#I love steadily building up to crazy shit in my stories

[loverofpiggies]

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My Etsy Shop!

Not much to say, wanted another big update. Enjoy!

[for-fucks-sake-h]

La Paloma

A/N: A story in which Harry’s cocky talk is about the only thing he can lay on thick. Otherwise known as the realistic sex blurb! In the midst of a lot of smut on this website (myself included) I wanted to do something a little different than “sex god Harry Styles” and show a side of sex that is actually real and common and I think... funny! Thank you to my girls @oh-honey-styles​ @andwhenshesays​ @real-work-of-art​ @haute-romance-quotidienne​ for always encouraging the madness. Happy reading! x 

Word Count: 3.8k || Rated: M (mature), for implied smut, shit talking and a floppy disappointment! 

“Can’t wait to get you home,” he murmured in your ear, his warm breath sending a chill down your neck despite yourself.  

You were surrounded by people, who if they overheard anything he had whispered in your ear, you would have been mortified. Warmth spread to your cheeks as you lifted your shoulder to urge his face away from yours, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as his toned, pink, silk covered front pressed closer to your side.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ sexy.” His palm made its ridiculously slow course of direction from your opposite shoulder, all the way down your spine, until he could grip your hip tightly to keep you close.  You could smell the tequila oozing from his pores, one (or three) too many La Paloma’s if had any sense of it. “Have I told you that tonight?”

“You did tell me,” you confirmed quietly, turning your head to look at him. “A few times, actually.”  

“Tell ya again,” he urged quickly, his hand squeezing your hip once more. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.” His voice was slow, the alcohol coating his throat into a subtle rasp. “Never wanted anyone more than you.”  

He was persistent, if anything. And horny. He made that abundantly clear as his intricately patterned hips ticked forward, his groin pressed tightly against the top of your thigh. He crowded every inch of your space, a few random twists of his hair tickling your temple, the silk of his shirt tickling your skin entirely too softly, the subtle hardness of his undeniably impressive length ready and waiting for you.  If you had let him, he would have snuck you into a closet, an earshot away from your distant relatives that attended your cousin's wedding alongside you.  

Your blood boiled with it though; that need, the utter desire you felt deep in your belly.  You almost gave in, almost let him lead you away, almost risked the embarrassment of being the subject of your family's gossip when someone undoubtedly caught you. You didn’t, clearly, what with the way the last hour had been a torturous form of foreplay.  

“H,” you warned, glancing behind him with a timid smile as one of your uncles approached the other end of the bar.  

You were standing just off to the side, in a tiny little nook that had no business being large enough to fit both your bodies. You weren’t even sure how you got there, your mind fuzzy from both your drinks and your boyfriend.  But there you were, listening to the deep timbre of his voice recite, in detail, what he planned to do once he got you alone.  

“What? I can’t love on you?” he faked innocence.  

You laughed softly. “You can if you keep it PG.”   

“Guess that depends,” he pondered with a slow drawl, “does making you come on my face fall under the PG category?”

A dramaticized roll of your eyes had him playfully giggling against your cheek. “Definitely not,” you sighed with a smile.  

“No can do then.”  

“Harry--”  

“Y’drive me crazy, you know that?”

“Feelings mutual,” you chuckled dryly.  

“The worst part... is that I know exactly what’s waiting for me.” His voice lowered, his lips just barely skimming over the corner of your jaw, warm breath caressing your skin once more. “I know you’re wet, and it’s fucking killing me.”  

You were wet, uncomfortably so, and this man did nothing to quell it. If anything, he went out of his way to intensify it. You didn’t miss the way his fingers toyed with his bottom lip periodically throughout the evening, or the way he walked dick first back to you from retrieving drinks in perfectly tailored pants, or that his hands always found purchase on you somewhere; your thigh during the ceremony, your shoulder throughout speeches, the small of your back as he slow danced with you. He kept you close at all times, the warmth of his palm searing into your skin at any given moment.  

You downed the mouthful left in your glass as a distraction, his hooded eyes burning a hole in your face as he watched, his thumb toying with the material of your dress.

“I can’t stop thinking about it, love,” he rasped. “Sinking into you.” He somehow felt closer. “Feeling you clench down on me the way you do.” His hand squeezed your hip. “Hearing you moan my name.” He swallowed harshly, Adam’s apple bobbing out of the corner of your eye. “Watching you come…” he exhaled. “It’s so fucking good.”

There was a moan sitting at the bottom of your throat, begging to escape with every passing word.

“You always feel so good. I just want you on me, wanna be so deep I can’t breathe. It’s like… heaven.”

“Take me home,” you murmured breathlessly.

***

“I want you so bad.”  The whine slipped up your throat, passing Harry’s lips where they were pressed to the delicate skin of your neck.  

When you gave him the green light to leave the reception, you’d never seen him move faster - giving his well wishes and goodbye kisses to everyone that mattered at warped speed. His affection didn’t let up in the car, a warm palm dipping entirely too far between your legs in the back of that town car for you to focus on anything but him.

You both had stumbled through the house as best you could, tugging each other's clothes off on the way, until you were in your bedroom, hands caressing the silk of his broad shoulders as he pulled you closer. His skin was warm against yours, tingles coursing through your veins at his touch. You could hear his panting breath just as much as you could feel it fanning out over your skin between the burning kisses his mouth left behind.  

“That was the longest wedding I’ve ever been to,” he murmured barely audibly as he followed your careless guide towards the bed. “Felt like I was going to explode.”    

Your chuckle was soft as the backs of your legs met the edge of the bed, keeping a tight hold on him as you both fell onto the soft pillow top. He was heavily pressing you into the mattress, quickly slotting himself between your thighs. You pulled him in by the back of his neck, your mouth finding his with a deep kiss, the tiny bit of stubble on his face a stark contrast to the soft skin of his neck.  

He pressed his hips into yours roughly, practically grinding against your core.  The hardness you felt against your hip at the wedding had subsided, the car ride home seemingly giving him time to calm down. But now you wanted him.  

“I’m so wet,” you whispered, eager to feel him after so much build up throughout the night.  

He pulled back just so, a dimple barely forming into his cheek. “Can feel that,” he slurred, the words forming together in one drawn out breath.  

You leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of his puffy mouth, your lips finding their way down his jaw and neck. His hand smoothed down your thigh, squeezing roughly as he pulsed his hips against yours once more. His lips barely made contact with your skin, light kisses being pressed to your chest and neck. He was right there, not even half hard against the apex of your thigh. 

Harry enjoyed himself at the wedding - had his fair share of drinks. You both did, a delightful buzz coursing through your veins as well. You and your boyfriend were very similar that way, equally handsy and eager to be alone once you hit a certain point. It’s more fun being tipsy and horny when you’re in love with each other.  

“You okay?” you asked softly at his ear, feeling his shaky breath against the side of your neck.  

“Mhm,” he hummed, pressing a sloppy kiss to your clammy skin.  “Just give me a minute…” his words trailed off as he pushed himself up on one hand while the other slipped around his cock, giving himself a few slow strokes. And it was a sight to see; watching him play with himself right between your thighs, his stomach clenching both from his position and his hand.  

You couldn’t help yourself from reaching down to brush your knuckles over his hand as a signal to let you wrap your fingers around his cock instead. He happily obliged, choosing to kiss along your cheek and neck once more. You found a slow rhythm with a subtle twist of your wrist just as your mouth sucked a soft kiss from the side of his neck, just below his ear. But something that would normally have him hard in a few strokes, wasn’t doing the trick - three strokes coming and going, going, going, his cock steadily limp in your hand.  

He was breathing heavily against your collar bone as you gave him a few more pumps. His Paloma’s definitely seemed to be inhibiting him now, his tip brushing against your center over and over without so much as a glimmering twitch.  

A frustrated huff came from his pink lips.  “I don’t know what’s going on.”  

“Baby,” you eased as you pulled your hand away. “It’s probably the alcohol.”  

He wordlessly pushed himself up onto his wobbly knees, gripping himself once more as he looked down, a deep furrow dented between his brows. Two more useless strokes and brushing his tip against your core once more had him accepting defeat, falling onto the bed beside you with a disappointed grunt.  “Can still make you feel good,” he mumbled as he scooted the tiniest bit closer to your side.  

He smoothed his hand down your stomach and between your legs, only to brush his fingers just to the left of your clit. You shifted your hips slightly to get him on the right track, trying to help him find his way to where you needed him. And he did, momentarily, until he was too distracted as he tried to kiss your neck, moving off your clit once more.  

You sighed heavily as you turned your head to look at him, which only gave him false encouragement.  

“S’good, yeah?” he asked softly, his lashes blinking heavily back at you.  

You hummed through an extremely soft chuckle as you slowly turned your body towards his, your hand reaching up to cup the side of his face as his hand fell from between your thighs. “Sort of lost it, babe.”

“What? Nooo,” he whined. “Wanna make you feel good.” The pout on his lips was so evident that it almost made you smile, strong arms wrapping around you to pull you close.  His forehead knocked against yours, a soft chuckle coming from his lips as he pushed his weight into you more. “Wanna make you come,” he murmured as he clumsily crawled over you, pressing wet kisses onto the skin of your chest.  His tongue smoothed over your nipple, a zap of pleasure crawling down your spine at the sensation of his teeth scraping against your sensitive skin.  

You weaved your hands into his hair as his lips smoothed down the center of your sternum, his face pressing softly into your stomach. You shifted beneath him as his arms wrapped around your waist, his mouth lazily pressing kisses to your stomach as his weight pressed you into the mattress further.  

“H,” you murmured with a scratch to his head.

“Hm?”

You lifted your head to look down at him as he nuzzled into your skin. “Are you falling asleep?”

“Wha? No…”

“Harry,” you sighed. “Come here.”  You pulled on his arms in an attempt to bring him further up the mattress. He groggily responded, pushing himself up your body until he was laying beside you, arms wrapping around you and legs tangling with yours.  

“M’sorry, love. Can’t keep my eyes open.”  

“Sh, it’s okay.”  

He squeezed you tighter as he tucked his face into your neck, your chin resting on the top of his head. “Promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”  

Sleep overcame him immediately, a content sigh falling from his lips before soft snores were escaping his open mouth. It was as endearing as it was annoying. After all that build up, all his shit talking, it was almost comical now. Or at the very least, you had to laugh, because otherwise you would cry of sexual frustration.

So you laid there, willing your mind to settle enough to fall asleep - all while Harry blissfully snored, his body radiating even more heat against your already too warm skin.

***

Was there anything worse than being woken up by a charley horse in your calf? In the grand scheme of the world? Yes. But in that exact moment? When shooting pain stabbed through your leg like a worn down razor blade?  No, there was nothing worse.  A night of drinking everything but water would do that do you though.  

You whined as you shot up from your pillow, whimpering as you attempted to massage the sore muscle, curling and uncurling your toes, breathing heavily as the cramp twisted tighter.

“God damn it,” you cursed quietly as you rubbed your fingers into the tense muscle, releasing a slow breath when the pain finally started to subside.  

And if that wasn’t bad enough, your boyfriend snored peacefully beside you, completely unaware of your turmoil as he cuddled a spare pillow close to his chest.  Was it his fault that you had a charley horse? Obviously not… but somehow you felt like it should be. Especially when you looked over at him drooling on his pillow, back muscles fully on display, hair a mess, puffy mouth hanging open - beautifully infuriating, all at once.    

So before you took your pillow and smothered him with it, you got out of bed, slowly easing onto the traitor leg before nakedly trudging to the bathroom for a shower.  He was in the exact same position when you returned with wet hair and fresh skin, and when you returned an hour and a half later with a neatly folded basket of laundry, he was still in the same position.  You were half tempted to hover your face in front of his mouth, make sure he was still breathing, just when a hiccuped snore escaped him as he wrapped himself around the pillow more.

You padded over to his side of the bed quietly, taking in the long lashes spread across the tops of his cheeks and the hair that was matted between his temple and the pillow, before carefully reaching out to stroke the backs of your fingers across his clammy cheek.  His skin was soft despite the impossible heat, pungently sweating out the last remnants of alcohol coursing through his system.  

There was a part of you that wanted to wake him up, mostly because you missed him (you were supposed to spend the day together) and partly because you couldn’t possibly forget what went on the night before. You would be lying if you said it didn’t linger in the back of your mind all morning, the reminder making itself present as soon as the water touched your skin in the shower, a surprising similarity to his touch - burning hot and completely encompassing.  

But you loved him, so with a huff and a roll of your eyes, you left him there to snooze away.

It was nearly dinner time before you heard the ensuite shower turn on from where you were perched in an oversized dark leather chair in the living room.  You stayed put, wrapped in a blanket with your Kindle and a cup of tea when he finally appeared in a pair of athletic shorts and a Kendrick Lamar hoodie with the word DAMN. written across the chest, hair still damp and sticking up in every direction.    

“Good afternoon,” you greeted, receiving a subtle look over his shoulder.  

“What’s so good about it?”

Your eyebrows rose as you peered at the back of his head while he filled his water jug from the fridge.  

“Wow,” you chuckled softly, entertained by his pouty face. “I mean, you’ve been relaxing in bed all day while I folded all your underwear. Sounds pretty good to me,” you shrugged.  

“Feel like shit,” he shook his head as he made his way towards you, plopping down on the sofa with a loud sigh.  

“Well, yeah, nine Paloma’s will do that to you.”  

“Didn’t have nine,” he grumbled before he chugged nearly his entire jug of water.  

“I was being gracious, babe. Think you had more than nine,” you laughed.  

He shot you a dirty look before his lips twitched with a small smile.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”  

“Fine?” he scoffed, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Would have thought more than fine, love.”

“Why’s that?” you laughed.  

“Y’know,” he smirked, a smug look crossing his face as he playfully raised his eyebrows a few times.    

You furrowed your brows in confusion, watching as your boyfriend gave you a tenacious look of pride.  

“Uh,” you chuckled. “I don’t know.”  

“Last night?” He looked at you expectantly. “When we got home? Was good, yeah?”  

You snorted a laugh, suddenly realizing that he wasn’t joking judging by the cross look on his face, brows furrowed deeply.  

“When you passed out on me?”  

His confused blink had you laughing again, watching as he seemingly tried to piece together the pieces of your non-existent rendezvous.  

“Didn't pass out on you,” he argued.

“Ya did, baby.”  

His bottom lip pouted out just barely as he contemplated your words, eyelashes blinking softly. “Well shit,” he huffed dramatically. “Musta dreamt it.”

You barked one loud, singular laugh. “Glad dream me got some at least.”  

His laugh was infectious and heart felt, his eyes crinkling endearingly.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” you roll your eyes, unable to keep the smile off your face.

“I would make it up to you now but I’m afraid I’ll throw up in your mouth.”  

“That’s so hot,” you deadpanned. “Don’t think I’ve ever been more attracted to you.”  

He smiled timidly, a faint blush crawling across his cheeks ever so slightly. Before he could say anything else, you started to stand up from your blanket cocoon. “Well, not-laid me is going to make some dinner while you… I don’t know, do whatever you’re gonna do with this,” you waved your hand in front of him, motioning to his hungover state.  

He didn’t follow you, even though you half expected him to, and when you returned only 25 minutes later, he was fast asleep on the couch with your abandoned blanket draped over him.  

You released a sigh, accepting that the day was gone by that point, and went back to the kitchen to eat alone.  You cleaned up once you were finished and quietly put the leftovers in the fridge while Harry slept on the sofa before you poured yourself a glass of wine and headed upstairs.  

It wasn't until you were settled in the tub for a bit, topping off another dose of hot water as the bubbles slowly disintegrated around you that the door to the ensuite slowly started to open.  He looked like a puppy that had gotten into a trash can, tail between his legs and a guilty look on his face.  

“Good nap?” you asked as you sunk into the hot water again before tilting your head back to finish off your wine.  

He didn’t say anything from where he stood leaning against the door, watching you with his temple propped on the woods edge.  You glanced over when a few silent beats passed, eyes meeting his gradually.  You didn’t say anything, didn’t offer anything else up, but that seemed to jumpstart him enough to push himself off the door and actually enter the bathroom, heading straight for the vanity to wordlessly brush his teeth.    

You focused on the hot water as it eased your sore muscles rather than the sound of Harry gargling a couple feet away. And once he was finished, he appeared beside you, crouched down next to the freestanding tub, elbows propped on the ledge for balance while his disheveled hair and the look on his face tugged on your heart strings.  

“Sorry I’ve been useless today,” he spoke softly, a subtle frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.  

“It’s okay,” you eased. “You’ll have other days off.”  

“I know, but still.”  Full days off for him were few and far between as of late. “Promised you the day. And promised you other things too apparently... haven’t held up my end at all.”  

“H,” you sighed. “It’s fine, really.”  

You knew your boyfriend, you knew that he was hard on himself sometimes. Pair that with his ego being a bit bruised and you had the perfect recipe for a pity party, which judging by his face, he already arrived at the party long ago.  

“You can make it up to me another day,” you added softly, lifting your hand from the water to smooth down the outside of his misshaped eyebrow.  

He caught your hand before it dropped back into the water and pressed his mouth to the inside of your wrist. “I love you.”  His words were spoken against your skin, his eyes closed as he pressed another kiss to the same spot.  

“I love you too.”  

He released your wrist in favor of cupping your cheek, the warmth from your bath evident beneath his thumb when he stroked it against the apple while the rest of his fingers softly rested against your neck.  

His lips were warm and minty when they met yours, the softest slip of his tongue making your skin tingle with goosebumps.  

“Well…” his hand slowly trailed down your neck to cup your shoulder, your bicep, your elbow. “I can make some of it up to you now.”  

His voice lowered minutely, taking on the tone that made the depths of your stomach twist delightfully.  

“Thought you felt like barfing?” you asked as you stretched your arms up over your head, your chest extending out of the water as beads of bubbles cascaded down your breasts.    

“Feel better now.” His response was quick, immediate, eager. You didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed down your body, his hand caressing the back of your arm softly.    

You shrugged. “Maybe later.”  

Your eyes didn’t leave his when you extended your foot out of the tub to press on the bottom of the faucet's handle, effectively pushing it up and all the way over to the left to fill the tub with some burning hot water for the third time that evening.  

“I charge interest, yanno.” An expectant raise of your brow accentuated your words.     

A subtle smirk tugged on his lips - he knew exactly what you meant; the eager glint in his eye, the soft flutter of his lashes. It looked eerily similar to his expressions throughout the wedding, as if he was imaging all the ways he could devour you if you’d just let him. All the ways he could pay you back, how many times he could make it up to you.  

A bit of waiting never hurt anyone. If anything, it made it sweeter in the end.  

***

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it. As always, I would love to hear your thoughts! xo 

ASK || MASTERLIST || BUY ME A COFFEE 

[darthwheezely]

grande - g.w.

Summary: George meets a mighty adorable barista in the new cafe on Diagon Alley and the man just can’t help himself... based off the song Coffee Girl by Johnny Socko! Sorry this took me absolute ages (9 days oops) to get out, guys :/

Warnings: DIABETIC FLUFF STUPID AMOUNTS OF CARDIAC ARREST INDUCING FLUFF UWU,mentions of sexism, Fred being Fred, cussing probably, alludes to sex, PG/PG-13

taglist or people that might like this but idk: @theweasleyslut @kitwalker02 @loony-loopy-lupinn @wand3ringr0s3 @gcdric @thehufflepuffwife @monoscandal @lupinsclassroom @whiz-bangs78 @vogueweasley @rogueweasleys @band--psycho @lumosandnoxwriting @oh-for-merlins-sake @amxrtentias @virgohufflepuff @vivianweasley

George Weasley didn’t sleep. This had long been the habit of his ever since he and his parents had discovered that his elder twin Fred had been an avid sleepwalker by age 4, then became a (minor) party animal in his Hogwarts days, and finally when he became the co-owner of one of the Wizard World’s most successful entrepreneurs and business owners.

The man hadn’t slept in about 18 years give or take. And days like this reminded him of it constantly.

It was a Saturday, the first of the month, and to boot, it was about to be Christmas in a little over a week. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was packed with everyone from couples window shopping, children in desperate need of fun now that school was out, parents trying to keep them in line, and even some old lady named Ethel (who swore she was part Veela, and therefore Fred couldn’t “escape her girlish charm.”)

“Ethel, you have an absolutely ravishing day, and don’t even worry about that moisturizer it’d be a waste of product on a natural beauty like you” Fred winked and kissed the old lady’s hand, George watching from the top of the steps rolling his eyes.

“Oh, Freddie, you know how to keep a lady young, don’t you? Oh - goodbye, Georgie! Have a good rest of your day boys!” She waved majestically to the younger twin on the stairs and he bowed royally in response.

“Bye, Ethel!” They both called as she exited the building, the bells flurrying in her wake.

“Georgie, mate, hate to say it but you are being uncharacteristically quiet and it’s making me uncharacteristically uncomfortable.” Fred said bounding up the stairs to meet him, chuckling briefly.

“Freddie, mate, hate to say it but I’ve had absolutely no sleep as of late and it’s getting to me. But I’ll be back up to my usual antics in no time.” He padded down the stairs, winking at a couple young ladies ogling him, sending them into a fit of giggles. Fred sat down on the middle step eyeing his brother carefully. It didn’t take a genius to see George wasn’t holding on much longer, the dark circles littering his eyes and the way he mussed up his already purposely messy hair just...didn’t comfort his older twin at all.

“George.” Fred sighed, George looking back at him, confused. He took his hands away from the merchandise Wonder Witch he’d been rearranging and gave him full attention.

“Take your lunch break early. And longer if possible.”

“Pffft, why would I do that when I have women to woo and boxes to juggle?”

“George.”

“Fred.”

“Stop, I mean it. You look half dead as it is, just go take a nap or get an espresso from the cafe down the aisle or something that reinforces the idea that yes, you are a human being and no, not a zombie.” Fred crossed his arms feeling suddenly a lot like Molly and dropped the cross. George pretended to ponder this tapping his chin, rather finding the mature brother role reversal funny as hell.

“Oh, alright, but can I still be a zombie when I get back?”

Fred hit him with a folder and sent him on his way.

-•-•-

You had just finished the lunch rush, finally being able to calm down and not have to worry about making one more goddamn Butterbeer Latte for at least another 20 or so minutes...until there’d be another rush. You grabbed a lemon scone, took off your apron and sat against the back counter. You inhaled the citrus scent, it was always something that you loved to savor, and took a bite.

The holidays for the Merlin’s Mochas, the cafe, had been absolutely atrocious so far. All you had for customers were angry businessmen, bratty kids and their upper class parents who let them run around the already small place being rude to everyone, your boss Lionel who had an affinity for calling every woman who worked there a “bitch” (...ok lionel) and to top it all off: you’d been pulling 9 hour days every day except sundays. Needless to say: you kind of super hated your job.

You had just finished your scone when you heard the door chime signal a customer, immediately wiping your hands on your jeans and restrapping your apron.

“Hi how can I-“ oh Jesus this is the hottest man I have ever seen. He was easily no older than 23, fiery red hair, a perfectly tailored striped terracotta suit, green tie, and the most gorgeous doe brown eyes you’d ever seen.

“How can you...?”

“Help you, ohmygod, I am so sorry I’m super-“

“Tired? Yeah me too...interesting how similar we are this early in the game hmm?” He winked at you and your knees felt too weak. No he was just a stupid hot customer that also was really hot and also? Was super hot. No worries, Y/N, just don’t die by 22 okay thanks.

