last time, I’m not his son!”

Yeah. He didn’t like those.

MK didn’t like it either whenever Wukong and Macaque took A-Dan away from him without warning. It didn’t happen every time, but the memories would overlap without warning, triggered by something that they said or did or even looked in that moment.

Once, he even snarled at them for trying. He caught himself before he tried to bite them and was completely mortified at what he almost did.

Instead of being rightfully upset with him, his mentors stayed gentle and understanding.

“You did good, kid,” Macaque rumbled comfortingly into his ear later when MK sobbed apologies into his shirt. “You protected her so well while we weren’t there. A-Dan couldn’t have been safer.”

Wukong and Macaque were patient with his outbursts and slip-ups. Not once did they ever hold it against him, which made MK feel worse because he knew that neither of them deserved it.

That was the breakthrough he needed to drop by Sandy’s ship to finally get help. The river demon was already waiting for him with tea and an encouraging smile. It was hard, opening up. But it was something MK needed to do. He didn’t want this haunting every moment in his life.

MK wasn’t alone in this either. When he felt ready, his friends came and sat in on the sessions. It helped, talking through what he experienced with them. Even Red Son deigned to come by Sandy’s boat to support MK, insistent that he was only there for the tea and nothing else.

“So you’re saying that you are comfortable with me since the differences between me and the inferior me is so blatant that it hurts,” Red Son concluded near the end of the session. “Why not focus on the differences of your pathetic friends too? It will most likely have the same effect.”

“I-” MK blinked. “Actually, you’re onto something.”

“Obviously. My thought process is far more advanced than your puny peasant brain.”

Sandy was absolutely thrilled at the idea. He even got out his drawing board to start drawing out the differences between the inhabitants of the other world and theirs.

“Let’s start with Red Boy’s-” “Red Son.” “-differences. Is there anything specific that he could say that might trigger you?”

“Oh, um.” MK flushed and looked down. “There’s no way he’d say those things so we can skip that.”

“I insist that you list them out all the same,” Red Son pushed, looking almost concerned for a second. “I do not wish to ever be mistaken for that - that imposter, so having a guideline for what to avoid would help immensely.”

“Well. There’s My Prince.” Red Son nodded, already familiar with that one. “And Beloved.” Red Son choked. “And Darling. And Treasure. And Dearest. And My Ma-

“I think we heard enough!” Red Son cut MK off, face burning red and hair literally burning. MK’s face wasn’t any better. He had started covering it halfway through. “Well! You were correct for once, Monkey Boy. I will certainly never call you any of that.”

MK smiled up at him weakly. “You promise?”

“Of course,” Red Son coughed, looking away. “I would never be so disgustingly sappy or uncreative.”

For Wukong and Macaque, it was a little more complicated. It required a lot of sitting down and divulging their pasts. They spoke about the Brotherhood, the creation of it after meeting Azure Lion, and its eventual dissolution. They spoke about the War Against Heaven and its consequences - Wukong being trapped under a mountain as punishment and Flower Fruit Mountain burning. They lost so much, including each other.

“I was a little jealous of them,” Wukong admitted with a distant look in his eyes. “They still had their friends and bonds intact. Flower Fruit Mountain sounded so lively. Wish they would have appreciated them more.”

“We should visit Brother Ox and Iron Fan and make amends properly,” Macaque suggested to his mate. “I miss my sister and A-Dan deserves to have at least one Uncle and Aunt in her life.”

MK was ever grateful for them opening up old wounds for his sake. And, in a way, it healed them too.

It took time, but MK found a new normal. He restarted his rounds as a delivery boy whenever he wasn’t training or fighting his demon of the week. And he wasn’t alone either. Mei and Red Son fought by his side and even went out to hang out after - not that the Fire Demon would ever admit that was what he was doing.

It was a process, but A-Dan slowly yet surely was getting more and more comfortable with not seeing MK around all the time. He always visited, of course, but he always went back to his little apartment at the end of the day. She understood that she couldn’t keep her Gege all to herself. Eventually.

“…and things have been getting better. We’re happy and almost back to normal. Or at least a new kind of normal,” MK recounted to his bathroom mirror.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Xiaotian laughed from the other side of the mirror. MK could see the familiar walls of the Celestial Palace. It hurt to look at and remember the first few times interacting with Xiaotian, but now he didn’t even bat an eye at the sight of it. See? Improvement. “Really, MK. You deserve it.”

“And what about you? Time flows differently over there, right? A lot of things must’ve happened ever since the last update.”

“Well, I managed to successfully push for a law that would give mortal humans equal rights and proper citizenship! And all forms of slavery are illegal now!” Xiaotian announced proudly. “Mom and Dad helped too. They’re starting to understand what I was trying to push for.”

MK grimaced. “I’m not saying that you’re lying but…”

Xiaotian didn’t take it personally. “I know, I know, they already did and said too much to trust any kind of change. Honestly, I don’t think that they’re really suited for the whole ‘ruling the world’ sort of gig. Too much responsibility for a pair of lovebirds so into each other, you know? But they’re getting better and they’ll continue to be better. The Triplets and I are making sure of that.”

“Hey, speaking of the Triplets, how are they? Getting into some cheeky mischief?”

Xiaotian’s smile turned fondly exasperated. “The Eastern Wing of the palace grounds got destroyed again.”

“Oof. Again? Who was it this time?”

“In a way, it was all of them,” Xiaotian sighed. “Shan was running his mouth as usual and annoyed Yang into his emotional explosions. Xue’s tail got singed in the chaos of it all and froze everything in his panic.”

Like Xiaotian and Xiaodan, the Triplets took the same “Xiao” to their names and all mostly took after their Baba’s coloring. Like their Stone Monkey Baba and their Shadow Monkey Mama, they were all very powerful and unique in their own ways.

Xiaoyang, the first to hatch, not only inherited his Baba’s appearance that it was almost uncanny, but he also inherited his tendency to feel and react too much. Unfortunately, unlike his Baba when he was angry, he exploded. Literally.

Four-Eared Xiaoxue was the opposite. He kept his emotions bottled up like his mother, only to release his resentment and anger in the perfect moment that sent those who wronged him reeling. Though, when distressed or surprised, he would accidentally summon ice storms to the palace’s doorsteps.

And Xiaoshan. The instigator. The mischief-maker. He was chaos incarnate and the usual suspect whenever things went wrong. The moment he could walk and talk, it was over for the Celestial Realm. It didn’t help that he was frighteningly in tune with hearing the future with his six ears.

The Triplets were frightening. Even more so to MK when he realized that their powers and personalities were an amalgamation of Wukong, Macaque, and MK’s past, trauma, and flaws. Xiaoyang being born with a blind eye. Xiaoxue being almost unnaturally cold to touch. Xiaoshan being, well, Xiaoshan.

