#I’ve finally found my place I love my job but also. Jesus Christ you literally take this stuff home with you

[juniperhillpatient]

working in a field that requires empathy & caring is fun because it will occasionally tear you apart inside & leave you sleep deprived & riddled with anxiety lol

[theladyscarlettt]

Petals (pt.1)

*I have returned and I bring with me a Bucky x Reader mini series. This takes place during #TFATWS. Also, this is a bit lighter (yet darker) than my regular stuff. Not fluff but sweet because god knows Bucky deserves to be happy every now and then. Also, this does have references to the X-Men comics and WandaVision*

-The Lady Scarlettt

Synopsis: Madripoor had everything you needed to forget your past, and everything you needed to lose your future. 

Part Warnings: suggestive scenes, language, mentions of mutilation

---

Sunlight caught the blinds in a dance of shadows. Her eyes twitched with the familiar warmth of the morning star across her face. She slowly opened her eyes taking in the sight of their small room. It was bland and empty, just like their luck in finding Karli. (For a girl to be everywhere, she was also nowhere.) 

A grunt came from across the room, she sat up in the stiff bed to find Bucky lying on the floor with a blanket barely clinging to his sweaty body. She let out a soft sigh and rubbed her eyes. While he was capable of so much, she found it heartbreaking he had so little, it broke her to see him robbed of even the simplest of things such as rest and a bed. She pulled on his black tee shirt from the night before and snuck over to sit beside him. She watched as his eyes darted side to side behind his dark eye lids. If he didn’t sleep well before, he surely didn’t now with the constant traveling, search for Karli, run in with America’s Next Top Asshole and the literal cause of his night terrors in the next room. 

“Did you know it’s considered an invasion of privacy to watch someone while they’re asleep.” Bucky grumbled, his eyes still closed.

“Good thing you weren’t asleep then.” she stated.

A slight smirk tugged on his lips, “Did you sleep well?”

“I would have slept better if my pillow didn’t wonder off in the middle of the night.” she teased.

He opened one eye to look up at her, “Sorry.”

She only smiled sweetly, her hand finding its way to his stubbled cheek. “You really need a razor.” 

He grabbed her wrist pulling her down to him, and began to nuzzle her neck with his chin.

She gagged at the sensation, “Ugh- for an old man you really behave like a child- hey!” In one swift motion he was on top of her tickling her neck.

“Stop. Stop it.” She hissed as she playfully swat at him to get off her. He chuckled and leaned back still, straddling her waist. 

“You have so much energy in the mornings for literally no reason,” she groaned, rubbing her lightly burned skin. 

He leaned down to her, a smirk on his lips, “I can come up with a few, if you’d like.” 

She rolled her eyes, even though her cheeks began to flush, “Knock it off.”

He made a tch sound with his teeth, and sat back up.

She smiled and sat up on her knees, her hands clasping behind his neck, a finger twirling the slightly grown out hair. He leaned into her, looking up at her from where he sat, a sad expression came across his face. 

“What is it?” she asked, rubbing her nails lazily through his thick hair.

“I just,” he sighed trying to find his words, “I want to stay with you, but I just can’t make myself. I’m afraid of what I might do, if I stay too long.”

She tilted her head, searching his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t want to have an episode at night and lash out. Sometimes they feel so real and I get can’t control myself and the last thing I want to do is hurt you and-”

“Hey, Hey, Hey” she interrupted, “Look at me.” She lifted his face up to hers, “Look at me, you could never do anything to hurt me. I know you don’t trust yourself sometimes, but I trust you and I know you. I’m not afraid of the ‘what if’s.” Please, hear me when I say, I want you to let me in, I want to be apart of this, all of it. I want to help you Bucky, but I can only go as far as you’ll let me. And if it takes time, ok but it’s going to take more than a nightmare to make me go anywhere. Ok?”

He stared at her for a long time, a blank expression on his face. She couldn’t tell if she had overstimulated him with her cheesiness or he simply was dead. 

“Bucky? If I’m overstepping, I understand-”

He abruptly wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her small figure to his. She melted into his touch, just as she had the first time he held her. They stayed like that for awhile until she heard him whisper.

“I love you.”

She smiled against his cool skin, “I love you too.”

He brought her face up to meet his and kissed her softly. His lips were always so soft and warm, something you wouldn’t expect. His thumb made tiny circles along her jaw, as she kissed him back. His hand slowly snaked their way down to her thigh where he pulled her onto his lap. She subconsciously, wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her back pulling him upward slightly. He held her thigh with one hand and reclined back with the metal one, smiling into her touch. She pushed forward as he pushed back, every kiss becoming more passionate than the last. She pulled at his hair, causing a longing moan to escape from his lips, exposing his neck. She began to place light kisses along side his neck, his breathing became deep as he massaged her thigh in return.  

He flipped over, now pressing her back against the ground, topping her. He kissed her back deeply, his tongue becoming well acquainted with her mouth. One hand began to find its way in between her thighs. 

Her eyes snapped open, “James.” She grabbed his hand, “It is 4 in the morning.” She hissed.

“HELL YEAH IT’S 4 IN THE GODDAMN MORNING!” Sam blurted out from the next room.

Bucky buckled forward burrowing his head in her neck holding back his horror.

“Shit,” Her face became the next 50 shades of red, as she covered her mouth with her hand to prevent a wave of uncomfortable laughter.

“HERE I THOUGHT AT 11pm I WOULD GET MY BEAUTY SLEEP BUT NOOOO. IF I HEAR THAT DAMN SHIT AGAIN I WILL COME IN THERE AND BEAT BOTH OF YALL’S NASTY ASSES.”

There was a moment of silence as the two looked between each other with mischievous smiles. He rolled his eyes and licked his lips knowingly. She let out a staged moan loud enough to be heard from outside.

“Fuck. Y/N.” Bucky grunted, his face tinted trying to remain collected. She covered her face with her hands moaning back at him.

Seeing her smile only made Bucky ham it up more as he began slapping his hand on the floor to create more of a scene to which she erupted in a fit of choked laughter. Sam yelled something from the other room about Jesus Christ and Sin. Bucky stood up with that smug look on his face, as he did whenever he won at annoying Sam Wilson. He gave her his hand and hauled her off the ground with barely any effort.

She finally settled down from laughing and looked at him, “I think we should do that more often.”

“What? Piss off bird boy or have sex?” He asked.

She grinned, “Can it not be both?”

Bucky made a face as if he was scheduling the next when and where.

She gave him a light slap, “Now don’t get cocky about it. Also, you stink. Go take a shower.”

He looked at her offended then gave a sly look, “Or we could ta-“

“No” she snapped like a mother to her child, “Get.”

He held up his hands up in defense, “Alright, Alright, but I’m going to need my shirt back.”

She groaned and peeled off the shirt and tossed it at his face. He pulled the shirt down and gave her a once over, “I like that color” he said inspecting her black laced undergarments.

“Good Lord, Go.” she shoved him towards the bathroom. He chuckled at her and whipped the shirt over his shoulder, sending her a cocky grin as he left the room.

Once the door closed behind him, she let out a sigh and sat on the edge of the bed. A wave of depression washed over her as she longed for the day they could just stay in bed and not battle some end of the world threat. She looked to the blanket on the floor where he slept the night before. He deserved so much more than this. They deserved so much more than this.

She couldn’t lie, after the blip the thought of going off grid looked truly appealing. With Nat, Tony, Vision, Bruce, Wanda, Thor, and Steve gone, the Avengers felt more like a club then an actual organization. While she had always been closer to Sam, Bucky and Steve the hole left behind by the others made it too hard to go on some days. What was the point? Every time something was fixed something worse happened. And they never were thanked properly, only ridiculed by what should have been done, because everyone always expected them to be heroes; yet they never saw they were also human. The only reason she stayed was for Sam and Bucky, they had become her family, especially after Steve’s passing, who was like a father figure to her.

She pushed away the memories that came rushing in. She could not allow herself to get emotional, their job here needed her full attention. She stood and changed into her suit and left the room. 

Zemo was reclined on a sofa, drinking a cup of tea. When she entered he gave her a solemn nod. She cringed slightly, the anger at what he did to Bucky and T’Challa creeping back in.

“You’re up early.” She stated flatly.

“Hard to sleep with all the noise.” He shot her a look. “I can start you a kettle if you’d like.”

“Sorry, and no thanks, I got it.” She said. Grabbing a kettle and filling it with water.

Zemo stood, “Do you mind? I’ve read of your powers but never have I seen them.”

She shifted on her feet, “Well, sure but it won’t be a firework show or anything like that. It’s still a new thing to me and I can’t really do much.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Zemo asked, approaching her, finding a spot at the bar.

She looked at him as to say something but decided against it. She looked back to the kettle and placed her hands along the side. Zemo watched her every move; observing, analyzing. 

She took a deep breath in and reached for a part in her to attract the sensation she feels around her. The kettle began to warm and in a minute it was boiling.

“Fascinating” Zemo whispered, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration.

She poured the steaming hot water into a cup and placed two teabags in it. “See, nothing special.”

Zemo looked at her as if she had said something absurd. “You have a gift.” He countered.

“Feels more like a curse.” She scoffed.

“When did this begin?” He asked.

“I don’t know, I feel like I’ve always had these... these abilities but it wasn’t until after the blip did I truly began to use them.”

“Fascinating.” Zemo repeated.

She pursed her lips, while she loathed everything about Zemo, she couldn’t lie having someone appreciate her abilities felt nice. She normally just felt like a freak, too afraid to show too much emotion, in fear she might lose control.

“Can I have you try something?” Zemo requested.

She scoffed, “Sorry, I don’t feel like playing lab rat today.”

Zemo made a face, “I understand your negative emotions towards me, but to say I have had failures in this field would be an incorrect accusation.”

She rolled her eyes, “Fine. What?”

He leapt off his seat, seemingly excited to play mad scientist again. He fetched a candle from the table and sat it infront of her. She cocked an eyebrow.

“Light it.” He said, gesturing to the wick.

“I- I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Light it.” He repeated, pushing the candle towards her.

She reached to touch the wick but he slapped her hand away.

“Hey!” She blurted out, glaring at him.

“Without touch.” He said calmly.

She looked at him then back to the candle, frustrated.

“Focus on what you wish for it to be, what it will look like, how it will feel.” Zemo coached.

She shifted on her feet again, finding a more comfortable stance. She focused on her breath and stared at the wick.

“Breath in, and when you breath out try to push your energy at it.” Zemo said.

She closed her eyes feeling a tingling sensation around her, she inhaled slowly, feeling the sensation grow. She opened her eyes and focused the sensation onto her target. She heard a crackle sound, as if a fire was trying to start. She looked to Zemo wide eyed, he never looked up.

“Again.” He said, staring at the wick.

She shifted and this time held out her hand. She took a deep breath and this time flicked her hand at the wick on the exhale, a flame consumed the wick and began to slowly burn. She gasped.

“Beautiful.” Zemo smiled.

“Well shit,” a voice was heard. They looked over to see Sam propped alongside a wall. “You got sparkly fingers, Y/N.”

She laughed, delighted in herself, “Did you see it?”

“I saw it.” He smiled.

She looked to Zemo, “How? How did that happen?”

Zemo held out his hand and she reluctantly lended him hers. He flipped her palm up and traced a distinct ���M’ she never noticed before, with his finger. “You are a mutant. You were born with this gift and just now have discovered it.”

“A mutant.” She echoed. “How do you know?”

“All mutants have the symbol ‘M’ mapped on their palm. Each with a unique ability. Your friend Wanda, she is a mutant as well.”

“There’s more?” She gasped looking at Sam.

“Many more, we walk beside them each day, yet we do not know it.” Zemo said.

She looked back to Zemo, suddenly desperate for knowledge. She knew she had these powers but half the time she felt it was all coincidence, and was honestly too afraid to attempt to use them. Knowing what happened to Wanda.

“I want to know everything, please tell me what you know.” She said.

“Woah, woah. Look, the magic trick was impressive but I don’t think you should be getting your information from him, Y/N.” Sam said walking towards her.

“Sam, he’s the only one I’ve ever met, who knows about this stuff, besides Wanda and I don’t even know where she is.” She protested.

“I assure you I do not intend to mislead-“ Zemo started.

Sam pointed at him, “No. You do not get to say that after all you’ve done. The only thing you do is mislead. Hell, you’ve probably already done something to sabotage the mission.”

“You think so little of me, Sam.” Zemo pouted.

“Yeah, I do and for good reason.” Sam stated.

“Sam,” Y/N started.

“Y/N! Sam!” Bucky’s voice echoed throughout the small apartment.

The two took off in the direction of the noise immediately. They came into the room to find Bucky staring out the window.

“What is it?” Y/N asked, coming to stand beside Bucky. She looked out the window, her eyes widening in horror.

“My god.” Sam uttered.

Outside the window was a some kind of mutilated animal strung upside down. Blood dripped menacingly to the ground below. 

“What does it mean?” Sam asked.

“It’s an invitation.” A voice said. The three turned around to find Zemo.

“The Power Broker requests our presence.”