“Very funny...wait are you-“ your finger led from him to the statue outside Wizard Wheezes, realizing a simple oh shit

“Yeah, that would be me. Or my twin Fred but we never really decided, that’s why he kind of looks like both of us mixed. Although we’re twins so we basically look the same anyway. I mean because were identical. Twins, yeah.” George, what the fuck is wrong with you, why are you sweating? She’s just a simply beautiful girl in a simply maddeningly purple coffee shop can you please breathe and not make yourself look stupid-

“Oh, wow! I’ve never met a twin before - not like twins are anomalies or anything it’s just so crazy. Science. Science is crazy” You closed your eyes and took a breath

“We should probably start over shouldn’t we?” You wrinkled your nose.

“That sounds much more redeeming than anything we both were about to say” George breathed out laughing softly, rubbing his hand through his hair.

“I’m George. Weasley. Like I said, I work at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, the shop over there, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place before...or you for that matter, I never forget a beautiful young woman.” He said smoothly, his heart steadily subsiding - something about you had the power to not only make him scared out of his mind, but also totally at ease.

You returned the smile, warmly, the blood rushing to your cheeks at his compliment and sticking your tongue to your teeth. “Well, George Weasley, of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes I’m Y/N Y/L/N. And yeah, we’re new around here,” you leaned further onto the counter, realizing, albeit a moment too late that your eye level was directly with his abs now, and although he was wearing a suit...you could definitely tell they were there.

“We erm, just opened three months ago. It’s honestly a bit of a time to work here.”

“Oh and why is that?”

“Well, nothing like a blatant sexist to run an entirely female employed establishment and weird stuffy rich people.” Your eyes widened suddenly, and you felt like you had said far too much far too soon. But he gasp-laughed - laugh that ended as soon as it began and burst into a smile...like you had shared a secret with him.

“What the hell is he doing here then? Got a boy’s club to run in a purple coffee shop?”

“I mean you never really know these days, George, imposters are among us at every moment” you purred and pushed off the counter, meaning it as a joke but George’s heart screamed when he heard your name. As you moved to the other edge of the counter, he followed you.

“What a resourceful and cruel young woman, I am starting to like you, Miss Y/L/N.” He clucked. “And do you think of me like you think of Mr. I-Hate-Women-That’s-Why-I-Hire-Them?” He got inches from your face, smelling the coffee beans and vanilla extract that riddled your skin.

“Hmm...Mr. Weasley, I’m not so sure.” You coyly stepped away from him and took long strides to the far end of the coffee bar by the wall. George immediately felt a pit of flirtatious butterflies and (arousal?) something more in his stomach, jaw dropped, he followed you again. He pressed his hands to the counter in front of you.

“Well, how can I convince you?” He asked rather quickly.

“Hmm...” you leaned forward like he did before and his breath hitched in his throat “...let’s get you a cuppa first.”

-•-

“Wait, okay let me get this straight-“

“Yes?”

“You have 6 other siblings.”

“Yes.”

“...because your mom wanted a girl?”

“That-that would in fact be true, yes.”

You thought for a moment.

“So you’re telling me after she made it through you two-“

“-she still wanted to have more of us, believe me, it races through my mind daily.” He nodded vehemently laughing with you. You two had taken to the empty cafe at a table nestled in the corner, him sitting in a chair across from you on a bench. You had both been cracking each other up with stories from your childhoods, like how you both had managed to never know of the other’s existence until now.

He’d discovered that you had transferred from Hogwarts to Beauxbatons early on in your fourth year. You, a Hufflepuff, loved the quiet and soft landscape of the French school. You both had absolutely no idea the other existed. How? The world may never know.

He was brash. You were careful.

He was already flying when you were just feeling comfortable learning how to walk.

But you sat there with him for the better amount of an hour and a half, laughing and interrupting each other with memories of the school years you had, some weird and strange, and especially during fourth year, hard for George to talk about.

Ginny, his baby sister, had almost died. And as he said to you in a candid and highly vulnerable state: he blamed himself for almost letting her go to this day.

“I...I really do believe it was my fault.”

“George, it couldn’t have been your fault. Hogwarts is a big freaking death trap - you and I both know that,” you had said with an exasperated laugh, eager to make him feel better in any facet.

“Yeah, but...I’m her big brother. Yes, she has five other older brothers but...we were supposed to protect her.” He swallowed and blinked back tears. “It was her first year, for Christ’s sake, and I paid about as much attention to her as a doorknob would.” He had rolled his jaw and taken a gulp of his gingerbread latte (you had said it was your favorite, and he was loathe to try anything else) and you had softly draped your hand on top of his.

“If she’s as kind and loving and funny as you, I’d love to meet her.” You quipped, a small smile growing on your face in effort to soothe. He had smiled back at you, turning your hand over in his and drawing his digits lazily over your palm.

“Funny, because I was thinking the same thing.”

-•-

He had told you to close your eyes, that much had been true.

See, his coffee had started to get cold. So, like if you give a mouse a cookie, he’ll have to have some milk-

If you give a George a latte he will have to not only have another one, but also feel the strenuous need to show off for you and take you to his place of work. Naturally. And it was so lucky that by the time he’d proposed you leave, he even helped you clean and lock up afterwards.

Truthfully, it almost scared you how much he had seemed to care.

“Alright, Y/N, darling, I’m going to release my hands on the count of three, yeah?”

“Perfect, Georgie” you giggled. You’d legitimately only knew him for so long, but you just...you trusted him. He grinned widely, his strong hands only applying a slight amount of pressure as not to hurt you.

“Alright, then. 1. 2-“ he took his hands off your eyes and watched you adjust not only to light, but to your surroundings as well.

“3.” He breathed out taking in the way you smiled like a teenager, face alight with pure inundating wonder. You squealed and started to run around the store.

“Look at these! Pygmy Puffs - ugh they’re so adorable look at this one! Oh, oh - ‘Fizzing Whizbees’ - these look absolutely wicked! And Per- ‘Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder’?” You picked up the glittery stone in your hand, and heard a smooth voice perk up behind you.

“A real money spinner, that one.” You turned around and there was a man that looked absolutely identical to George, although entirely different in the same way.

“Handy if you need to make a quick getaway,” you heard George on the other side of you. He smiled warmly down at you, nodding his head up to look at the twin across from him.

“Y/N, this is my-“

“-older, much more attractive and fiscally responsible brother.” He winked and you blushed almost immediately. “Fred. Weasley.”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Georgie has told me a lot about you and the shop - absolutely marvelous this place is, I cant believe you two created so much in such a short span of time. Brilliant it all is, really!” George had started to flush, rubbing his jaw to seemingly take the red away from his striking face. Fred, upon hearing the genuine warmth from your voice and the unmistakable use of “Georgie” had a small, but highly distinct aha moment:

“Well, we couldn’t have done it all on our own, one of our best friends helped us out a good lot. But thank you, really...it means so much when other people see how much we do and-” he looked directly at George.

“-acknowledge the things we love, right George?”

“Absolutely, Frederick.” Fred had given him the look that seemed to imply: “please, God, make a damn move.”

“Well, Y/N, I’m going to be off and woo some ladies, have a biscuit and do some paperwork” he smiled wide when you giggled, already enjoying your company.

“But I hope to see you again, very soon, yeah? Please stop by whenever you can, we’re alwYs just down the street.”

“Freddie, for your company, I’m not so sure, I’m still deciding.” You quipped. Fred laughed heartily at that and looked at George.

“Georgie, I like this one.” George looked at you and winked.

“Me, too Freddie, me too.” You leaned back on your heels as Fred padded back up the stairs to the flat, now completely alone with George. You threw your arms behind you back and forth and took a long stride to George.

“So...what are you those?” You nodded up to the array of pink bubbles in a clam shape in the corner. He hummed and reached to grab your hand.

“Love potions - c-can I show you?” He raised an eyebrow slightly, but he felt his whole body turn to mush when you accepted his hand and nodded slowly. As he walked with you, you memorized the feeling of his callouses and veins, the way your hand curled deliberately in his.

You wanted to make sure if it was the last time you felt something like that, you had that memory with you for a while.

“Essentially, if you give these to a person they will temporarily have feelings of love and attraction for you. Depending of course on the dosage you use and the weight of the person in question.” He explained. You watched the way his suit jacket pulled taut against his back muscles and instinctively wanted to honestly just take the whole thing off-

“Hmm...I don’t know about these, Georgie.” You hummed mischievously. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

He scoffed placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Am i being questioned in my own establishment, Miss Y/L/N?”

You rolled your eyes and hit his arm, bowing slightly at him. “Well, do forgive my feminine insolence, Mr. Weasley, it’s not often I meet such bewitching mad scientists like you.” You watched his face grow blank for a moment at your compliment and immediately wanted to throw up.

“George, I’m really sorry, I know we just became friends-“

“Do you mean it?” He took a step towards you. You swallowed finding again his perfect milk chocolate eyes. You nodded.

“Hell yeah I did, you’re smart...and wicked hot” you both laughed at that. He took another step, the distance being unbearably harder to live in as his digits found a piece of hair and wound it behind your ear.

“Well, darling, the feeling is quite mutual.” He said quietly, taking in the whole of your face. He wanted to crash his lips onto every possible nook and crevice of your face, collide with you entirely.

“We’re going to have to do something about that, then, aren’t we?” You gently nudged his nose with yours and wrapped your arms around his neck, his strong and powerful arms pulling you to him gently. He wanted you to feel him not to break under his embrace. He leaned down and brushed his lips up to yours, feeling you whine and let out a minuscule sound.

“Got you making noises for me already and haven’t even kissed you yet, hmm?”

Your eyes fluttered close and one of your legs made it’s way in between his, snapping any chance at loose air between you two out of the way.

“Please, Weasley, pants a bit small for you?”

“Keep talking like that and they might, yeah.” You two laughed softly and with a final look to your lips he closed the last gap.

His mouth was perfect. His lips ghosted over yours one last time before wrapping every part of himself onto your frame, your lips entangled in each other like you’d never be able to taste him again.

But it was loving and slow and sweet. He tasted like gingerbread lattes and pastries and cinnamon and licking into his mouth you could feel the spice. He moaned lightly into your mouth, sending your knees buckling. He dipped you slightly, a hand traveling to your lower back to keep you steady, and his other hand coming up to nestle under the nape of your hair. Your hands caressed his face, his chest, needless to say? You wanted them everywhere. You wanted him everywhere.

The kiss broke and you and George were left breathless in each other’s hold, your foreheads pressed together as he kept you slightly dipped.

“Y/N, I’m feeling a bit tired” he quipped hoarsely, pressing a brief kiss to your lips and onto your neck. You hummed satisfactorily.

“Georgie, you’re gonna need another latte aren’t you?” You set multiple chaste kisses to his lips and cheeks, feeling him rumble with a small giggle. He caught your mouth with his and you moaned slightly.

“I’m gonna need a whole pot, to drink you in, love.”

[no-whump-on-main]

Apartment 307-8 (Grabbed by the hair)

Hi guys!! I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. School and work have been crazy but luckily I'm out of school next week so I'll have much more time and be posting more frequently! Apologies for the short chapter, I have no idea why but it just kicked my butt lol. I tried doing some cool multimedia stuff, I hope you enjoy! This is @sableflynn's BTHB request, grabbed by the hair.

TWs: Creepy, possessive whumper, mention of branding, also this chapter made me sad bc I love my mom and Elora's mom is sad so warning for that lmao

Elora was still lying there crying hours later. The tears had slowed from her initial keening sobs, but they still fell steadily down her face, accumulating in a small puddle on the tile by her head. She could see a bit of her reflection in the salty water; just her eyes, mostly. She saw green eyes that had once been so full of hope and life that were fading, the slow abandonment of hope almost making them gray out. She wanted to lie there forever, staring into her own eyes, until oblivion took her. If she cleared her head enough, she could pretend she was elsewhere, somewhere warm and loving; the blanket draped over her body did help with the fantasy, though she always knew somewhere in the back of her head that it was just that: a fantasy. She was still here. With him.

Clyde tried to give her time to recover, but his patience wore eventually. He began to get antsy after a few hours of watching her lie there, doing nothing but cry. Admittedly, he did enjoy it at first-seeing her so weak, so docile, because of him-but it eventually grew tiresome. Watching each tear drip down into the puddle became like watching paint dry.

He stood up abruptly. Elora was startled by the motion, flinching before stilling and watching him very carefully. What was he going to do?

“Get up,” he said simply.

Elora froze. She still felt sick, dizzy with pain and the lingering scent of her burning flesh in the bathroom. But why would he care about that? Why should she disobey him, when she knew what would happen?

Yet pride and pain got the better of her again.

“I can’t,” she whimpered. She felt weak. “I hurt. You hurt me.”

The piercing sound of a loud, sudden laugh began to echo through the bathroom. It reminded Elora of the laugh of a hyena. She winced.

“Darling, did you not think that was the point?”

Her expression hardened and her heart thumped in her chest. That was the point. She wanted to say something, but her mouth suddenly got dry.

The man simply grinned. “Get up,” he repeated, but she didn’t. She just laid there, dumbfounded.

He groaned angrily, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Be that way.”

He gathered up her hair in his hand, locked his fingers in a tight fist, and pulled up. Elora yelped and scrambled to get to her feet to relieve the pain, but he didn’t give her the chance; he carelessly dragged her off, out of the bathroom, through the hallway, and into the living room. She screamed and thrashed wildly, her hands desperately trying to push him away as her scalp burned like fire. Again and again, her feet scraped the ground to no avail, kicking and kicking but never able to gain enough traction to stand as she was mercilessly dragged. The man finally dropped her on the floor at the foot of a worn leather couch, releasing his death grip on her hair. Her hands immediately flew up to her head, applying gentle pressure to her scalp to try to ease the burning pain as she looked around the new room.

The living room was barren, like the man had half moved into it then given up. There was a dusty box in the corner, the couch, a worn coffee table, a small stand, and an old TV. Other than that, it was empty, in an eerie way. The aged carpet spanned the floor like an ocean.

The pressure didn’t do much and Elora dropped her hands, still wincing as the man plopped himself on the couch behind her, the leather making a loud crackling noise as he sat. She whipped her head around as her shoulders raised up to her ears instinctively. The man made a sour face, his features twisting into an ugly frown.

“Relax,” he commanded, forcefully pushing her shoulders down. At first, she tried to wiggle away, but that idea was abandoned when he tightened his grip, clearly as a warning. He grabbed the TV remote from the arm of the couch and turned it on. It started on some history channel documentary about cars, but Clyde quickly flipped through channels until he found the local news station.

A grin spread across his face as he read the blue banner spanning across the bottom of the screen. They were just in time.

UP NEXT: CAPE COD GIRL GOES MISSING; DESPERATE MOTHER PLEADS FOR HER RETURN

His hands wandered to Elora’s scalp and began to gently card through her hair. She inhaled sharply, and it took everything she had in her not to immediately shove him off. Somehow the gentleness felt worse than the pain; the false sense of care disgusted her. He was a maniac. He hurt her, he branded her, and now he was sitting on the couch petting her hair, pretending like none of it happened. It didn’t escape her attention how he set her on the floor instead of the couch, below him, like a dog.

The banner was bad enough, but she felt sick to her stomach when the station cut to a reporter sitting at a desk with a picture of her on half of the screen. It was the picture her mom took of her at the orchard last fall. It was candid; she remembered it. She was intently focused on a butterfly off on a tree, ignoring her mom as she snapped the photo. It was one of her favorite pictures of herself. And now, it was plastered all over the news.

The reporter on the TV began to speak. “Tonight, a desperate mother pleads for her missing daughter’s safe return. Elora Larkin, nineteen, of Barnstable county, Massachusetts has been missing since Friday night. She was last seen walking home from her job at Agathangelou’s bakery, wearing khakis, a black t-shirt, and black sneakers. The police have opened a tip line and are offering an unspecified reward for any information that leads to Miss Larkin.”

Elora felt a lurching sensation in her stomach, so visceral she wanted to throw up. That was her. On the news. Gone. Missing.

Behind her, the man chuckled.

“Look at that, baby. You’re all over New England.”

“I’m not your baby,” she snapped, turning around. But her head was spinning. All over New England? It wasn’t the Cape Cod news station on the TV. It wasn’t even a state news channel. It was entirely unfamiliar, the reporter’s face one she’d never seen.. So he’d taken her across state lines, making her chances of being found lower yet.

The man shushed her and put a finger up to her lips. “Watch.” She almost bit him, but decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable punishment that would follow. Besides, they might say something useful, something that could help her. She needed to pay attention.

The screen changed, and a missing persons poster popped up. Hers.

It was up for a minute before it faded away as the reporter came back on the screen.

“Such a sad story. Everyone in the studio is hoping and praying for her safe return. Unfortunately, vigilance is so important in this day and age. Up next, we have a recording of a press conference with the girl’s mother.

The girl’s mother. Her mother. Elora felt her heartbeat thumping in her chest.

And there she was. Jodie was standing at a podium in a building that had to be a police station. Demetrios was standing by her side, offering support by merely being present. While Elora hadn’t seen him cry even once in all the years she’d known him, he now looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Her mom started to speak. She looked so sad. Withered, like the life had been sucked out of her, from fear and overthinking and sleepless nights.

“My daughter-My daughter Elora has been missing since Friday night. She’s got-she’s got blonde hair, and green eyes, and she’s real tall. I’m sure pictures have gone around by now. She was walking home from work and-and then she disappeared. We were supposed to have dinner Sunday and she never came. It was supposed to be her weekend off. I- If someone has her, please, I’m begging you, let her go. Bring her home safe. She’s a good kid, she works hard, she rescues cats in her spare time...she doesn’t deserve this. And Elora, if you’re seeing this, I love you. I love you so much, honey. If you chose to leave, please just tell us you’re okay. It’s okay. You can go see the world, just tell us you’re okay. And if something-something bad happened, we’re gonna find you. I promise, baby, I love you and we’re gonna bring you home. Promise.”

At that point, she set the microphone down and began to cry, tears streaming down her face as she hurried off to an exit, the cameras following her for a few moments. Elora’s heart twisted in knots. Seeing her mom’s face brought her so much joy, yet knowing how worried she had to be made her feel sick with guilt.

But she promised. She promised she’d find her.

“That your mom?”

Elora stilled. He already knew the answer.

"She’s kinda pathetic. Could barely keep it together long enough to tell them about you.”

She went cold. “Stop,” she seethed. Her voice was eerily calm, given her anger.

"Or what?” he replied, twisting her hair up in his hand and giving it another tug.

Elora was silent. There was no or what. She knew that.

The reporter came back on the screen.

“Well, folks, that’s all we have on the case for tonight. Remember to be safe and vigilant. This has been Hannah Brown with News12.”

The man released her hair, picked up the remote, and turned off the T.V.

“Notice how they only talked about you, not me?”

Elora turned her head around. She was crying.

“What?”

He scoffed. “I said, notice how they only ran their mouths about you the whole time. Never said a word about me. You know what that means? They don’t know jack shit about me. They don’t know who you’re with or where you are. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but we’re in Connecticut. We crossed state lines twice. They’re never going to find you, you know that?

She tried to hide it, but he could see her expression falling with every word he said, hope beginning to seep out of her. She shook her head vigorously, her bottom lip trembling.

“N-no! No, they will, you’re just crazy! You’re just fucking crazy!”

A scowl formed on his lips. “No, they won’t.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but in a split second, his hand was gripping tightly around her throat, cutting off her air. Her eyes went wide.

“No one is coming to save you.”

Elora swallowed, fear bright in her eyes. She tried to rip herself away, but the man raked his fingers across the fresh brand on her collarbone, sending her to the ground, keeling in pain.

“We could’ve had a nice evening if you behaved. Listened,” he grumbled, standing and once again grabbing her hair tightly before dragging her off towards the bathroom.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out @badthingshappenbingo

[betweentheracks]

Heyo! Not to be too nosy here but you mentioned you're in bad health and recovering, and I just wondered what happened? Also how would it impact your career since, from how you've made it all seem thus far, it's a highly active and demanding job?

Hope you take care and get well! You appear quite strong and not like you'd take whatever has happened just lying down, so here's to you!! 🙏💓

No sweat and no worries here, I dont find this particularly invasive. If anything, I'm flattered you care to ask after me lol. 😁

A few weeks back I met a friend I hadn't seen in some time for lunch. This was against my better sense of caution that I've held firmly to throughout the pandemic, but I would feel regretful and dismissive if I didnt agree to see her while I had the chance. I should've listened my gut and stayed safely at work because this "friend" failed to mention she had tested positive (she knew already by the time of our lunch date, she has since admitted) and had figured since she had no symptoms there was no harm in being in public.

FF only a few days later and I was feeling a little unwell but had put it off as an effect of the winter blast that had just hit where I live. I'd spent half a day out in the cold and snow for a photoshoot only the day before and thought it was probably due to that since I'm susceptible to weather influenced head colds and bronchitis. Fortunately, my job mandates a rigid COVID-19 screening twice a week due to our high profile clientele and as an assurance of health and safety for us all. Mine read back with a positive and with the way I had been feeling I was immediately sent home and the company closed its doors while the building was sterilized and our clients notified.

Thankfully I managed not to infect anyone I work with nor my son. Regrettably, I did infect my best friend since we're horrifically incapable of maintaining personal space and have weak shit immune systems. We both agree it is a wonder we made it this far into plague times without it catching us.

So I went and got looked over and sent on my way with my prescription of potent anti-virals and steroids. I was well prepared to abide the quarantine guidelines and had sent my son to my mother's home for the duration so that he was out of the danger zone. It was fine, I was kinda cool and keen on getting a few days to myself to rest up and all that jazz. But it wasn't meant to last and I found trouble in the form of being unable to remain conscious much at all and would pass out constantly. After a few times of this I gave my brother (he's a doctor and vaccinated) a ring and told him that my fatigue was no joke dude and needed him to come give me a better once over than the one I'd gotten before bc I was sure I was not meant to feel this badly. He found me unconscious in the shower that night, my head battered from crashing to the basin.

After ensuring I wasn't concussed and jokes on what a hard head I have to take such a beating and show no signs of registering it beyond bruising (a joke between us due to him having once accidentally put a golf club into my forehead and fracturing my skull but that's a different story) he told me to call him regularly so that he can review how I feel and the progression of my symptoms and left. By the morning I had already had two more instances of sudden fatigue and collapsing in on myself. I had been posting on my main blog here about how I was doing and due to this I caught the concern of @peekbackstage and upon their suggestion to have my O2 levels tested it was revealed that I was having issues with my blood not circulating oxygen as it should and nearing hypoxia.

Here's the rub. I have a heart condition that is already very dangerous and bleak which limits my heart's capability of delivering blood through my body as it should. Cardiomyopathy or, as it seems better known, congestive heart failure. I've had surgery for it and it has been a while since it caused me any real issues as long as I stick to my routine of care and manage my health, but when COVID-19 infiltrated my body it immediately snagged upon this weak heart of mine and sank its fangs in.

Within a day of being admitted to the hospital I had a grand mal seizure due to the constant fluctuations of oxygen in my blood and the way my body was working double time to supplement for it. And only 2 days after that and when my nervous system had finally quieted down, I went into full cardiac arrest with a heart attack at my young age.

My next weeks were spent connected to machines doing more for me than my own body could. I developed pneumonia in my lungs, acute though it was it was still another complication that my wrecked body had to overcome as it made my already ragged breathing even worse. I was steadily shedding muscle tone and definition due to a lack of mobility and the fact that my body felt like a deadweight I could hardly take command of, and generally very weakened. My heart, the horrible thing, was inflamed and trying too hard by beating too fast, too hard.