“Sorry about that,” MK said, completely embarrassed. “If I knew that I would literally manifest my trauma into them because I repressed them for so long, I’d have looked for help sooner.”

“For the millionth time, they’re not the manifestation of your trauma, they’re like me: the culmination of possibilities that had, has, and will happen in your universe. Besides, they’re perfect.”

“I’m still sorry for making all of this so hard for you.”

“Are you kidding me? All I ever wanted was to be real. To exist. I’m happy to be alive and here with my family, MK. And no amount of chaos or trouble is ever going to change that.”

Before Xiaotian could say any more, he was interrupted by a chorus of childish voices. To MK’s amusement, young monkey demons started to climb up Xiaotian’s fancy robes, begging for his attention.

“Da-ge, what’cha talkin’ to? Is it your Mirror Friend? I wanna talk to ‘em too!” Shan chattered.

“Da-ge, come here. You promised to read me a story,” Xue demanded as imperiously as he could while carrying a scroll his size.

“Da-ge, I want noodles,” Yang pleaded with a puppy-dog eye.

Xiaotian scruffed them all and gathered them up in a blink of an eye. “Whelp, time to go. Talk to you later, MK.”

“Yeah, see you later, bud.”

Before MK and Xiaotian could close their line of communication, Shan’s gaze suddenly sharpened and focused on MK. That never happened before. Usually, it was only Xiaotian who could see him through the mirror.

“Don’t open the bad scroll. It’ll eat everyone you love.”

MK shivered at the ominous words. “What-?”

Xiaotian bopped Shan’s nose like he was a misbehaving puppy. “No. Bad Shan. You’re not allowed to use your weirdly-specific prophecies to make other people uncomfortable. Do you want to get into trouble again?”

“I’m not scared of ‘Ba!” Shan yelled stubbornly.

“What about Mom?”

Shan stopped struggling and fell silent.

“…don’t tell ‘Ma.”

“Thought so,” Xiaotian snickered before turning to MK. “Don’t worry too much, MK. Just stay away from weird scrolls and you’ll be okay.”

“Right.” MK’s apartment shook at the force of an explosion. He took out his staff in alarm and peered out of his window. “Whelp, gotta go too! Demons are causing trouble again!”

“See you later, MK. Oh, and give A-Dan an extra hug for me, okay?”

Later, after MK lugged an entire cart full of forbidden artifacts to Flower Fruit Mountain for safekeeping, he did.

“Gege, back! A-Dan, love!” She cooed.

“Yeah, I’m back! And I got all this cool stuff we can look at! With your Mama and Baba’s supervision, of course.”

“Yay! Fun!”

A-Dan was safe. They were safe. And he hoped this “normal” stayed with them for a while before the next big adventure shook up their lives again.

Unbeknownst to them, a black scroll shifted in the pile and glowed.

#fic update #shadowpeach #lego monkie kid #lmk spicynoodles #little dawn #the sundown era

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terrence-silver · 6 months

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A story about yandere!Gus Travis please? 🥺

(Gus Travis x Reader)

---

His hand drags you forward, refusing to let go.

Rushing towards the lone beach church at the end of the mountainous hiking trail of Cape Flattery, tucked in between the bosom of the black jagged rocks overgrown with moss and the rough, sandy plateau of the foggy coastline as pale as a bone in the shadow of the tall, blackened Spruce trees, car parked behind him near the rocky terrain waterfront, gloomy and overcast before the afternoon rain, his men, in a pair of two, silently following suit, serving as witnesses. Nice, isolated, no people present to intervene, Gus thought, with determined steps stepping into the sand --- and as a result, a perfect place to conduct a quick marriage. He reassures himself, his fingers touching the hilt of his gun tucked into his belt beneath his jacket, deciding he can simply flash it to the priest in case of any inhibitions to the contrary, or even go as far as pull it out and make a valid argument with it if push came to shove, his other hand latched unto yours, ushering you where you two needed to be. He acquired you a dress. Had you wear it. Went as he was. Leather, jeans and a dress shirt, right off of the docks right before he headed back to finish up back there. Wrap up all loose ends. He had no time to play dress up. He needed this done and he needed to be practical on his part. He needed this to be binding. Today. Doubly so. Having just driven out here from the registry office up at Port Angeles.

Deciding that it was now or never.

So, it was infinitely better if it was now.

Gus pulls you to him, shoulder to shoulder, sliding off his jacket in a hurry and wrapping it around your shoulders tightly, keeping you warm from the oncoming wind gusts blowing in sharp from the open, wavy sea front, utilizing his body to shield you from it. Keep you pretty. Although, you always were, regardless of the circumstances. His very own mermaid on dryland. -"I know it's bad now, but I'll get a leave and a honeymoon and we'll go. We'll go whenever you want. Maybe get a boat. Just for you and me. Sail somewhere warm."- He speaks, close enough to touch your face with his as he bent his head down to catch your expression better. He was certain his boss would give him a week or two worth of break. Gus's grip on his gun instinctively tightens. You shoot him a concerned, puzzled look. -"But, how can you get a leave when you..."- You start and he immediately interrupts you before you can even finish saying what he was thinking you'd say. Yes. He already knew. He knew and he didn't wanna hear any more of that crap. He wasn't a doctor, an accountant, a baker, a mechanic or a lawyer. He robbed banks, smuggled, stole and killed for a living, yes, if the occasion required it. There were no holidays and breaks from shit like that. There were only stalemates. But, he'd ensure some of the spoils of all his efforts over the years would pay off and that he'd get the due diligence rewards he deserved in leaving with you for a while. That was the least of what he was owed. His thoughts take the shape of the firearm his fingers were caressing for a moment and Gus figured that if he doesn't get it though, at this point, he was just as willing to go solo. Shoot his way out of this mess, with you in tow or die trying.

If Bonnie and Clyde could do it ---

He turns to his men, with a glance tossed over the shoulders.