Link to Petals (pt. 2)

[illfoandillfie]

5 Simple Rules For A Successful Fake Relationship: Ben’s POV

5 SIMPLE RULES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader

Summery: 14 scenes told from Ben's Perspective.

Warnings: A whole lotta angst and badly handled feelings. swearing, drinking, a little bit of smut/masturbation (18+) basically everything from the other chapters but from Ben’s side lmao

Words: 22 790 (oh god im sorry, but all the sections are separated so you don’t have to read it in one hit!)

A/N: I know it's like super duper late but here is the final chapter of this series that I promised! Basically just a collection of blurbs (maybe a few oneshot length parts too) that tell the story from the other side. Some are his point of view of things that occurred in the main chapters, some fill in gaps that reader wasn't around for. 

I had a lot of fun writing from a perspective I don't normally write from! It was a bit of a challenge at times but definitely something I'd like to do again.

Taglist: @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @taron-egrotten @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies

@coni-martina @hardforbenhardy @cubedtriangle @vicouscirce @arianabrashierstuff @pattieboydwannabe @maggieroseevans @theprettyandthereckless @friccinfricks​ 

“Pick up Joe, pick up,” Ben mumbled to himself, pacing around his trailer. The phone rang out and he let out a grunt of annoyance as he switched to text message.

I fucked up. Call me.

It was an anxious ten-minute wait in which Ben found it hard to sit still or focus on anything other than what a colossal mistake he’d made. He tried to go over his lines instead, tried to focus on the next scene you’d be filming together but all he could think about was you. You and how badly he’d fucked up. Finally Joe put him out of his misery. “Thank Christ,” “Sorry I was asleep,” a yawning Joe said from the other end of the line, “What happened that you needed to contact me at 6am?” “I said yes,” “To?” “Joe, I know it’s early for you but please try to keep up. I said yes.” There was a pause as Joe tried to work out what Ben meant and then realisation dawned, “Nooooo,” “Yes. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Oh my god,” Joe groaned, sympathetic, “You said yes? To the fake dating schtick?” “I wasn’t going to,” “I should fucking hope not. After everything we talked about yesterday? After we agreed it was a horrible idea?” “I know! I know,” Ben had to pause to gulp in a breath, his chest suddenly feeling too tight to handle the oxygen, “I was going to say no. I came in with a plan to say no and it was on the tip of my tongue for the entire meeting. They were going through these pages explaining it all and all of the rules we’d have to follow and I was ready to say no, I was going to say no,” “So what happened?” Ben flopped down onto his couch, the one he liked to nap on when time allowed, running his hand through his hair as he spoke, “I looked over at her and my mind clouded over and I said yes,” “Did she ask you to?” “Nope. I think she knew what I was thinking through the whole thing, she seemed shocked when I agreed to it. Fuck, why did I say yes?” “Cause you’re a fucking idiot.” “You can say that again,” “I could but I won’t.” Joe exhaled slowly into the receiver, “Jesus man,” “Yup. You wanna know the worst part though?” “Agreeing to it wasn’t the worst part?” “I’m not totally disappointed,” “Ben,” Joe sounded mildly horrified so Ben hurried to explain. “I mean, I know it’s bad. I know there were a thousand ways to better handle it...sticking to the plan and asking her out after we wrapped being the least of them. But...I have date ideas picked out already. There’s this wine and art place she’d love and the ice-skating rink and I’d love to take her to that Chinese restaurant near me. And I’m kind of happy I have an excuse to look at her now, touch her. I don’t have to worry about if she’s caught me staring or if I’m doing a bad job of hiding my feelings because everyone’s going to think we’re dating anyway so what’s the fucking harm,” “Alright Ben, I’m gonna stop you there. You need to get this shit under control. I suggest going to a bar, getting drunk, and getting into the pants of the first girl who talks to you.” “Can’t,” “Oh don’t give me that bullshit. You’re not so hung up on this Y/N chick that you can’t think about sleeping with someone else, are you?” “Doesn’t matter, I literally can’t unless I want everyone to think I’m cheating on her. Don’t think that’d go down well with the studio or anyone else really. They’d crucify me for fucking up the plan after less than a day.” “Would you have followed my advice even if that wasn’t the case?” Ben mad a non-committal noise, “Probably not. I just want her,” “Doesn’t she have a boyfriend? I distinctly remember you whining about a boyfriend.” “Apparently it was never that serious. He was boring.” “You’re boring too Ben. Hate to break it to you but you’re dull, unexciting, tedious. She’s not going to want to date you either. Might as well give up now,” “Have you got a thesaurus sitting in your lap?” Joe laughed despite himself, “I thought this was going to be a crush Ben. Short lived.” “Me too. It’s not though. I can’t get her out of my mind. When I’m with her I don’t want to leave and then when I have to leave all I can think about is when I’ll next see her. She’s so wonderful and beautiful and kind-hearted. She likes pulling faces at me from behind the camera and she’s got the cutest laugh…When she’s nervous about a scene she bounces her leg. Every time. And she’s so sweet to everyone on set, always chatting with whoever is around and making jokes and stuff. I want to make her laugh. I want to calm her when she’s nervous. I want her.” “Maybe you should just tell her how you feel now. I know you wanted to wait until after the movie but I think that horse has bolted,” “I can’t tell her now, are you insane? If I tell her now she’ll call up her agent and cancel the whole fake dating thing and she’ll never want to see me again,” “Maybe she wants to date you too,” “Nope. She literally said to me she wouldn’t date me in real life,” Ben paused, thinking, “d’you reckon there’s a chance she might fall for me too? Like, with the whole pretending to date thing? Maybe I could convince her I’d be a good boyfriend,” “Don’t get your hopes up Ben,” “You’re right. She’s not going to change her mind about me. We’re friends and that’s it. And I’ve just gotta focus on finishing this movie and getting through the whole relationship without her figuring anything out.” “I don’t envy you, buddy.”

                                                       ***

It took Ben a few moments of lying in the dark to remember why he felt so nervous first thing in the morning. But the waiting message from Peter about what time the photographer would arrive was enough to remind him. He lay there a little longer, trying to prepare himself for everything, trying to convince himself that seeing you first thing in the morning would be enough of a turn off to stop him from feeling the way you made him feel. It didn’t work, the convincing or the seeing you. If anything, seeing you yawning as you left his spare room just made it all the worse. You, in his pyjamas. It made his stomach flip. He found it hard to pull his eyes from you as you drank your coffee, found it hard to not enjoy the sight of you in his pyjamas in his kitchen. You’d never been there before but you didn’t feel out of place. He could imagine other mornings, making pancakes together, you with a spot of batter on your nose that he’d wipe away and replace with a kiss, or else making you the first tea or coffee of the day and bringing it to you in bed, snuggling under the covers with you, your head resting on his chest as you talked quietly about whatever was happening that day. But planning out how you’d look for the camera was a sharp reminder that it wasn’t real, that you were only there because of work.

“And, um, he was very careful in how he worded it, but they want us to look like we fucked. Also I told them I’d take you home so there may be someone waiting for us there too, he never got back to me on it.” “Shit, okay. Umm, guess I’ll just wear this then?” he watched as you indicated the pyjamas you’d borrowed, his pyjamas, “might lose the pants though, help sell it a bit more.” “Yeah, guess so,” Ben had to clear his throat and avert his eyes, terrified that you’d be able to see what he was thinking, willing himself to stop thinking about helping you out of them. “What time is it?” He glanced at the oven, thankful to have even the smallest of diversions, “Twenty past eight,” “God I haven’t been up this early on a weekend in months.” “Not one for farmers markets or anything then?” This was a better topic. Boring, safe. “Not really. Much prefer lying in bed doing nothing.” Shit, “Me too,” he laughed, trying not to imagine you in his bed in just his shirt (fuck the pants they were too big for you anyway). “We’re meant for each other,” Ben took another sip of coffee to keep from groaning. You had no idea what you were doing to him and he wasn’t going to be the one to tell you. Not now at any rate. He’d killed any chance of anything happening when he’d agreed to this stunt and now he had to suck it up and deal with it. “Did you want to have a shower or anything?” “Nah, you can if you want though,” “Might as well wait until I get home. But I am gonna clean my teeth, especially if we have to kiss.” Jesus, the kiss, he’d almost forgotten about that, “Maybe mess up your hair too, make it look like you didn’t sleep much.” This is dangerous territory. “Well how could I when you’re such a good lover,” Oh god oh god oh god, “I know you’re joking but if anyone asks, I’m incredible. You came like three times,” “Did I now?” “Of course,” “Good thing no one’s gonna ask then, don’t think I’m great at lying,” Ben wanted to stop, wanted to switch back to talking about farmers markets and breakfast options but he didn’t seem to have control over himself anymore, “Besides, it’s not really a lie, I am that good. You just haven’t experienced it personally.” You poked your tongue out at him as you turned back towards the bathroom. As soon as he heard the door shut Ben collapsed forward against the kitchen counter, leaning on his palms as he grappled with what had just happened. He’d need to keep his wits about him from now on. Flirting like that couldn’t happen again, he’d been lucky that you'd treated it like friendly banter. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out the voice that suggested you’re lack of awareness was proof of how disinterested you were. It was only when he heard the bathroom door swing open again that he forced himself to move.

“How do I look?” you asked as you re-entered the room. Can’t avoid looking at her now, she wants your opinion, “Gorgeous.” It was true. Everything you’d done to make yourself look like you’d had a late night just made you even more desirable. The messed up hair, the smudge of makeup around your eyes. He gulped when he noticed the undone buttons of the flannel shirt, just enough to tease, and the missing pants. Tell her you want to pin her to the wall and undo the rest of those buttons. Tell her you want to wake up to that sight every morning. “But do I look like I’ve been thoroughly fucked?” “Oh, right, ummm,” he gave you another cursory look, trying not to linger on any part of you for too long, “yes, I think so,” “I feel like there’s something missing,” suddenly you turned on your heel and stepped back towards the bathroom. Ben waited where you’d left him until, “Oh! I know. Might be taking it a bit far though.” Clearly he was supposed to be part of this conversation, so he followed you to the doorway, stepped just over the threshold, “What is it?” You were scrutinising your appearance in the mirror and he let himself watch your reflection, “what if you gave me a hickey?” Ben’s breath caught in his throat though he managed to stutter out your name. “Yeah, I know, that’s a weird thing to ask. Don’t worry, I think we’ll be fine without it,” He inhaled deeply wondering if your backtracking was a sign that you’d worked out what was going on in his head. He couldn’t let that happen. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to give you a love bite, though he’d prefer to be covering you in them. Slowly, he let the breath go again, “no, you’re right. A hickey will definitely make it look more authentic,”

“It’s not totally inappropriate for me to ask?” Babe this whole thing is inappropriate, “No, no, we have to make it look legit. Here, I’ll uhhh,” With another, less than steady, breath, he stepped behind you, close enough that you were practically leaning against him. His heart began to beat faster, his stomach did summersaults. Carefully he wrapped his arm around your waist to steady himself, pull you closer, as he pushed your hair to the side. He glanced at your reflection, waiting for you to stop him, to notice his shaky fingers and burning skin and to jump away from him. But you didn’t. You let him lean in, let him press his lips to your neck, let him mark you. He felt your own breath speed up, felt you tilt your head, inviting more. And then. It was only a small hum, but it had definitely come from you. He glanced at the mirror again, saw you had your eyes shut. You liked it. He was giving you a hickey and you were enjoying it. This might be his only chance to do that, to make you feel that way. He refocused on your neck, where his lips met your skin, soothing the fresh brand with his tongue. He could happily have given you ten more, was tempted to go in for a second at least. Instead he let you go, stepped backwards as quickly as he could manage. If he waited too long he’d end up saying something he’d regret. “Will that do?” “It’s great Ben really ties the whole look together,” He tried to match your smile though it felt like there was a warning siren going off in his head, “Good. Good. Okay then, I’ll umm, what time is it?” “Just after nine. Wonder if the photographer is here yet,” “I think I will jump in for that shower actually, by the time I’m done he will definitely be here,” he needed some time to compose himself before he even thought about stepping outside the door with you, “Make yourself comfortable though, watch some TV or something.” “Alright. Thanks for being so cool about all this. I know you’re a little sceptical about the benefits and everything.” “It’s fine Y/N, no need for any of that,” he forced another smile as you left but the moment you’d pulled the door shut it slipped again. Slowly he made his way to the tap, splashed his face with cold water. His fingers still tingled where they’d rested against you. The echo of your hum was stuck in his head. Your perfume still lingered in the air. “Fuck,” Ben directed the curse at his reflection, unsure any other word could sum up better than that. The fact that you didn’t want him was fucked, having you here looking the part of the perfect girlfriend was fucked, giving you a hickey for the performance was fucked. And the fact that he was sporting a semi from it was really just the cherry on top of his totally fucked sundae. He couldn’t go back out to you in such a state, especially not when you were going to have to make out for the camera. A shower to relieve himself was the only answer, though he felt bad about you being only a couple of rooms over.