FF some more and I was doing fairly well and treatments were showing some improvement. My heart was still being an ugly and gnarled beast in my chest and throwing weird spikes on the monitor that raised alarms. The pneumonia was retreating and I had no further seizures. It was the dawning light of my first signs that I was recovering!

It took a while more and so fucking many tests day in and day out for me get cleared for release. I tested negative for COVID-19 and was ashamed that I actually forgot that that was why I was even in the hospital to begin with, given all that happened. I have to undergo physical therapy and counseling; PT for heart happy exercises as well as to manage to my depleted muscles, counseling bc I was rocked mentally from all the almost dying and the depressive haze of being holed up in the hospital and surrounded by people who, like me, came in with COVID-19 but unlike me did not come out of it.

I'm home now. I had to have a pacemaker implanted and must stay vigilant for any showing that my heart is not performing as it should. I still have some severe inflammation and chest restriction in my airways as well as my blood vessels but nothing too daunting. I also have a full battalion of prescriptions, most for my heart, and a nebulizer to ease any breathing issues. The worst is honestly that I still am very weak and have severely limited reserves of energy.

My job is required to make me take 12 weeks of leave for rest and recuperation. This is very upsetting since I had been requested by name to be an assistant stylist at the Grammys this year which is truly a dream (especially with BTS in the mix 😩😩) and also bc I'm just a workaholic by nature and love my job. When I return I am expected to learn how to properly delegate tasks that do not directly require me to handle and slow down the pacing of my projects. My boss terminated a contract with a client that was nearing the scheduled end of our agreement and was also incredibly problematic to help lighten my workload. It's imperative that I reign in my stress levels or my heart will not last until the next surgery I'll need, so I'm gritting my teeth and letting my job be picked apart to reduce my responsibilities.

My post awaits my return but I will not be returning to full activity for a while after, which means no rifling through the racks for hours alongside the archivists in search of the perfect piece. I'll be welcome to meet with my clients and oversee the glam teams, will still be the command tower for final verdicts on which styles to use. But I will not be running around showrooms nor personally handling matters any competent trainee could be tasked with like I've always done. I will no longer be able to fly out anywhere for destination shoots or fashion shows.

If, after my next surgery, things are better and my heart stable to the point that they are hopeful of things will be reevaluated. While it is difficult beyond measure for me to relinquish the reigns of my career and be restricted in what I can do now, I am very thankful to be alive and upright when that wasn't a certainty just a little while ago. This is such a humbling experience to have survived when my stats kept dropping every day. I've been told to expect that I will never make a full 100% recovery and to expect to stall out around the 70%-90% range, with 70% being the most realistic.

My best friend (the one I gave the plague to) will be moving in with me so that I am never on my own if things go tits up and to assist in wrangling a toddler since I am currently without the energy to do so as my child is, sincerely, a crazy gremlin spawn with limitless battery life. Slowly, my life will regain some normalcy 💖

[sweeethinny]

some time ago I wrote this fic, and today, after listening to some good 100 times this song, I had to write something about it, so I put these stories together and showed Harry's vision, how they ended up meeting (and I know, I say that Harry was a nurse, but I only noticed this after writing almost 2000 thousand words, which means that I am not going to change this new story and just deleted the paragraph that referred to it, thank you very much.)

I do not agree with any act of vandalism

It was a normal Friday at the bar, the same guys from the executive building had come over after the office spoke badly about the boss, the women from the accounting department went to get the portion of shrimp, chips and salad, along with the usual beers, and almost everyone who was there, Harry knew. It was supposed to be a normal Friday.

But then, the door opened and a redhead came in, not the one who worked at the makeup shop on the corner, nor the teacher of the elementary who would marry next week, no, this was a new. She was short, but she wore black high-heeled boots that stuck to her knee, a black pantyhose, a matching skirt and a gray turtleneck sweater, which made her look like she was coming from a funeral. The redhead was one, if not, the most beautiful woman who had ever entered there, with her hair at the height of her breasts, loose and messy from the wind, big brown eyes, and freckles that painted all over her skin.

''Good night'' Her voice reached him, sweet and melodious, she sat at the bar in front of Harry and that alerted her that she could be coming from a funeral, because if it was a date, she wouldn't sit down there. There were deep dark circles that matched the whole sad scene he had created - a habit he had created since opening the place, always trying to guess what each person was doing there - and Harry almost wanted to hug her and offer his condolences. ''The strongest you have''

''Good night’' He tried hard to say, not wanting to look too shocked by her beauty, serving her properly with the strongest whiskey on the shelf ''Some say it makes fire come out of your ears'' He joked, trying to pull it out least a glare from the most listless brown eyes he had ever seen

‘’Is he good at setting someone on fire too?’’ Harry had met some people during his six years working there, and whenever someone started with these chats, he knew that some tragic love story would reach his ears.

‘’I’ve never tested it, but we’ve already used it to flambe one of our desserts and burned the ceiling’’ Even with that, the story that always made someone at least smile a little terrified, the woman remained listless. Harry beckoned Andrew to take his place by attending Andy, the painter who worked on the fifth floor of the building. "Is everything okay?" The redhead drank the entire dose, tapping the glass on the counter and wiping the drop that ran down the corner of her mouth before crossing her arms and looking at all the people around, as if she were envious of every smile that appeared on unknown faces

‘’Have you ever been betrayed?’’ Harry looked at her, picking up the ice and lemons as he continued to work on the drink from table five, trying to buy time to answer it.

‘’Hm ... Not that I know’’ At least none of his ex’s had said anything about it in the end.

''You should be thankful'' He poured another shot when she pushed the glass towards him, and she took it in a few seconds, her cheeks turning as red as her hair ''It sucks'' Her brown eyes shone for a second and Harry prepared to pick up the handkerchiefs he kept nearby, but then they dried up and were so lifeless they looked ashes

‘‘I’m sorry’’ He smiled when Tom took the glass with the freshly brewed drink, and went back to paying attention to her ‘’What is your name? I never saw you around here’’

‘‘Ginny ’’

‘’Harry’’ The pretty redhead stretched out her hand in greeting, forcing a smile

‘’Do you know everyone who shows up here?’’ He shook her cold hand

''Good part, usually people talk about their lives and we end up remembering them'' Ginny nodded, focusing her eyes on the empty glass in front of her and seeming to think about several things at the same time, and if it weren't for Rihana's music playing, Harry thought he could hear the gears working

‘’My boyfriend ... well, ex boyfriend, he came here. Do you know him?'' She opened the photo on her cell phone, showing her next to Michael, smiling from ear to ear as they drank ice cream, and Harry did his best to contain the shock when he saw the man who worked in the tattoo parlor and never left the bar alone. How could anyone betray someone like her?

‘’Huh… Yes. I think we talked at one time or another’’ He omitted, not wanting to delve into the fact that he had introduced Jones to Michael yesterday.

'’It seems that everyone knew that he was cheating on me but they didn't want to tell me. They preferred to make me a clown! My own friends!’’ This time there were tears, and Ginny made no effort to contain them ‘‘I am an idiot’’

''Of course not, they are'' Harry sat on the bench across from her, still on his side of the bar ''Michael didn't deserve you'' Not after going out with more than a year with several girls ( and he didn't think it was a short relationship, due to her sadness) ''You are too beautiful for him'' Ginny finally laughed, a little bitterly, but still a laugh

‘’And who would I be pretty to?’’ Harry shrugged

‘’I don’t know,I don't think there is a guy for work. But if you like women, maybe you’re more lucky’’ She laughed again, sniffling and wiping tears from her sweater sleeve. This time he took the handkerchiefs.

‘’We were together for five years ... Five years and God knows how many betrayals’’ His heart ached, wanting to go back in time and hit that filthy guy in the face ‘’I arrived on a trip and .. surprise! There he was with the barmaid on our sofa’’ Ginny forced a smile, taking the rest of the whiskey and hiding her face with her hands, seeming to cry even more

‘’He’s an idiot, you know that, don’t you?’’

‘’No more than me’’ Harry denied, taking the hands off her pretty face, trying his hardest not to wipe her tears-wet cheeks, or putting the red strands behind her ear, just taking another handkerchief and handing it over

‘‘It is forbidden to self-sabotage in this bar’’ Ginny laughed softly, wiping her wet face and giving little sobs ‘’I won’t let you think shit about you, when he was the one who missed. There was no way for you to know, there are no signs or any indications to let us know that the person is complete shit.’’

‘‘Well, there should be, I’d avoid a few years of being an idiot’’ Harry swallowed, not sure what to say, but then remembering something. He opened the drawer next to it, pulling out a box he had gotten from his mother and was saving for later

‘‘Take one’’ Harry pointed to the untouched chocolates, pulling the lid off and placing it close to her face ‘‘My uncle always says they improve any mood’’

‘’How can I know they’re not poisoned?’’ It was a valid question

‘’Pick one, and I’m going to eat’’ She looked at him, her brown eyes looking more like melted sugar and less like the ash at the bottom of the fireplace. Harry preferred that look, even if smudged with mascara. Ginny pulled out one of the truffles and handed it over, which he ate with common devotion, feeling the incredible taste of cherry liqueur mixed with dark chocolate, all melting in his mouth in the most perfect way. ‘’The best in all of London’’ He smiled ‘’Now, take one’’ And the redhead did it.

‘’Thank you’’ She smiled a little sheepishly, chewing on the truffle that should have been chocolate and pepper, and looking a little calmer than a few minutes ago. At least the hiccups were almost gone. ''I wanted to get back at him'' Maybe it was her beauty, maybe it was the fact that Harry thought he owed her something because he never noticed Michael dating - even if it was impossible, as he said, there were no signs or indicators - but it didn't take long for him to respond;

‘’Do you want help?’’ And so it was that after work, he ended up taking Ginny to a nearby neighborhood to break Michael’s car

‘’Don’t worry, my brother works at the police station and can cover up a case of vandalism. If, Michael has the courage to report, which I doubt’’ She reassured him, sitting in the passenger seat and finishing eating the last chocolate from the box, which he willingly gave her

‘’So, is this it?’’ He parked on the corner, happy that there were no security cameras on the street or the buildings around. The gray car was parked not far away, looking brand new.

‘‘Yep’’ Ginny got out of the car, looking much more angry than when she arrived at the bar, putting on the hoodie that Harry had borrowed and going steadily towards her final destination.

As promised, he followed her, taking care of her back while the redhead did all the destruction with a golf club he kept in the trunk, scratching the shiny paint and murmuring swear words and slightly incoherent phrases

''I once found panties in the back seat'' She said while explaining why the car ''And he told me I was going crazy, that that was my panties'' Ginny rolled her eyes, her cheeks purple "And when I once complained that he spent more time taking care of the car than going out with me, he said, 'it's just that the car doesn't complain so much'".

Harry looked over his shoulder, seeing that she was spilling a jar of old oil, which he had taken out to put in the trash, on the seats and steering wheel, while angry tears fell from her eyes, leaving her much more mascara painted than before.

As soon as she finished, falling in the middle of the street and sobbing in a loud cry, Harry knew he needed to get them out of there before some curious neighbor wanted to know what that noise was, or was going to take out the trash, so he picked her up as if it were the most precious thing in the world, letting Ginny soak his shirt with tears and shaking hands to grab him as if it were the only thing that would protect her at that moment

‘’Why does it still hurt, Harry?’’ Her tone made his chest ache and tighten, placing it inside the car and then leaving the crime scene - could it be called that?.

‘‘I don’t know, Ginny’’ he say sincerely ‘‘Revenge never really comforts, it doesn’t bring anything back’’

‘’He had no right to play with me like that!’’ 

''No''

''I hate him so much'' The sobs echoed back in the car ''I don't think I'll ever be able to love anyone again'' Harry looked at her, her hair totally messed up, her face dirty with makeup and red from drink, her eyes swollen crying, and red lips trembling, looking just as vulnerable as Teddy on waking from a nightmare or going 5 minutes without Tonks or Remus around. Harry sighed, saddened that a woman like her was suffering like that for someone so ridiculous and filthy, that he didn't deserve even a hair of her stress. Ginny definitely deserved to be happy and to be loved, and it was a shame that they met at a time like this, because Harry can imagine himself - even if for a second - by her side.

‘’It’s never too long ... There must be someone’’.

[duhragonball]

BEGIN: Hellsing Liveblog Ch.1

Okay, so in 2017 I tried to do a minimalist log of my experiences watching/reading  JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure.    At first, I tried to confine myself to posting one zany  screencap from each episode, but as I got deeper into the story I couldn’t help but write giant blocks of text about my thoughts.    So by the time I got to Part 6 I was essentially doing an honest-to-goodness liveblog.  I even went back and re-covered Part 5 in more detail, just because I barely understood it on the first read.   

In 2019, I decided to do a full-on liveblog of Dragon Ball and Dragon Ball Z, since I thought it would be a cool big thing to do.    It was a lot of work but I found it immensely satisfying to discuss the whole story in order.  

After that, I thought it might be nice to tackle something smaller, and Hellsing seemed like a good pick, because I really loved the Hellsing Ultimate anime when I watched it in 2016, and for a while I craved More Of That.    Only there wasn’t more, the Hellsing TV series was a hot mess, and that’s about it.   That just left the manga, which I didn’t want to read right after consuming the anime adaptation.    So I decided to liveblog Hellsing in 2020 and... I didn’t.    I just never felt like getting started.    Call it apathy, call it real life getting in the way, call it me being too busy to commit to the project.    All I know is it’s 2021 and I’m just now getting started.  

I meant to start yesterday for the New Year, but work kicked my ass this week and I needed to decompress more than I realized.   But today, I’m like “No more delays, I’m going to break ground on this, because I want to make this happen.   So here we are. 

I think there’s fan translations of the Hellsing manga out there, but I found them nearly impossible to read, so I purchased the digital editions of the official translation published by Dark Horse Comics.   Unfortunately, they don’t seem to sell that on their website anymore.   The only reason I still have my copy is because Dark Horse let’s you keep your purchases even after they stop offering them for sale.   For example, I’ve got a bunch of Star Wars comics from them, and they’re still on my account, even after Dark Horse lost the Star Wars license to Marvel when DIsney bought Lucasfilm.   I... don’t like to think about that too much.    Let’s just get rolling here.

The story starts on June 14, 1999.   At least, I’m pretty sure it was 1999, but that’s one of the reasons I’m reading this, so I can get my facts straight.    There’s a new vicar in the town of Cheddar, up in northern England.    The comic makes it seem like he just wandered into town one day.   I always figured he was an established member of the community who just happened to become a vampire, but this probably makes more sense.    Everyone calls this dude “The Cheddar Priest”, which leads you to take that description at face value.    It’s easy to think that he’s a real priest who’s lived in Cheddar for a long time.  

But it makes more sense if he’s not.   He just dressed up as a vicar so he’d have an easier time preying on the villagers.    The local church would accept him, and his clergy robes would give him an automatic authority.    On June 21, the first incident happened, where a young man on an errand to the next town over never came back.    So the Cheddar Priest played it very carefully to start out.   He waited a week to start feeding, and his first victim was someone who was going to be alone for a while.  And he took ten more victims over the next ten days.   Finally, someone caught sight of the priest with blood trickling from his mouth, and he managed to survive the encounter long enough to tell the cops about it.   But when they questioned the priest, he just attacked them, which brings us to July 5.

By this point, the police have sealed off Cheddar with roadblocks, since no one has come out of the village since they first confronted the priest.   At some point Sir Hellsing shows up to take over, and everyone’s like “Sir Hellsing is a g-g-g-g-girl!?”  It seems kind of odd to me that all these people would be expecting Hellsing but know so little about her, although she did inherit the title from her father, so maybe they were thinking of him when someone told them who was coming.  

The really distracting thing about Sir Integra Hellsing in this manga is how... curvy she is.   Both anime adaptations focus on making her very thin and angular, probably to emphasize her visual distinction with Seras, but also probably to play up her masculine traits.   She wears suits, never dresses, goes by “Sir” and not “Lady”, and immediately takes charge of every situation she’s in.     The Team Four Star abridged parody of Hellsing Ultimate has a few bits where other characters mistake her for a man.    I don’t thing Ultimate went that far with her design. But I could see someone slipping up on that.   

But the manga Integra looks a lot more feminine, maybe because Kouta Hirano was going in the opposite direction.    She wears a suit and goes by “Sir”, so he wanted to make her look more babelicious for the sake of contrast.   That’s a technical term, by the way.    Also, this is literally chapter one, so making her look different from Seras isn’t necessarily an issue yet.  

Anyway, Integra explains what most readers probably already knew from the back cover of the book: that there’s a vampire in Cheddar, and the cops have no idea how to deal with this.    She has already found visual evidence of “ghouls” in the area, which are humans that have been turned into zombies by a vampire bite.    If the human wasn’t a virgin when they were bitten.  We’ll get into that later.   

The cops think she’s talking crazy, because they think vampires and ghouls are fictional, but Integra explains that supernatural monsters are real, but highly classified.    That’s how she got called in to this matter, because her Hellsing Organization, aka the “Royal Order of Protestant Knights”, is responsible for destroying these creatures.   

What doesn’t make a lot of sense, though, is how Hellsing can properly respond to these kinds of incidents if no one knows to report them.    The tragedy of this chapter is that a lot of innocent people got killed because the police tried to handle it themselves.    What they should have done was to contact Hellsing immediately, except no one knew they were dealing with a vampire because no one thought vampires were real.  And no one knew Hellsing was the agency to contact, because Hellsing’s mission is a secret.  

For that matter, why should any of this be kept a secret at all?   If vampires are a real thing, why not tell the public about it?   That may sound like a stupid question, but tigers are real, and everyone knows it, no matter how big and dangerous tigers can be.   I suppose there’s a fear that if people knew it was possible to become a vampire then they’d try to do it for the immortality, but keeping it a secret didn’t stop the Cheddar Priest.   If anything, all this secrecy gave him a three-week head start.  

While explaining the plot to the police, Integra also explains how vampires work.    By drinking the blood of a virgin of the opposite sex, they can turn that virgin into a new vampire.  Any other victims just turn into mindless ghouls, which are “nothing more than the vampire’s servants”.   So sending cops into Cheddar only makes the problem worse, because the Priest will just eat them and generate more henchmen.   Her solution is to send in a single “special anti-vampire expert” to take care of the whole thing.   His name is Alucard, and one of his first lines in this story is about how he wants to suck some blood.     So he just sort of strolls into Cheddar while...

Of all the police they sent into Cheddar, only one remains, and the Cheddar Priest and his ghouls chase her into the woods.    This is Seras Victoria, as we later find out, and she’s in deep shit right here.   All her comrades are ghouls now, and her gun doesn’t work on vampires.   I’m guessing the only reason she survived this long was because the priest had to take the time to kill and feed on the others.  

Here, we see the Priest is also aware of the vampire rules Integra laid out.    He seems to want a devoted army of ghouls, so maybe this was his plan all along.   If he just wanted to feed, he probably should have moved on to the next town before everyone got suspicious, but instead he’s making a stand in Cheddar, steadily building his army while the police are powerless to stop him.   And maybe this is why Hellsing is a secret.    He thinks he’s unstoppable because he doesn’t know what measures are in place to stop him.  

With Seras, ol’ C.P. decides that he should rape her before drinking her blood, because he figures there’s a nonzero chance that she might be a virgin, and he specifically doesn’t want to turn her into a vampire like himself.   I’m not sure why, but I always figured he was concerned that a vampire Seras would turn against him or at least make things difficult for him.  

But then Alucard shows up and introduces himself.   The priest orders his ghouls to gun him down, but it turns out that Alucard is a vampire himself (gasp!), and the guns don’t work on him, just like they don’t work on the priest.   Then Al whips out his gun, which does work, because it fires bullets laced with silver from a cross that was in a cathedral.   Wait, I just got a clue.  I always thought it was weird that silver bullets kill vampires in this story, since that’s more of a werewolf thing, but that’s why the silver was from a melted down cross.    That way it’s good for vampires and werewolves.    There might also be some Blue Kryptonite in there for possible Bizarro infestations, but it’s never outright stated.

So then the Priest gets nervous and takes a hostage.    He never dreamed that there was another vampire running around, let alone one working as a  vampire hunter, in the service of humans.   He assumes that Al will let him go in order to save the girl, but instead he asks her if she’s a virgin, and the priest realizes there’s only one reason he’d even bring that up: Alucard isn’t here to save anyone, he’s just here to kill the Cheddar Priest. 

For some reason, despite saying the bullets would kill vampires, Alucard runs his arm through the Priest after he makes the shot.   Maybe that was just for flourish.    The real reason he used the gun, of course, was that he knew Seras would die in any event, but at least this way he stopped the Priest before he could decapitate her or something.    Seras’ wound is fatal, but at least there’s time for him to offer an apology and give her a chance to consider his (implied) offer.

When Alucard returns from the village, he’s got Seras wrapped up in a blanket, and it turns out she’s a vampire now too.    And this is kind of the most important moment in this whole story, because Seras is the best character, there are no elections, and this her origin story.   

I think a lot about Seras’ fateful decision here.   It’s often framed as a choice.   Whenever she gets frustrated with her situation, Alucard reminds her that she could have just refused him, but what kind of choice is that?   She could either “live” as a vampire or bleed out in the middle of nowhere.    Seras is a survivor.   She kept fighting the priest until the bitter end, and when there were no other moves to make, she accepted the one path that would allow her to continue.   

Also, I think a lot of their relationship is based on Seras seeing what Alucard is and wanting that for herself.    He marched right into Cheddar like a badass, ready to beat all the bad guys, but that’s the same thing she did earlier.    The only difference is that his gun actually worked and he had the power to use it.   I don’t think Seras wanted to become a vampire, but becoming a vampire hunter? One as strong as Alucard?   Yeah, she would want that.   Especially after the utter despair and humiliation she just experienced.   But we’ll have plenty more to say about Seras, don’t you worry.

I was planning to cover three chapters in one post, but this one is pretty important, and I kind of went overboard, so I’ll save Chapters 2 and 3 for later.   Doncha dare miss it!

[zamilemzizi]

A trip down lockdown memory lane!

A trip down memory lane

As my business steadily builds itself back up, with a new face and some Covid-influenced changes, I look back at what it was like for a few months last year as just the “Mom.” The South African lockdown, one of the strictest in the world at that time, forced most of us Marketing and PR SME owners to close our doors and focus on creating a safe and “new normal” environment for ourselves and our families.

My parents both contracted the Corona Virus and so, it was left up to me to care for ALL five grandchildren for a few months. Including my own children, I had two five-year-olds’ (one boy; Wandi and one girl; Koli), one nine-year-old girl (Thotse), a twelve-year-old girl (Lungi) and the legend himself, my two-year-old son (Bugsy) whom you will have read a lot about on my personal Facebook page. As if that was not enough, we rescued an eight-week-old puppy (Luna) too!

Being a person known for preferring the company of all the Mzizi grandchildren, I was up for the challenge of this time spent being reacquainted with the daily struggle of just-being-the-mom-with-no-work without the pressure of having to go to work.

I acknowledge that my experience of this time is grossly different to that of a majority of my fellow countrymen/women, who struggled to make ends meet. Zam’s Hive started a fund, which generously received funds donated by almost ALL of my clients, close friends and colleagues from my place of work. We used these funds to assist families who wrote in via WhatsApp and SMS stating what their urgent needs were and paired them with the correct donor. I was astounded at how the people I knew were able to look beyond their own experience of the Lockdown, and were able to give the little (or lot) that they had to keep hope alive.