-"Keep the engine running. Wanna be out of here quick."-

Gus orders and one of the burly, sullen looking guys wordlessly nods and turns back, sauntering towards the solitary vehicle, while the other one took the hint, and stood discreetly aside, hands tucked into his pockets, head averted. Good call. The rush wasn't quite that big, but he wanted a second of solitude with you, to drill something into you. Gus grabs your shoulders and turns you to face him, looking at you directly. Trying to make you understand. -"Hey. I can. I'll find a way. I always do. Doesn't matter. So long as we're together. Always together."- He reassures, vehemently. Hands travelling from your shoulders to your cheeks, warming their cold, windswept surface with his warm palms, protecting you from the ire of the ocean. -"You were given to me, remember? The best work bonus I ever got in my whole life and I'll take care of you forever, okay?"- He presses his forehand against yours, holding himself there, closing his eyes and trying to remember when you were first brought in to the compound. One of many girls his boss wanted to put to work. On the street. In bars. In clubs around Washington State. In private joints. Hauling them off to private collectors. Caught anywhere and everywhere. Abroad. Domestically. Smuggled across the border with Canada. Promised jobs. Opportunities. Thing was, a man could only rob a bank once. A person? He could sell multiple times. Countless times, in fact. It was lucrative business. But, Gus? He picked you. He knew he wanted you the minute you were brought in. He wanted you untouched. Unharmed. Unspoiled. All for him. And now, he'd have you. He opens his eyes. Meets yours.

-"And those days? They're long gone. They're never coming back."- He coos, pressing his nose against your neck, inhaling the scent there. If anyone ever touched, tried to use, did as much looking at you wrong again, he'd dump them off of the nearest port in so many bits not even the fish would find them as viable chow.

Gus swore that much.

-"But you sort of owe me something for that. I paid a hundred grand in cash for the privilege of that even though you would've made some pimp out there ten times that much. What I gave for you is more than these bozos make in years."-

He reminds, not unkindly --- never unkindly if he could help it, pointing his nose towards his men for emphasis, but it needed to be brought to your attention that he bought you off of the hands of his syndicate with more money than most people have ever held in their hands all their lives, saving you from a life of sucking cock for a buck and showing your ass on some pole somewhere to dope shooters, petty dealers and the occasional street thug. You quite literally belonged to him. And much like all treasures, you were expensive as heck, but it was worth it. You were worth it. The coastal church was looming just ahead, against the cloudy vista. All that was necessary was to walk through it now. You already had matching bands on your fingers and it was all legal. This was really just a formality. A romantic formality. He couldn't help the appeal of it. A wedding elopement with the one he loved. Now, if he only had a boat baptized with your initials so he could make this day perfect. Sail somewhere up North. Never to be found again. -"I've nothing to repay you with and you know that, Augustus. I don't have a single thing."- You shake your head, using his full name, seeming somewhat defeatist, and no, that wouldn't do either, because you did in fact, have something. The name of the something or someone was inscribed in ink above your heart. A tattoo, matched to his. He grabs the hem of his collar and shows you your own name marked in black on his skin, peeking out from under his shirt and his braided chain necklace, beneath his collar bone, so you'd never forget you and him were one. Even if marriage certificates could burn, wedding bands could be lost or sold, branded flesh was a constant.

Even after death. Even if you fought this, ran, acted willful, lied and schemed, butt heads with him and made it impossible for him to be as good as he wanted to be and if he was forced to do something as unthinkable as tie your legs with bricks and submerge you into the sea, you'd still die with his name on you, and if he jumped after you to join you, he'd die the same way.

That was true matrimony.

-"But, you do. You do!"- He protests, pointing at the inked letters.

-"You've got me now!"- Gus presses your hand against his torso, squeezing it there with his own grip. -"What you owe me is in there."- He looks towards the church and then back at you, hearing the distant buzzing of the ignited car engine stir the wind and the slamming of the door as his getaway chauffeur sauntered back, waiting at ease, adjusting the neckline of his jacket and lifting it up once the first, mist peppered dash of rain broke through the air. It was time, yeah. Gus collects the hem of your wedding dress, carrying it for you, not caring if your own attire wasn't exactly the most practical compared to his, feeling you needed and deserved to look the part of the princess today of all days, grabbing your hand and leading you up the slope, towards the rocky chapel courtyard and its iron cast front gate. His hand finds yours once again, fingers entwined, embracing you to shield you from getting wet. On instinct, his hand is on his gun once again. -"That and letting me lead you because I'm not leading you anywhere bad again. I love you."- Gus guarantees, giving you a kiss, tasting the salt of the wind and the sea on your mouth before he sought to refresh your memory and saying;

-"We love each other."-

#black point #black point 2002 #gus travis #gus travis x reader #gus travis x beloved #tw; human trafficking #tw; dubious consent #tw; some form of blackmail or other #tw; branding #tw; murky morality #tw; crime and criminals

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marinaiguess · 10 months

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if you wanna know about what happened to that sunken ship carrying 750 immigrants (of which around 100 survived), i can tell you but i cannot promise you i can keep my cool.

i’m gonna start biting ohmygosh okay.

immigrants. refugees is probably the better word. those people took a ship from libye heading to italy. they were trying to leave their country to go to a better place, right? to live under better conditions. but you cannot do that “legally”. i hope you know how it goes. people from that area would travel on road, from turkey and then from greece to wherever they wanted to go. but as of recently, right at the borders of greece and turkey there was a wall built (wish this was a bad joke) by the greek government. the reason: to deter immigrants to pass the borders (since there are a lot of them in our country but that’s no fucking excuse since the EU literally funds the governement for this). and it worked, unfortunately.

refugees had to find a different means to leave. so? travel overseas. it’s riskier but when you have no other option left, you take what you have. and it’s not the first time this has happened. it’s not the first time refugees have drowned and their bodies were found in greece’s coasts. we’ve mourned many people, many children.

this time? this time it was different because this is the biggest ship the greek government has ever found “trespassing” their sea borders. (there could be others that were never found you know). the biggest ship with the most people on it. never before have there been 750 people abroad. and never before has a ship like that sunken.

so what happened? based on what i know and not what the greek media claims, based on the survivors’ and the residents’ claims, the coastguard sinked that overcrowded fishing boat. yeah you heard me right. they towed their ship to that boat, probably in hopes to get it out of the greek sea borders so that malta would have to deal with it. malta’s sea borders weren’t that far away and keep in mind that towing in this case is illegal because it could be fatal (and it was).

so, the coastguard firstly claimed that they hadnt approached the boat until it was near sinking. after the survivors’ spoke their truth, they had to change their initial statement. and they did that quite fast. they said they approached them hours before it sunk in order to maintain their safety and supply the boat with food and water. according to them, the reason why the boat sunk was due to the people who were moving too much and tried to shake off any help given to them. it was dark and it wasn’t windy, no waves big enough to disrupt the boat.

the greek authorities have lied, twice now, and their claims oppose those of the survivors’. survivors who lost their parents or their children. because governments make their lives harder and harder and when the people try to escape their fate, they realize they dont have the upper hand on the matter. and those humans who dont deserve to be called that, act like they care, announcing a 3-day national mourning. that happened a week ago. i havent seen any government officials talking abt the matter since then. (and ofc the only reason they pretend they care so much is because it’s elections season)

i am so done with the hypocrisy. we know the truth and we want justice to be served. but i really really wish it hadnt come down to this, i wish we didnt have to mourn for all the lost ones.

it isn’t the first time it happened. it isn’t the first time in this year that we have lost people thanks to our government’s incompetency. im tired of this. and im tired of people who vote for them, who back them up and excuse their actions. my heart hurts. it really does. as a kid of immigrants who had to go through hell to move across countries, who risked their lives to have a chance of living peacefully and under better conditions, it hurts. and it hurts even more to know that even if there’s a very very very slight possibility jsutice will be served, those people will never be the same again. justice wont be enough to bring their loved ones back. it fucking hurts.