With a final prayer that you wouldn’t overhear or work out why he’d changed his mind about the shower, he turned the taps on and began undressing, wincing a little as he stuck his arm under the scalding hot water. With some adjustment he was able to fully step into the shower, pausing for a moment to relax under the steady beat of the water before reaching for the soap. Of course, you were on his mind as he wrapped his hand around his cock and slowly started stroking himself. The way you looked in his shirt, the swell of your breasts just barely exposed, tantalisingly so. The hem of the shirt draped over your bare thighs. You’d make such a sight dressed like that, lying in his bed, the sheets tangled around your legs. Better still his legs tangled between yours. He thought of the hum you made as he’d sucked at your throat. On the verge of a whine, maybe even a moan. Would you whine if his lips were on your chest instead? What about your thighs, leaving a trail up to… His breathing was faster now, hand moving at a similar speed. We’re made for each other. Your voice, your words. You’d say it, half pant it, while he was inside you. Made for each other. And you’d hum that hum of pleasure. Your thighs, under his shirt. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close as he pulled your hair aside. What if you gave me a hickey?  The warmth of your body leaning against his, such a contrast to the cool bathroom tiles. That hum. Those thighs. The way you say his name. Made for each other. Your lingering perfume. Your lingering warmth. Your lingering hum. His name on your tongue. He bit his lip to keep from making any sound as he came onto the floor of the shower. It took Ben a few moments to right his breathing, eyes pressed shut so he could hold onto the fantasy for just a little longer. But he knew he didn’t have the time. At least you get to kiss her again. He rushed through washing his hair, scrubbing himself clean. As he stepped out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and swiped his palm over the fogged-up mirror. He forced himself to smile, tried to make it seem natural but that just made it feel more fake. Maybe you wouldn’t notice. With a final exhale he left the bathroom, heading towards his bedroom to find some clean clothes. Your laugh cut through the mostly quiet house. Something on the tv, a cartoon by the sounds of it, had made you laugh and Ben couldn’t help but smile for real at the sound. It made it all seem worth it. 

                                                      ***

It had been a bit of an odd week. Everyone at work knew about the relationship and Ben had found himself set upon by well meaning set dressers and ADs who were curious to know when it had started and how they’d kept it such a secret because “seriously Ben, no one suspected anything.” That was nothing to his friends though, who were shocked he’d never brought it up even in passing and who demanded to know when they could meet this secret girlfriend of his. “Someone’s gotta tell her about the time you pissed your pants at the fair,” “I was seven and had drunk a lot of coke,” “Excuses, excuses. What’s your excuse for never mentioning her before?” “I thought we were going to play FIFA, not talk about my love life,” “We were but that was before we all saw your girlfriend’s arse online,” “You can’t see her arse in that shot,” “Near enough. And we can definitely see the giant fucking hickey on her neck. Now explain yourself,” “Alright mum,” Ben shook his head, “I mean, you know I don’t normally date people I work with. Neither does she. We both wanted to give our selves some time to see if it worked, to make sure what we thought we were feeling was legit and not on screen emotions carrying over or anything like that.” “Well it looks legit judging by photos,” “Shut up,” Ben sighed, rolling his eyes, “I actually really like her,” “Hey, I have a question. When the fuck have you been seeing this chick? Because your down time is spent with us.” “Oh, umm, y’know, after work and stuff. I don’t spend all of my time with you guys,” “Uhhh beg to disagree,” Ben tried to keep his tone normal though his heart was racing. If they figured it out now it could all be over, “Fuck off I have a life outside of you. And just because I was hanging with you guys in the evening doesn’t mean I didn’t see her earlier in the day.” “Nooners?” “Lunch dates.” “Uh huh. Okay, lunch dates. She’s a good shag though, right?” “Oh yeah, fucking….great shag,” “You gotta give us more than that mate,” “Sure, okay, but first can one of you kill me,” “Boooooo,” Ben laughed as he was pelted with crisps, “I’m so going to kick all your arses, now hand me a controller.”

The week had also brought him a copy of your rules. He’d taped the sheet to the bottom of his sock draw where no one else was likely to see it but he could still have a daily reminder that none of it was real. Being around you made it easy to forget you weren’t actually his girlfriend, the lines between friendly banter and flirty teasing becoming too blurred. Of course, he also had Joe reminding him to keep his head straight. He’d called after he saw the morning-after photos. The conversation had started with Joe calling Ben a moron but quickly shifted into Ben ranting for close to an hour because he’d, that morning, heard all about the conversation with Felicity and how you’d spent so long talking up his prowess. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream. “Is this some kind of punishment? Did I do something completely fucked up in a past life and now I’m paying for it?” “Maybe. Or maybe it’s a lesson on why you don’t agree to something because a pretty girl smiles at you.” “Oh bugger off, you’re absolutely no help,” “Well what do you want me to do?” “I don’t know.” “I could talk to her for you.” “Mate, that’s you’re worst idea yet.” “When’s the date?” “This Saturday.” “Just keep reminding yourself you’re there as friends. Don’t get sucked in by the act.” “I’m trying.” Easier said than done, especially when he’d had the date planned for a solid few months. Not officially of course, but in the back of his head. You and him and a bottle of wine as you sat close together and painted. When he imagined the date you wore a sun dress and decorated your canvas or plate, or whatever it was he pictured that time, with little hearts and lipstick kisses. He’d make you laugh with some kind of joke and you’d lean your forehead on his shoulder. Everyone else would melt away as you looked up at him, still smiling. And you’d say something about how you should have realised you loved him sooner. “Because I do, Ben, I love you,” Which is when he’d kiss you, softly.

Ben shook his head to clear it, focusing back on the script in his hand, though you’d soon distracted him again. The real you, not the fantasy date one. The one who was bouncing her knee and staring off into space. He gently touched your shoulder, “Hey, are you okay?” “Huh?” “You’re jiggling your leg a lot which you only do when something’s worrying you, what is it?” “Oh, nothing,” He didn’t believe you, “Is it about our date tonight?” “What if it’s bad? What if we don’t look like we’re actually together and Mary and Pete have to cancel the whole thing?” What a blessing that would be. I might actually be able to get over you. I could stop imaging you in my bed, “I’d get a decent night sleep not thinking about us,” “What?” Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that last bit out loud, “I’ve been worried about it too.” You nodded, your leg twitching as if gearing up to bounce again. “But I think we’ll be okay. It’s not like we’ll be starved for conversation and we’ll have the paint and the wine and we’ll be fine. Plus, weren’t you the one who said this would be easy?” “Yeah I was, but-” “No buts. It’ll be a piece of cake,” Ben didn’t necessarily believe it himself, or at least not for himself. He was going to struggle. But you didn’t have any underlying feelings to fight. For you it really was just a good time painting, “they’ll get whatever shots they get, and they’ll spin it so we look like a couple,” “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry,” “It’s okay,” before he could stop himself he’d reached for your hand, rubbing the back of it. He wanted to do more, to hold you tight and tell you it would be okay. But that would be too much. Instead he rubbed your hand and tried to distract you, “I’m honestly so much more nervous about shooting that scene tomorrow.” “The one where we’re playing matchmaker?” “Yes! Have you seen how many names are in there?” “Theres like six, Ben,” “Yeah but they’re all repeated, and I know I’m going to get the order wrong,” You laughed. It was the best sound in the world and he was determined to make sure he heard it again on your date.

It took Ben an hour to decide on an outfit. He’d had one set aside but looking at it in the mirror it felt too dressy, he needed something more casual. He paused for a calming smoke and then had to brush his teeth again. On set he chewed gum after a smoke, especially if there were kissing scenes, out of politeness more than anything. But the small part of him that hoped you were treating the date as an audition for the roll of real-life boyfriend worried that it would hurt his chances if he tasted like cigarettes. Assuming you’d kiss. So he brushed his teeth again and changed into an outfit he didn’t hate and then worried that he was overthinking it and should have gone with his first outfit, and needed another smoke. Which meant he had to brush his teeth a third time. It took all his willpower to not ask the uber to pull over so he could have another quick puff. But then he was at your place and you were there and he wasn’t panicking anymore. Maybe it was because you looked jittery and nervous and something in his brain overrode his own anxiety to ease yours, or maybe you just had that effect on him. Whatever the reason it meant he could focus on helping you relax. “D’you wanna grab something to eat?” He was nearly positive you hadn’t eaten yet, too anxious. “Uhh, s’pose so,” “Has anyone ever told you you’re indecisive?” “I swear I’m not normally.” “Oh? Do I make you nervous, snookum?” Ben inwardly groaned. When the fuck did snookum become a thing? Why won’t you stop me Y/N? Please god stop me from flirting with you!  It was a relief when he made it to the McDonalds without any more slip ups and he could focus on his food and encouraging you to eat yours. He felt things were going well as you walked hand in hand through the bottle shop. He’d squeeze your hand if he felt you tensing up, make you laugh again, distract you. But then you had nudged him and pointed out the photographer. “Relax, he’s not important,” he said softly, pulling you into his side, trying to keep his own breathing even. Your face had paled at the sight of the camera, and Ben was hit by an overwhelming urge to protect you. He kept you as close as he could, soothed you as best he could. It became easier once you’d reached the shop and could get lost among the other couples and groups of friends, though he caught you checking for the photographer through the glass of the shop front. Ben hesitated for half a second before he turned your head towards him, “Forget the photographer Forget Mary and Peter. Forget our arrangement. We’re just two friends having a fun night out, okay?” This wasn’t the carefree date he’d been fantasising about for months. But he held out hope it still could be. If only he could make you see it. He opened the wine, talked about the art options, anything to distract you from the world outside of the shop. You took a little to warm up but he was glad to see you looking around the room as he went to collect your blank ceramics, taking everything in, and soon enough you were both contemplating designs for mugs, the photographer and the reason for the date seemingly forgotten.

Ben’s hope grew with each passing minute. The longer you were there, the more at ease you became. He got to hear your laugh again, frequently. And the conversation flowed naturally as each of you concentrated on your artwork. The design came to him quickly and he went slow, trying to make his lines as straight as possible and trying to make the engagement ring look like the one you’d spent so much of the shoot wearing. We’re really good at this dating thing. Part encouragement to help when you got nervous, part wishful thinking perhaps. But it was a quote from the movie so you wouldn’t read too far into it. He couldn’t wait to see your reaction to the mug and, as soon as he was done, announced it. “Alright, show me then,” Ben watched closely as you examined the still wet design, chewing on his lip as he tried not to care if you cared that the lines weren’t totally straight or the colours didn’t work. But as soon as you realised what the quote was you smiled. He found himself grinning as you told him how much you loved it. “Thought it was kind of fitting. Plus, it’ll be a nice little souvenir once the movie wraps.” “That was a fun scene to shoot. Best proposal I’ve ever had,” Ben turned the mug back towards himself, double checking for any flaws. He wanted it to be perfect for you, “Best proposal I’ve ever given.” He was on the verge of adding, “My real one will be better though,” but stopped himself short. That would lead to a topic of conversation he didn’t want to deal with. Not with you. Not now. He was a little surprised as you leaned in close and lowered your voice. “Promise I’ll get to keep it after we break up?” “Promise,” he said leaning closer as well. From the outside you must look like a proper couple, whispering sweet nothings as you ignored the rest of the room. His eyes darted to your lips. Kiss her. He could, couldn’t he? He could get away with it. That was what you were there for, to be a couple, to have photos taken of intimate moments. No one would question it if he just closed the gap, not even you. But he hesitated too long, the shriek of laughter from another table interrupting the moment. He leaned back in his seat, trying to put some distance between you before he lost his head again, “So do I get to see mine?”

Ben was nearly speechless when you did eventually let him see it. The guitar with the lyrics beside it. He couldn’t have stopped from smiling even if he’d wanted to. “And how did you know that’s one of my favourite songs?” “It is? It’s just the song I overheard you playing that one time.” That one time. A few weeks previous. Between scenes, as he’d waited for the cameras to be organised around the new set. He hadn’t meant for anyone to hear him, least of all you. But he’d been starting to feel tense and wanted to unwind before filming resumed so he’d gone back to his trailer and taken out his guitar. It was a song he’d always liked but he’d been listening to it more often since meeting you and it was the song his fingers had begun to play without him realising. Now here it was, on the mug you’d painted for him. And you had no idea that when he sang about the stun gun lullaby, he was singing about your laugh, or that you so completely had his attention that no other woman could compare. The song might have been written for someone else but whenever he heard it, it was you being sung about. Was that a sign to not give up hope? His heart ached with how much he wished you loved him the same. Fuck, love? He’d never let himself think the L word before, that was serious shit. But it fit. He was hopelessly in love with you and there didn’t seem like there was much he could do to change the situation.