However, being the stay-at-home mom yielded quite a few hilarious experiences, which naturally, I shared on social media as they happened. Here are some of these posts. I hope they make you chuckle a bit at my expense. I hope they remind you that no matter how bleak the situation, our inner circle, our families, our children, the people that matter most to us are the ones we should keep our focus on.

How the wars began…

Wandi’s benevolent fart

Raising boys is a BREEZE!

My Wandi has reached that age where every hug and cuddle is a conscious decision on his part to be with me. It says, ' I choose to be near YOU. I choose you, mommy'

So imagine my joy as I was working in my office and my big boy chose that moment to sit on my lap...

He sat facing me, flashed his special smile and said' 'Mommy, let me show you how much I love you'

He put his hands on my shoulders and closed his beautiful brown eyes. I could see him mentally reaching deep within himself in order to share what he had to say. Then...

I felt it. A persistent drill-like hammering on my sturdy thigh where his bony bum was perched.

The stench was instant and the fog it created in my mind was confusion personified. I could not immediately compute that my baby came all this way just to fart on me. As realization dawned on me, my little angel held onto me just a little bit tighter to keep me in place as the hammer-drill was still operating. My thin leggings were no barrier from the barrage of bodily functions battering my poor skin.

During this assault, Wandi did not change his facial expression at all. He looked like a little Buddha bestowing a blessing upon a lesser mortal.

When he was done, he nimbly sprang off my leg and bestowed a beguiling cherubic smile upon me. Slowly reversing from the room with his cheesy smile and eyes closed, he blessed me with his benevolent ' enjoy the smell mommy' and quietly closed the door.

Bugsy drinks shit water

I'm on my knees begging for this changeling to be taken. Return Bugsy pre-terrible twos to me please!

I went into the toilet for a teensy while. I'd been holding it in for some time chasing my kids around. To my knowledge, fake Bugsy was safely chilling on my bed.

As my empty bladder and I float out the bathroom, changeling proudly displays a cup of water he is drinking...now this is a problem because all taps and cups are beyond his reach. This cup looks like the dirty one I ignored on the floor a teensy while back- are you judging me Karen?!

I frantically urge fake son to show me if he got water from the other toilet. He proudly replies, ' I no drink here Wandi peepee here' This is good. It's great actually. Wandi has diarrhea and drinking from his toilet could kill someone. Never mind Corona.

So I drag the smirking not-really-my-son into the kitchen to wash this mysterious cup. At this stage I'm fuming at the lord thinking 'turn this crap into wine NOW'

As I wash the still alcohol free cup, I turn to find swopped-at-birth guy smacking his lips and drinking from the bucket mqobothi style.

MY HEART SKIPS A BEAT!

I used water and Jik to clean dog poop just now. I spilled the water but clearly not all of it. What's worse here? Jik poisoning or dog poop poisoning?

The terror child is ok. I gave him milk and surrendered the rest to his creator.

I'm ok. I have a new twitch in my eye and I think I might have peed my pants a little. But otherwise baaah I'm good.

No really.

Just fine.

Look- fake son took the tin of milk and smeared the stuff on himself.

I'm just FINE!

Then the tensions were rising

The stand off

In a bid to demonstrate his defiance of my authority, my two year old has taken the long life milk and some shopping bags to an undesirable corner of the house. He has boldly announced that, 'I puttinnnin me in noty cona' This is his strategy to deprive my authority of putting him in a corner myself. The standoff continues...

Sulking in the shower

I swear I don't make this stuff up...

Wandi just played with matches and his cousins came to tell on him. Naturally I gave him 'the look' times 10. He says to me,

'I know you're cross with me and wont talk to me.'

He stalks off to the shower and sits there while singing his new and spontaneously composed struggle song. The words weren't too clear but this is what I heard:

Take me away in peace, take me away in peace.

 Please note he has taken to eating some of his meals in this shower.

Can someone please send me a bottle of gin??!      Its for the kids.

 The breaking point

Exacting revenge in small ways

My kids broke my hair clippers machine while I was cutting them. So now I'm leaving them with unfinished cuts because one needs to take revenge wherever the opportunity may present itself-even if it's your own kids. They think they know me. Mxim!

 Mom flu strike

I've been in bed with flu for a week now. During this my kids haven't given me an inch of space and rest.

I'm still a horse, jungle gym, chef, personal snot cleaner and unwilling audience to dance shows and song decompositions.

Tonight was just the worst! I went to the chemist for more meds and so needed a nap from the trip. Only to realize that I'd over slept and it was supper time.

After a mad dash to cook, serve and feed the royal highnesses, I'd had enough.

Where am I now? What am I doing now? These are all relevant questions I'm happy to answer for you.

I'm in my bedroom. For the first time since I became a mother, I have done the only sensible thing a tired parent can do...

I'VE LOCKED MY BEDROOM DOOR BIYAAACHES!

The situation update is as follows:

Hostile!

1.  Two year old has attempted breaking door down

I DON'T CARE!

2. Five year old has resorted to creepy body plastering against door and quietly chanting 'mooommyyyy can we have ice cream while you die?'

I  DON'T   CARE

3. In a rare show of solidarity the boys are now howling like wolves outside the door, throwing in the odd 'moooommmy where are youuuu'

I    D O N T   C A R E!

4. Nine year old niece has increased the volume and frequency of her coughing

IIIIIIIII DOOOOOOOONT CAAAAAAARE!

I'm at peace in my warm bed. Let the siege continue I have all that I need in here. A bathroom, all the toilet paper in the house, the only phone with airtime and did I mention -I'm the only person tall enough to cook. Muhahuahua!

They will know me!

 The resolution?

Wandi prays for peace

So as usual the kids were acting up and driving me crazy before bedtime. This time however, the transgressions were extreme.

Someone didn't pee INSIDE the toilet but decided to mark his territory next to it instead.

Another decided to generously leave food on a dinner plate and put it in the kitchen sink for Santa maybe.

Another was dejectedly roaming the passage without pajama bottoms like a homeless person. Left to wander the night in shame and bottomlessness.

This was the last straw and I blew my top off.

EVERYONE TO BED WITHOUT A STORY NOW!

Even the little one understood that Armageddon was nigh, and scurried into bed as fast as his fat stubby legs could carry him (only half way up the bed usually).

In an unusually respectful and hesitant tone, Wandi bravely reminded me that I forgot to pray. So fine! I asked God to please help me make my children good etc.

Wandi again bravely offered to pray too and this is where he played his master plan into action (he never wants to pray):

Wandi: Dear God, please make all my dreams come true. The end.

 Yes. He said the end and not AMEN. I felt a reluctant smile coming on but I was wise to the enemy.

The next morning the kids all came to greet me in that way guilty kids do hoping for a cease-fire.

'Good morning rakhali' etc.

Then the master played his Ace move.

Wandi: In the name of Jesus, good morning everyone!

 How could I remain grumpy after my son evoked the name of Jesus?!

He's goooooood. One point to Wandi. None to me.

 Please subscribe to my blog and follow me on social media for more insights into; what goes on in the life of a working mom building an empire. All the links are below. My women’s network as well as my courses are also available on this site.

[timep3tals]

Ooooh if you're doing drabbles, something from i swear i'll come back to you universe where we have a very overprotective and stressed tony and peter just trying to drive properly that somehow results to a minor accident?

this ask makes me so happy ;-; im so glad you’re enjoying i swear, i’ll come back to you, enough to ask for a piece of that universe!!! i hope i do it justice

also, a link to the full story (which I will update hopefully in the next two weeks or so!): i swear, i’ll come back to you

—-

Two weeks have passed since Peter’s unexpected, non-zombified return to the land of the living. In those two weeks, Peter hadn’t seen anything beyond the same old compound walls. Tony decided the best course of action (without consulting Peter, mind you, who’s the one who came back from the dead in the first place) was to lock him up at Avengers Compound, send all the workers on their unexpected but very well deserved paid vacation time, and settle down for constant Badger Peter Until His Ears Bleed time.

Bafflingly, May agreed with Tony.

Everyday she made the hour or so long trip from New York City to upstate. May wouldn’t even consider taking him back to New York until his quote-unquote “issue” had been “resolved”. Peter was of the opinion that his issue (being dead, that is) had already been resolved, and he would very much like to get back to his life, please and thank you.

Unfortunately, they still hadn’t figured out why or how he’s back, so… yippee, hooray, he’s a walking, talking mystery. Doctor Strange visited fairly often, Christine in tow, to poke and prod at Peter with shiny needles and sparkly magic. Peter couldn’t really tell you what they were looking for — he was alive. It’s not as if death could linger on him.

At the very least, Tony tried to keep Peter entertained. If left to his own devices, Peter would likely sneak out as Spider-Man (or at this point, even plain ol’ Peter would suffice), so he figured it was probably for the best Tony insisted on spending as much time as humanly possible together doing everything the genius could concoct, all the while under the compound’s watchful eye. Or FRIDAY’s watchful eye. One in the same, really.

One of those activities was finally making good on the promise of teaching Peter how to drive. Really, he was more terrified than excited anymore. 

Especially because he was currently behind the wheel and Tony was bossing him around from the passenger seat.

God help them all.

“Peter, Peter,” Tony said. His hand was tight on Peter’s arm as he steadily drove the car around the compound. He’d been panicking for most of the ride, and yeah, sure, Peter gets it. New driver and all, but the new driver already had anxiety and he didn’t need Tony Stark adding to his hysterics. “Slow down.”

“I really can’t go much slower than this,” Peter complained. “I’m at fifteen miles an—”

“Fifteen?” Tony clasped a hand to his chest, and Peter might’ve cried had he not been able to hear Tony’s steady, albeit quick, heart beat thundering in his chest. “My god, kid, are you trying to kill us?”

“What? No!” Peter groaned. He gripped the steering wheel even tighter than before. The plastic began to warp under his brutal grip. “This is slow, are you serious? You drive around at like, a hundred plus all the time.”

“I’ve also had years of experience,” Tony pointed out. He eyed the nearest pole, some twenty feet away, with fear and disdain. “Thirty-seven, to be exact. I can speed if I damn well want to, but you’ve never driven anywhere before in your life.”

Peter bit back the automatic retort of, Because I died. Otherwise he would have well over a year of experience, but he didn’t think Tony would take well to a reminder. So he bit his tongue, despite the overwhelming urge to scream and fight.

“I’m driving around a building,” he said instead.

Irritated at both Tony and his own inability at driving still, Peter pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder. The speedometer inched higher until he was hovering around twenty-five. Tony’s heart rate jumped up in time with their speed, and he reached over to grab onto the wheel.

“Peter, stop!” he said urgently. “Let me take the wheel.”

“Will you quit?” Peter snapped back. “I can handle twenty five miles an hour!”

Tony looked between Peter and the outside world as the car jerked and swerved under their mutual grip. “Stop the car!”

“No, get off!”

“Peter, the tree!”

The car jerked as the front end slammed into the tree. The airbags didn’t deploy, but Peter felt momentarily choked by his seatbelt before he rocked back into the driver’s seat, stunned. Tony scrambled to unbuckle himself, sitting up and leaning over as he began to check over Peter.

“Are you okay, kid?” he asked. “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me—”

Peter knocked Tony’s hands away, sick of his constant fussing. Tony sat back in his seat, startled at the sudden show of force.

“Knock it off, Tony!” he shouted. “You’re driving me crazy, and I can’t take the constant nag, nag, nag. I know what happened, I know how much time has past but you have got to let me breathe! I’m just as scared as you are but you’re going to suffocate me before anything else kills me! I don’t want to die either, you know! I’m constantly afraid to vanish again but never know it because there was nothing while I was dead! Nothing but emptiness — a void I-I know is there, but it’s just nothing! So please, stop trying to smother me and let me live again!”

By the end of his rant, Peter was heaving for air. Tony’s brows nearly touched his hairline, staring at Peter as if truly seeing him for the first time in two weeks. Frustrated, Peter jerked his head to look out the driver’s side window and wrapped his arms around himself.

A hand brushed through his hair. Peter didn’t fight it.

“Hey, kid,” Tony said, quiet. “I’m sorry. I forgot this is all just as difficult for you as it is for me. I’m not trying to suffocate you, I…”

Tony took a deep breath, sounding as though about to cry. Peter turned his head back to his mentor, heart aching.

“I already know what it’s like to lose you, kid. I never, ever want to experience that kind of pain again. Losing you took away everything I thought was good in this world. All I want to do is protect you.”

“I know, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, “but you gotta let me be my own person again. I love you, I do, I love you so much, but I can’t live wrapped in bubble wrap.”

“And you shouldn’t have to.” Tony studied Peter’s face before opening his arms. Peter unbuckled and eagerly dipped into the hug. No matter how angry he was, he’d never refuse a hug from Tony. Especially not when every hug now came with guaranteed hair-playing. “I’ll try to back off. No promises, but… I’ll give you some space. Some, Peter. You’re still going to have me hovering over you as often as I can, but it’s because I love you.”

Peter’s eyes burned. Tony had never said I love you out loud before.

“I love you, too.”

“I know.” Tony scratched his fingers along his scalp, and Peter shived with the pleasant sensations. “You’re a great kid. The best.” He patted Peter’s shoulder, and when he spoke again, he sounded like he was smiling. “Now, you wanna send a text to those nerd friends of yours and see if they want to come up for movie night? No hovering, I promise.”

Peter pulled back. “Really?”

Tony nodded. “Sure, kid. Besides, someone has to fix up this car now.”

Oh, yeah. Yikes. Peter grimaced. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tony reassured him. “Now get out of the driver’s seat. I’m driving us back to the garage.”

Absolutely beaming, Peter eagerly jumped out of the car and let Tony take the driver’s seat. Movie night with MJ and Ned was only the start, but Peter felt as if it was the first step to getting the life he’d known before back. And he couldn’t wait.

Tag List: @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @riseuplikeglitterandgold @just-the-daydreamer @roaringgay @serendipity–goddess @tony-wheres-my-supersuit @baloobird @spider-beep @swagfictonreadingnerd @tcny-stcrks (If you want to be added or removed, just let me know!)

[babbushka]

Mind & Soul (3/10)

The story of how one man fell out of love and into it again

Charlie (Marriage Story) x Reader

word count 5k ; warnings: nsfw, mild injury, Infidelity, Affairs/Cheating, Angst, language 

                                                     --------

The thrill is gone The thrill is gone I can see it in your eyes I can hear it in your sighs Feel your touch and realize The thrill is gone

A month ago, the divorce proceedings had started.

Which Charlie thought was kind of messed up, considering Nicole had left him six months prior to that.

Six months out in Los Angeles fucking California, six months playing actress in shitty independent theater productions, six months getting tanned and bleached blonde and and and.

And now she is back, and it’s been a month, and Charlie hates every second of it, just wants it to be over with. The divorce proceedings had been easy, dividing up the stuff, cutting all ties. He had never been so happy, to cut all the ties.

They would sell the house, split the profit 50/50 and all the shit inside it. There had been a prenup, signed and notarized so money wasn’t a concern, and Charlie thanks his lucky fucking stars he had had the foresight to do that, because he knew – somehow he just knew – that Nicole would try and milk him for every penny he had otherwise.

The only thing left was custody.

And that…that had been the big pain in his fucking ass, the thorn in his side, the elephant in the room.

Because after six months of fucking off to LA, she was back, and she wanted her son.

Charlie wasn’t going to just let her take him.

He thinks of you, how you looked that morning, gorgeous, skin warmed with sleep. He wishes he could have married you instead, instead of the cold woman sitting at the other end of the room, standing behind a wooden podium where she’ll try and make every case against him. He wonders what you're doing, it's the middle of the day after all. He imagines you're lounging in the sunlight of your living room, imagines you reading or writing or watching something. He'll call you, he decides, once the statements are done with, once they have a break to prepare their cases.

The judge comes into the room, and everyone stands up. It’s a race to see which of the two is more polite, and Charlie finds himself with his shoulders straight and square before Nicole can even steady herself in her brand new heels, not yet broken in.

She must have bought them special for the trial, and Charlie does his best not to grit his teeth.

The judge has a seat and waves them to sit as well, lawyers shuffling their papers around to try and get organized.

He knows this is only the opening statements, he knows this is only the beginning, but he’s still nervous. So fucking nervous that she’s going to win, going to take everything away from him. He has to take a deep breath, think of you just to calm down.

The judge regards them both, milky blue eyes peering over half moon glasses, and when he speaks it’s with the age and wisdom of someone who has been doing this a long time.

Charlie wonders how many people he helps split up. Wonders how many children he has to decide the fate of. He thinks it can’t be easy.

“You know how I like to start these things?” The judge asks, hands folding into one another as he gives them both a solid look.

“No.” It’s a rhetorical question, but Nicole answers it anyway, something that makes the Judge’s mouth twitch. Charlie can't tell if it was going to be a frown or a smile.

“I like starting them off,” He disregards her comment, “By having each one of you say something nice about one another.”

Well, that certainly isn’t something that Charlie expected, and for a moment his mind races, tries to come up with something, anything.

“Nice.” He asks, less of a question and more of a confused statement.

“Nice.” The judge nods, and Charlie does his best to swallow any sarcastic remarks.

It’s quiet for a moment, a long moment, neither one of them wanting to volunteer to go first. They hated each other now, after all.

This was divorce, after all.

“Mrs. Barber,” The judge prompts, when the silence has gone on for too long, “What do you love about Charlie?”

Charlie doesn’t look at her, doesn’t dare turn his head towards her, just holds his breath and listens. When was the last time she had said anything good to him, about him? He can’t remember, wonders if she even has anything to say, anything real.

Nicole chews the inside of her cheek, no doubt pissed off that this is how it’s starting, especially after their cold greeting only minutes ago.

“What I love about Charlie…” She says, picks at the skin around her nails, speaks clearly but only because she doesn’t want to have to repeat herself, “He loves being a dad, it’s frankly, almost annoying how much he likes it. He cries easily in movies, he’s very competitive. He’s very clear about what he wants. He’s – ”

And her voice breaks there, and Charlie is almost afraid she’ll cry. Such a fucking actor, he thinks, trying to play the sympathy card, everything just some game.

“He’s a great dresser; never looks embarrassing, which is hard for a man.” She offers finally, when she’s collected herself, gotten a grip, when the crocodile tears have absorbed back into her eyes. “He takes all of my moods steadily, and he doesn’t make me feel bad about them. He rarely gets defeated, which, I feel like I always do.”

The judge seems to wait for more, but when none comes, he turns to Charlie.

“Mr. Barber?” He cues, and Charlie has to think, has to really think.

He had loved her once, didn’t he? Had tried to fight for her, a long time ago. He feels foolish for it now, if only he had known, if only he had seen then what he sees now.

“What I love about Nicole.” He starts, sounding too much like he’s reading from a poorly written script, like he’s a kid standing in front of the class about to tell them what he did that summer, “She’s a great dancer, it’s infectious. She is a mother who plays – really plays. She gives great presents, she’s competitive. She knows when to push me and when to leave me alone.”

It’s not nearly as poetic, as well thought out as Nicole’s, but it’s honest.

At least it’s honest.

“That’s it?” The judge asks, and Charlie nods.

“That’s it.” He replies dryly.

He doesn’t care enough to look at Nicole for her reaction.

And with that, it begins, opening statements in full swing. Nicole goes first, because she’s the one who is making the case, she’s the one who is trying to convince them all to take Henry away from him. He still doesn’t quite believe how she has the nerve, but then again, yes he does.

“The only thing that a parent wants is what’s right for their child.” “For a long time, I thought that what was right for Henry, was for me to remain with Mr. Barber, as his wife. About seven months ago, I realized that no, it wasn’t what was right, it was what was easy. So I did the hard thing, and I left, left to try and make something of myself, something that I had been denied for many years, in an attempt to build a better life for me and my son.”

“I believe I’ve finally achieved that. I believe I am finally at a point where I know myself, I know the sort of person I want to be for my son. I am his mother, and I love him very much. I love him very much. And I believe Henry is young enough to still need me, need his mother, in a way that all children do. Not to say that he doesn’t need a father, but, how many children grow up without one and turn out perfectly fine?”

“I left Henry. I left him, and I know that that’s an awful, horrible thing to do. For six months all I thought about was how I was leaving him for him, for the sake of him and his happiness. But I’m his mother. I’m his…I’m his mother.”

And the fucking waterworks are back, of course they are, of course. Charlie sits at his end of the room and he watches her cry, and he feels not a single ounce of remorse or need to comfort her, because he’s seen those tears, seen them up on stage, seen them on television pilots and acting reels.

That’s all that she has to say, apparently, because she’s stepping down, and something awful in Charlie wishes she would trip.

He feels guilty about the thought, feels guilty about a lot of things, and almost has half a mind to apologize out loud, but he doesn’t. They’d think he’s crazy for it, if he did. He wonders if they think he’s crazy anyway.

But it’s moot point, because the judge wants to hear from Charlie, so up to the stand Charlie goes, hand on a book he doesn’t believe in swearing up and down that he’s telling the truth.

It’s a much different view, from the stand. A view that makes his stomach twist, because he’s directly in front of Nicole now, put right in her line of sight.

“Please state your name for the records.” The judge says, and Charlie sits up straight, tries not to let the panic, the anger, the sadness show.

“Charlie Barber, your honor.” He says easily, because that one is easy, at the very least.

“Why are you here?” The judge asks, and this one is easy too.

“To request full legal custody of my son, Henry Barber.” Charlie responds, says the words he’s been practicing for a month now.

“And what makes you think you’re capable of achieving that?” Nicole’s lawyer asks, and this one.

This one is the hard one, this one is the one he doesn’t know how to say, how to go about it without sounding like an asshole.

But for six months he’s been taking care of his son, for six months he’s been the one who was there, and that…that’s got to count for something.

It has to.

“I know the sort of things you want to hear.” Charlie says, shifts around in his seat just a little to try and get more comfortable in this incredibly uncomfortable fucking situation, “I know you want me to tell you I make a lot of money, because I do. I know you want me to tell you that I have a stable and steady job, own my own home, because I do. You already know those things, you have the proof of it in front of you. That doesn’t make me a good parent. That doesn’t make anyone a good parent. Nicole says she loves Henry. I don’t doubt that, but simply loving your child does not make you a good parent to that child.”

“What then, makes you a good parent?” His lawyer asks, and for a moment he lets himself get lost, in the way the past six months have gone.

He remembers the fight, that dream once more, that memory. He remembers the way he scrambled, desperate.

                                                    --------

The nights are cold For love is old Love was grand when love was new Birds were singing, skies were blue Now it don't appeal to you The thrill is gone

He’s standing outside, watching the cab drive away, and for a moment he can’t tell if he feels relief or absolute terror.

He wonders in the neighbors know, if they’re awake and heard all the yelling – if the yelling woke them up. He wonders if they see him practically running next door to your house, wonders if they can hear the way he’s pleading for you to answer your door.

He’s fully aware of how ridiculous he looks, standing there in his pajamas, with his robe wrapped tightly around him in the chill of night.

“(Y/N?” He’s freaking out, not because he’s angry she left, not because he’s sad, but because she gave him no fucking warning and he can’t do this by himself. He just can’t. “(Y/N)!”

You’re gorgeous, when you open the door. Completely bundled up in pajamas of your own, your eyes widen at his appearance, blotchy faced and covered in tears and snot and rage. He’s sure he looks wild, looks crazy, especially in comparison to you, an angel under the porch-light.

“Charlie – !” You gasp, immediately bringing him into your arms, because you know, you know everything.

You always have. He can tell you’re not sure whether to be scared or relieved either.

“She fucking – she’s gone.” He says, and he’s saying it like he’s trying to believe it, he’s looking down at you, trying to make sense of it all.