#im sorry for all this #i'll go back to studying now #i'll try to. this event has disrupted my ability to study and yeah.#i just didnt wanna talk abt it #but now. now things are too much #real life shit

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sleep-can-wait · 1 year

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The Stars Below Us - College AU Part 2

Ok, so I know I promised to do the vending machine part in Aru's POV but her brain was dead and she didn't really know what she was doing then, so I decided to instead fast-forward to confession time, which is months later.

-----

Aru's POV:

Aru panted, inhaling sharp, cold air that made her lungs sting.

"Whose idea was it to climb Stone Mountain again?" She gasped. Aiden, who was bent over next to her, trying to catch his breath, glared at her.

"Pretty sure it was you, Shah. Didn't you say you wanted to go somewhere special and tell me something?" Aru felt her face burn. Tonight was the night she planned on confessing about her crush to him.

So she decided to take Aiden to the one place where they could see the stars in Atlanta. But what if he said no? She slapped her cheeks.

Get a grip, Shah. It doesn't matter what he says, this will be good for your state of mind. You can grow a beard when he rejects you and move to a different country. Plus your mental insanity could decrease and you might even stop talking to yourself. Aru huffed.

"Whatever." Then a sly look entered her eyes and she smirked. "Race you to the top! Last one there gets to be Brynne's taste-testing guinea pig!" Then she took off and ran up the mountain like her life depended on it; because it did.

"Hey! That's not fair!" Aiden raced after her, camera swinging near his hip. Aru could practically smell the top of the mountain, she could certainly see it. However, she could also see that Aiden was gaining on her.

Just ten more steps! She squeezed her eyes shut, adrenaline pumping through her veins, as she lunged and threw herself at the make-believe finish line. Aiden was five seconds too late.

"And I win! Beat it, snob." She cheered. Aiden rolled his eyes and flopped down next to Aru, who lay on the grass, looking ridiculous, but still grinning triumphantly.

"You cheated and you know it, troll. You had a big head start." Aiden complained, looking disgruntled, but he didn’t sound mad.

"Whatever floats your boat, Wifey." He made a rude gesture at her, then started fiddling with Shadowfax. They lay on the grass on top of Stone Mountain, not saying anything and ignoring the weird looks people gave them. Both were lost in thought. When Aru finally sat up, however, she gasped in dismay.

"Where are the stars?" The sky was completely devoid and looked like a black expanse of nothing. Now what was she supposed to do? She had a whole speech planned and everything, and the monologue mostly included the keyword 'stars'. Wait. What were the words again? Aru started panicking when she realized she had forgotten her entire speech.

"Shah?" Aiden asked softly, looking at her in concern as she covered her face with her hands.

"The thing I was supposed to tell you.... no, never mind. I dragged you all the way up here so we could look at the stars, I know how much you love scenic views. It was a really hard climb, but they said it's worth it when you see the bejeweled night sky. But it was all for nothing."

"But there are stars here."

"What?" Aiden stood up and helped Aru do the same, before walking towards the edge of the mountain with the other in tow.

"Look." He pointed down, and Aru saw what he was pointing at. The city lights twinkled like thousands upon thousands of stars, glowing like scattered gems. Her breath hitched and she turned towards Aiden, who was smiling and already taking pictures. So there really were stars below the night sky.

Aru leaned forward on the railing, letting the cold from the metal seep into her and ground her. She took a deep breath in, then let it out. She was going to confess, right here, right now. Fuck the speech she had spent hours on through blood, sweat, and tears. She would do this the typical Aru Shah way.

She opened her mouth, then quickly shut it. Nope, nope, nope. No way was she gonna tell Aiden she liked him. She didn't want to move to another continent, the ice cream here was to die for. Not to mention her mom would kill her.

Just when she was about to make an excuse and vamoose, Aiden turned to her. And in his eyes, Aru saw there were more stars out there than the ones in the sky and lighting up the city.

"You know, with you, every day is so strange and random. Like today, I planned on sitting back and relaxing until you came and challenged me to a last-minute hike. I find myself doing things I usually never do." Aru swallowed.

"Oh. Do you- do you dislike it?" Aiden thought for a moment.

"No." Aru took her time calming her mind and burying her negative thoughts, before sighing and blowing a strand of her hair out of her face.

"Well, I guess it's the same for me. Around you, every day becomes weird and bizarre and extraordinary and mystifying and every synonym in between. But I like those weird days. So, do you want to continue having weird days with me?" She asked, smiling despite her internal conflict.

Aiden looked at her in surprise, mouth opening slightly, causing Aru to laugh gently. "If you need a translation: I'm asking if you want to go out with me?" Welp, now you've done it. Time to skedaddle. She clenched her hands, ready to run to the nearest train that would get her off this planet when Aiden's stunned expression morphed into a gorgeous smile.

"Yes."

"... Uh?" Aiden chuckled softly at Aru's flabbergasted look.

"Yes, I would like to go out with you." She laughed in exhilaration and slight confusion.

"I hope you know what you are getting into," Aiden smirked, looking just as thrilled as Aru, before reaching over and squeezing her hand.

"I don't. But I can't wait to find out. Besides, isn't that what dating's about?" This earned another breathless laugh from Aru.

"Wise words, Wifey. You are learning how to smooth talk from the best, after all."

"Sure, whatever floats your boat, Shah." Aru scowled.

"Oh, shut up." Regardless, she didn't let go of his hand.

-----

Again, let me know what you all think, and if I should do a part 3! Constructive criticism is welcome. And yes I think Aru will be the one to get down on one knee. This story was rushed so maybe not the best, plus I suck at confessions.

#aru shah #roshani chokshi #the pandava quintet #tpq #aruden #aru x aiden #rick riordan presents #aiden acharya #lightning smolder #alternate universe #college #modern au #college au #oneshot #college aru shah

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archivallyfound09 · 2 years

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Major Mistakes pt. 3

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader (f) (no y/n)

Warning: Cursing (generally a given with me!), sexual situations later maybe, innuendos, I definitely have a rank kink

Part 1 Part 2

As the rain continued to hit the side of the aircraft carrier, you groaned, pulling yourself out of bed. You knew it couldn't be much more than 1 am and you also knew you weren't going to fall back asleep anytime soon. You had too much floating in your head, especially the pilot who you had no more than 5 interactions with.