                                                      ***

Ben looked up from his laptop to see you, brows furrowed, digging through your bag. “Something wrong?” he asked as you pulled your lips between your teeth, worrying at it absentmindedly, in what he had to admit was an adorable fashion. “Uhh, I think I need to go home,” “How come? If you forgot something I have a replacement here. What was it sunnies? Chapstick? A book?” “No, it’s not that sort of-” “Then what? You already have a toothbrush and PJs here,” “No it’s something else... I just think I’d be more comfortable at home today,” Ben tried to keep his voice steady but his mind was whirring with the possible reasons for your sudden wish to leave. Did you know about his secret? “Well a-are you sure I can’t help. We’re meant to be seen together this afternoon and if we leave now they won’t be able to get a shot of us smooching,” You chuckled at his word choice and he found it hard to repress his smile. “I’ll apologise to Mary and Peter, tell them something came up and see if we can reschedule,” “Are you positive there isn’t anything I can do?” You shook your head slightly, “if you really must know my period is a little early and I don’t have any tampons on me. Happy?” “Oh,” he began to laugh at your slight embarrassment, more relieved than embarrassed himself, “is that all?  Y/N, you’re not the first girlfriend I’ve had, fake or not. I’m a 29 year old man I can deal with talking about periods, and I can certainly run to the shop for you,” “No, no, you don’t have to go out of your way like that. I’ve got plenty at home I just didn’t think I’d need any today,” ““Y/N, I promise, it’s no trouble. I feel bad I don’t have anything here for you already. Been a while since I’ve lived with a girl and it didn’t even cross my mind. Seriously, it’ll take me two minutes.” You didn’t look convinced, eyeing the doorway to the hall. “Plus, if I go we won’t ruin Peter and Mary’s plan for today. And the Paps can get a shot of me staring at boxes of tampons like a good caring boyfriend. It’ll help our image.” You hesitated a moment longer, “oh alright, as long as you don’t mind,”

It took Ben two minutes to collect his shoes and wallet and car keys and then he was out the door, assuring you he’d be as quick as possible. On his way out he saw the photographer, getting into position by his front gate. He shot Ben a questioning look at the detour from the set plan as Ben hopped into his car. As he reversed out of the driveway he caught the photographer’s attention. “Making a run to the shop to pick up something for Y/N. Might be a good photo in it,” Ben felt odd talking to the man – a man who he recognised well enough, who had witnessed every intimate moment he’d shared with you (and who had been the catalyst for a number of them), but a man he knew next to nothing about. But he hoped that by leading the photographer away he was ensuring you’d have a peaceful respite from the constant intrusion of knowing you were being watched. The photographer nodded, replaced the lens on his camera and headed to his own car, following Ben to the closest supermarket. The distraction of communicating with the photographer was almost enough to make Ben stop kicking himself for not being more prepared for this eventuality. It was only once he was at the store, standing in front of a shelf of feminine hygiene products that he was truly side-tracked from his lack of foresight, and realised he had no idea what you wanted. You picked up your mobile on the third ring. “Hey, it’s Ben, what do you want?” “Don’t tell me you forgot already,” “No, I mean, what sort. There’s hundreds of boxes to choose from, I have no idea which brand you like or what, um…strength you need.” “Oh,” you laughed and described what your go to brand’s packaging looked like. He scoured the shelves, trying to block out the snap of a phone camera as the photographer got his shot. “Ah, got it,” he said as he finally located the right one, pulling down a box for you now and one to keep in his bathroom for future use, “see you in a few.” “Thanks Ben,” “It’s nothing,” he refrained from closing the call with a love you, instead just saying, “Part of the boyfriend package.” On his way back towards the register he detoured into the tea and coffee isle, picking out a box of herbal tea bags that said For Women on the box, hoping they’d sooth whatever cramps you were dealing with, and then grabbed a box of chocolates in case you wanted something sweet to snack on. The photographer was outside already, waiting to get a shot of him leaving with a full bag. 

It made Ben’s heart swell to see how grateful you were for his haul. He went to the kitchen to make you a tea and himself a coffee as you ducked into the bathroom. “Did you find the Panadol?” he asked, rattling the box of painkillers as you joined him in the lounge. “Yeah, thanks. I took two but I might need more in a few hours, if I’m still here. I’ll buy you a new box if I use too many,” “Don’t be daft. How are you feeling?” “Yeah fine. A few cramps but it’s nothing.” “Do you want a cuddle?” he asked without thinking. “What?” Ben shrugged, “I don’t know, my ex said that cuddling up with me made her feel better. But that’s a different- she probably said it so she had an excuse to make out a bit,” You laughed, “a cuddle would actually be very welcome right now,” “Oh, well in that case,” Ben shuffled over, patting the space beside him, and tried to remember that you weren’t really dating. But he couldn’t stop himself from pulling you tight against him and breathing deeply.

                                                      ***

Ben wasn’t drunk. Not properly so anyway. He was too much of a chatty drunk to trust himself when he was sloshed. He’d had enough to loosen up and to dull the ache he felt whenever he looked at you. And to leave his keys at the bar. Nothing a glass of water and some TV couldn’t fix. He’d lost himself in the show when his phone dinged, nearly jumping at the unexpected noise. It was a text from Joe.

WTF?

It took Ben a few seconds to work out what it referred to but then the afternoon came back to him, the last scene you’d filmed, the photo he’d posted. Shit. “Ah, shit. Forgot I said I’d call Joe. Do you mind if we pause the ep?” he cast around for a reasonable excuse, “We’re trying to organise travel stuff for him and it’s easier if we talk it through rather than texting it all.” “Sure,” you said, already pressing buttons on the remote. “I promise I won’t be long,” “Take your time, it’s fine.” Ben smiled though it slipped as he left the room and pulled up Joe’s number. He shut the door of the room he used when he stayed over, already sure this would not be a conversation he’d want you to overhear. “What the fuck is that photo Ben?” “It’s nothing,” he sighed, “just the last day of filming,” “Are you alright, you sound weird?” “We went out for a drink.” “You and Y/N?” “And the rest of the cast and crew. And, before you say anything, no I didn’t get so drunk I blabbed about anything. I do have some self control,” “I wasn’t saying anything,” “No but you were thinking it. Anyway, I think I’m allowed to have a few drinks under the circumstances. Not exactly easy being secretly in love with your co-star who you’re also fakely dating,” “Alright, alright, point made. But that doesn’t explain the photo,” “Like I said, last day of filming,” Joe waited for more and begrudgingly Ben continued. “It was our last scene together and I wanted to commemorate it,” “Thank you Y/N for being the perfect Edith to my Andy. And thank you @theperfectmatchmovie for finding me my perfect match.” “Y/N said it was a bit cheesy,” “Uhh yeah, little bit,” Joe laughed, “you’re not worried it was a bad idea?” “No. We got told to post stuff, which you already know since Y/Ns posted tonnes and you’ve commented on nearly all of them. Figured I should pull my weight,” “Someone has to keep an eye on you two. Stop you from doing something stupid.” “That’s what you’re doing is it?” “You sure you didn’t post the photo with that caption because you’re dying to tell her how you feel and this is a safe way to do so?” Ben scuffed his foot along the carpet, digging his toes into the rough material and feeling like a school boy being admonished by a teacher, “So what if it is?” “All I’m saying is be careful. You’re keeping two very large secrets and–” “Yeah Joe, I fucking know but I don’t have much of a choice here,” “That’s what I’m saying…look, I know you’re a bit of a romantic at heart but you’re also not the sort to get this hung up on unavailable skirt so I believe you when you say you love her. But don’t let it slip out because that’ll just make things worse.” “I don’t know what I was thinking getting into this mess,” “Neither do I. Frankly I don’t think you were thinking. At least, not about yourself.” “Yeah maybe. Doesn’t really matter though now does it?” “Alright. This is going to sound harsh, but it’s coming from a place of friendship. Just stop.” “What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t just call it quits now, the story is doing too well and Peter has assured me that the numbers are promising or whatever I don’t really know how they measure it. All I know is that people are going to see the movie because of us.” “That’s not what I meant. I understand you can’t get out of the fake relationship stuff. But, maybe you can get out of the other side of things. Just tell her. Intentionally, tell her. I know it’s not what you want to hear and I know you’re going to argue with me and say you can’t but why not? If you tell her and she admits she likes you then great, you can be together for real. Or, if you tell her and she says she doesn’t feel the same then she can’t get out either and you can be miserable together and she’ll at least stop hanging around you so much when you don’t have to be seen together and you can get over her.” Ben shook his head, “It doesn’t matter Joe. It doesn’t matter how I feel,” “I just think this whole situation…sucks for you. A mirthless laugh rose in Ben’s throat, “of course it sucks. It’s fucking shit man. I just keep waiting for her to tell me she feels the same but it’s not happening,” “Are you sure she doesn’t feel something, even if she’s not saying it?” “No I know it’s completely one sided.” “Is there any chance she already knows? You’re not the most subtle guy in the world Ben, maybe she figured it out before you were approached about the fake out,” “No, I don’t think she knows. She wouldn’t have wanted to do it in the first place if she knew,” Ben heard Joe sigh, “I don’t know what to say then man,” “I just wish things were different. I love being around her and being able to hold her and kiss her. But it fucking sucks that it’s only in public.” “What about now that the movie’s finished?” “I don’t know. Maybe not filming together will make it easier to stop thinking about her…I doubt it though. It’s not like I haven’t tried already. I spent the whole of pre-production and the first weeks of filming trying to get her off my mind and I couldn’t I don’t know how and I don’t think I could unless we literally stopped talking to each other entirely and, honestly I don’t know that I could handle that. But again, we’re back at I don’t have a choice here. I have to keep seeing her and being with her and being her boyf-” A door slammed at the other end of the house, making Ben jolt. “What is it?” “Nothing, I think Y/N just went to the bathroom or something.” “She’s at your place?” “No, I locked myself out of my place. I’m at hers. I should go though, we’re halfway through an episode.” “Ben. Be careful.” “Always am.”

Ben hung up with a sigh. Joe could tell him to move on or spill the beans all he liked but it wasn’t so simple. He slapped his cheeks and shook his head to clear it, pulling a smile back onto his face as he headed back to the living room. He was a little surprised to see the room empty but settled himself on the couch once again, pulling a throw blanket over himself. It smelt like you. Without thinking he pulled up Instagram on his phone and revisited the photo. You’d commented on it, less cheesy but there were heart emojis strewn throughout. A similar sentiment to his original caption. He sighed and shook his head, clicking out of the app to find something else to read until you returned. The sound of your footsteps drew his attention. Something had changed. You looked pale and unwell. “Are you okay?” “Fine, thanks. Just tired. Might call it quits after this ep.” He didn’t think you’d drunk that much but maybe it was just starting to catch up with you now. Then again, it had been a long and emotional day. You had every right to be wiped out by it and especially now that you were home with no filming or celebrating to distract you from how exhausting it all was. He offered you a spot under the blanket in case it would make you feel better to have some human contact. Just for that reason of course, nothing to do with wanting to hold you. He shrugged it off when you refused and didn’t really think of it again until the episode ended and you went off to bed. He was still too alert to sleep himself, still dwelling on the conversation with Joe. So he flicked TV channels until he found something mildly distracting, a rerun of a dumb home renovation show that was easy to get sucked into.

When he did finally feel tired enough to go to bed he turned off the TV and the lights and began to tiptoe down the hall to his room. But there was light coming from your room. Not the yellow light of a bulb but the blue light of a phone or laptop. You were still up. Maybe you really weren’t feeling well. He wondered if he should check on you, offer to make you a tea with honey and lemon or something else comforting. Did you need tissues? A pot in case you had to throw up? Someone to hold your hair back? He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and sighed. This is exactly what you shouldn’t be thinking. He glanced at the light under your door again and then turned and continued his path up the hall. But, after that, he felt awake again. Unable to sleep. There was too much to think about. Maybe the caption on the photo had been a mistake. Maybe Joe was right and he should tell you. Maybe, maybe, maybe. When it came to you that’s all there was. A noise interrupted him, you groaning and the creak of springs as you shifted in the bed. Is she having a wank? That was his first thought. Does she need help? Was his next. Dangerous. Everything fell silent again and he realised you must have just rolled over to try and get comfortable. He didn’t know whether he was relieved or disappointed. He rolled onto his side, pulled the blanket up a little higher, willed himself to fall asleep but it was out of the question. You shifted again, your bed creaking with the movement. Maybe he should check on you, in case you were unwell. Or maybe there was something on your mind too. Maybe he could help. It was bound to be easier to solve than the mess he was in at any rate. He was on the verge of swinging his legs out of bed again when he was reminded of what Joe said about trying to forget you. He could feel that need to protect you, look after you, rising in his chest again. That wasn’t helpful, it wasn’t what he needed. He sighed and stayed in bed and listened to your tossing and turning until he finally managed to sleep himself. Only to dream of you.

                                                      ***

Ben settled the bill, walked out of the restaurant and kept walking. The entire time thinking back on the days, weeks before the fight was due to occur. Something had seemed off about you. Or maybe that was just hindsight. If he had noticed anything, if he had ever thought you seemed out of sorts, he’d put it down to stress from auditions, trying to find the next job. It wasn’t always easy lining up another project after one had finished. He understood how stressful it could be, especially for an actress like you who was on the cusp of something bigger, looking for your big break. But maybe he’d been blind. After that dinner, after everything you said, there was no denying that something more was going on.