“I know, I heard – what are we going to do?” You whisper, eyes never once leaving his.

(He always liked that, in retrospect. Always liked how you said ‘we.’)

He sighs and scrubs a hand down his face, shifts barefooted on your welcome mat.

“I don’t know what the fuck to tell him, I don’t know – she told me to figure it out.” He spits, words like venom because they came from the mouth of a viper.

“So then we figure it out.” You say, say with such conviction that he believes you, that he knows in that moment you’re the only person he’s ever truly loved, the only person he’s ever truly wanted.

He glances towards the house, and the lights are still off – Henry’s still asleep. He chews his lip and raises a shaking hand to your face, fingertips brushing the corner of your mouth, and you know, you already know.

Thunder claps, and a downpour erupts from the sky in the most dramatic of fashions. Sometimes Charlie thinks his life is one big fucking movie. He hopes it’s a comedy.

He knows it isn’t.

“Can…can I?” He asks, because this is still a secret – even with his wife storming out in the middle of the night, even with declarations of abandonment, this is a secret.

You’re already pulling him into the house, already closing the door behind him, already shedding your robe, letting it fall to the floor.

“Of course, come here, of course.” You encourage, and he pulls you to a bruising kiss right there in the entryway of your home, right where any and everyone could see if it weren’t raining so heavily.

You kiss, and he strips you of all your clothes, he clings to you, to your body, shudders under your touch as you work to get him out of his. He can’t stay long, he can’t, not in case Henry wakes up, but the sight of you is too delicious to pass up, and before long he’s tugging you over to the couch, splaying you out underneath him.

He doesn’t bother with a condom, can’t be bothered right now, he’ll pull out, it’ll be fine – he just needs to be in you right now. Your eyes are closed and your nipples are hard as he rubs the head of his cock through your folds, as he slowly sinks into your pussy. He doesn’t know why this feels so good, why this feels so right, why this feels like home.

But it does, and it does, and it does.

And as you moan and gasp underneath him as the thunderclaps, as he fucks you to let some of this aggression and anger and tension out, you laugh, randomly, you laugh, and he finds he’s laughing too – because what the fuck is even going on anymore?

He doesn’t know, but it’s okay.

You’ll both figure it out.

In the morning, he wakes Henry up with blueberry muffins he heats in the toaster oven, mixes up some eggs. He’s not very good at breakfasts, but he knows how to do eggs, knows how to do them the way Henry likes.

“Where's mom?” He asks, and Charlie nearly drops the pan, because fuck he doesn’t know what to say, what to tell him.

His heart is beating wildly in his throat, and he scrambles, stumbles over his own words to try and say something to his kid who is standing, bleary eyed in his pajamas, waiting for an answer. It’s obvious, so obvious that Nicole is gone, especially after nine years of her being there, every morning at breakfast.

“She had to leave late last night.” He says eventually, settles on the truth, tries to figure out how to tell the truth and keep it all from him at the same time.

Nicole will be back, she has to come back.

“Where did she go?” Henry asks with a frown, not satisfied with the answer.

Charlie’s hand starts to shake as he serves up the eggs, cheesy and fluffy, scoops a big spatula’s worth onto the plate at the spot where Henry always sits at the table.

“California.” He answers, and Henry sits, takes a huge bite into his blueberry muffin.

“How long is she going to be there?” He asks with his mouthful, and Charlie’s parental overdrive kicks in for a minute, drowns out the blind panic panic panic.

“I don’t know – chew and swallow please.” He says, and Henry gives an apologetic glance with a smile. What did they always say, ignorance is bliss? “But while she’s there, we’re going to get to spend a lot of time together, and that’ll be fun, right?”

Charlie asks, and he suddenly realizes how ridiculous he looks, catches his reflection in the small mirror on the wall where Nicole used to check her hair before walking out the door – bedhead sticking all over the place, in his pajamas, holding a pan of eggs in one hand and face an absolute fucking wreck.

It’s a wonder Henry doesn’t point it out, how red his face is, his eyes.

“Sure dad.” The kid rolls his eyes with a silly smile, and Charlie can work with that, he can work with a good mood.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when that good mood disappears, when the full weight of the truth hits this kid. He doesn’t want it to ever sink in, doesn’t want Henry to ever know.

But well, she left them. He’s going to know that eventually.

He puts the pan down and sticks his hands on his hips, throws the small dishtowel he’d been holding over his shoulder, making Henry laugh.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? I’m fun.” He swoops in to tickle his son, momentarily forgetting all the bullshit as happy belly laughs ring through the kitchen, all the while Charlie demanding with a big playful pout, “Aren’t I fun?”

“Okay! Okay! Yeah, you are.” Henry relents, giggles making him hiccup, and when he settles back down he shoves another huge mouthful of the muffin into his face, and asks around it, “Can I have some milk please?”

“No you can’t.” Charlie says, teasingly, as he slides him over the carton of milk. Somewhere in the kitchen a timer goes off, the ding to turn off the toaster oven, and he’s out of his seat checking on the bagels he popped in there at the same time as there’s a knock at the door. “Henry bud, would you mind getting the door?”

Henry is out of his chair and running over to the front door, opening it up and letting the sound of the outside world come pouring in.

It’s almost deafening, the sound, the rush of cars and people chatting as they walk to work or the subway station, mail trucks and newspaper boys on bikes all honking their horns and ringing their bells at one another in greeting. Charlie is made aware, in the short moment he has to cry into the sink, the short moment he can release the breath he’s been holding, that the world goes on and on and on around him, outside of him.

He zeroes in on your voice when he realizes it’s you, standing at his front step.

“Hi (Y/N)!” Henry says, ever excited to see you – because why wouldn’t he be? He doesn’t know, doesn’t know that your heart is where Charlie lives, has lived for the better part of a year. Henry doesn’t know that, he can’t know. To him, you’re just the nice babysitter next door, just a friend. He opens the door a little wider and asks, “We’re having breakfast, wanna join?”

Charlie can’t help but turn around and try and get a glimpse of you, to try and remind himself that you’re not a dream. He can tell in your voice that you’re shocked, that you know he doesn’t know.

Charlie wants to yank you inside, wants to pull you into his arms and never let you go.

“Hey Henry, shoot I’m sorry I’m in a rush, I just wanted to give your dad this. It was in my mailbox but I think they put it accidentally.” You give Henry a letter, Charlie can’t really see from there, but you give it to him.

“Aw are you sure?” He complains, and the disappointment in his voice makes Charlie’s heart warm, because same, same.

“Yeah I’m sure, but I’ll see you after school, right?” You ask brightly, ruffle his hair and make him laugh.

“Yes!” He replies, and you laugh, do your very best not to cry, not to cry in front of him, for him – for them both.

“I’m going to pick you up, I’ll be right out front, three-thirty. Make sure your dad gets that.” You say, before giving him a hug, a tight squeeze that makes Henry giggle, only because he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know.

“Bye!” He waves as you walk down the street in the direction of the train station, closes the door and comes back into the living room.

“Who was it?” Charlie asks, even though he knows.

Henry comes bounding back into the room, letter in hand, carefully wrapped in an envelope that hasn’t been opened. He takes one look at it and the familiar handwriting throws him, why would Nicole put a letter in your mailbox?

“(Y/N), she said this is for you.” Henry hands it over, looks up at his dad confused when he asks, “How come mom didn’t say bye?”

“She…” Charlie says, takes the letter and sticks it in his back pocket. He can’t deal with that right now, not right now. He’ll deal with it when he goes to the theater, after he drops Henry off, when he can steal a minute alone. Tears are already stinging his eyes and he’s trying his best to swallow them, because he can’t let Henry know, not right away, not right now, “She didn’t want to wake you up, it was really late.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either, not really.

Henry’s face crinkles up, and for a minute Charlie is afraid that he’s figured it out, but he just pinches his nose, grimaces.

“Something smells like it’s burning.” Henry offers, and Charlie whips his head around, sees smoke coming out of the toaster-oven, realizes he’s forgotten to turn off the damn thing, realizes the bagels are blackened to a crisp.

Without thinking he flings the little door open, reaches in and grabs the bagels and immediately drops them, burning his hand. He’s frazzled, he doesn’t know what the fuck to do, just watches the burnt bagels drop on the floor and suddenly he’s shouting, hand throbbing in pain.

“Fuck!” He yells, because he has to, he just has to, “God fucking – fuck!”

He slams the toaster oven door shut, rips the dishcloth from his shoulder and whips it across the room, and he’s sobbing, face in his hands, already blistering, mind running and running and finally crashing, coming to a halt, because how is he supposed to break the news at all? How is he supposed to do this?

Why why why?

“Dad?” Henry asks, voice small, frozen in place from his spot at the kitchen table, stunned by Charlie’s outburst, “Is your hand okay?”

Charlie’s quick to pick himself up, dust the crumbs off his pajama pants. He sticks his hand under cold running water, and sighs.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry – I’m,” He shuts his eyes, lest he sobs again, and tries to steady his breathing. He doesn’t mean to act like this, “I’m sorry. Shit what time is it, c’mon Henry you gotta get ready for school! You’re going to be late.”

Henry doesn’t move for a little while, but Charlie gives him a stern look, and he finishes up breakfast quickly, brings his plate and cup over to the sink where Charlie is still trying to get his hand under control, goes upstairs.

The letter burns in Charlie’s back pocket, but he’s going to be late too, so he abandons it in the drawer of his bedside table when he dresses for the day himself.

                                                    --------

Back in the present, Henry isn’t there, and neither are you. Just him, and lawyers, lawyers he can’t stand.

Lawyers who’ve asked him a question.

“Patience.” He answers, looking down at his hand, where the scar of a burn he earned a long time ago still branded him, “Patience to try and be understanding when your child needs you to be. Patience to be firm and consistent, to set ground rules that are designed to protect them even when they hate it because they’re too young to believe they’re necessary. Patience to be kind and to listen to them talk for hours and hours about absolutely nothing – but you have to show them that what they like and what they think about is valid, and is worth thinking about, worth talking about in the first place.”

He sighs, suddenly feeling tired, too tired, wanting to call you.

He has a cell phone tucked away, tucked in the inside pocket of his jacket with only one number in it, only one number and too many photographs he wants to look at, if for no other reason than to give him strength.

He thinks of you as he looks up at her, looks up at Nicole.

“Nicole is right it has to do with love – but what is love? It’s not letting them stay up late to watch a movie they want to watch just because they asked for it. No, it’s telling them to not have too many sweets, to go to bed early so they won’t get sick, so they’ll have energy for school the next day so they can learn and play and run. It’s having the patience to be yelled at and given the cold shoulder for all of twenty minutes before they forget why they were mad and ask for a bedtime story. Patience makes you a good parent, your honor.”

He scratches the side of his nose, chews the inside of his lip. She’s staring at him, and he does his best to avoid her gaze at all costs, lest he break down into angry, hate-filled yelling.

He’d never win Henry with behavior like that.

He sighs and looks up at her lawyer, gives an honest truth. Honesty was the best policy, you always said.

“I’m not perfect. I know I’m not. I failed Nicole, in more ways than one. But I have never once failed Henry. I maybe wasn’t there for Nicole the way she needed, but I’ve always been there for Henry. You know I – I wake up in the mornings and I walk him to school. Every day. I drop him off with the lunch I made him and I pick him up and we get pizza on Thursdays or after he’s passed a test. When he’s sad I let him cry and when he’s happy I laugh with him and when he’s hurt or sick I sit by his bedside all night long and I read to him.”

He grows more and more heated, until he’s white-knuckled in his lap, until his jaw is clenched so tightly that tears are threatening to spill from his stinging eyes.

He wishes you were here, wishes he didn’t have to be.

The lawyer paces for a while, in her sharp pantsuit and polished heels, giving him a placating smile. It irritates him, but he can’t let her know that.

“Mrs. Barber doesn’t do that?” She asks, and Charlie’s gaze flits to his ex-wife for just a moment.

“No. She doesn’t.” He says, making the lawyer quirk a brow.

“How do you know?” She asks, and it’s a perfectly reasonable question.

He wouldn’t know, honestly. He wouldn’t know because,

“She’s not here.” He says simply, and it’s the truth. It’s the truth and it hurts like a bitch because he doesn’t know what the fuck he ever did to deserve it, what Henry ever did to be abandoned by his mom. “Because she left him.”

And when he looks at Nicole, when he looks her straight in the eye, he tries to tell her through willful thought, tries to manifest it into existence, tries to tell her that there’s no way he’s letting her take Henry from him.

No way.

This is the end So why pretend And let it linger on The thrill is gone The thrill is gone

                                                    --------

Tagging pals! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or taken off the taglist:   @driverficarchive    @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @kyloxfem @solotriplets @tinyplanet-explorers @candycanes19 @callmehopeless @kylo-renne xsister-serpent @girlyisthatweirdkid phoebewalker04 @stylelovechild @formerly-anonhamster  @magikevalynn @ccorleones

[abundanceofsoph]

SkyFire 1: Chapter 10

The AMAs: November 2013

Word count: 3k

SkyFire 1 MASTERLIST

>Instagram posts

It was a sunny day in late October and Rori was on her way home from classes at Columbia. Since she had no reason to be in a hurry, she had opted to walk home through Central Park, which would take about an hour instead of the 20 minute subway ride she usually took to reach Avengers Tower. She had her sunglasses on, headphones in and music blasting as she strolled through the park. As she walked, her music cut out to be replaced by her ring tone, and instead of pulling her phone from her pocket, she raised her hand glancing at the screen of her StarkWatch. Her managers face displayed on the small device and she quickly answered the call.

“Hey Mark,” she greeted, “What’s up?”

“I’ve figured out the perfect way to debut your first solo single,” the older man said in lieu of a greeting.

“I thought I’d just post a video on my channel?” Rori replied, hitching her bag further up her shoulder as she continued to walk through the park.

“And I thought I explained that we need to go bigger than a YouTube video for your first single,” he said, his tone exasperated.

“You did,” Rori sighed. “So, what am I doing instead?”

“You’re going to be performing at the AMAs next month.” “I’m what?” She gasped, lurching to a halt in the middle of the footpath in shock. “Holy Shit Mark!”

“I know!” Mark laughed, “How incredible is this?”

“It’s big,” Rori said. “It’s really big. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Are you crazy? This is going to be incredible for your profile.”

“I don’t think my profile really needs any more of a boost at this point. Everyone and their dog seems to know who I am.” As if summoned by her words, Rori noticed a group of girls looking her way and attempting to take photos of her on their phones.

“But after the AMAs they’ll know you as Aurora Stark; Solo Artist, instead of Aurora Stark; Daughter of Tony Stark,” Mark explained. “You trust me, right?”

“Of course, I trust you Mark,” Rori promised, beginning to walk again, pressing her thumb firmly into the palm of her other hand nervously. “You wouldn’t be my manager if I didn’t trust you but I’m nervous. I’ve never performed without the guys and millions of people watch the AMAs. What if I screw up?”

“You won’t kid. The song is incredible and so are you. You’re going to kill this.”

“I hope you’re right,” she mumbled.

xXx

Shortly before she was due to step out on stage, Aurora was sitting in the hallway, hugging her knees to her chest, while resting her forehead against them. Her breathing was rapid, and she knew that if she unclenched her arms from their grip around her legs then her hands would be trembling uncontrollably.

“Aurora Stark, you’re on in 10,” a voice shouted and Rori felt her heartbeat accelerate in response. She was so caught up in her panic that at first, she was unaware that someone had sat down next to her on the floor.

“You alright love?” he asked.

“Just trying not to throw up on this ridiculously expensive gown,” Rori replied, not lifting her head.

“First performance?” he asked.

“First as a solo artist,” she replied, finally feeling her breathing begin to steady. The conversation with this stranger successfully snapping her out of her thought spiral and helping her to collect herself.

She took another deep breath before lifting her head and offering a small smile to her rescuer. Her smile froze on her face when she caught sight of the man next to her. “Hi, I’m Harry.”

“Aurora,” she whispered.

“Aurora Stark, right?” he asked. “I was pretty sure it was you, but it was hard to tell with your face buried in your dress.”

She nodded, thankful that her brain was still to busy freaking out about going on stage that it had no space left to freak out about Harry Styles sitting next to her and chatting to her like he wasn’t Harry Styles.

“I’m a big fan,” Harry added. “Love your channel and the song you wrote for your dad’s wedding was fantastic.”

“Thank you,” Aurora said. “Big fan of yours too.”

Harry blushed in response, waving a hand in front of him as if to physically brush off the compliment.

“I caught your performance earlier,” Rori said somewhat shyly. “You were great. I love Story of My Life.”

“Thanks love,” Harry replied, smiling warmly at her, before abruptly standing and offering his hand out to pull her to her feet. “Better get you ready to go,” he said as a voice called out, interrupting their conversation.

“Aurora Stark, 5 minutes.”

Rori ran her hands over the skirt of her golden floor-length gown, ensuring that she had not creased it while she had been curled up on the floor. Harry reached forward, pushing a loose strand of hair back into place.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I sure hope so,” she answered. She was gripping her hands together nervously, attempting to stop their shaking. “Got any advice for me?”

He surprised her by asking his own question instead of answering. “What’s your opening line?”

“Weatherman said it’s gonna snow,” she replied almost automatically.

Harry smiled widely. “Just remember that and you’ll be fine,” he promised.

She smiled back in response, before a tech arrived by her side and ushered her towards side of stage and she prepared to step out. Right before she stepped out, she looked back over her shoulder to find him still standing there watching her, a smile lit up his face and he gave her a confident thumbs up.

The stage was dark as she stepped out to stand before the microphone stand, a cellist and violinist sitting behind her over each shoulder, the final member of her backing band sat at a beautiful grand piano off to the right of stage. The lights lifted as the opening notes rang out and Aurora allowed herself a brief moment to look out across the crowd before she began the opening line. Harry’s advice proved to be correct; as soon as she made it through that first line the rest of the song poured out of her.

Weatherman said it's gonna snow By now I should be used to the cold Mid-February shouldn't be so scary It was only December I still remember The presents, the tree, you and me

But you went away How dare you? I miss you They say I'll be OK But I'm not going to ever get over you

She had spent the last 3 years writing, rewriting, practicing and perfecting this song and she knew it better than any other song she had ever performed before. It was the first song she had ever written, the one she had kept to herself for so long. It was so personal that it was only years after she had first composed the chorus that she had shared it with Mark, confessing that she had never even let the band hear it. It was this song that had convinced Mark, and in turn Aurora herself, that she should pursue a solo career. Aurora thought of her mother as she sang of her grief, the raw emotion evident to everyone listening, either in the audience in front of her or watching at home.

Living alone here in this place I think of you, and I'm not afraid Your favourite records make me feel better Cause you sing along with every song I know you didn't mean to give them to me

But you went away How dare you? I miss you They say I'll be OK But I'm not going to ever get over you

It really sinks in you know When I see it in stone

She took a deep breath, steeling herself emotionally for the final chorus. She dropped her voice, softly singing the next few lines before throwing her arms out wide and closing her eyes as she belted out the second to last line of the song.

Cause you went away How dare you? I miss you They say I'll be OK But I'm not going to ever get over you Ever get over you

She looked towards the ceiling as she uttered the final line, the tears she had felt building throughout the performances finally falling down her checks as the song came to a close and she was met by a loud applause from the hundreds of guests.

She made her way off the stage, wiping away her tears, and finding herself not as surprised as she should have been that Harry was standing almost exactly where she had left him.

“Told you, you’d be great,” he smiled as she approached him.

“Thank you,” Aurora replied, her matching smile lighting up her face.

“Now I’ve got to head back to my seat before the lads think I’ve done a runner, but please tell me you’ll be at the after party?”

“I wasn’t really planning on it,” Rori admitted. “I’m not 21 so I can’t really get in most places.”

“Neither am I love,” Harry said with a smirk, “and besides, they don’t really card you at these types of things. Especially not after you just smashed that song. I’d love a chance to chat with you. Please come?”

“OK,” Rori blushed, “I’ll be there.”

Harry’s smile grew bigger somehow in response, before leaving to find the rest of his band in the crowd and Aurora went in search of her dads.

She was ushered to her seat during the next commercial break and both Steve and Tony pulled her into crushing hugs, with matching grins of pride stretching across their faces.

“You were so incredible up there kid,” Tony said, pulling away from the hug as Rori settled into her seat. They enjoyed the remainder of the awards show and as they stood to leave at the end, Rori turned to face the two men.

“I got invited to the after party,” she told them, “and I promise I won’t drink, and I’ll be back to the hotel by a reasonable time.”

Steve laughed as she rushed through her promise. “Are you sure you’re her biological father Tony?” he joked.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Tony laughed in response. “Go have fun kiddo. You’ve earned it.”

Aurora looked between both of them in confusion. “You two are the weirdest parents ever,” she declared, to which they both just shrugged with another laugh.

xXx

Harry had been right that no one was carding the guests at the afterparty and Aurora easily glided into the venue, ordering a coke at the bar before finding a stool by a table over against the wall. She looked out across the dancefloor and the steadily growing crowd, sipping on her drink and starting to question why she had come. She was not a huge fan of parties, never having been the type to get invited to them in high school and although she had attended a couple of events at the Columbia sorority houses since classes had begun two months earlier, she hadn’t really enjoyed them. She didn’t drink and had never really been great at making friends easily even before she had to worry that people were only being friendly because of her parents. Before she could convince herself that it had been a mistake coming out, she spotted the One Direction boys arrive. She stayed on her stool for another 20 or so minutes before Harry spotted her through the crowd and made his way over to her side.

“You came!” he yelled, his trademark smile lighting up his face, forcing a matching grin across Rori’s

“I did,” she agreed, blushing as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“I’m glad. I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk,” he said, pulling up another stool next to hers. They chatted for almost an hour about anything and everything before the conversation returned to the awards ceremony earlier in the evening.

“I think in all the craziness I forgot to congratulate you,” Rori said. “Must feel pretty good to have won tonight.”

“Thank you, love,” Harry replied. “I think we all feel really grateful, you know, but I should be the one congratulating you. I mean it’s not often someone debuts their solo career on national tv.”

“It was my managers idea,” Rori said. “I just wanted to post a music video on my YouTube channel, but he said we needed to go all out.”

“Well then your manager is a genius. That song was incredible, and it deserved something big. Do you mind if I ask the story behind it?”

“I don’t know, it’s a long story I guess,” Rori said with a shrug.

“Well we’ve got all night,” Harry replied.

“And we’re going nowhere,” Rori mumbled, blushing as soon as the words left her mouth. Harry laughed loudly, clasping a hand to his chest as he lent backwards on his stool and for a brief moment, she worried that he would fall.

“You weren’t kidding about being a fan,” he finally said once his laughter had died down.

“Oh god,” Rori moaned, covering her face with her hands, her cheeks blazing with shame. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, love.” Harry reached forward pulling her hand from her face, not letting go as their joined hands rested in her lap. “I’m flattered.”

“In my defence,” she laughed. “I was a 15 year old British girl whose mum was obsessed with the X Factor, so I never really had a choice about becoming a fan. It was predetermined.”

“Well then I won’t hold it against you,” he promised. “At least tell me I was your favourite though.” The blush returned to her face in full force causing him to break into another tear-inducing bought of laughter. “Damn,” he sighed. “Who was it then?”

“I think I’d like to plead the fifth your honour,” she replied. “But if it makes you feel better, you were my mum’s favourite. She used to say you seemed like you’d be a wonderfully polite young man.”

“Well thank god someone in your family has taste,” he joked, causing Rori to slap his arm. “But we got distracted,” he added, “you were going to tell me about your song.”