It certainly felt like a lot more than that.

You pulled on your sneakers and pulled your hair back in a ponytail- an unusual style for anyone to see you in. Normally, everything was high in a slicked bun, per regulations, or your hair was tucked up into a helmet and everyone forgot you even had hair. You yawned and stretched, opening your cabin door and heading to the familiar treadmills a few floors down.

You weren't a runner by any means, but when you couldn't sleep and it was raining, you couldn't exactly go for a stroll around on deck and you didn't want to wander the hallways and wake anyone. Your team knew that you'd generally be on a treadmill a few times a month when the sleeplessness would win out, but it never got in the way of your job on deck, so no one said anything (even though a few would leave coffees around just for you throughout the following day).

You had been jogging for about a half-hour, eyes closing on and off as you tried to steady your breath. The stillness of night, whether on a boat or on land, made everything flood back in. You had gone to a therapist and she told you that you were "working through trauma." It felt like you were just reliving every lost sailor you had worked with- it was painful, but an important reminder of your job and your focus and how you got here.

You hadn't realized that some tears had leaked out and were mixing with your sweat. The front of your gray Navy-issued t-shirt was dark as you ran the collar of the shirt against your eyes. You took in a shaky breath and focused on your steps again. You don't know if you were running from something or towards it, but you knew you couldn't just stand still.

------

Jake had started wandering back to his cabin, Fanboy and Phoenix in tow after a long time spent bored in the officers lounge. Technically, they probably should've found somewhere else to congregate, but the lounge was empty and every officer was either working or in bed.

All but one.

Jake heard the familiar noise of the treadmill in the gym near their rooms. Usually he heard talking, music, and a variety of machines running. The lone treadmill running was jarring in the silence besides his breathing. He nodded and gave a halfhearted wave of "goodnight" to the other two aviators and walked towards the door, opening it hesitantly.

He immediately knew it was you. He hadn't seen your hair down, or you in shorts and a t-shirt, but he knew it was you-helmet and flightsuit or not. You continued your run, the back of your shirt now turning darker with sweat and he felt everything in his body pull him to you-a magnetic field he wasn't ready to fight. Jake wasn't sure what this was, but he was going to find out.

He quietly closed the door and started towards you, keeping a wide berth, not wanting to spook you. Your ears had perked at the opening of the door moments before and you had caught his reflection from a window in front of you. When he came into your peripheral, you pretended to ignore him and still not see him.

Jake's feet froze and his whole body went numb. It felt as if something had struck him as he watched you, his eyes trying to memorize every bead of sweat on your forehead, every hair that stuck up, every breath you took in. He had never wanted to understand and know someone as much as he did you in that moment. When you suddenly stopped the treadmill and turned to him, he felt the blush of being caught, but he couldn't stop staring.

"Can I help you with something?" You commented casually, grabbing a disinfectant wipe from nearby and wiping down the equipment, breaking his eye contact for a moment to catch your breath (from the treadmill or the man in front of you, you weren't quite sure). When he didn't move or answer, you looked back up at him.

A small smile broke out over his face, barely noticable if you hadn't been watching him closely. You couldn't help the smirk that touched the corners of your lips in response. It was a charged moment, but it also held a tenderness and a gravity as well. You had no audience. You had nothing to prove. You were two people, standing in front of each other, asking for something. It was the something that scared you- you weren't sure what you wanted.

As your brain started to swim, Jake saw the glossiness take over your stare and he knew he was losing you to some doubts in your head. He wasn't sure what he was asking for or what he was doing, but he quickly filled the gap between you in a few long strides and his hands were immediately on your cheeks. His hands were cool against you flushed cheeks and he looked at you, asking permission.

Your body reacted at the same time as your brain- your lips were on his, you were on tiptoes, and your hands had found his neck. He let out a small gasp and your swallowed it easily, smirking into the kiss. Jake then kicked into gear, one hand gripping the back of your neck, the other sliding down to your waist and pulling you flush against him. You decided instantly that you were no longer interested in breathing if it meant you got to stay in this man's arms.

You finally broke apart, both panting, still wrapped in each other's arms. Jake's eyes flashed with something and you both quickly separated a few feet away. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his shoes. He wasn't sure exactly what had come over him- you were at the same confusing crossroads. You had both crossed a boundary (after only knowing of each other's existence for about 4 days).

"I'm sorry," he said, still trying to catch his breath, his eyes darting around the floor. You bit your lip, eyes boring into him.

"You're sorry for kissing me or-?" you venuted, his eyes, startled, looked up at you.

"I don't know. I just," he sighed, clearly flustered, "I'm just usually the asshole, so I figured I should start apologizing ahead of time." You couldn't help the laugh that was now threatening to bubble past your lips. He looked mortified. You opened your mouth to respond, but thought better of it, closing the distance between you and placing another peck on his lips. He barely moved, unsure of what any of this meant.

"What happens below deck, stays here, lieutenant."

He gulped audibly, his hands shakily reaching out to rest on your hips. He finally cracked a small smile.

"Yes, ma'am."

-------

"Pep in your step after another late-night run? How much coffee have you had?" Your commanding officer sat next to you and you grinned, shaking your first cup of coffee at him. He raised an eyebrow. "Really? Only one?!" He looked at you incredulously and you gave him an obnoxious smile, your eyes almost closing with how hard you smiled. He groaned.

"I don't want to know...."

"No you don't," you cut him off easily, siping the hot beverage in your hands, eyes trained on the window ahead of you. He sighed and drank his own coffee.

"So, routine runs today?" you nodded as he continued, "Sounds good. Make sure to check the new gear- I'm not 100% sold on it, but you're the one that's going to have to fight with it if it's no good." You rolled your eyes and shrugged. You would do the same thing you did every few weeks. The same checks. The same launches. The same landings. The tedium was enough to make you cry.

You knew Jake had walked in and you could feel his hot stare on you as you finished your liquid breakfast and then headed to change. As you reached the door frame, the urge to change up the routine of your day was deafening. You paused and called over your shoulder.

"Hey Seresin," you thought he was going to leap out of his skin as you turned partially back to lock eyes with him.

"Wanna go on a test run for me?"