You’d been…not your usual self. From the moment you arrived. He’d asked if you were nervous, but he hadn’t been able to see any of the usual signs. No bouncing let, no bitten lip. So nervous wasn’t it. But you weren’t happy either. He had been though, happy to see you, happy to be with you again. Even with the looming argument. Truthfully, he’d been thinking of what would happen after, when you were alone together and able to just hang out or whatever. He should have realised things were going south the moment you told him to stop looking so happy. He just kept repeating the evening over and over, rewinding and rerunning every moment as if he could figure it all out just from that. Another moment leapt to the front of his mind. “So having a public spat doesn’t bother you but you almost lost your lunch over our first date?” “That was just because the whole situation was new and I felt weird about going on a date with you.” That had hurt though he knew he shouldn’t have let it. Of course you’d have felt weird about going on a date with someone you had no interest in just for the sake of a movie. But still, it had hurt. A taste of what was to come. “Are you nervous?” You didn’t really seem to care what he said. Of course, he hadn’t given you the whole truth. It wasn’t totally dishonest to say argument scenes made him more nervous than love scenes but that was omitting bigger elements. Maybe it would have been more truthful to say the concept of a public fight wasn’t something he was particularly fond of. But at the time he’d felt like if he’d said then he’d have ended up admitting that it was especially true when you were involved. That all he wanted to do was look after you and love you, not argue in a room full of strangers just trying to enjoy a nice meal. After that he felt like he hadn’t been able to get you to say more than a few words. You who was usually so open and conversational. You who he’d spent more time with recently than just about anyone else. You who he could always talk to, joke around with. It was frustrating that you wouldn’t just tell him. He remembers feeling frustrated, of getting short with you. He regretted that. But that was when he was sure something was wrong. He might have ignored all the signs before that but as soon as he felt you had closed yourself off, he wanted to know why. Wanted to figure out what was bothering you, what could have happened. A fight with Felicity? Bad news about an audition? Maybe he’d said something offhanded and hadn’t realised he’d upset you (god if thats the case I want to know even more so I can apologise a hundred times over). He asked about it all, wanted to make things better, but then you were letting rip. Completely off book and unscripted, even when he gave you cues to get back on track. He would have been impressed with your performance except he was so taken aback by it. Without thinking he’d reached for your hand. He can see it happening in his mind, as if he were viewing the scene from above. The way you’d wrenched your hand away, leaving his sitting uselessly in the middle of the table. And all he could hear was “clingy and needy” in your voice with such…what was it, disgust? Hatred? And before he could so much as open his mouth to stop you, you were gone. That’s not what was meant to happen. You were meant to leave together and laugh about it afterwards. He wasn’t meant to be walking through London on his own, trying to figure out what went wrong.

It was then that Ben looked up and realised he didn’t know where he’d walked to. He considered stepping into a bar with all the noise to drown out your voice, all the alcohol he could handle to make him forget. Clingy and needy. But he thought better of it and turned to hail a cab instead. What he couldn’t stop himself from doing was calling you, though he was left disappointed when it went straight to voicemail. He listened for the beep as if he were going to leave a message but when the beep came he didn’t know what to say. What could he possibly say? What changed? Am I really so clingy? What can I do? Closer to home he tried again but the same thing happened. He hung up before the beep.

As he was letting himself inside his phone rang and for the length of a heartbeat he thought it was you. But it wasn’t. It was just Peter telling him that the video had gone live, congratulating you both for putting on such a good show, being so convincing. He ran through some early statistics, something about how many times it had been shared already, and then followed it by saying they wanted separation for a few weeks, until the make up dinner. Ben listened in a daze. When Peter finally hung up Ben opened twitter. The video was easy to find. He put his phone down on the kitchen bench and moved to pour himself a drink. Maybe he didn’t have quite as much alcohol as a bar, but he had enough to do the trick. His phone was staring at him the entire time. He shook his head, moved the phone to his pocket and headed to his bedroom. His guitar was there, the perfect way to clear his head. He picked it up, sat on the end of the bed and, without thinking, he played the opening chords of that song. Your song. With a slight clatter as his hands knocked the wood, he let the guitar drop back to the bed, trying to dig his phone out of his pocket. The video was still there, waiting for him. Proof. It wasn’t a nightmare, it wasn’t made up. He couldn’t see your face from the angle it was taken. But he could see the tension in your shoulders, the way you pulled your hand back as if you couldn’t think of anything worse than having him touch you. And he could hear you. Clingy and needy.

Ben watched it just the once, unable to suffer through it again. It wass already playing on a loop in his head, he didn’t really need the visual reminder. And then he called Joe. There wasn’t really much else he could do. No one else he could talk to about it. Joe had seen it, had watched it, and he commented on how good it looked, how real it seemed. “I think that’s because it was. Y/N went completely off book. We didn’t plan it to be like that,” “Is that why you look so shocked?” “Yeah, guess so.” Ben gulped down a mouthful of his drink and wished he’d brought the bottle with him. “I’m trying very hard not to call her something beginning with B right now,” “Joe she’s not a bitch, she’s…I don’t know. Something must have happened, I just don’t know what. “Maybe she’s starting to crack? Pressure of keeping up a fake relationship is getting to her,” “Can you try not to sound too excited by the idea. I’d remind you I do actually love her and if things work out between us I’d like for you to meet her.” “You can’t blame me for disliking her when I get a call from you every other day telling me she’s broken your heart again,” “You’re such a drama queen,” “Fine, I’ll try to keep my dislike to a minimum. But could it be that? I know she doesn’t have the same baggage as you but it’s probably not easy for her either,” “She called me clingy. Needy. Why would she say that?” “Because she’s a bitch.” “Bloody hell Joe,” “Unless…” “Unless what?” “Is there any chance she knows?” “You mean about me? Come off it, absolutely not. It’s not like I tell everyone I meet about it. You’re the only person who knows.” “Alright, then it must be something else.” “What do I do? I can’t,” Ben sighed, “It was meant to be different. We were going to have words at the restaurant and then go home together looking tense and then laugh about it when we were alone but instead…instead I’m home alone with half a bottle of whisky and a fake girlfriend who won’t answer my calls. What the fuck am I meant to do with that?” “Just give her some space Ben. You don’t know it was you. It could have been any number of things. It might just be that she was having a bad day and because you were already set to have the spat, you caught the brunt of her frustration. She’ll call in a day or two, embarrassed and apologising and you can go back to pining in peace. Out of curiosity, what was the fight originally going to be like?” “Oh, um…We’d decided that I was going to suggest she meet my family and she was going to say she wasn’t ready for that and it was all getting too serious or something like that.” “Well, that’s pretty much what she actually said isn’t it?” Ben thought for a moment. He’d been so wrapped up in her description of him, he’d not really thought about the overall message of her monologue, “Yeah, I suppose it is.” “See, she wasn’t as off script as you thought. She just jumped the gun a bit and took you by surprise. I’d guarantee that it’s something else entirely and you just happened to be the unlucky outlet for her anger.” “Maybe you’re right. She did say that thing about pretending everything was okay and acting like we’re serious….how I love her more than she loves me,” “And you’re certain she doesn’t know,” “100 per cent. She’s never had the chance to find out,” “Then of course I’m right, it was just an issue of timing and you being in the line of fire,” “Maybe I should see her,” “No! Bad idea Ben. Really bad idea.” “I just want to be sure it wasn’t my fault. If I’d been less wrapped up in pretending she was my girlfriend then may-” “Stop beating yourself up. Just try not to drink too much and get some sleep. She’ll sort herself out and call when she’s less mortified by the whole thing.” “Okay, yeah,” “And for fucks sake, stay off twitter,” Ben hung up, feeling marginally better but unable to shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault. Clingy and needy. Clingy and needy. Clingy. And needy. The way you’d spat the words at him. The way you’d stormed out. He sighed, slumped forward, and ran his hands down his face. No, Joe’s right, it’s not you. But, as much as he repeated it, Ben still found tears clinging to his palms as he pulled them away.

                                                      ***

Ben looked at his phone and bit his lip. His eyes shifted back to the ocean of brake lights ahead of the car and then back to his phone. He was already running late and the traffic didn’t seem to be moving. God he did not want to be late. Not after everything that had happened. Not after you’d cleared up the mess from the fight, not after he’d made such an effort to be less clingy, to give you more space. Things weren’t back to normal by any stretch but at least you were talking again, at least you’d missed him. The conversation you’d had the previous night, staying on the phone to watch TV. He’d been surprised by your suggestion but equally as thrilled. It had to be a sign that you felt something too. People don’t just watch episodes of TV over the phone for anyone, do they? He was in with a chance, he knew it. But, in the hours after the episode had ended and the call with it, he’d come to one conclusion. He had to tell you. He had to bite the bullet and tell you. If he wanted something real with you, you had to know. And if he kept it secret any longer it could lead to more arguments which he definitely did not want. What he wanted was for you to understand why he’d become so attached, and hopefully, to reciprocate. So he was going to tell you. And he couldn’t be late.

As the car inched forward Ben made up his mind. He was going to be there on time, one way or another. With a thankful word to the driver he got out of the car and hurried onto the pavement, beginning to walk towards the restaurant. He’d spent all day feeling like he was about to have a heart attack, chest aching with how badly he wanted to see you and how nervous he was about your reaction. He wasn’t going to fuck up now. As he walked a display in a shop window caught his eye and he quickly stepped inside. The bell tinkled as he entered, getting the assistant’s attention. She gave him a up and down glance as she greeted him, as if trying to determine the occasion based on his outfit alone. “Welcome to Coming Up Roses, what can I do for you?” “I need a bouquet,” “I can certainly help with that. Any flowers you had in mind?” “Uhhh not really. Spur of the moment,” “Well what’s the occasion then? I have flowers for everything from weddings to funerals, I’m sorry to Congratulations,” “Um, I’m about to tell the girl of my dreams that I’m in love with her,” The woman smiled, “I’ve got just the thing,”

A minute later and Ben was once again hurrying up the street, clutching the freshly wrapped bouquet, his heart pounding as he tried not to worry about how much time was passing. He had to pause at one point to get a map up on his phone, unsure of the restaurant’s exact location. He was further away than he thought and quickened his step, threading through groups of people on nights out, trying not to bump into anyone. You were already there, waiting. He could see you from half a street away and ran to meet you, kissing your cheek and handing over the bouquet before he really registered that that’s what he was doing. It was only as you were smelling the flowers and complementing them that he realised you were there, actually there, and he suddenly felt extra nervous about it all. “I saw it in the shop and, um yeah, I don’t know, they seemed nice, a-and I know you, um, like nice things, so,” Ben wanted to die, wanted to be sucked into a hole in the ground, sent through a time warp, anything to not be there babbling at you like a fucking idiot. “It’s very sweet of you, thank you,” “I’m glad you think so because right now it feels kinda cliché and cheesy.” Shut up “Now you have to carry them around all night,” fucking shut up, “what was I thinking?” for the love of all that is holy, “And god can I just shut up. Sorry.” He didn’t know what had come over him, but he wished it would go away. And things only got worse as he looked you over, took in your whole appearance. Seeing you just made him want you even more, especially with how gorgeous you looked. He wanted to kiss you, tell you. But he had to be able to speak to tell you and he wasn’t going to be able to do that until he relaxed a little. A drink, that’s what he needed. He downed his first one fast, willing it to work its magic. It did help calm him, though your laugh just made his heart race again. Halfway through the next glass he felt like he could say it and was on the verge of just getting it out into the open when you were interrupted, shown to your table. He took it as a sign that it would be bad timing and that he needed to wait. Instead he focused on just having a good night with you. The memory of your last dinner was still in the back of his mind but he pushed it away by reminding himself that things were better now. He felt himself relax more as you talked and with every touch you gave him. The drinks were definitely part of it too but he put it down to you mostly. How much you sooth him, how happy he finds himself when he’s in your presence. He could breathe properly again. You startled him a little by saying Joe would want to meet you but of course, you don’t know that he knows that it’s all a big production so you just meant it in a friend-being-curious-about-the-girlfriend type way. Very far from the truth. But Ben agrees and changes the topic.