“I started writing it like 3 years ago,” Rori explained. “Not long after my mum died, just the chorus at first and then over the years the verses have fallen into place and then I’ve been sitting on it for about a year. Nobody had ever heard it until I showed my manager a few months ago.”

“Why’d you never share it with your band or family or anyone?” Harry asked, leaning forward to grasp her hand once again.

“It was so personal,” Rori admitted. “I knew I could never let anyone else sing it and before Dad’s wedding I’d never sung any of my original songs myself. I’d only ever done covers and I think I was just a bit scared of it. But then once I decided to sing, I’ll Have You at the wedding and we decided to end the band, Mark and I started talking about what was next for me and I played it and a couple of other songs for him. The second he heard it he was so sure it had to be my debut and I trust his opinion, so I just had to go for it.”

“And you smashed it,” Harry said, squeezing her hand gently in his. “It really was incredible. The emotion and the power of that was just something else. I’m sure your mum would be really proud.”

“I’m just so glad I didn’t burst out sobbing halfway through,” Rori admitted, “Although I was crying by the end.”

Harry was interrupted from replying when Louis appeared at his shoulder, a pint in hand. “Oi Hazza!” he cheered loudly. “What are you doing hiding over here? You’re missing the party.”

“I’m talking to Aurora, Lou,” Harry explained, drawing his friend’s attention to the girl sitting next to him.

“Oh,” Louis replied. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” Rori echoed, “It’s nice to meet you Louis.”

“Oh, you too,” the shorter man replied. “Harry hasn’t shut up since he met you backstage earlier. He’s had a massive crush on you for ages.”

It was Harry’s turn to blush as Aurora burst out laughing. “Hey Lou, can you do me a favour and fuck off please?” Harry asked. Louis joined Aurora in her laughter, stumbling a little in his drunken state as he stepped forward to place his hand on her shoulder.

“Nah, but in all seriousness, he’s a great bloke,” Louis told her and before she could reply he was quickly distracted by someone passing by and he walked away without another word. Aurora was a little shocked and stared off after Louis as he disappeared into the crowd.

“I guess it’s my turn to be embarrassed now?” Harry asked timidly, pulling her attention back to him.

“Don’t be. I’m flattered,” she replied, echoing his previous statement and they slipped back into the easy conversation that had occupied the last hour or so.

Much later in the evening Aurora caught sight of the time, noting that it was well after midnight, although the party showed no signs of winding down. “It’s getting late,” she pointed out. “I should probably be heading back to my hotel before my parents start to worry.”

Harry’s face dropped a little in response to her words before quickly schooling his features. “Yeah, of course,” he replied. “It was really nice meeting you.”

“Do you maybe want to swap numbers?” Rori asked somewhat shyly, watching a genuine smile appear once again on Harry’s face as he pulled out his phone without hesitation. They swapped numbers and then Harry once again kissed her cheek before she headed towards the exit, already dialling Happy to come pick her up.

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

[aspiratixxn]

Hey Dollface

Summary: The best surprise after a really long, hard day at work. 

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 3086

Notes: For @bucky-smiles​ since they’ve had some hard times lately! It’s me, your Bucky anon haha. I just wanted to be really soft and writing Bucky for you really inspired me! I hope you like it :) 

Tagging: @holy-captain​

It’s a shit day. It’s a really, really shit day.

It all started with a burnt pancake, on Monday of all days. Pancakes are a Monday tradition you picked up from your mom, who always made them sprinkled with different fruits to give you a pick-me-up (because Mondays you know?). And you had never burned a pancake, not even the one you made alone at the tender age of seven.

You’re not the superstitious type, not really, but a burnt pancake spelled out trouble and you knew it. You were quick to toss the thing but not quick enough for the smoke detector. Its shrill shriek pierced the morning calm and you heard a clattering through the thin walls of your (mediocre on a good day) apartment. And you had winced when someone banged on your door, asking if you were okay. Of course, you had to answer them, meekly peeking from behind the door. Although they had taken it gracefully, it had already put a damper on your day, which really only got worse from there.

Cleaning the pancake and clearing the smoke detector debacle took up your morning, which meant you didn’t have breakfast. At all. Not even a grab and go banana. Instead, you went sprinting down and out, nearly running over your two floors down neighbor’s dog and getting a shouted earful about that. And of course it was drizzling, enough that an umbrella wasn’t going to keep you from getting uncomfortably damp. Your sneakers squish as you walk in the building, your co-workers wincing when they see you. Your best friend Wanda fusses over you for just a moment, trying to pat moisture out of your shirt.

“Really (Name), you’re such a mess today. I mean more than usual. Did someone get some,” She glances in both directions and whispers in your ear, “Action last night?”

You sputter, pushing her away gently. “Why would you think that?!” He’s not even home right now so it’s not like you could anyways.

She just giggles. “I’m kidding, kidding! Here.” You take the towel and try to dry your hair. You hate this because now you’re going to look like a puffball. “I made some of my famous soup today! For you and me and Natasha, so you’ll be warmed up before you know it.”

You heave a great sigh and drape yourself over her lap. “Oh Wanda, my love, what would I do without you?”

“Starve? Maybe suffer a soupless life?” You gasp, flinging your arm over your eyes. She just laughs again and pats you on the head before she sneaks back to her desk. You’re grateful she’s willing to suffer the wrath of the boss, who pushes productivity to the max.

You take a pause to check your phone before you move and light up when you see (1) message from Bucky.

BUCKY: Good morning beautiful BUCKY: Just wanted to remind you that you are the bestest, most awesome person in the world and you’re gonna rock your day!

You work a classic office job, the kind in weird half cubicles where the walls are too short to hide anything from anyone. Before you even start working you have to clear away all the sticky notes and remnants from last Friday when you had dragged yourself home after some overtime. When your workspace is adequately cleaned (or at least cleaned enough you aren’t knocking over things when you shift), you get to answering your emails.

Which of course, leads to another bad thing. The client was infuriated with the current status of the project. In his eyes, it should have been done a week and a half ago, when you know full well that this project isn’t going to be done for another week if not two. It’s an intense request that just takes time and you’re already doing your best, putting in the overtime to try and reach his ridiculous goals. Heinrich Zemo really needs someone to knock him down a peg and you might just be the person to do it if you ever meet him in person.

So begins the back and forth emailing between you two, filled to the brim with polite fuck you’s. And since he seems to zing back mail at the speed of light, you can’t even work on anything else you’re supposed to, like the design blueprints for Natasha or the business plan outline for Sam. And they’re shooting you little looks because they kind of need that stuff for the next steps of their own projects. Sympathetic looks but looks just the same. And it makes you burn with frustration because you want to get it done, you want to be productive but you just. Can’t.

In between your phone keeps pinging with messages from Bucky, which is the only reason why you survive this entire frustrating situation.

BUCKY: i love your fashion sense. It’s so chic and sleek and ugh, so perfect for you

BUCKY: can’t wait to dance with you again darling! Hope you’re ready to try some tango this time ;)

BUCKY: do you want s’mores pie or banana cream? i’m thinking s’mores because y’know, chocolate. marshmallows. what’s not to love?

BUCKY: next date at the flower garden? we can have a picnic!

BUCKY: holy shit I am so ready for blueberry season again. I know it’s a while away but ugh, I really want some right now :(

BUCKY: you got this babe! I believe in you!

BUCKY: do you want to get Chinese or Italian when I see you again? I’m feeling a strong Chinese vibe. YOU: Chinese BUCKY: that’s my girl

The morning is a blur of pent up anger that ends with you squishing the ever loving shit out of a pumpkin plush, a desk leftover from Halloween. You’re half surprised the thing doesn’t pop under the pressure but you feel bad, placing it back down and patting it. Finally Zemo shuts up and you’re left with fifteen minutes before lunch, which really isn’t time to start anything for work. Instead, you bring out your white bound planner, a bullet journal you’ve been steadily working on, and start to build the next month. End of the month means needing to prep all the pages for February, and you sigh as you stare lovingly at your collection of pens just for this. They’re all absolutely lovely, shades that you adore and a quality that can’t be beat. You mill briefly, deciding between a pastel and a hard pink. The pastel wins out of course and you smooth out the page, already covered in neat pen lines from last night. You begin to fill in banners and hearts and…

Just your goddamn luck your pen starts to fizzle out. Which really sucks because these puppies are not cheap in the slightest. You growl and thunk your head on the desk, making Sam snicker.

“Not your day?”

“Not now Wilson.”

“Aw, c’mon. I’m pretty sure there’s something good in your horoscope for today.” He’s teasing you now for sure. He’s not even into horoscopes, not even as a joke. You turn your head enough to give him your darkest stink eye, which just makes him grin wider. He pats your shoulder and slides over some chocolates, dark like you like it. You huff and your hands come up to open the blue foil, fumbling a bit before popping it in your mouth.

Your phone pings and you glance at it with dull eyes. Sam can visibly see them getting their spark back though and he can guess who’s messaged.

(1) message from Bucky

BUCKY: hey sweetheart, just wanted to tell you that you’re my favorite girl and it’s lunch time! I made myself a sandwich today, look! BUCKY: (1 photo attached)

YOU: why’s it so full? it’s practically bursting! YOU: if you take a bite you’re gonna spill everything out of the bread

BUCKY: hey! rude! >:( BUCKY: I’ll have you know I am a sandwich expert and it will not spill everywhere

YOU: sure it won’t babe ;)

BUCKY: >:T

“(Name)!!” Wanda comes bursting back in, holding up a thermos for you to see. It does brighten up your day, especially when Natasha pops up right after with a box of sandwiches from the best deli on the block. She even got you extra fries. God your friends are so good.

At least lunch passes without any scruples. You don’t spill any of Wanda’s spicy and absolutely delicious soup and you don’t drip any mayo on your blouse from the sandwich. There’s a close call with some ketchup for the fries but it lands next to your leg instead of on it.

“Absolutely not. How dare you even assume Eliza has a chance?” Natasha jabs a fry in your direction.

“Well it’s better than Martha! Did you see her bedroom eyes at him? And he just straight up ignored her!” Wanda throws her hands up in frustration. “Honestly, does this guy even like any of the contestants? It’s like he has the stiffest face in the world.”

You shrug, thoughtfully munching for a moment. “I just think Eliza’s nice y’know? She’s sweet and she’s not pushy, which I mean. It’s probably not great for ratings but Nick hasn’t eliminated her yet so that has to count for something right?”

“Nuh-uh! Angelica’s a favorite here. Did you see how he was laughing on their fake date? I can tell flirting when I see it. And she’s a real firecracker type, which means she’s definitely there to spice up his life if you know what I mean~” Natasha wiggles her eyebrows and you snort, nearly choking on your ice tea.

“Y’all are crazy! It’s definitely gotta be Delanie! Cute, small, hips fit real well.” Sam runs his hands in the same, also wiggling his eyebrows. “And did you see how he was watching her when she was talking about her family? How she wanted a cute little wedding like her parents? That’s a catch.”

You sigh and put your head in your hands. “It’s so artificial though. Like I know all this is scripted and framed and stuff so like, what does it matter? I’d want something real.”

“You sound really dreamy there (name). Got some embarrassing sappy things you want to say to us?” Wanda has her face pressed up to yours and you blush, pushing her away again. Wanda’s really dangerous like that, able to sniff out feelings and stories just like that.

“No! Shut your smug little faces.” All three have taken on that look that you know oh so well. You shovel another few fries in your face and then shut the empty container. Around a mouthful of the dry potatoes, you mumble, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some outlines and blueprints to work on.”

How is this day not already over? Honestly it feels like it’s been an eternity.

Your phone pings with a message. Steve, inviting you to a Monday movie night. Since movies are cheap as hell, Steve likes to visit the theaters often and see what the new thing is. Not surprising given his theatrical/acting/film study obsession.

STEVE: Movie night?

YOU: what movie?

STEVE: Cats (2019) STEVE: I know, I know I just really want to see it. It’s so interesting, the CGI work!

YOU: i dont really want to pay money to see that though YOU: like its YOU: so weird YOU: and like not YOU: i dunno i just don’t really want to see it

STEVE: :( STEVE: C’mon, it’ll be fun! We’ll get caramel corn.

YOU: ooooh tempting me YOU: but no i think imma go home and like wine night it YOU: its been a long day :/

STEVE: Ouch. Well it’s the same place as usual, 6 PM if you wanna come.

YOU: probs not but thanks anyways

STEVE: :)

You plug in your headphones and scroll through your music, settling for some chilled out tunes to slowly progress through the dense documents you have to read before you can properly plan out Sam’s thing. It sucks because you can already feel a headache starting to bud and you have to stop periodically to press on your eyes. You also frequently get up to get water, which means you’re also going to the bathroom a lot and today’s productivity has just slam dunked down the drain. To compensate for not doing literally any work in the morning (gee, thanks Zemo), you put in some overtime hours, which means you’re definitely movie night. You don’t even leave the office until your eyes are burning with the strain of staring at a screen for seven or so hours. You stumble out and rub your eyes, yawning and stretching, trying to get some of the tension out of your shoulders.

(1) message from Bucky

BUCKY: have you been at work this whole time? Damn girl BUCKY: the grind never stops💪

YOU: i wish it did YOU: ugh i’m so tired :(

BUCKY: well you’re almost home right? BUCKY: im sure there’s something good waiting for you at home BUCKY: like dinner! what are you thinking today?

You don’t even know what you’re going to do for dinner, but you’ll deal with that when you get home. At worst you have some cheap instant noodle thing that you can spice up with some eggs. It’s still dreary out and it feels like rain in your skin so you almost sprint home, sticking to the well-lit areas because you are not in the mood to punch a mugger in the nose.

You stop by the corner store though and buy yourself two bottles of wine. You buy something that’s nice, indulging a little. Or you try to anyways, when you discover you left your ID at home. You groan in frustration and instead grab some peach-mango juice and a bag of BBQ chips, hovering momentarily over the big blocks of cheese. You really could just use one to bite into, but you refrain, knowing you have shredded cheese at home, and you can just eat that with a spoon.

Trudging up the stairs, you nearly kick the dog again because it comes shooting around the corner of the stairs. As it is, you end up swerving and kicking the wall which makes you drop your grocery goods and you just.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You gather the groceries in your arms again and make it finally to your apartment, nearly staggering into the door. You fumble with the keys, missing the lock a few times before jamming it in and twisting. You’re ready to collapse on the couch and chug your juice straight from the gallon container but you don’t because when you lift your eyes up from the ground, you’re met with the bestest, sweetest, slightly crooked smile in the world.

“Bucky!” You drop everything and full body launch yourself at him, nearly tipping him over. Whatever he says about being strong and sturdy, you’re a force to be reckoned with and you snuggle your face up against his neck, breathing in the pine needle and wood smoke scent he has. “I thought you weren’t going to be back for another week!”

“Decided to surprise you doll face.” He peppers your cheeks with kisses, and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of you. His lips are so warm against your chilled skin and you try your best to catch them against yours.

He hefts you up a bit so you’re almost sitting on his hip. He bends down to get the fallen chips and you squeal, tightening your hold on his neck. He fakes a choking sound and you loosen a little, feeling him smile against your cheeks.

“You’re so prickly.” Your fingers run along his jawline that’s covered in stubble.

You can feel his laugh, from his chest where you’re pressed. “Sorry pumpkin, I didn’t have a lot of time between there and here.” He stands back up again and you shriek again, burying your face at the sudden moment. “Sounds like you’re still full of energy though.”

“Noooo. I’m really tired Bucky, I had a hard day at work. I’ve had a hard day all dayyyyy.” You turn with a pout, which makes him kiss your puffed cheeks. His eyes sparkle with mirth and you feel like the entire day has completely melted away.

He carries you to the couch, depositing you in front of some of your favorite Chinese take-out. The smell alone makes you wanna drool and you lean forward to take a big, deep breath. “You are a god send.” He waives it out with another full belly laugh, handing you a pair of chopsticks. He got your favorite dumplings and sour-spicy soup and of course, shrimp lo mien. You practically inhale the food. “It’s so good babe, oh my god. I have been revived from the dead.” He flicks on the TV, finding some movie marathon. It sounds like Harry Potter but you’re way to invested in the food in front of you.

It makes you feel so overwhelmingly warm to have him home again after being away for so long. Soon enough, the empty cartons are abandoned on the table and you’re curled up against his side, exhaustion seeping into your warm, full body. Bucky’s got his arm around you, gently playing with the hair that curls by your neck. He’s telling a story, something about how he had found an adorable kitten at work who had clung to his shoulder all day.  His voice runs over you like honey tea, so warm and comforting. You have his other hand in your own hands, tracing the scars that lace over his knuckles and across his palm. Everyone your fingers cover, you follow with kisses.

“I love you.” You yawn in the middle, but he just leans over to kiss your forehead, simultaneously pulling over the blanket from the edge of the couch towards you. It’s your favorite blanket, and it definitely wasn’t on the couch this morning. God he’s so sweet.

“I love you too (name).” He gives you another forehead kiss and begins to play with your hair, which you almost purr at. This is it, this is peak comfort. You grip his shirt tightly, slightly worried this is just some fever dream you’re having at being so tired. “Tell me about your day. Don’t leave out a single detail!”

“Mm, well it started with a burnt pancake…”

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: “Worst Case Scenario”

Happy Saturday, everyone! I’m so torn on this episode. On the one hand it managed to do a lot of the things I’ve been looking for this volume. On the other hand they’re a bit... shaky. And at least a month too late. But we’ll dive into all that in a bit.

We open on Penny in an Atlas facility which was actually a relief for me. Though I wouldn’t expect it for Penny’s characterization, last week’s order to head immediately back to the Academy alongside her blasting off without saying a word to anyone could have implied that Penny ran off. We could have started the episode with her missing, needing that space, but compounding how guilty she looks in the process. So emotionally I’m glad Penny didn’t unintentionally make her situation worse, yet in all honesty her situation isn’t nearly as bad as “A Night Off” implied it would be. We learn within a few minutes that Atlas techs had no difficulty discovering that the video was doctored, even if the general population isn’t convinced of that yet. Ironwood believes her. So do the Ace Ops and all of RWBYJNR. Robyn wasn’t out to seek revenge on Penny or anything, she just redoubled her efforts to help Mantle as a whole. The only thing that stunt seems to have achieved---besides general stress/division which, frankly, an attack without any framing would have created just as well---is the call to deactivate Penny. But as we just established, no one in power is inclined to do that. No one, from Ironwood to Winter to Pietro, is swayed by this “Penny is a danger” rhetoric. And what’s the public going to do? Storm Atlas and deactivate her themselves? For all the emotion Pietro shows, it doesn’t feel like Penny herself is in any danger, only her reputation. Nor does it feel like the villains’ plan has succeeded in hurting the heroes’ plans. The conflict of today’s episode regarding whether Ironwood continues to pull from Mantle to finish the Amity project existed before Penny’s framing. That just added some tangentially related drama. Feels like a missed opportunity for the villains’ well-executed frame job to, you know, actually achieve something.

I’m getting ahead of myself though. In an effort to prevent any more killings Ironwood cracks down on security, announcing that there are to be no public gatherings of any kind and that everyone must obey the curfew. It’s another case of “You can’t treat people like this” up against “I’m trying to keep people from dying via serial killer.” Obviously not everyone is obeying these new laws. Alongside a few civilians braving the authorities, Robyn and her Happy Huntresses are out stealing the supply trucks meant for Amity and re-distributing those supplies to the people. As a lovely anon pointed out (I’m so far behind on asks I’ll work on that!) how is sucking an entire truck and all its contents into your hand not magic? It’s just another example in a long list of world building details that RWBY hasn’t bothered to think through because they never established rules for their fantasy universe. Hell, at this point semblances are far more powerful and mind-bending than the actual magic we see Ozpin and the Maidens performing. What’s a bit of fire and lighting up against, “I can pull a ton of metal and supplies directly into my skin”? 

With another truck in their possession we return to the group in Ironwood’s office. He title drops with how this is the worst case scenario: more people are dead, Penny is framed, and Jacques is somehow sitting on the council. Of course, any long-time RWBY viewer knows that this probably isn’t the worst case scenario. Things will no doubt get so much worse. Clover summarizes by saying that Robyn has moved from “hometown hero to full on vigilante” and then we enter the portion of the episode that made me want to beat my head against a wall.

Here’s the lowdown. The Amity project is permanently stalled because Robyn is taking all the supplies needed to finish it. They’re having trouble stopping her because those Happy Huntresses have one hell of a collection of semblances. A possible solution to this problem would be to declare martial law, further increasing the presence of the military in Mantle and thus, hopefully, stopping her. This would, however, further divide the people of Mantle from Ironwood. So what to do? Decisions, decisions.

The reason why this conflict isn’t a compelling investment for the viewer is because it still hinges on knowledge that Ironwood doesn’t have. As Yang herself will later say, “Do you think we should have told Ironwood about Salem? Before he put so much on the line for Amity?” Every choice he makes is done under the impression that he can defeat Salem and therefore these sacrifices are worth it. Amity Arena is top priority because once we unite the world against her she won’t stand a chance. Losing some defenses in Mantle? Incurring the peoples’ hatred? Declaring martial law? Even risking lives via grimm? All of it is worth it because in the end he’ll have rid the world of a woman who has, single-handedly, changed entire kingdoms for the worse. Remember that Mantle only looks like it does now because Ironwood witnessed firsthand how Salem wormed her way into Beacon and burned it to the ground. From destroying entire schools to killing people at parties, she is the world’s biggest threat. It makes perfect sense to me that he would be willing to go to these lengths in order to stop her. We can debate, as Oscar does, when he’ll have gone too far or if he already has, but that logic remains sound. You’re worried about peoples’ immediate needs? I’m worried about the day when Salem breaks into this kingdom and straight up slaughters them all. It’s inevitable. So Ironwood says yes, we need to make things worse now so that they can be better later. We need to make sacrifices.

Too bad he doesn’t know that it’s all for naught.

Which brings me to the group’s reactions. I mean... holy shit. First off, when Ironwood announces that Amity is on hold Ruby gets super upset. “But we’re so close! There must be some way we can finish the tower.” Ruby, why are you pushing for this to be a priority? You know that Salem can’t be killed! You know that telling the world about her will achieve nothing but panic! People aren’t going to unite against an immortal grimm queen. They’re going to do precisely what you all did before the story decided to gloss over or outright ignore your motivations for fighting an “impossible” fight: They’ll give up. They’ll fall into despair. They’ll make like Qrow and decide that nothing has meaning anymore. Why would it when there’s an immortal antagonist hell bent on our destruction? Ruby’s ‘But we have to finish the tower :o’ reaction makes no sense. Going along with this project because she’s comfy cozy being an Atlas huntress makes sense. Hypocritical, but still. Ruby pushing for the project when it’s doing even more harm, when she knows its primary use is pointless? Prioritizing it over those immediate needs? Like... what? This should have been the moment where Ruby came clean. Or at least kept quiet and looked guilty some more. “Yeah, Ironwood... now that this project is unambiguously hurting the people... you should probably know that it’s kinda... not gonna work...”