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

Part Four

Hangman Taglist (request to be added in the comments!): @alldaysdreamers @ponyboys-sunsets @hopefulinlove @wannabepoe @maverooster @rosiahills22 @ancabifi @multifandom-fangirl4 @dempy @luckyladycreator2 @chlo-feigh @sopheeg @kkrenae @blue-aconite @angirlofallthings22 @rln108 @pricklepearbloom @natasharomanoffisbaebby @loveforaugust @mizzy-pop @lizzie-rdj @mavswife @quackwackfawck @obiwankenobis-lap @icemansgirl1999 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @the-winter-marvel33 @alitav99 @arieltwvdtohamflash @jostyriggslover96 @notanordinaryprincess95 @luckyladycreator2 @mistressslytherin @fogle97 @thebluelioness @littlebadariell @daisyhollyxox @idfkwhyimhere4357 @actorinfluence @lieutenant-rooster-bradshaw @no-pilots-please @imagineyneyjr @hey-its-kayla-claire @8oopsiedaisy8 @jakexfmc @desert-fern @smoothdogsgirl

#top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #top gun 2 #no happy ending #top gun 2 angst #jake hangman x reader #hangmanx reader insert #hangman seresin x reader #hangman fic #hangman x you #hangman fanfiction #hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman angst #jake seresin x you #jake 'hangman' seresin

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mariacallous · 5 months

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On Dec. 9, China Coast Guard vessels fired water cannons at Philippine supply ships in the Scarborough Shoal, where the Philippine ships had arrived to resupply fishermen. That’s just the latest skirmish in the disputed atoll, which is located near the Philippines but was seized by China in 2012. In fact, in recent months, China has markedly increased its maritime bullying in the waters off the Philippines. That trend is already beginning to spread nervousness among Western businesses interested in friendshoring some of their operations to the Philippines—which may be precisely what China is after.

The water-cannon attack on the Philippine supply ships, which resulted in one of the vessels suffering engine damage and having to be towed back to port, came only a few weeks after two other heavy-handed actions by Chinese vessels near the Philippine coast.

In late October, a Philippine supply vessel and a vessel from the Philippine Coast Guard were bumped, respectively, by a China Coast Guard vessel and a vessel belonging to China’s maritime militia. The incidents took place near the Second Thomas Shoal, in waters that both the Philippines and China consider their own. In 2016, the tribunal in charge of enforcing the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) sided with Manila over the Second Thomas Shoal, but that hasn’t stopped Beijing from claiming it is the rightful owner and underlining this point through various maritime provocations.

Indeed, for the past decade, there have been regular encounters between China and the Philippines in the desolate waters.

In recent months, China has been particularly keen to demonstrate its presence around the Scarborough and Second Thomas shoals. It has rammed Philippine Coast Guard vessels and boats resupplying fishermen. It has used water cannons against Philippine vessels and tried to chase them away. On just one day in November, 38 Chinese vessels were circling the Second Thomas Shoal’s waters, according to The Associated Press.

“There has been a gradual escalation this year, which you can trace back to February, when a Chinese vessel directed [a military-grade] laser against a Philippine vessel and the Philippines made the footage public,” said Ray Powell, the director of Stanford University’s SeaLight group, which tracks maritime gray-zone aggression. “The footage got a lot of attention, which encouraged the Philippines to take pictures of other incidents that were already happening,” Powell added. “That has continued throughout the year, and now the situation has become escalatory.”

Beijing’s objective, Powell said, is to discourage any attempts by nearby countries to follow the Philippines’ example in asserting their rights to waters that China has unilaterally declared to belong to Beijing. “China wants to communicate that it has jurisdiction in the South China Sea and gets to decide over activities there,” he explained.

The aggression may be of the gray-zone kind—that is, not involving military violence—but it’s decidedly harmful, and not just to the Philippine and other vessels being targeted. “China’s harassment of civilian Philippine vessels carrying out humanitarian missions has a negative impact on shipping in the surrounding waters,” Amparo Pamela Fabe, a professor at the Philippines’ National Police College and a fellow of the U.S. Marine Corps’ Brute Krulak Center, told me. “It also heightens the geopolitical tensions in the South China Sea.”

Indeed, the harassment has so alarmed the U.S. Defense Department that the U.S. military is now making a point of showing its presence off the Philippine coast, including by sending aircraft to circle above altercations between Chinese and Philippine vessels. But in reality, there isn’t much the Pentagon can do to deter the vessels from the China Coast Guard or the maritime militia off the coast of the Philippines: The United States wouldn’t risk an armed conflict with China over the harassment of Philippine vessels.

So the harassment will continue and even expand—and simply being a nuisance in the waters may be China’s whole point, because the altercations are causing considerable anxiety. “Philippine vessels cannot freely enter the area within the Philippines’ exclusive economic zone, and Philippine fisherfolk cannot go fishing in the area,” Fabe noted.

And the anxiety doesn’t end there. That’s because the Philippines is one of the countries to which manufacturers keen to reduce their operations in China have turned their attention.

Global manufacturers assessing potential new locations for some of their manufacturing see lots of benefits to setting up shop there. The country has a comparatively well-educated labor force that includes many English-speaking workers. It’s mostly friendly with the West. It’s geographically close to China, which would mean comparatively moderate disruption as entire supply chains are shifted. It even has workable relations with its other regional neighbors, which is indispensable to friendshoring efforts, as no single country can replicate China’s extraordinary all-in-one manufacturing solution.

But getting friendshoring business is by no means something to be taken for granted; competition is fierce among the prospective beneficiaries of this sudden and rapidly accelerating shift. In a July ranking of friendshoring destinations published by the consultancy Kearney, the Philippines had dropped three places since the company’s 2021 ranking, falling to 12th place, primarily as a result by significant efforts by Mexico and Colombia to attract U.S. manufacturers.

And easy access to ports in prospective new locations is crucial as manufacturers decide where to set up shop or expand operations. Without a guarantee that the transportation of components can take place without disruption, manufacturers will be wary of setting up factories in the Philippines or anywhere else in the region.

That’s why China’s maritime harassment is so effective: It not only immediately affects Philippine fisherfolk, shipping companies, and manufacturers, but also makes global manufacturers nervous about friendshoring in the Philippines. And the manufacturers don’t need to be reminded that China can choose to engage in the same bullying of Vietnam and other nations in the South China Sea to whose waters China also lays partial claim and which also stand to become friendshoring destinations. Indeed, China Coast Guard, civilian, and “research” ships have already taken to harassing Vietnamese oil and gas operations in Vietnam’s exclusive economic zone.

China didn’t launch its maritime harassment with friendshoring in mind. But being able to delay or even thwart friendshoring has turned out to be one of the benefits of the harassment. And because it’s not military aggression, it’s unclear what the response should be.