When dessert arrived, he thought maybe that could be a good time to say it because it’s the end of the meal and you can leave quickly if you need to. But before he get’s to it he finds himself asking something else instead. “Can I ask about these last couple of weeks?” He hoped he hadn’t wrecked the evening by bringing it up but he was curious too, “Was it good? The space, did you get what you wanted from it?” Ben worried at his lip as he watched you slowly finish your mouthful and set the spoon down. “Yes. I’m not going to lie and say it wasn’t helpful because it really was. Just, having that break from everything. I think I really needed it. But I really really missed you too.” That was a relief. Proof that you were on the same page again, back to normal. And proof that you did care about him. “I’m glad. It was hard not seeing you but yeah, helped me figure some stuff out too. Confirmed some other stuff.” “Like what? If you don’t mind me asking.” This is it, this is your moment, “Like, um,” He wanted to say it, had the words picked out already but, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t risk driving you away again, causing another scene. Maybe he could say it back at his place, away from the cameras and the interested public. Maybe that would be smarter. All the same, he felt disappointed with himself for not having the guts to just tell you, and to try to cover the moment asked if you wanted to leave. As you step outside he remembers the kiss that was expected and he leans in to remind you. It’s more than a kiss though, different to all the other times you’d kissed. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to it. Any excuse really. And he says as much when he, somewhat accidentally admits to having missed kissing you. It was a thought that somehow slipped out of his mouth, but either you didn’t hear him or you were too caught up in the moment to say anything. Or she feels the same. He pushed the hopeful thought down as you kissed him back. His heart pounded as he felt your hands on his chest, as if it were trying to tell you what he’d been too much of a coward to say. And then you whined and settled on his lap and god what a fucking gorgeous sound. He’d spent months getting off to the memory of a hum and now you were gifting him a whine? An eager, excited whine at that. The sort of thing he’d been trying to imagine and it was so much better than anything he’d come up with. Your hand was in his hair and he very nearly echoed your noise back to you from that alone, but it caught in his throat as you kept kissing him, tongues twisting, your chest pressed against his. He wanted to hold you close and touch every part of you he could reach all at once, unsure of whether to grab your arse or you hip or the back of your neck. So he did a bit of it all, slid his hand along your arm and then down your back and then to your arse. And all too soon it stops. He could have cursed that driver and the heartless car horn that interrupted and sent reality crashing back down around him.

Once you were inside the safe zone of his house, away from the act, he expected things to go back to normal. You’d take off your makeup and then make a cup of tea and fill a glass of water for your flowers and you’d wind down with something on TV before you both went to bed. He’d have to have a shower to get off without you suspecting anything because there was no way he was going to be able to sleep with the memory of your tits pressed against him and your whine and your kiss swimming around his head. But you don’t walk to the bathroom like you normally do. He pulls the wallet from his pocket, places it deliberately next to his keys. But you still haven’t moved. He turns slowly, notices the way you swallow and lick your lips and he swears he’s on the verge of asking what you’re doing or saying something about it being a mistake, at least the thought crosses his mind, but you were standing so close (when did she get so close?) and when you kiss him again he just kisses back.

It’s a mistake probably, definitely, he knows that. He can hear the siren in his head again telling him to stop, pull away. But the problem is that it doesn’t feel like a mistake, doesn’t feel like it should be, and when he takes a step back you step with him and again and again until he’s somehow on the couch with you on his lap again. And why would he stop that, why would he say no to you when you fit there so perfectly and you feel so good? And all he can think about is that whine and that hum from all those months ago and he wants to see what other sounds he can pull from you so he drops his lips to your neck. “Wait, wait,” He’s confused as to why you’re stopping him and even more confused when you’re not in his arms anymore. “It’s rule one Ben,” Bugger rule one. Bugger all the fucking rules, you’ve broken most of them tonight anyway if they weren’t already broken. A voice in the back of his head reminds him what a big mistake that would be, but it can’t argue against making out. Making out isn’t against the rules and you know it too, you hesitate when he says it out loud. “I’d be good to you Y/N, you know I would,” he’s not sure if he’s talking about here and now, physically, or something deeper, something in the realm of boyfriend but what does it matter because both are true. You shake your head, “You know this isn’t real, right Ben?” And then it all comes out. That you knew about his crush. And everything stops. Just stops. He can’t breathe, air doesn’t exist anymore, and he’d say his heart had stopped too except he can hear it pounding in his ears, drowning out whatever you’re saying. You knew? You’d known for months? All those times Joe had suggested it, all that time he spent worrying about keeping it from you and you already fucking knew? And then everything seems to speed up all at once. The air rushes back, as loud as his heart, which only doubles it’s pounding until he can feel it trying to punch a hole through his chest and escape. Rational thought returns, connecting dots and drawing conclusions almost faster than he can keep up. “Is that why you were upset before the argument? Is that why you didn’t want to see me for the last two weeks?” “I thought some space might help you stop feeling that way.” He has to laugh at how fucking ridiculous an idea that is. That space would have ever helped him purge you from his system. Love isn’t that easy to get rid of. And his tongue must have sped up with the rest of his body because he’s saying it, the thing he’s been putting of saying, the thing he’s been wanting to tell you all night, and he wishes he could stop because this isn’t how he wanted it to go. This wasn’t how you were meant to find out. But no matter how much he screams at himself he can’t take it back. It’s out there. And you look horrified. “You love me?” Three words have never been spoken with more contempt than you managed to cram into that once sentence. “You don’t have to say you don’t feel the same, I know.” Your silence cuts through him like a knife, shredding what little hope remained. His heart isn’t beating against his chest anymore. It’s been kicked across the room and lies lifeless against the wall.  “That’s what I thought.”

He can’t be here anymore, can’t look at you. He wants to leave but he remembers all the cameras outside, reminds you of their presence in case you’re planning the same escape he is. He’s trapped there and so are you. So he puts as much space between you as he can, heads to his room and slumps heavily onto the end of his bed. All he can think about is those three words, you love me? Not a hopeful question. Not even stunned surprise.  More of an accusation. He tastes blood but otherwise barely notices when he tears his lip with his teeth. You must hate him for getting you both into this mess. He hates that he’s done it, that he’s put you in this position. And he knows you’re never going to want to speak with him let alone see him again. And he knows that as soon as the cameras leave, you’ll leave too. And that thought hurts just as much as everything else. You’re moving about, he can hear you walking around. It sounds like you’re pacing. Five steps and then a turn and then five more steps, another turn. Something about the rhythm breaks through his overactive, panicking, worrying mind. Something about it calms him. Maybe it’s that knowing you’re restless and agitated makes him want to comfort you, despite everything he’s feeling. Or maybe it’s just because the sound of your footfall means you’re still here. And if you’re still here then maybe he can smooth things over. He doesn’t expect to fix everything. He’d understand if you still wanted to erase him from your contacts and pretend you were only ever colleagues. But if he can just explain himself, explain that he never meant for this to happen, explain why he kept it from you or tried to anyway and maybe explain what he’d wanted tonight to be instead of the clusterfuck it’d become. If he can get any of that out then maybe you won’t hate him quite so much.

He says your name softly, not sure he’s allowed to say your name, “I heard you pacing.” “Sorry, I’ll keep the noise down.” “No, that’s not- it’s okay. I just thought, since we’re both clearly awake and since they haven’t left yet, I thought you might like a cuppa.” “I didn’t think you drank tea,” Have you really not noticed yet? He never bought tea bags, until you started coming to stay over regularly. Twice you opined about not being able to have a cup of tea before bed and that was all it took for him to start keeping them in his cupboard along with the biscuits you prefer. That’s how he knows it’s love. He took a breath as he pulled out mugs and stuck the kettle on, resolutely not looking at you. If he looks at you he’ll spill his guts and won’t be able to stop. He has to make tea first. Just the way you like it. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.” It comes out the second he looks at your face and it’s only that you’re telling him you understand that he doesn’t immediately say more. He drops his eyes to the brown liquid in his mug, undrinkable in his opinion, but a perfectly adequate distraction. He needs to get the words right this time. No stumbling and stuttering, no blurting things out without thinking. He needs to say it right so you’ll listen and understand what he’s trying to do. “I promise I understand where you’re at and I’m not going to try and convince you or to chase you or anything like that. I really am trying not to feel this way.” He glances back at your eyes, terrified of what he’d see there. “It’s okay Ben, I know you wouldn’t. I just wasn’t expecting you to drop the L bomb.” “Please don’t hate me,” it’s a whisper compared to everything else he’s said but there’s no way to make his voice stronger. It’s the thing he’s most worried about and admitting it out loud to you is harder than he imagined it would be. “I could never,” the sincerity with which you say it is almost enough to make him cry but the hug is what pushes him over the edge. It’s more warmth and kindness than he thinks he deserves after everything he’s done. And it’s exactly what he needed. Comfort and reassurance in one simple gesture. He wraps his arms around you for the third time that night, his face pressed into the cook of your neck, and you let him, squeezing back, as he lets everything out.

                                                        ***

The night after you met Joe, Ben visits him again, this time without you. It had always been the plan, to see Joe a few times, as much as the press circuit would allow, while he was in the US. But after the previous night it’s more necessary. And yet, Ben was struggling to vocalise any of his questions. It’s not until after dinner, when Joe suggests they take their drinks out onto the veranda, that any of it comes up. It’s peaceful out there, sitting in the cool night air, each of them taking turns to swig from their beer bottle as they talk. But Ben’s mind is constantly disrupted with thoughts of you. It’s the first time since all the promotion stuff started that he’s had more than a couple of minutes away from your side. Joe isn’t helping, constantly glancing at Ben, frowning, as if he’s trying to work something out. But he’s the first to crack, making it easier for Ben to talk. “How’s it going?” “Press is fine, bit boring. You know how repetitive it can get,” “And you know that’s not what I meant,” “Yeah. Nah, everything’s fine. Mostly,” “Mostly?” “It’s not easy having to share a room with her. I mean, it’s fun though. I’m glad she’s the one I’m doing all this shit with. We’re mates and we’ve been working so closely for so long now that we…get each other. Like there was this interview where one of the questions made me uncomfortable and she knew straight away and broke in to take some of the heat. She just says whatever she can to make me laugh or ease the tension or whatever will help. And I know when she’s getting nervous and needs a break or a fresh cuppa. But when it’s just us in our suite it’s…hard. I don’t know, I’m just trying to keep some distance even though there’s not much to be had. What did you think of her?” “Honestly?” “Of course,” “She’s perfect for you. Except for the not being interested part.” Ben nodded, letting his eyes fall to where his fingernail was digging into the label on his bottle. “Although…” “What?” Ben looked back at Joe, “You think she might be?” “I don’t know. And I don’t want to get your hopes up. She certainly doesn’t think she is. I asked her about it while you were out here last night and she was adamant that she doesn’t think of you that way but that’s not how it looked to me.” “We had a moment yesterday. Just before we came here. Nearly kissed.” “Seriously? Again?” “I stopped it. Kind of wish I hadn’t. Maybe if something happened, she’d change her mind,” “I know I’m not part of this situation and I wasn’t there and can only go off of what you’ve said and the one time I’ve met her but, for what it’s worth, I think you made the right call.” “Yeah?” “I don’t think you want anything to happen with her until you’re both more sure where you stand. Definitely not while you’re stuck sharing a hotel room.” “But what if -” Joe shook his head, “I watched her last night. She looked at you a lot and not just because you were the one talking. She also smiled a lot whenever your attention was on her. I was half expecting her to say she had a thing for you but wasn’t sure if she should tell you or something like that. So I think there is a good chance she is attracted to you but for some reason, doesn’t want to admit it and I think sleeping with her would just make things more complicated and worse for both of you. You said she had her little freak out thing when you were hooking up after that date. You don’t want to let things get further and have her freak out again.” “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just confusing myself because we’ve been in such close quarters. I just wish things were more certain y’know? Like, she keeps saying she doesn’t like me as more than a friend but then we’ll have a moment like we did in the hotel, or like on the plane when she was leaning on my shoulder to help with my crossword puzzle, or when we fucking made out. And then I’m back getting my hopes up only for her to turn around and crush me again. And it’s probably nothing anyway. Just pent up urges since we’ve been fucking trapped in this for months now.” “I don’t know man, it might be more than that. She seemed really into you last night.” “Nah. She’s horny and I’m there and that’s why we’ve had these near kisses and stuff. She’s said she doesn’t like me so that’s it. Maybe it’s better that way anyway.” Joe shook his head again but let the subject drop, “So how long are you here for again? There’s this restaurant up the road I should take you to.”

                                                      ***

The closer he got to his parent’s place the more tightly wound Ben felt. Bringing a girl home to meet the family was always at least a little nerve wracking – wondering whether they’d like her, whether she’d like them, how many embarrassing stories he’d have to sit through. But he could safely say that with you it was worse than with anyone else. There was so much history with you, despite never having legitimately dated, that he couldn’t stop thinking about. You meant so much to him. And he knew his mum was going to love you (how could she not) and that meant he was going to be asked why it took him so long to bring you around and about where it was headed and they were questions he didn’t really feel up to answering. Of course, on top of all of that, there was the prospect of sharing a room with you, maybe a bed. You hadn’t entirely worked out the arrangement and not knowing was just making him more nervous. Not just for himself either, for you as well. If he was nervous he could only imagine you were too. You were going to be facing questions as well, judgement from a new family. A family you didn’t even want to be part of. So he kept close to you all night. Because it’s easier to pretend to be a couple when you’re by his side and it’s easier to avoid tough conversations when he has the excuse of introducing you to someone else up his sleeve. And it’s so much easier to keep his folks away from you when he’s got your hand in his. He does circuits of the garden with you, chats to everyone with you, repeating the story of how you met and the fiction of how you started dating. And the whole time he’s trying to make sure you’re comfortable and enjoying yourself at least a little because you don’t even have actual feelings for him to push you on. He’d gladly endure first meetings with every single member of your family tree if you asked but he knows you’re only there because you have to be. Unfortunately, he’s also had a bit to drink so eventually he has to relieve himself, silently cursing his bladder because it means he has to leave you on your own. You don’t seem to mind too much. If anything, it feels like you’ve found your feet and are actually having a good night which he’s glad for. But he still goes as quick as he can.