Then there’s Nora. Remember how I said I wanted her status as a poor orphan to clash with the privilege and authority around her? Yeah, would have been great if there was at least a little build-up to that. Or if another character acknowledged why she, out of the whole cast, is literally screaming at Ironwood over his choices. I mean sure, like with Oscar not showing up to fight the geist there’s an obvious answer here---Nora was once one of the people in Mantle. Not literally, but in all the ways that matter. Or, if you believe some theories, yes literally if she was originally born here---but it would be nice if the show actually established some of these connections rather than banking on the viewer not only picking up on them, but assuming that the writing indeed meant to create that link. These moments of personal growth are too important to drop in with so little lead in. We see Nora comment on the state of Mantle when they arrive and from there it’s just her steadily challenging Ironwood more and more. No acknowledgment as to why that’s such a sensitive topic for an otherwise bubbly girl and no deconstruction of these feelings after she shows them. I’ve mentioned before that Ironwood is crazy calm while having a bunch of teens challenge him like this. Same here. The level of fury Nora demonstrates is staggering given how, from a ‘What have we seen on screen?’ standpoint, it came out of nowhere.

The best part though is when Clover points out that telling the city there’s a serial killer on the lose could make things even worse. Suddenly the situation wouldn’t be, “Ironwood’s robot inexplicably attacked once but is now safely in custody” but rather, “The killer is still out there, wants to kill more, and is fully capable of doing so.” Cue more panic. Cue more grimm. Considering that this is primarily Nora’s concern, the fact that Mantle is vulnerable to grimm attacks through a combination of resources going to Amity and their general despondence drawing the monsters in, this point should be very relevant to her right now. Oh yeah, maybe we don’t want to freak people out even more because then more people die. The people I am currently trying to defend. 

Instead she throws up her hands and exclaims, “I am so sick of secrets! If we just told everyone about Amity, about Salem---!” Then she’s cut off by Ironwood. 

Nora. I love you. I really, really do. But: 

This is my holiday card this year lol. A stranger and a random dog I found on PicsArt spouting my feelings. Happy Holidays. Needless to say, we’re more than halfway through the volume and I’m so over this high horse the group is riding. Nora’s stance would be a compelling one if she weren’t demanding from Ironwood the very thing she and her friends are unwilling to do.

Although, that little slip says a lot about precisely how far the group is taking the ‘no one is allowed to keep secrets but us’ stance. Tell Mantle about Salem? Really? They know that won’t accomplish anything in the vein of uniting them  against her like Ironwood intends. Not if killing her is their final goal. Nora seems to want to tell them because secret keeping is just a Bad Thing and Ironwood is a Bad Man for keeping information from his people. Forget the consequences of telling them and, again, forget Nora’s own hypocrisy. It’s really amazing how far the writing is taking this assumption that anyone who keeps secrets from anyone else is automatically in the wrong unless you’re RWBYJNR.

Bleh. We’ve gotta move on. Too much else to cover and what more is there to say? The writing is an absolute mess.

Prior to Nora’s outburst we learn more about Tyrian. Tyrian Callows, as his file reveals. For those of you who weren’t inclined to read that teeny tiny print, my tired eyes are here to help. Winter gives a basic summary of Tyrian’s record and subsequent arrest/escape, but the scroll provides more details. After a series of murders he was detained and set to move from Mistral to Atlas. The man in charge, Pickerel, wanted additional forces for this move, clearly expecting that Tyrian would try to escape. He was denied this and eventually kicked off the mission for not cooperating. During Tyrian’s transport the airship was attacked by a swarm of grimm, despite the fact that the area they were passing through was considered relatively safe. Tyrian continues to speak throughout the ship’s transmission despite severe injuries from the crash. He was heard saying, “What are you? What are you?” sobbing and eventually ending with “Beautiful.”  (Edit: My mistake. Cornetto is the one who asks, “What are you?”). At the time Atlas officials assumed he had been killed by grimm, despite the fact that no bodies were found. There’s a note revising this to say he was suspected to have escaped after Pickerel was found dead in his house.

Obviously, Tyrian met Salem that day.

So Winter and the Ace Ops aren’t pleased to hear that this notorious serial killer is in their city and working for their greatest enemy, but at least they all believe Ruby about what she saw. Ironwood eventually shuts the whole conversation down, announcing that they need to put their efforts towards stopping Robyn and Tyrian. Winter and Clover give the expected, “Yes, sir!” in regards to this order. So does Ren. Like I said last week, ignoring all his concerns and trying to fix things with a kiss is not something that works. Glad to see Ren’s new work ethic and devotion to the fight didn’t magically disappear because Nora decided to make a move.

We transfer to Yang and Blake where they FINALLY bring up Adam. Hallelujah! It’s too little too late, but as I’ve said before, better late than never. Granted, it’s not much of a conversation. Yang insists they did what they had to do. Blake says she never wants to be in another position where she’s forced to kill someone. Understandable perspective, but not really the sort of thing you can control when plenty of others are out to kill you. Unless Blake swears to never kill again and upholds that ideal over the inevitable danger to herself and others, that’s just not something she’s going to be able to avoid.

Still very glad it exists, but considering that their talk didn’t actually delve into much regarding that trauma I’m more interested in the things they have to say about the continued secret keeping. This is where Yang once again questions whether they should tell Ironwood and finds that Blake doesn’t agree. Why is this significant? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone disagree with Yang and get out of it without a glare at best, violence at worst. Yang herself points out that Blake doesn’t seem to be on board with her perspective and is so very gentle about it. It’s clear Yang in no way blames Blake for this difference between them. She legitimately wants to understand her position. Once again, I’m torn. On the one hand Yang should absolutely be commended for the mature way she handled this conversation. On the other hand... it’s Blake. We’ve already seen time and time again that Blake is the exception to Yang’s every rule. I wasn’t joking when I said back in Volume 6 that I primarily like Yang as a character when she’s interacting with Blake because it’s only when she’s with Blake (and to a lesser extent Ruby) that we see this calm, rational, sympathetic version of Yang. Though it is, as said, great that she can approach a difference between them in a healthy and level-headed manner, I’d also like to see her manage the same with someone other than the woman she’s clearly in love with. I’ll believe that Yang has undergone actual growth when she can demonstrate this kind of maturity with someone she’s not already eager to impress and desperate not to create a rift with. 

In addition, we get to watch Yang explain how Ironwood “didn’t have many good options” and Blake responds with, “I’m not sure there are many good options left for any of us anymore.” Yet somehow, astoundingly, neither of them manages to apply this perspective to Ozpin. The cast is literally repeating all the arguments I’ve made in Ozpin’s defense---trusting people is dangerous, secrets are hard to part with, you’re not a bad person if you only have shit options to choose from and have to choose something---yet no one actually acknowledges the one character this most applies to.

It’s after all this talk of secret keeping that Blake and Yang decide that they don’t have to follow Ironwood’s orders. Which... is a problem. Because yes actually, they do. Remember how they’re official huntsmen now? Remember how this is a job that comes with rules, regulations, and adhering to the orders you’re given? I’m not saying they’re morally in the wrong here. We can likewise debate the significance of Robyn having this information, whether she’s trustworthy, etc. Rather, I’m merely pointing out that by taking on this job the group agreed to follow Ironwood and obey his instructions. They’ve now broken that promise. It  likewise raises the question of whether they’ll tell everyone about this. Based on Blake’s “We’ll distract [the Ace Ops]” it doesn’t sound like they’re going to walk into Ironwood’s office an hour later and admit that they made their own choice based on their own moral code, giving him the chance to dismiss them. I don’t want people working for me who I can’t trust to follow my orders and all that. Which would mean, you know, that they’re keeping another secret. That cycle of hypocrisy will continue, now in the form of Yang and Blake patting themselves on the back for not hiding information from Robyn while likewise hiding new information from Ironwood. So I’m interested to see how and if they’ll admit to this decision, one they made without Ironwood’s or the rest of the team’s input.  

Of course, Blake and Yang only get half a pat on the back here. It’s not like they actually came clean in regards to Salem, the primary secret hanging over everyone’s heads. They are, again, acting precisely like Ozpin: doling out little bits and pieces of information as they see fit. I thought for a moment that they truly intended to tell Robyn everything but would be interrupted before they could. Instead Yang says straight out that they’re refusing to come clean about it all and Robyn swears that she “won’t stop until I learn the whole truth.” So congratulations, you further solidified the parallel between you and the man you’re still ignoring, made a pretty huge decision without the input of your partners or boss, and will potentially hide that information in an ever growing list of secrets. If that’s the case that will bring Yang’s total to five: my mom is the Spring Maiden, Salem can’t be killed, the relic attracts grimm, we’re the reason Ozpin is missing, and Robyn now knows about your project thanks to us.

During this whole conversation Robyn reveals that she has the lie detector semblance rather than Ironwood and... Really? I brought up before how many problems that inevitably causes. Case and point: if Robyn can just clasp someone’s hand and tell if they’re lying, why not do that with Ironwood weeks or months ago? Prior to Tyrian’s attack it was abundantly clear that Robyn would prefer to work with Ironwood but isn’t sure she can trust that he has the people’s best interests at heart; Ironwood likewise would prefer to work with Robyn but isn’t sure he can trust her period. Ironwood literally told the group last episode that the fact that they’re not already working together isn’t fully his fault (like the group wants to insist). Working together requires both parties being willing to come together... and here’s a super easy solution on Robyn’s end of things. Not sure about Ironwood’s motives? Shake his hand, ask him to make a statement about it, and find out! For me, the reveal of this semblance just puts more responsibility on Robyn’s shoulders than Ironwood’s. She could have taken more steps towards reconciliation, confident in her unique ability to confirm information. Ironwood? He’s working on pure faith in people which, as the last two volumes have shown, isn’t much to work with at all.

I don’t even want to get into the issues with this semblance moving forward. Unless Robyn because a full-blown enemy or is killed in the finale, every times someone is worried about lying I’m going to ask, “Why not just get Robyn?” It’s too easy a solution, one that writers are inclined to ignore when they don’t want a quick answer, and that disconnect rankles.

We segue to Pietro’s lab and hark! A Maria! She’s apparently been helping Pietro out with all the Amity Tower stuff lately, much appreciated work considering he would have collapsed under the workload otherwise. How kind. A perfectly logical use of her time. Now why couldn’t you have told us that five episodes ago?

Tiny edits, Rooster Teeth. Simple revisions. RWBY continues to read like a first draft. Plenty of potential, but there’s so much missing or disorganized that the viewer is left frustrated because we can see so clearly what it could have been... but we didn’t get that. A pity.

With Maria’s existence re-confirmed we dive into a number of revelations. Most notably that Pietro didn’t succeed in creating an artificial aura for Penny, he merely found a way to share a part of his with her. That’s why he’s so ill and the more times Penny needs to be rebuilt, the more aura he has to give up to revive her. The assumption? There will come a final time, likely at the end of the volume, when Penny will need a recharge and Pietro will die. It’s a setup I’m actually thrilled about if we ignore the obligatory grief over losing a good side character. That reveal was a surprise for most viewers, yet is something that still makes sense based on what we previously knew (a lot of “twists” end up retconning past info) and would lead to a very satisfying ending. Pietro, already an old man, passes on knowing he’s given his daughter the best life he can. All this coughing and death flags reach a conclusion by the end of the volume. Penny is saved but from here on out everyone knows she’s mortal. It adds weight to every fight she’s in and removes the probability that she’ll indefinitely live out everyone she’s ever loved. She might have a longer lifespan than most if she keeps herself safe, but she’s not immortal. All around? One of the best things Rooster Teeth has introduced in ages.

We also see Weiss closing in on Jacques’ involvement in the attack. Only a few people have access to Mantle’s security, one of which is directly connected to the Schnee Dust Company...

Finally, god bless, our favorite farm boy gets a scene. An actual, full-fledged scene in which he speaks multiple times.

I could cry. It might be the only significant scene we get with Oscar this Volume, but it’s far more than we’ve had in an age. Hell to the yes. 

Basically, Ironwood shows off the Staff of Creation’s vault and admits that this is what is keeping Atlas afloat, not gravity dust as everyone else assumes. Which is a revelation not nearly as well done as Penny’s. Floating? That’s what this all powerful magical object does? How in the world does that connect to creation? And why bother doing that at all? It’s clear that gravity dust can keep things up---Ironwood said that they’ll have to lift Amity the “old-fashioned way”---so why bother using the relic for that when an “endless power source” could potentially be used to do so much more? Or let’s say dust can’t lift a whole city (even though you’d think someone would have realized that by now if that’s the case, questioned how the hell Atlas stays up there...) why is that so important? Just overall grimm protection? A symbol of status? This reveal seems to raise too many odd questions and, frankly, feels like a clumsy setup for the finale. Meaning, now Atlas is in risk of falling. If someone steals the relic or decides to move things along by lifting Amity with it, the entire city comes tumbling down.

With info out of the way Ironwood admits that he’d hoped coming to this place would spark some memory in Oscar, talking about him as if he is Ozpin, rather than just housing him. He likewise says later that “Eventually you won’t even know who’s who anymore.” Everyone cry over Oscar’s expression.

Jury’s out on whether Ironwood knows this for a fact or whether he’s working under an assumption, like much of the fandom, that Ozpin and Oscar will eventually merge into one new-ish person. After all, from what we saw in Volumes 1-3, Ironwood only ever interacted with Ozpin as one individual, so he has little reason to think there was always another, distinct person hanging out somewhere in his mind. But there could have been. I’ve mentioned in previous metas that if Ozpin and Oscar remain distinct, it makes perfect sense that Ozma would have been the one running things at Beacon, leaving the much younger and inexperienced host to take a backseat during those conversations.

Indeed, I thought for a moment that Oscar would say, “You can talk to him,” finally acknowledging that if someone tries to address Ozpin as his own person he might actually respond. He just says “You can talk to me” though. Which, yes. I also want people to talk to Oscar. It just astounds me that everyone continues to act as if Ozpin is literally out of their reach, rather than potentially a “Hey. I’m sorry. Can we talk?” away. Maybe Ozpin won’t answer, but someone could finally try.

They talk about how horrific it was for Ironwood to watch Beacon fall. We get a wonderfully creepy flashback to Salem’s chess piece, reminding us that she’s not just dangerous, she’s malicious. Salem enjoys watching those around her suffer. “The way she told me she was there.” They likewise discuss whether Salem doesn’t have an advantage without her humanity and Oscar cautions Ironwood that saving the world isn’t worth losing his own. Not to call out my favorite farm boy, but that’s a real easy stance to take when you know Salem is immortal and Ironwood doesn’t. Again, every sacrifice he makes is under the impression that it’s taking him closer and closer to a world without her. To his mind, losing his own humanity might be worth it if it rids the world of her once and for all. Meanwhile, Oscar is working under the impression that defeating Salem won’t ever happen. Why give up your humanity for an impossible dream? They’re coming at this from completely different angles and until everyone has the same info the group’s stance on Ironwood’s choices holds no water. The fandom loves insisting that RWBYJNR couldn’t have made an informed choice about joining the fight until they knew about Salem, despite the fact that they had already agreed to fight an immortal enemy (the grimm), had already risked their lives for the people, and clearly intended to continue doing that in the future. Knowing about Salem had no bearing on the question, “Do you want to help?” because they’d already answered that numerous times. In contrast, this is a situation where Ironwood actually doesn’t have all the information necessary to make an informed decision. You want to judge him for his plans and his willingness to sacrifice it all in the name of defeating Salem? Fine, but you’ve got to stop working with a different set of rules than him first.

Of course, despite being alone in the bottom of a vault, despite introducing Oscar’s (supposed) reservations about keeping secrets earlier in the volume, despite this insight into why Ironwood is making these choices... Oscar doesn’t tell Ironwood either. So much for the, “Oscar will spill the beans to Ironwood” theory. It could still happen, but like so much else in this episode by then it’ll be too late. The moment passed.

Instead of any progress in that regard they just head upstairs where Winter and Penny are waiting with a letter from Jacques. He’s invited them to dinner where Ironwood will defend his position on the council. Looks like Oscar’s advice to “talk to the people you’re most afraid to” came at them like a battering ram.

And that’s it for this week. What have we got left? Six episodes? Far too few to cover everything the story needs to. I’m gearing up for a bumpy ride this holiday season.

Until then, folks!

Minor Things of Note

The robot patting Penny’s head? Wonderful. Stellar. Absolutely fantastic detail. The idea that the Atlas facilities are populated with semi-conscious AIs and that they care enough about Penny to offer her support is just precious.

I like many of the shots we got this episode. Penny looking like she’s behind bars and Ironwood shrouded in a mist-like window are two that stood out.

[camillemontespan]

a kingdom divided [part twenty eight: epic love]

Part Twenty Seven if you want to catch up!

Thanks again to @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore for being my sounding board for a part of this chapter. I am never writing a series about monarchy and everything that entails again. 

Warnings: I’ve realised I never state any warnings and young kids could be reading this (I doubt it though), so just in case, there is some suggestive discussions and a sexy bit, though very, very brief.

@jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @sirbeepsalot @moonlightgem7 @carabeth @be-still-my-aching-heart @notoriouscs @iplaydrake  @dcbbw

                      **********************************************************

'Good morning Cordonians! I am Natalia Patrovsky, it is 7am and this is Cordonia Breakfast News! Our top news story today: King Liam is going to addressing the nation at 12pm today. This will be a televised event. Keep watching for live updates.'

                            ****************************************************

Leo was up bright and early. He was feeling particularly cheerful this morning. The TV was on and he had it switched to the news. 'We look forward to hearing what the King has to say,' the newsreader said. Leo grinned. 'Yeah baby!' he hollered, buttoning up his shirt. He turned off the TV and switched to the radio. He hummed along to the radio while brushing his teeth. He spat the toothpaste out into the sink and poured the tap, singing along to Billy Idol. 

‘And if I looked all over the world and there’s every type of girl,’ he sang, twirling around the bathroom. He opened the cupboard and brought out a bottle of cologne. ‘But your empty eyes seem to pass me by and leave me dancin’ with myself!’ 

He spritzed the cologne along his neck, belting out the song in the mirror. ‘SO LET’S SINK ANOTHER DRINK!’ 

                       ***********************************************************

He asked his driver to make a detour on his way to the hospital. After spoonfeeding Olivia chocolate mousse, which had made him feel warm and tingly, he decided he would go via the French style bakery on the square to pick up pastries for Olivia. She was probably sick of hospital food and he wanted to treat her. 

Armed with paper bags filled with macaroons, pain au chocolat and croissants, he was dropped off at the entrance to the hospital. Smiling, he sauntered up the steps, the bakery bags swinging from his arms, and he entered the reception area. 

Leo made his way to Olivia’s hospital room. He knocked on the door and opened it, feeling weirdly nervous. Like something in his stomach was fluttering. Weird.

He stopped when he entered.

Olivia was at the edge of her bed, fully dressed, zipping up her bag. She looked up at him and her eyes flicked to the bags of baked goods. ‘Leo,’ she said shortly.

‘Hey Liv,’ he said. He cast his eyes over the bag. ‘You’re leaving?’

‘Duh.’

She stood up properly and faced him with her arms crossed. Leo’s eyes roamed up and down her body; she was wearing a black leather jacket over a red sweater which showed off her cleavage, black skinny jeans and knee high suede black boots. She looked hot as fuck. She also didn’t look happy to see him. 

‘I brought you some treats,’ he told her, thrusting the bags at her. He felt suddenly awkward. He now wished he hadn’t bought her macaroons.

She gingerly took the bag and looked inside it. ‘Thanks,’ she said dully and placed it on top of her bag. ‘I’ll eat them on the way back to the palace.’

Leo swallowed then pasted a smile on his face. 'Y'know, you could've called me. I'd have come sooner. But hey, good timing anyway, you can get a ride back with me to the palace -'

'No, that's okay.'

Leo's smile faded. Something was off with her. Olivia, cold she may be, hadn’t been this cold and blunt with him in months. Leo knew he could make her laugh and smile, he knew she could have fun, and recently she had opened up to him more. He actually saw her more than he saw his own brother. God's sake, he had seen her naked so many times. But now, she was closed off. 

He didn’t know what had changed. He hadn’t said anything to offend her. He had visited her while she was in hospital so she wouldn’t be alone. He had brought her peonies.

Leo’s throat constricted and he felt his heart begin to beat a little faster when he remembered the peonies. His eyes flicked around the room; an empty vase stood on the shelf. Leo caught a flash of pink and he steeled himself to look. 

The peonies were in the bin. 

Olivia’s eyes followed his. When Leo looked back at her with a hurt expression on his face, she cleared her throat and stood a little straighter. ‘I told you, flowers don’t heal stab wounds.’

Leo was over to her in an instant. He grabbed her by the arms and she let out a gasp. ‘Liv, what’s wrong? Why are you acting like this?’

‘Like what?’ she asked.

‘Like you just don’t want to see me. You’re acting.. cold.’

‘I’m a Nevrakis, we’re a cold family,’ she replied, a smirk on her face. Leo stared at her, his green eyes penetrating her ice blue ones. 

‘No,’ he said. ‘No. You don’t get to do this.’ He pointed at her. ‘You don’t treat me like the shit on your shoe. I know you well enough now, Olivia, to know when you’re scared. You’re terrified of me and what this.. this thing is.’

‘We don’t have a thing, Leo,’ she said wearily. Leo shook his head, hot tears forming behind his eyes. 

‘Liv, you’re in denial. We kissed. I fed you chocolate mousse. We’ve slept together a hundred times. You invited me to sleep in your bed -just sleep- so you wouldn’t be alone-’

‘Yeah, well, I was pathetic!’ Olivia burst out, shoving him away.  ‘I should have known better!’

She got away from him and picked up her bag. Leo spun round. ‘Liv, please. Don’t throw this away-’

‘We don’t have anything to throw away!’ she shouted. Taking a breath, she looked at him steadily and lowered her voice. ‘Stop it. We are not together. You are not my boyfriend. We were just a mistake. You’re only going to hurt me in the end so I’m beating you to the punch, okay?’

Leo’s chest was heaving as he processed her words. ‘It’s because I gave you flowers, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘The fucking flowers.’

‘Why did you even get me those?!’

‘Because I wanted to surprise you! To do something nice!’

‘No, Leo. That’s probably what you always do to your girls. You bring them gifts so they fall in love with you and then you ditch them-’

‘What the fuck, that’s not true!’ he protested in disbelief.

Olivia threw her hands up. ‘Spare me!’

The two of them stared at each other, their eyes wild. Leo stepped forward and she stepped backward, not wanting to close the distance. ‘Olivia..’ he ground out. She raised an eyebrow, clenching her fists. 

‘Olivia, I thought we were just beginning to start something.. We kissed. I thought.. '

She raised her chin. 'You thought wrong.'

'I don't get it. I know I was a dick to you before but I thought we were past that. You opened up to me.'

'Which I shouldn't have done,' she replied honestly. 'Leo, you will leave me at some point. You'll get bored. Reality will set in and you'll realise you don't want to be tied to the same woman. This is for the best. I'm cutting you loose-'

'I don't want to be cut loose!' he interrupted, frustrated.

Olivia shrugged. 'Well, I am. I'm cutting you loose, Leo.'

'Don't you understand that I'm falling in love with you?!'

Olivia paled. Her eyes went wide and she stared at him. Leo exhaled raggedly. He passed his hand over his eyes and began to pace around the room, avoiding her gaze.

'You can't be in love with me..' Olivia whispered. Leo spun around. 'Why not, Liv? You're fucking incredible. We'd honestly be so good together.' He was aware that he was begging her now. He didn't care.

'You challenge me. You don't put up with my shit and I don't put up with yours. We call each other out. We have amazing sex. We have rule number six. You make me laugh. You're the first thing I think of when I wake up. I know it's crazy and I tried to fight it, push it down, but I failed. You broke me down. You're the one I want to be with.' His voice cracked. ‘Please.’

Olivia’s eyes gleaned with tears but she cast her gaze down to the ground so he wouldn’t see her cry. She was too late; he had seen her eyes anyway. 