One thing is clear, though: If the world wants friendshoring to succeed, China’s maritime harassment will need to be stopped. The question is by whom.

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marcelwrites · 1 year

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Excerpt From ‘Cancel Me Or Die’

(This is an excerpt from a novella I’m writing, ‘Cancel Me Or Die’. A collection of loosely related chapters exploring lust, sexuality, violence, and politics. It won’t be for everyone. I think the title is cool but I also hate it. Is that not the duality of man? It’ll be published later this year. The whole “cancellation” thing makes me shudder with how fucking embarrassing it is but it’s also this pervasive concept in the West now and I like how it’s something everyone’s aware of; if you’re on the internet then you’re aware of the concept. Transgression is important. Challenge yourself. Like the first time I read the works of Jonathan Ames, I was challenged by how boldly he laid the world of crossdressing and ambiguous sexuality at the reader’s feet. I believe in the pushing of boundaries because it’s vital that we’re scared by art, challenged by it, affected by it.)

In the absolute dark before the dawn peeks through the cracks and tears in the night sky I’d met up with Lina. Her pale pink hair a light muddle until being briefly lit by the street lamps we were walking under. The plan was to light some fires and cause some chaos. A legion of old, decaying boaters had decided to pollute the waterways with their noxious floating palaces. In the mood for unprotected sex and anarchy we went to each local petrol station and filled up several jerry cans worth of fuel, $250 AUD worth to be exact. We debated grabbing some food from Hungry Jacks but rather than indulge in disgusting deep-fried carbs we parked our car near a playground, opposite some closed shops, and had sex until we felt exhausted and loosened by the exchange. We weren’t exactly in a relationship but we were exclusive with one another. I think it’s one of those situations where you joke about getting married and you end up getting married to commit to the joke but also because you understand one another’s inherent darkness and miseries. Lina and I met while lining up for tickets to see a Horror movie at the cinema. She had absolutely no friends whatsoever and her last boyfriend beat the living shit out of her, shattering two of her teeth. She has a scar running from the edge left of her top lip that extends to her philtrum, where that boyfriend split her lip with a punch. Occasionally I kiss the scar as I’m drawn to it. It catches my attention when she rides me and I see little beads of perspiration forming around it. A few months ago we drove to her ex-boyfriend’s house and I slashed the tires on his shitbox of a Ford. I was tempted to break into his house and kill him in cold blood, or at the very least, throttle him half to death and take him to the hospital myself, but after slashing his tires Lina said she really wanted to suck my cock, and so she went down on me and when I finished she spat the cum on the door handle of the driver’s side door. “I love where your head’s at.” I said to her. “Me too.” Lina replied and then laughed. I think we’re in love but we’re broken so we just don’t say those words to one another. With the jerry cans in tow we would make our way down to the peer, make sure no one was sleeping in the boats, douse them in petrol, and then light them on fire. I think people are at their most beautiful when dimly lit by the moon and the street lamps. The thin light softens our features and renders us more human. As we walked I would occasionally turn to Lina and she’d turn to me and we’d smile at one another. It would sicken me to my core and make me feel like a faggot. I told her of this and she said, “I don’t like that word but I understand what you mean and so fucking what anyway.” Previously we’d spoken about how we planned to not get caught, so we got a mutual friend to order balaclavas for us. Neither of us had any history with the police so we wouldn’t immediately be suspected. The possibility of jail and legal action was real but that added to the thrill of it all. A few rich guys lose their manhood extensions? Big fucking deal.

#marcelwrites #writing #words #novel #fiction

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aetherspoon · 11 months

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A not-so-simple relocation, day 2/3

Last time, we arrived safely in "Bergen?" as the sign at the airport says, much to my eternal delight. It was a long trip, made longer by airport and airplane screwups. I had three friends in tow and my partner waiting for me at the apartment. The rest of the day was basically for rest.

Day 2 - Why does everything have to be uphill?

Day 2 started by me realizing... I had very little clean clothing. In fact, I had no clean underwear, no clean pants, and only dress shirts clean and actually present. While the baggage handler at the Bergen airport said it would arrive the same day I did... Oslo never got their shit together on a Sunday and I had to make do for an unknown amount of time.

This day was marked by reconnaissance. I needed to learn more about my new apartment to figure out what is needed, figure out the Bergen bus system, figure out the grocery stores, and so on.

The apartment itself is... weird, to me. One of my friends described it as the set to a cocaine druglord's apartment and... yeah, that matches. The view is breathtakingly gorgeous, the decor is super bright and white, and it seems to be missing a few things that don't really make a lot of sense.

Like a freezer.

Or a washing machine.

Or pillows (plural - it had one).

So, that means heading out of the house being super uncomfortable in my clothing, exhausted from the trip, and dealing with a recurring gout attack (along with other physical ailments that are a bit too gross to state). Four of us went - my partner, two of our friends, and myself, with the last friend staying behind with the cats.

A brief aside, at this point Zoan was still hiding in the master bedroom. Issun had started exploring.

Now, keep in mind - I had been exploring Google Maps around my apartment for a while. The apartment itself is very new, so most of the maps just show a hole in the ground where it is, with a couple of angles showing the buildings under construction. I had never been to the apartment and hadn't even been in this region of Bergen before. So all I really had to go on were photos of the area, which looked quite nice.

The apartment is about fifteen minutes by foot away from the closest bus stop, which happens to be right next to the two local grocery stores. A fifteen minute walk for me is pretty easy, even in my gout-addled state. I absent-minded pace for longer distances than that.

A fifteen minute walk where the entire walk is uphill for 52 meters / 170 feet? That's just a bit rougher. My legs were screaming at me at the 1/4th point, let alone for the rest of the walk. The object of this trip was to go to the mall a couple of bus stops away, buy some pillows and plug adapters*, get some lunch, come back, stop by the grocery store, then head home.

Did you see that asterisk? I had prepped for this well in advance - the price difference between buying a plug adapter in the US and buying one in Norway was huge, so I bought a large 12-pack of them to supplement the three I already had. Problem being, I think the movers packed it up for the slow boat shipment, so I had nothing.

Anyway, after a grueling 20 minute walk (because I kept needing to stop; how the hell people think walking uphill is anywhere near as easy as walking long distances, I haven't a clue), made it to the bus, head out for our shopping. We needed to make it back by the delivery window for @kriatyrr's delivery of some much needed supplies (such as more power cords).

Made it back to the apartment. We had to go out and back a second time for some food, which involved me whining the entire way of course, made it back... to find a courier dropping off all of my luggage. Everything arrived! HOORAY!