He’s on his way back when he sees you and instantly realises something’s wrong. Your leg is bouncing so rapidly it’s a wonder you don’t knock the underside of the table, and you’re looking around as if you’re trying to find him. His first thought is that someone has said something inappropriate. There’s plenty of drunk cousins around and who knows what one of them might have said or done in a misguided attempt to be charming or impressive or flirtatious. But then he realises who you’re sitting next to and his stomach drops. So he hurries over to the table and takes the seat beside you, laying his hand on your knee to try to calm you. It works well enough for you to be able to sit there a little longer until he can find a reasonable excuse to leave the table and his mum. He’s not in the mood to be at the party anymore and leads you to the exit, politely waving off anyone who tries to convince you both to stay a little longer. “Better?” he asks once you’re outside, relieved when you say yes. “She mentioned us getting married,” “What? Why the fuck would that have come up?” Ben couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d been prepared for a lot but not that. “It was just a passing comment but I….” “It’s okay, c’mon, let’s go home you can tell me everything.” Without thinking he pulled you into a hug, breathing out when he felt you lean into him.

By the time he got back to the house Ben wanted another drink. You’d sat under his arm the entire ride back, keeping quiet, obviously lost in thought as you absentmindedly played with his fingers. Every brush had made him want to take your hand properly and tilt your head up to kiss you, irresponsible and selfish as it might be. One of the upsides of being back home was knowing where his parents hid their best booze, so he dug out a bottle of his dad’s Johnnie Walker, feeling a little like a teenager again, pinching a drink to impress a girl. You laughed though so he counted it as a win. But the reason you were alone together, no longer at the party, was still weighing on him and clearly on you as well. “So what happened back there?” He handed you a glass and waited until you felt you could speak. “I guess it was just harder to be around your family than I was expecting.” Everything you said made sense he supposed. He’d not really considered it that way because he wasn’t so much lying as just playing pretend. But, as much as he wished you were on the same page, he understood where your guilt came from. He tried to make you laugh again but when it didn’t work he set his glass down and took your hand. “Seriously, Y/N, there’s nothing to feel guilty about. The premiere is coming up in a couple of weeks and then pretty soon after that we’ll break up and I’ll tell them it just wasn’t working. They’ll accept it and never have to know the truth. And then we can forget this whole thing and move on.” His chest tightened at the thought of it, not being allowed to even pretend to have you anymore but he clamped down on it for your sake. “But it must be hard for you too. Having me here and everything,” He half shrugged, looking down at where his thumb was brushing the back of your hand softly, “I’m a big boy, I can handle it.” Ben glanced back at you, about to tell you it was sweet of you to care about how he was doing, but when he saw your expression he stopped.

He was a little shocked by the kiss, stumbling back a step or two, the warning siren blaring in his head again. Everything told him to run away and yet his feet were frozen in place. Joe had been right when he said he shouldn’t do this, and he’d been here before. It hadn’t gone well then so what made him think it would be better this time? But somehow he can’t find the words and you kiss him again and he decides he’s going to let it happen. He’s sick of trying to fight how badly he wants you and you clearly want this too. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be trying to undress him. He decides he’s going to let himself be selfish for once and just go with it. After the decisions made it all turns into a bit of a blur really. You’re leaning against the table and then he’s carrying you up to his room and it’s like every almost kiss, every missed opportunity and pent up moment you’d never let yourselves have is breaking all at once. You’re on his bed now and god he’s wanted you like this for so fucking long and who cares if it’s wrong. One night won’t matter. And he’s surprised by how wet you are when you pull his hand towards your cunt but he loves that you’re taking the initiative and that you clearly want him just as much as he wants you. You don’t tell him to stop. You tell him how to touch you, what feels good, and he loves that about you too. Even more than he loves how you sound saying his name as you clench on his fingers and shiver through your orgasm and fuck, he thought the whine from last time was a captivating sound but it has nothing on this, on how you sound when you cum for him. He’s going to be thinking about that moment, about you saying his name like that forever. He wants to be inside you, wants to hear it again, wants to make you feel even better and he’s forgotten where you are and how you got there so he leans over and realises this isn’t this room. This room isn’t as prepared as he’d like. For a moment he thinks that’s it and maybe it’s for the best except then you say you have condoms as you get up and rummage through your bags. He wants to know why – were you planning this or are you always just prepared like that? – except then you’re coming back towards him and he really doesn’t care why, just that you do. You climb on top of him and he feels breathless at the sight. He wants to worship you, every inch of you, and he wants to be as close as possible, pushing himself up to kiss you again because he loves you. He says it without meaning to but he doesn’t care, he’s just trying to get you to moan his name again, rubbing your clit until you’re both finished, breathing hard against each other. You’re kissing along his jaw and he wants to stay like that forever, blissed out and tangled in each other’s embrace. But reality rushes back, ignoring how desperately he’s trying to cling to the moment, and he realises how messy everything suddenly is. It hurts too. Knowing it’s not real, knowing that you don’t want what he wants. He remembers what he said just moments before, that confession whispered against your lips, and it makes him feel queasy with embarrassment on top of the heartache that’s already setting in. How many times does he have to put himself through this pain before he gets it through his head? It’s not reciprocated. It never will be. “I’ve gotta…” Ben nods his head in the direction of the door, hoping you’ll fill in the blank yourself. He wants to leave but he also wants to stay there with you, so he settles on shifting out of your reach and looking over at you, not quite able to meet your eye. “I wasn’t expecting that to happen,” Weren’t you? “Neither. Are you okay?” “Yeah. I, um, it was really good and I-I think I kind of needed it.” Ben tried to smile but it didn’t feel like it worked properly. Sure you needed it. A quick fuck to break the forced dry spell. He wanted to run from the room, flee the scene “It was good for me too. Really good. But it can’t ever happen again.” He averted his eyes again, focused on slipping back into his underwear. There was half a second where he looked around for his shirt before realising it was out at the table with the unfinished whiskies. He’d have to tidy up so no one would be able to work out what happened.

Ben downed what remained of both drinks, the burn of the alcohol a welcome distraction, though much too brief. He grabs his phone from the table, drops the glasses onto the kitchen sink and heads outside to throw the used condom into the garbage bin. As if he was going to leave the evidence of his cowardice and misjudgement inside for anyone to find. Ben turned to head back towards the door, but he didn’t want to walk through it. Inside he’d have to face you and he wasn’t sure how to do that yet. Instead he walked down the sideway into the backyard, taking a seat on the retaining wall by the flower bed of peonies. It’s not exactly warm sitting there in just his boxers and his fingers shake a little as he unconsciously find’s Joe’s name in his contacts. Joe must be busy or asleep or something (What’s the time difference again?) because he doesn’t pick up. Instead the call goes to voicemail. “Joe, it’s Ben here. Um… you’re gonna laugh so hard when you hear how fucking stupid I am,” Ben forces a laugh himself, “So I, uh, I just told Y/N that I love her….again….while we were having sex.” A pause as it sank in, “I’m not even sure how it…how we got to… We were just talking and then we were in bed and…. But it’s okay because I told her it could never happen again,” Ben thinks of how affectionate you’d been after, kissing his jaw and his nose, clinging to him, but it wasn’t real, it was just your post-sex, post-orgasm mood. He starts to laugh, less false but not entirely natural either, “I have to drive back with her tomorrow. Christ. Talk about bad timing, huh. But it’s fine though, it’s fine, totally fine. Joe, it’s fine. Because it wasn’t real. We’ve both been pent up and she spent all day with my family and had to listen to my mum talk about us maybe getting married. This was her reward. And that’s all it was. And I’m the idiot for hoping it could ever be more than that. I mean it’s not like friends don’t sometimes fuck, right? Especially when they’ve been drinking and pretending to date. Sex doesn’t have to mean feelings and it doesn’t for her and that’s fine.” There was that tight feeling in his chest again. Ben cleared his throat. “The drive will give me a chance to tell her it was a mistake. Because it was. This whole thing was a mistake. It was a mistake to fuck her and it was a mistake to bring her to meet my family and it was a mistake to pretend to date her and the biggest mistake of all of them was falling for her. And I haven’t been doing enough to reverse that. I know I said I have been, but I haven’t. I got caught up in the maybes and what ifs and I didn’t really try to move on. But now I…. It’s gotta fucking end sometime. I can’t keep doing this. So I’ve got to tell her it was a mistake and I don’t love her. Maybe I never did. Maybe I’m the same as her and it was all just because I was horny. Whatever. Now I can move on with my life. She doesn’t love me and I don’t love her and she’ll just be some bitch I nailed and we’ll both be happy, right?” Ben sighed and swiped at his blurry eyes. He’s not sure if the voicemail cut out midway through his thought process but it probably doesn’t matter. Movement from upstairs catches his eye. You in his old bedroom, getting dressed and leaving the room. He’s a little worried that if he heads back inside now he’ll bump into you on your way to get a drink from the kitchen but he can’t sit outside in the chill air all night. He takes a breath and swipes his knuckle over his eyes again before heading back inside, creeping towards the bedroom. You weren’t anywhere to be seen, though he guesses that means you’re in the bathroom. When he reached the bedroom again, he dug into the closet and pulled out a number of spare blankets, stealing a pillow from the bed. It’s not a particularly comfortable nest that he makes but it’s warm and doesn’t smell as much like you as the bed does. The pillow still holds a trace of you, but he flips it over and the scent is gone. He’s there when you get back, already pretending to sleep, curled in on himself facing away from you. “Ben?” He squeezes his eyes tighter shut, listening as you flick off the light and tiptoe back towards the bed. There’s a creak of springs as you get comfortable and then another as you move again. “Ben?” Your voice sounds even softer that time and Ben is tempted to answer but he bites his tongue. “Ben I-I…. Goodnight.” There’s another creak as you settle back down again. Ben lies perfectly still until he’s sure you aren’t going to move again. He doesn’t want to hear whatever you’re trying to say. It’ll just be everything he already knows. So he keeps quiet and feigns sleep in the hopes that real sleep will bring it’s respite sooner rather than later.

                                                      ***

Ben’s phone rang and he admonished himself for hoping it was you. He was meant to be getting over you. Besides, the hope was misplaced. It was his mum. “How did Y/N’s audition go?” “Uh,” It took him a moment to remember the excuse he’d made up, “yeah, well I think.” “She’s lovely, Ben. I’m glad you finally let us meet her,” “Yeah,” He didn’t know how else to respond but his mother didn’t need much more encouragement than that. “You should bring her back soon, I’d love to have more of a chance to get to know her. It was a bit hard with so many people there.” “Yeah, um, I’d have to check when we’re free.” He said, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I’m sure you could find one night for us,” “Yeah. But there’s the premier coming soon and we’ve both got auditions and meetings lined up so I don’t know for sure. But let me talk to Y/N and we’ll find a day that works.” “Maybe a weekend? You could stay for a couple of days then, wouldn’t have to rush off.” “We’ll see. Depends.” “Don’t leave it too long honey,” “I won’t mum. Sorry, I’ve got to run, expecting a call back about something.” “Alright, love you,” “Love you too mum,” Ben threw his phone to the other side of the couch and sighed. He’d been expecting that call but that didn’t make it any easier to get through. Not when he’d spent the last few days thinking about that night and everything that had happened. The way your lips felt on his, the way you’d looked sitting on his lap, the way you’d sounded when you came. He shook his head as if he were an etch-a-sketch but the thoughts didn’t disappear, they just morphed into thoughts of later, in the car on the way home. How you’d nodded when he’d said he didn’t love you, clearly overjoyed with the news but trying not to show it.

 Ben hadn’t gone cold turkey with you, there was still some contact, but he refrained from anything too unnecessary, spent as much time as he could with his other friends, and tried to keep any replies to you as simple as possible. Unfortunately his parents was less restrained. A few days later his mum called again, checking if he’d had a chance to invite you over yet. The day after he received a message from his dad suggesting he come down for lunch on the weekend (and encouraging him to bring you along), and then a couple days after that there was another call, one which he ignored. Every time he was thrown back to that night. But not even ignoring the calls helped. It just left him dwelling on everything and it didn’t even deter them. When next his mum called he found himself in yet another conversation on the topic and only just managed to stop himself from hanging up in her ear. He couldn’t do it anymore. It was pointless, all of it. The part of him that had thought you’d fall for him if you slept together had been proven wrong so there was nothing left to hope for. But with his family and friends thinking you were dating, always asking after you, and with you texting him memes and requesting his help, how was he meant to move on? What he needed was a clean break. But the breakup wasn’t scheduled until after the premiere and it wasn’t like a date had been set, it was up to the studio or your agents or someone else. And Ben wasn’t sure how he’d be able to wait it out that long.