‘Leo, we won’t work..’ she whispered. ‘I will just be waiting for you to leave which you will. I refuse to have another Rhys brother break my heart. I will not be fooled twice.’

Leo moved towards her and this time, she didn’t back away. Their eyes met. ‘My brother was a fucking idiot to reject you,’ Leo murmured. ‘He didn’t see the diamond he had in front of him. But Liv.. I see you.’

Olivia swallowed, steeling herself. She had to be cruel - crueller than normal to him.

'You ruin everything you touch, Leo,' she said, her voice. 'You ruined your relationship with your brother and only now you’re starting to repair it, but how long will that last? You ruin women and turn them into sobbing wrecks after you've fucked them. Why would I want that? Why would you want me to be collateral damage? You are chaos, Leo. That is why we can't continue this. You destroy everything you touch.'

Leo stared at her. He looked beaten. He then spoke.

'Then you will be alone forever, Liv,’ he told her sadly. ‘You will build your walls back up and you won’t let anyone in. Not everyone is going to hurt you. I’m definitely not going to. I just want to be with you and nobody else but if you can’t accept that.. then fine. I’m not going to force you. But just know that you’re throwing away something amazing. Something that could be an intense, epic love. I hope you know that.’

She watched as he turned and walked towards the door. An ache spread through her chest but she pushed it down. No feelings. She needed to be cold.

                                 *************************************************

Liam adjusted his suit jacket and checked his microphone was working. He was on a makeshift stage outside the palace facing camera crews. This time, there was no audience. He wasn't taking any chances after the sudden riot last time.

Leo clapped him on the back. 'Good luck brother,' he whispered. Liam frowned. Leo's eyes were red rimmed and he looked pale. 'Are you okay?' he asked. Leo nodded unconvincingly. He turned to stand behind Liam with his hands folded against each other.

Liam waited for the signal that he was live. The camera men signalled and Liam cleared his throat.

'Cordonia,' he began. 'These past few months have been a turbulent time for us all. First of all, I want to apologise. I believe I was weak at the beginning. Blind sided by it all. I didn't realise how my actions would have been construed and for that, I'm sorry. I was naive. Back then, I was a newly ordained king. The crown felt heavy on my head and I felt I wasn't up to the job. By keeping my friends close, so I had constant support, I thought I could have my advisors there to help me. That was a mistake. I see now how that looked. I was a scared boy, a Prince, who didn't believe in himself and I should have realised that this was an opportunity for me to stand up and be a king.'

He took a moment. Leo was listening intently. He was the only one who knew that Liam hadn't prepared a speech for this. This was all coming from his brothers heart.

Leo knew that Liam loved Cordonia. He knew that Liam would always put the throne above everything's else - he had to. He knew that if Liam played this right, he would be the best king in Cordonian history.

Leo had thought he had ruined Cordonia when he abdicated. He knew he had caused chaos and upheaval and for that, he would always feel guilty. Watching his brother stand tall, his head held high, he saw a true king. He was so much better than Leo ever was.

His heart tugged and his chest ached. Olivia's words echoed in his mind. You ruin everything. She was right. Leo did ruin everything he touched. Maybe he would end up hurting her; he was a player. He didn’t respect women. Despite the fact he felt he had changed, reality could always bite him on the ass and he could get scared of the commitment and break her heart. 

Leo didn’t want to break Olivia’s heart.

Standing behind Liam in the shadows, Leo knew that if he stayed, the shadows would have to become his home. He couldn't stand tall with Liam, knowing he nearly brought about Cordonia's ruin when he abandoned the throne. He would feel like a hypocrite.

Anything Liam would do to serve the nation would be tainted by the shadow of his brother. Leo would be a reminder that Kings can abandon their throne and abandon their country. He didn't want that for Liam.

He continued to watch Liam, Olivia’s words echoing in his mind. You ruined your relationship with your brother and only now you’re starting to repair it, but how long will that last?

She was so right. Everything she had said to him had been true. Leo realised he hadn’t been listening to Liam for a while so he brought himself back. 

'I didn't want to be like my father,' Liam said honestly. 'For many, he was an idol, but for many others, he was a tyrant. By staying on the fence, I allowed riots, violence and death in my kingdom, all because I was too afraid to stand up and defend Cordonia. I was afraid I would be tarred with the same brush as my father by punishing my people.  But now, I see clearly.'

Liam cleared his throat. 'I have dispensed justice through imprisonment and house arrest. I don't want to sentence anymore. Not because I'm scared but because I want to give you a choice. From now on, the monarchy will loosen the reins. I will not be an absolute power. Instead, the people are going to have more of a voice and choices. Therefore, I will say this - The People's Committee is still going to be strong and I have decided that the committee will meet in Parliament to speak freely to their government. You can petition me. Taxes will be decreased gradually, while the living wage will be upped. I have heard your grievances and I want to change things.’

He was silent for a moment.

'To the nobles who plotted to rise up, I can't let that lie.  The palace are currently investigating which nobles were involved. I will not have a kingdom divided. I refuse to watch Cordonia be destroyed from within my own palace. We all saw it; the uprising started within my walls and extended out into the capital. It spread like wildfire. I want Cordonia to be at peace and for people to be happy and I will not stand for anybody who wishes to tarnish that. Therefore, I am giving you the choice. To heal the rift you caused, to repair the destruction, the nobles who rose up against me will have to contribute to the country. By that, I mean invest 500,000 euro of your own money to help Cordonia move forward. Invest in orphanages, invest in animal shelters, donate to our hospitals. Do something good for this country, something that doesn't bring pain. Help me fix it. Otherwise, you are banished and will not be welcome in Cordonia any more. Those are your two choices. Take it or leave it. '

Leo noted that his voice was sharper now. Liam didn't waver.

'I will fight until the end,' Liam said. 'I will fight to ensure that Cordonia never sees this kind of destruction again. I want my people to feel safe and if you join me, we can make that happen. Let us show the world what we can be. How great we can be. For Cordonia, now and forever.'

                            ********************************************************

Hana and Maxwell trudged downstairs, sleepy eyed with bedhead. It was 9am and they had been woken up by laughter. They entered the kitchen to find Camille making pancakes while Drake had his arms wrapped around her, nuzzling into her neck with his hands placed on her bump. She was bigger now; Hana thought Camille really suited being pregnant. 

Bianca was stood on a chair hanging up small American flags attached to a long string. 

Camille looked around when she saw Hana and Maxwell enter. ‘Hey guys! Happy 4th of July!’

Drake shot them both a happy grin and Bianca abandoned her flags to give both of them a hug. ‘Here, have a glass of mimosa to celebrate!’ She passed them both champagne flutes.

‘Wow! Happy 4th of July!’ Hana beamed, taking a sip. Who cared that it was early? It was the 4th of July. She heard that Americans loved this holiday, so why not get into the spirit?

Maxwell was just pleased to see that clearly, today was going to a party.

'So, tonight we are going to have our usual 4th of July tradition which is us going down to the lake, setting up a fire, toasting smores and setting off fireworks,' Bianca explained. Hana jumped up and down excitedly.

'I'm yet to experience the Walker 4th of July tradition so I'm really looking forward to this,' Camille told her softly. Drake pulled her in for a cuddle. He had been really affectionate this morning which Camille loved.

They settled around the dining table after Camille dished up the pancakes. 'Happy 4th of July everyone!' Bianca cheered.

                               **********************************************

Drake and Camille were up in Drake's room while the others were downstairs.

'It's so hard to fucking move now!' Camille complained, wincing as she moved position. Drake chuckled. 'I love you being pregnant.'

'Drake, I resemble a beached whale,' she replied dryly.

'Camille, you're fucking gorgeous,' he told her. He kissed her neck and then pushed her onto him. They were both naked and he ran his hands down her hips, his eyes taking in her new shape.

She shifted and leaned over to the bedside table. She opened the drawer.

Drake jumped out of his skin when he saw she was brandishing a kitchen utensil.

'What the fuck, Camille?!'

She threw her head back and let out a cackle. 'Oh my God, your face!'

'Camille, it’s not funny!'

'Don't be such a prude!' she scolded him, giving him a wink. Drake tried to grab the utensil but she held it out of his reach.

'Camille, I love you, but I am not using one of my mothers kitchen utensils for sexy times.'

She sniggered. 'I was joking, Drake! But wow, noted. No kitchen utensils for you.'

'It's just... icky.'

Camille put it on the bedside table and leaned down to kiss him but he didn't reciprocate. She frowned.

'Okay, the utensil isn't being used, why have you gone all weird?'

'I'm just so aware that it's beside us..'

Camille sighed and shoved the utensil into the drawer. 'There. It's hidden. Satisfied now?'

Drake nodded. Camille ran her hands down his chest and he closed his eyes, focusing on her touch. She kissed her way down his stomach and licked his hip lines, causing Drake's body to involuntarily buck. Camille smiled and she took him in her mouth.

'Holy fuck, Camille..'

The utensil was forgotten about.

                                  **************************************************

While Camille showered, Drake padded downstairs armed with the utensil. He snuck into the kitchen and put it back into its place.

'Drake, no need to be sneaky with the utensils!' Bianca said cheerily as she entered the room. Drake jumped and turned to her, blushing.

'Mom, we didn't use the utensils!'

'It's okay if you did Drake.'

'Mom, I would never use something that you have used for sex, do you see how gross that is?!'

Bianca raised an eyebrow. 'Someone's defensive today.'

'I just don't want to discuss my sex life with my mother if that's okay.'

Bianca chuckled then leaned against the kitchen island, studying him. 'I'm glad you and Camille are still having fun. Many guys wouldn't want to touch their wives while they're pregnant. Good to see you're like your father.'

'Mom, what did I say about discussing my sex life?' he groaned.

Bianca shrugged. 'Just saying, honey! I'm just happy you both are so in love. It's nice to see. How are you feeling about Lily?'

Drake smiled, glad to see a change of subject. 'Really, really excited,' he admitted. 'I just hope I'm a good dad.'

Bianca moved towards him and enveloped him in a hug. 'You're going to be the best dad ever, honey. I know it.'

Camille padded into the kitchen. 'Anything you need me to help with, Bianca?' she asked. Bianca shook her head. 'Just you get outside. Hana and Maxwell are down by the lake setting up already.'

Drake took Camille's hand and led her out towards the lake. He had spent all his summers down by the lake. It was his favourite place in the world and he was so happy that he could share it with Camille.

Maxwell had set up portable speakers and his ipod. He was currently playing Party in the USA, sticking to the theme. Hana was assembling cushions and blankets, as well as loungers.

The sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow over the lake. Camille's skin shone in the light and Drake watched as she helped Hana lay out more blankets. He really hoped they would be back next year to celebrate this holiday with Lily.

Bianca came out holding a pitcher of sangria and a pitcher of lemonade for Camille. 'Alright my sweeties! Let's get this party started!'

Drake led Camille out to the lake where Hana was setting up blankets and chairs while Maxwell was playing his 4th of July playlist. Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus was playing, staying right on theme. Bianca came out holding a pitcher of sangria in one hand and a pitcher of lemonade for Camille in the other.

Later, Drake and Hana set off the fireworks. They exploded over the lake, the gold, pink and red reflecting against the lake’s surface. Maxwell stood up to take over from Drake, who settled down beside Camille under a blanket. She beamed at him.

‘I can’t wait for this to be our tradition every summer,’ Camille whispered in Drake’s ear. He brought her in for a tight hug. He was glad that she wanted their new family to celebrate the 4th of July the Walker way. 

       ********************************************************************************

Liam sat in his study with a glass of scotch in his hand. He needed to relax after his televised speech; he hoped it had gone down well with the public. Liam  was playing Miles Davis on his record player. Closing his eyes, he sipped his scotch and listened.

The door knocked, interrupting his peace. ‘Yes?’ he groaned.

It was Leo.

He looked awful. His face was still pale and his eyes still red-rimmed. His tie was loosened and his shirt creased.

‘Leo, what’s happened?’

His brother stood in front of him and with a shaking hand, held out a piece of paper. Liam took it, confused. 

Leo swallowed. ‘I’m sorry Liam but I’m leaving. I’m going to Cuba.’

[zipp0flare]

Infection part 1

(So, this is an old relic piece back from when I first started playing Left 4 Dead. I loved the character and infected designs so much back then (still do, tbh) that I actually made several characters, whom I still love to this day. I only have stories for two of them, back from my deviantArt days, which is why this may look familiar. Anywho, this is the origin story for my Hunter, Luke (based off a GaiaOnline avatar I made one day, which is why the design choice is kinda funky.))

The rave that was so often filled to the brim with people on Saturday nights was close to being empty, mainly only filled with the loyal regulars that spent their free nights dancing amongst the music and flashing lights. A young male made his way to a small group of men gathered around the bar, some of which gave him surprised greetings.

"Whoa, Luke! Didn't think we'd see you here!" A man with a large, orange dyed mohawk called as he motioned the other male over. 'Luke' merely scoffed and sat down next to the man, as well a second man, wearing a ridiculous, tie dyed ski cap. "You know you look like a moron with that on, right Mal?" Luke asked, to which he received a punch in the arm from 'Mal'.

"You don't look any better. What's with the goggles, and the hood? Hell, what are you doing here in the first place?" Luke gave Mal a scowl, which only grew when the first man piped up; "Yeah, he's right. I mean, you have heard about the Green Flu going around, right?"

Luke leveled a glare at the man. "I could ask you the same question. I could ask everyone here the same question. I came here because I had planned to ever since Tuesday. But it looks like the hype about this flu has caused everyone to run for home with their tail between their legs."

Luke coughed into his arm, causing his two companions to inch back a little farther. "Damn, did you come here with it? What the fuck were you thinking?!"

"Vince, I don't have the flu, my throat's just been sore. You can calm down." Mal and Vince still looked leery. "I think you should go back home. You don't know if you're not infected, and none of us want to come down with the thing. I mean, I've heard some people are dying from it." Vince actually sounded somewhat worried, though it was hard to tell if the worry was for his friend, or for himself.

"That's just the media making this whole thing look worse than it did. Remember their last, so-called 'epidemic'?" Mal choked back a laugh. "Yeah, you boarded yourself up in your apartment for a week and a half. You thought the world was ending or something." Mal may have controlled his laughter, but Vince had begun to guffaw at the memory.

"And nothing happened, which made me look like a damn idiot."

"Yeah, you did look like a fool when you finally came out of your 'house of safety' with the fire axe you practically stole from your apartment building."

"Exactly. So, just like nothing happened then, everything's just going to go over in a week or so, and everyone will soon forget about the Green Flu." Luke raised a hand into the air with three fingers up, and waved to the bartender, earning a nod as the woman behind the bar got to work.

"So... you're sure your not infected, right?" Vince asked cautiously. "Yes. I know I'm not infected. I haven't even been near someone who's sick. Though..." His face scrunched up in disgust, to which his two friend gave him odd looks. "You remember my weird ass neighbor? Who lives in the apartment to the right of mine?"

"You mean crazy old hag Meri-something?" Vince received a nod. "What the hell did she do this time? Start up a story about her toe jam again?" Mal had to keep from retching when he heard Vince, even though he hadn't been there for whatever this story was, unlike poor friends. "No, not another toe jam story. I went to get my mail this morning and saw her walking my direction. I've gotten to the point where I wait for her to start going through whatever crap she's received until I leave. I stood there for two minutes and she didn't start rummaging through her mail. Instead, the crazy bat reaches over and bites me in the arm!"

"The fuck?! I knew she was out of her mind, but biting people?"

"I have no idea what was going through her freaky mind, but it was hard enough to break the skin." Luke rubbed his bandaged arm, currently concealed under his black arm warmers. "What did you do?" Mal asked, knowing that the story couldn't have ended there.

"I immediately elbowed her in the stomach out of reflex. She whined like a dog and took off after that."

"She broke the skin? Did you disinfect and all that crap?" Luke nodded. "I pretty much bathed it in rubbing alcohol, which burned like hell I might add."

Mal and Vince still looked disgusted with the story, thankful that neither of them had a out-of-their-mind neighbor that went around biting people. "Maybe you should head back home." Vince piped up after a few moments of silence. "If she bit you and all, maybe she's infected?"

"I'm sure the cause of that is from being out of her mind. I'm fine." Luke stressed the word 'fine'. "So, you wanted to come here on a Saturday, mainly only because we always do. You also think that all of this is just the media hyping things up a bit. I still don't see you going out, risking getting sick. You're the one who's always against that kind of-"

"It's nothing!" Luke exclaimed, startling his two friends, along with other people that were close by. "It's... just your normal flu."

"Dude... what the hell has your panties in a bunch? You're never this worked up." There was only silence from Luke, who seemed to almost be refusing to answer Mal's question.

"Maddie's sick." Those two words were so quiet that Luke's friends almost didn't catch what Luke had said. Maddie, Madeline, was Luke's five-year-old sister; she meant the world to Luke. "Maddie's sick with it. And if I start freaking out about this whole thing, I"m basically telling myself that my little sister's going to die." He bit his lower lip. "So, all of this is just nothing, alright?"

"... Sorry, I.. I had no idea, man." Mal apologized. "How's she doing?"

"She's currently in quarentine with CEDA. Or, that's what I'm being told." Luke coughed into his arm again, a bit more harshly this time. "I'm not sick, you can drop it." Luke knew what his friends were thinking and his words shut them up before they could say anything.

The bartender came back with his drink, but Luke could tell that she was keeping her distance as well. "Damn, why the hell is everyone acting like this.." He growled. Luke was hardly ever this agitated but Mal and Vince took it as him simply being worked up about his younger sister.

There was silence amongst the friends once more (minus Luke's coughing every few minutes) none of them knowing what to say. The silence was broken by a loud swearing from Luke. "They need to turn down these fucking lights. My eyes are burning from them!" His friends cringed, not expecting Luke's outburst. "Uh... the lights are the same as they always are. You sure you're oka-"

"I'm fine! Dammit, I'm fine!" Luke held his injured arm close to him, his fingers digging into it. Vince simply held his hands in front of him as if to guard himself from Luke's verbal lashing.

Luke's coughing seemed to have quickly and steadily grown worse, and he was beginning to notice a slightly red stain decorating the inside of his arm. Maybe he was seeing things though, his eyesight seemed to steadily be growing worse, and it was hard to think of anything with the pounding headache that had suddenly overwhelmed him.

Luke could barely make out his friend's worried looks, only seeing their lips moving while no sound came from their mouths, but the music in the background seemed to only be getting louder and louder, the noise assaulting his eardrums and causing his headache to grow worse.

As his eyes began to slowly bleed was when he fell backward and off of his seat, his head making a sickening crack as it hit the floor. Luke could barely see now, barely think, barely even keep his eyes open. "Holy shit! Someone call an ambulance, or something!" Mal and Vince had only become more and more concerned for Luke, giving him questions and suggestions, both of which went unanswered. None of that, though, compared to the panic going through their systems when their friend suddenly fell off the seat, bleeding out of his eyes.

"C'mon, Luke! You've been through worse, stay with us!" Vince exclaimed with frustration, trying to make things not at bad as they seemed, as he crouched down next to his friend. The bartender had already called 911, though Vince and Mal were wondering if it would do any good now.

When Luke slowly started to come to, letting out groans and what sounded like low growling, the duo's hope skyrocketed. It came crashing down, though, when Luke suddenly rolled off of his back and onto his stomach, crouching and growling at his 'friends'.

"Whoa, calm down, buddy... everything's alright.. you're going to be okay.." Neither of them had anymore time to say anything before 'Luke' pounced and attacked them both.

When the ambulance finally arrived, along with several people in hazmat suits from CEDA, they found the rave a bloody, gruesome mess. Several bodies were scattered on the floor and against the bar's counter. All of them were viciously torn into. "We need to block this place off. Don't let anything come out or into here." One of the CEDA workers commanded. While several people rushed to various parts of the club, a lone ambulance worker looked out at the horrific scene and sighed. His eyes turned down to see a man at his feet, with a large, orange mohawk, who looked even more torn into than the rest of the bodies at the scene. He didn't seem to pay much mind to the smeared blood trail that led away from the body, simply assuming that it was caused by the thing that had caused all of this. "God, this sickness is horrid..."

[bomberqueen17]

slow progress

One of those weeks where everything’s just sort of plodding along. After literally twelve years of being on the verge of getting a new cash register/inventory system at work (yes it has been broken to the point of near-unusability for the entire time I’ve worked there), we are slowly rolling it out across the five, er, now four locations of the chain (oh yes, the store where I worked for ten years is shut down now, bye, I didn’t go say goodbye, I’m not going to be sentimental about that horrible building and its styrofoam columns to nowhere). Our online department started using it last Friday, and we’re the only cog in the wheel fully transferred over. Fortunately, it’s easy to use, and I have learned my new workflow easily.

It’s the end of a particular kind of ADHD hell-- I’ve written before about how my job is incredibly specifically poorly-suited to someone with my combination of poor attention span, terrible memory, and literal numbers dyslexia. The old system had a lag time of 45-70 seconds from basically any button you pressed, and you’d have to type in entire UPC codes without flubbing a number, and then wait 45-70 seconds to see if it came out right, and then press a button and wait 45-70 seconds for it to bring up a dialog box. And you couldn’t copy-paste, that wasn’t allowed in the program, so you had to type out the UPCs by hand. And so on and so forth.

The new system’s very easy to use, but since it’s not fully onboarded by the other bits of the chain we have to manually zero out all the negative inventory for the stuff we’ve sold, and so on-- lots of redundant shit.

Also I went out to dinner on both Monday and Tuesday nights, and that’s lovely sure, but both times it was like, three hour dinners, and that’s fine but it meant I had to go home and go straight to bed afterward, no time to decompress or like, be alone, or whatever. It’s fine, but it means I’ve also made no progress on any personal projects this entire time. 

I’ve also been writing, steadily, and it’s great that I’m doing it but I’m also aware that I’m being really inefficient. I’ve started from the beginning and I have like 30,000 words and it’s... all one scene, more or less. I will probably, in my next draft, reduce most of this to a summary. But I wrote it out, all of it, and I discovered things I would not have if I’d just summarized it to begin with. (For example, my protagonist has a seizure disorder. I have to research seizure disorders, now. I have not yet begun to do that, that’s also going to be a third-draft kind of deal, but if that happens to be something any of y’all have great insights into, I may be looking to pick someone’s brains! No, it’s not going to have to be perfectly medically accurate, this is SF and he’s partially a cyborg, and no I haven’t decided how serious it is, but I feel like that would be not just a useful plot thing but it would be a kind of neat character note to have, and I honestly haven’t read any (?) books featuring a main character with a seizure disorder, that I can think of, and anyway it seems like something I should work in there.)

Also I was having a discussion on Twitter with @galadhir by another name, and they mentioned how tiring it is that novels always have gender inequality in their worldbuilding, and so I explained that one of the components of this one I’m working on is reverse gender inequality and it’s been sort of tricky to build that out! But anyway, I thought I’d share my summary of the B plot of the story here:

My current WIP features the dying Queen's son struggling to be taken seriously enough to inherit even though he's a man, & a father no less; sure boys get baby-crazy but he's been working with her advisors for years, can't we be liberated about this?

So there’s that; I often forget to come up with an elevator pitch. (The guy in that Tweet is the protagonist’s half-brother, though, because there’s of course an A plot too and I’m not sure which is actually the central plot or where this is going, exactly. Shit there might be a C plot. How do people describe this stuff?)

I haven’t gotten up to the Big Muscle Girl female protagonist in the rewrite yet, so I dunno how she’s getting revised. I think she was the most successful part of the partial first draft, though, so she might not change much.