Kriatyrr's packages, however, didn't arrive during the delivery window. Turns out, they were stuck in Oslo due to delays on a Sunday. Remember that quote from earlier from the baggage handler, "Oslo needs to get their shit together on Sundays"?

Day 3 - Bus adventures

Day 3 is the first day that I specifically had something I had to do - I had a meeting with the Norwegian police. As an incoming immigrant to Norway, one of the requirements was a police interview. They want to meet you in person to take photos, fingerprints, and presumably ensure you're actually real. I had scheduled this a few weeks in advance, with the idea that I should be (mostly) on a normal sleep schedule by Day 3.

The interview location was in Fyllingsdalen, a separate borough from both downtown Bergen and the borough I live in. Technically it is one of the two in between, but due to geography I actually travel through Årstad to downtown Bergen (Bergen-hus) first before basically turning around, going back through Årstad and finally to Fyllingsdalen. This sounds way more complicated than it is; I'm already used to Madison buses where I had to circle my own neighborhood before I arrive at the closest stop to my house; this at least makes sense due to mountains being in the way.

I used the bus a bit the prior day, but this was my first real bus trip.

Transit side-note

Transit in Bergen is controlled primarily through a smartphone app. You buy the ticket on the app before you board and it is good for 90 minutes after. Buses are on the testing system; 99% of the time it is on the honor system with no one checking, 1% of the time they inspect for bus passes and give you large fines for skipping the pass. While I haven't seen anyone checking in Bergen so far, I have seen the same thing in Oslo during a visit.

Bus passes cost 40kr for a trip, 105kr for a day, 235kr for a week, 755kr for a month, and 3775kr for a half-year. In USD at the time of this posting, that's $3.60 / $9.44 / $21.13 / $67.90 / $339.48 for each of those passes. I budgeted assuming those half-year passes, but I haven't bothered with one yet. Once I'm more in the swing of things, I'll figure out how I want to handle bus passes. It also technically includes a parking pass (for those that park-and-ride), but since I don't drive that part is irrelevant to me. Bergen also has light rail (same bus pass system), but the area I live in isn't convenient to use the light rail for.

Buses come frequently by the bus stop next to the grocery store. That stop has seven bus routes stopping there, three routes going from the mall (mentioned the previous day) to the Bergen bus station. The result is that I have service roughly every 5-10 minutes during weekdays, 15 minutes on Saturdays, 30 minutes on Sundays (not that the latter matters... insert ominous foreshadowing here).

In my mind, anything going every fifteen minutes or sooner is, "just get to the bus". Anything 30 minutes or later is, "schedule your trip to make sure you don't miss the bus". It is a huge difference in mentalities, and I repeatedly lambasted Madison for depriving my old neighborhood of enough bus service to fulfill the former. If I missed a bus there, I'm an hour or two late, and taking a bus early means arriving an hour or two early. Whereas arriving at the previous bus here puts me around ten minutes earlier than expected.

Side-note over, back to the day

Anyway, our group decide on a trip that morning. Myself and my partner heading to Fyllingsdalen, two of our friends heading to Bergen-hus for some exploration, the last friend staying at home again. We'd all get off the bus at the same spot and split up from there - us to the bus transfer, them to wandering. Our stop in Fyllingsdalen was just a few stops down another bus route and would take a total of 45 minutes to get there (including the 15 minute walk uphill, which took me 23 minutes this time).

Kriatyrr and I arrived at the police station around ten minutes early... and left before the scheduled appointment time. Turns out, they really did just need to take a photo, get my fingerprints, and ask me for my address and signature. There was nothing else. After that, we spent time shopping for some housewares. I get a text from my friends mentioning that they were going to head back at this point. We decide to try to grab food (and failing - seriously, why do restaurants open so late around here, don't people eat lunch?) before heading back.

We arrived at the bus, took it down one stop, and saw our friends there, who had accidentally taken the wrong bus and just so happened to turn around and take our bus back. We made it back, rested, then head out to the mall again to buy more things. This time it was myself, the friend that kept staying at home, and the friend that kept heading out with me; Kriatyrr stayed home waiting on that package from the previous day.

This part was fairly uneventful except for one small thing. To explain that, I need to explain international banking. I'm absolutely going to put this in a video when I started recording these.

Credit Card side-note

You know how credit/debit card usage in the US requires you to occasionally sign a piece of paper, but otherwise seems super duper insecure? Yeah, the entire rest of the world thinks so as well. The chip located on a credit card is a part of a system used by EMV cards to increase security. The US migrated to it back in October of 2015, doing away with swipe-based transactions (more that the CC companies shifted fraud liability to any merchant using a swipe, and they're not going to want to deal with that).

In Europe? The same shift happened in 1993.

EMV cards are a part of a chip-and-PIN system; basically, you stick your chip into the terminal, put in a PIN, and that authorizes the transaction. It follows two-factor security, basically, as it contains something you have (the card with the chip) and something you know (your PIN) for authorization. In the US, debit cards use the same mechanism now at an ATM or a terminal supporting debit.

The US uses chip-and-signature for credit cards (as well as debit cards being used as a credit card). This is... definitely not two-factor. It combines something you have (the card with the chip) and... something no one bothers to even look at (the signature). That's one-factor, just like the strip. Europeans have been endlessly baffled when I mention this to them, and for good reason - this system is awful and useless.

Tapping to pay for things with your credit card effectively works the same way as the chip-and-signature system, only it works for values under a certain amount. Even Europe does that one, they just keep the limits super low so liability isn't really a big deal.

Unfortunately for us, this system follows us wherever we go. If you use a US credit card in Norway, for instance, sometimes the receipt will print out a slip that you have to sign. If the person at the register doesn't realize this, it'll look like a receipt and send you on your way... which is a problem, as that means you haven't technically paid for your goods.

Trouble in Clas Ohlson

Which leads me to my situation. I was at a shop called Clas Ohlson - a Swedish-based chain of general stores. For a comparison point to us Americans, I'd call it like a hybrid of Home Depot and Best Buy, but far smaller. You want to go to one store to buy food containers, socks, power cords, hand tools, a tablet PC, and a printer? Clas Ohlson to the rescue.

I had a bunch of things I was picking up, went through the store, tapped to pay my bill for a couple thousand kroner / couple hundred dollars, was handed the receipt, and walked out.

The person at the cash register looked down, realized that the register said the transaction was still waiting, and booked it to chase after me.

This one mistake took an hour to fix.

This is what life will be like for me for the foreseeable future, as not only can I not get a Norwegian credit card until two years after I have a Norwegian bank account, but I can't even get a Norwegian bank account at the moment until I receive my national ID (which was what the police started the process for).

Welcome to Norway!

#blog #personal #travel blog #moving abroad #oslo get your shit together on sundays

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