 A breakthrough came in an email from Peter, an update about the movie Ben had signed on for. Originally it was meant to film in England, but those plans were in the process of changing. Part of it would still be done around London but now it seemed a big portion of the filming would happen in Spain too. Peter seemed unsure as to how this change would clash with the plans for the breakup but Ben saw it as the opportunity he needed. He wouldn’t be leaving until after the premiere anyway so it wouldn’t change your last public appearance together, but it would also work as the clean break he’d been looking for. Plus, as he reasoned to Peter, they could use the distance as an excuse for why the breakup happened. Peter seemed to like the idea and agreed that the change of location wouldn’t affect anything enough to make Ben drop out. Ben was relieved, having been excited about the project since he first picked up the script, and began looking forward to getting away from you properly. Being in a completely different country would give him the time and space he needed to stop thinking about you. It would be easy to sever all ties to you and get on a plane and move on, maybe meet someone who could drive you from his mind. He’d have to break up with you though, not just through the press but as a friend too. He couldn’t have you texting him while he was away or commenting on photos he posted online. It had to be complete. He had to remove you from his life entirely. After the premiere would be a good time to tell you. He’d pull you aside at the party or maybe tell you in the limo on the way home. It’d be hard to explain but you’d understand. She’s probably been wondering how to get rid of you anyway. Surely, you’d be pleased to hear he was going to leave you alone, not bother you with his stupid feelings anymore. You’d agree it was for the best.

                                                      ***

The night of the premiere snuck up on Ben. He’d been distracted with warding off his parents every invitation, on top of sorting out everything for his trip to Spain. Before he knew it the night had arrived making him feel equal parts excited about seeing the final product of what he’d spent so many months working on and anxious about seeing you. All he could think about was what he was going to say to you. He felt bad about cutting you from his life but there was relief too, knowing it’d be over soon. As he dressed in the suit his stylist had picked out he went over the speech he’d mentally written. It’s just a breakup, you’ve done it before. Tell her you’re sorry but you can’t see her anymore. That’s all you have to do. So, it was with this confusing mixture of emotions that he got into the limo and he only felt more ill at ease as he approached your place to pick you up. “You look lovely,” he said as you climbed into the car beside him. It came out more robotic than he meant it to. But there was a sense that this was the last time he’d be allowed to properly look at you so, while you were getting settled and taking in the interior of the limousine, he allowed himself a final chance to look you over. A hundred other adjectives to describe how beautiful you were, all dressed up and glowing, popped into his head but he kept those to himself. He couldn’t second guess his decision now. It was the only way to stop caring about you. And yet, he could feel his resolve crumbling just from being near you for the first time in weeks. No. Don’t let her get to you. This is why you can’t be in contact. Ben felt his hand curl into a fist as he reminded himself how useful the space would be. What he needed was some rules, guidelines to follow to help him stick to his plan. He ignored the irony as he came up with them. No holding hands. Actually, make that no physical contact. No voluntary physical contact anyway. He was bound to be asked by someone to take a photo with you or appear on camera with you and he couldn’t refuse if they asked for him to touch you or kiss you or anything. Do as many interviews as you can without her. That would hopefully keep interactions to a minimal. Don’t look at her during the movie.

 It was surprisingly easy to stick to the rules as you both made your way down the red carpet, but he knew it wasn’t so much his choice as it was how busy and noisy and chaotic everything was. People called his name from every side, reporters looking for quick interviews, fans looking for autographs or photos. He was able to sidestep you easily, answering questions that were thrown at him on his own until someone asked if they could speak to you both at once or get a photo of you together. Whenever you were waved over to join him, he attempted to maintain as much space as he could, but you seemed to have set your own rules just to make it harder for him. You took his hand, leant your head on his shoulder, stood so close your leg brushed against his, stroked your hand over his arm, anything and everything you could to be closer to him. Ben wasn’t sure if you really were acting more affectionate (clingy and needy) than normal or if it just felt that way because he was attempting to hold back. He put up with it though, unable to do much besides press on to the next interview without you. The hardest part was when you reached a bank of photographers who wanted a number of photos of the happy couple. Someone called out for him to kiss you and then suddenly the entire crowd was calling for it. He kept it soft and brief, though a part of him regretted not making the final kiss you’d share better.

 After that he was able to escape you for a little, talking to people as everyone gathered in the theatre to watch the movie. He didn’t look at you again until he was on stage with you, introducing the film and saying his words of gratitude and celebration. But even that didn’t last long and then he was able to take his seat and focus his attention on the screen. Watching himself was always a bit of a weird experience. Part enjoying what he’s helped create, part critiquing his performance, and part wondering why it had been edited the way it had been edited. But somehow it was even stranger sitting beside you and watching you play at being in love with him. He recognised expressions, small smiles and looks, that you’d given him on dates during the course of your relationship. Just proof of how fake everything with you was. It left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and an oddly jealous feeling in his gut. And he could feel you looking at him but he stuck to his rules and kept his eyes fixed ahead.

 He turned to his other side afterwards to talk to Alfie, wondering aloud how everyone would react to the movie and laughing about how well it had turned out. Ben couldn’t think what to say to you, knowing the inevitable end was coming. It was closer now that everyone was heading to the after party. So he was grateful when Alfie joined the two of you in your car. “You two ready to party?” He laughed, “Fuck I love that work gives me such a good excuse to get plastered.” Ben laughed along but he was stuck by the realisation that of course there’d be drinking. He’d have to watch how much he had, especially around you. He didn’t want to say something he’d regret or not be able to explain himself properly. “I think shots are in order to get us started. Meet you both by the bar?” “Sounds like a plan Al,” “I’m making yours a double Jones. We’ll have him dancing on the table by the end of the night, right Y/N?” “Oh I’d love to see that.” Cameras flashed as the small group got out of the car. Alfie headed off down the line, catching up with one of the others, leaving Ben and you on your own. Ben felt you press into his side, hanging off his arm, and thought about what waited in the club. Alfie with shots followed by champagne and cocktails and whatever else would be pressed on him during the night. He didn’t want to blurt it out or let it slip in front of other people. He had to tell you before he’d had anything to drink, just in case. It was now. It had to happen now.

 As soon as he was inside, Ben looked around for somewhere he could have a quiet word with you, somewhere no one was likely to overhear. A nearby mirrored hallways seemed the perfect place. Everyone else was busy heading into the main room and it was out of view of the photographers still hanging around outside, waiting for the stragglers to show up. “Can I speak to you over hear a sec?” he lead you around the corner, looking around to double check for eavesdroppers, “So, there’s something I need to…Y/N?” he realised you hadn’t been paying attention, probably keen to get inside and celebrate. “Yeah, sorry, Um…” Ben didn’t hear what you said next, too busy trying to remember everything he wanted to tell you, “I was going to hold off until later but I don’t want to let something slip after a few drinks or anything like that. I can’t do this anymore. This whole thing was a mistake that I should never have agreed to and I need it to be over now.” He could see how confused you were, “You know they’re going to break us up in like a week, right?” “Yeah well, that’s too long to wait. I’m breaking us up now.” He kept talking, sure the shock of it would wear off and you’d agree with him once you’d heard it all, “And…I don’t think I can see you again, not for a while at least. I need some space to forget this ever happened. I, um, I start my new job in a few days so I think they’ll probably use that in the magazines to explain our breakup. And I don’t expect I’ll see you until after it’s finished. If then. So…good luck with that witch movie. Take care of yourself.” He didn’t want to hear you agree with him, didn’t want to hear you say it was for the best or that you were going to suggest the same thing or even a goodbye. So he pushed past you and followed the noise until he found the bar. As promised Alfie was there, with a few others, a shot glass in each hand. He handed one to Ben. “Where’d Y/N go?” “Oh, uh, loo. She’ll be here in a minute.” “Well here’s to a job well done and hopefully some fucking record breaking box office numbers,” “Cheers to that,” Ben clinked his glass against Alfie’s and downed the shot, hissing a little, “another?” “Read my mind,” Ben lost himself in conversation and drinks, chatting with those around him for a while before moving on to talk to more people. Beer in hand, he headed towards the side of the room where a couple of the other main cast were sitting. Claudia looked up as he approached, “Heya Ben! Where’s Y/N? I haven’t seen her all night,” It was only then that Ben realised he hadn’t seen you come in after he’d left you in the hallway. He glanced around in an attempt to spot you, a pang of worry shooting through him but then he stopped looking. She’s not yours to worry about anymore.

                                                      ***

Ben woke up with a minor hangover the day after the premiere. Maybe it was karma. Despite what he told himself, he’d kept an eye out for you all night, but never saw you and he was more than a little worried that it was because of what he’d said. It was tempting to call and ask where you’d gotten to but a quick glance at the clock told him you’d likely still be asleep anyway. Besides, he knew he shouldn’t. He’d told you he wasn’t going to see you again and he intended to stick to his word. Instead he sent a group message to his mates and invited them around for one last hang out before he left for Spain. The next call he made was to his mum. “Hi honey. How’d the premiere go? “It was really fun, movie looks good.” “How long before you fly out?” “Couple of days,” “Shame there’s not enough time for you and Y/N to come over for dinner,” “Yeah, um, about that… we broke up.” “What? Why?” “It just wasn’t working. Mutual decision, we both felt it had run its course but decided to keep it quiet until after the premiere. So, yeah, no dinner, even if I was going to be in the country.” “Oh, honey, are you okay?” “Yeah, fine. Like I said, we both knew it was coming so y’know, no hard feelings or anything.” “It’s a shame, she was so lovely,” “Yeah, well, sometimes things just don’t work the way you think they will.”

The boys arrived in the afternoon, bringing a mixture of snacks and a few beers with them. They settled in the living room to play video games. Ben liked the company. It was a good distraction. Or it would have been if talk hadn’t turned to you. “Bit surprised you wanted us here and not Y/N. Figured you’d spend your last days in the UK with her,” “Why would I when we broke up?” “You what? When?” Ben shrugged, “We broke up. Few days ago,” “Jesus man, I’m sorry,” “Don’t be, it’s fine. I dumped her.” “Yeah but you had to go to the premiere with her right? That’s rough,” “Was a bit but there was an open bar so I coped,” Ben laughed. “Might be time we got him back on the market then,” “What? We only broke up a couple of days ago,” “You’re clearly not too cut up about it,” “What the fuck would you know, you’ve been single for what is it, three years now?” “Well you didn’t tell us when it happened, and you never even told us when you got together. We found out through a magazine, so obviously you weren’t really that serious about her” “We were waiting until after all the movie stuff was done, and that’s bollocks.” “Excuses. Besides, getting someone new to suck you off is the best way to forget an ex. This is your phone right?” “Oi give that back,” There was a scuffle as Ben tried to grab his phone back but he was outnumbered and pinned down as the boys redownloaded his Bumble app and signed in for him, laughing about how he used the same password for everything. “She’s fit, give her a like,” “Oh I like her, might be a bit tall for you though Ben,” Ben rolled his eyes as he watched them swipe on profile after profile until they heard a noise that meant one of the girls had sent him a message. “There you go Ben, didn’t take long did it. You’ll forget all about that Y/N chick in no time,” Ben snatched his phone back, “You guys are such wankers,” “That’s not very nice considering we’ve just got you a new girl,” There was laughter and more teasing as controllers were passed around and the game was loaded. Ben closed the app, thumb hovering over it to delete it again. But maybe they were right. Maybe someone new would be good. He set the phone down again and turned his attention to the game.

                                                      ***

Spain was beautiful and having a new movie to work on was the perfect distraction, especially considering how many stunts, fight scenes, and action sequences were involved. It gave him a chance to meet more people in the industry, people he was excited to work with, and really focus on something other than you. The cast went out together frequently too, dinners at local restaurants, drinks in the hotel bar, getting lost in an unfamiliar city. There was no trace of you there, no reminders of date nights, nothing but work and a new country to explore. Occasionally he’d get a notification that a reporter or curious individual was trying to message him, asking questions about you and the split but he ignored them. Ben deleted the Bumble app too within the first few days, knowing he wouldn’t use it. There was no time, even if he’d wanted to hook up with anyone. He could always reinstall it once he was back home. Once he knew you were in the past. Because the problem was that at some point every night, Ben would get back to his hotel suite and be left alone again. For a while he’d be able to think about what scenes would be filmed the next day, maybe practice some fight choreography. But eventually he’d run out of distractions and then all that was left to think about was you. Peter had sent through the first articles that reported the breakup and since then he’d found himself wondering if you’d moved on yet, found someone else to date now that you were allowed to. He’d considered checking your Instagram account but had held off, knowing it was a step in the wrong direction. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know anyway. He hadn’t gotten over you enough yet to deal with photos of you and another man together.

 This night was much the same as the others had been. Everyone met up for dinner, followed by a couple of drinks and then headed back to the hotel to unwind. Ben decided to call it an early night. He’d spent a good part of the day hooked up to harnesses and wires, being flung at a wall over and over. He was sore and tired figured some extra rest would do him good. He was just settling into bed, trying to keep his mind on the TV show he’d put on when he heard the knock. He listened closely for a moment but it couldn’t be for him, he’d put up a do not disturb sign on his door, so he turned back to the TV and flicked to a different channel. Another knock. It definitely sounded like his door but who would it be? Maybe one of the other actors? But they’d all heard him say he was going to have an early night, so surely not. Again Ben ignored it. The third knock got Ben out of bed, stumbling to the light switch and then the door, ready to politely tell whoever it was to fuck off and let him rest. “Sorry but can you not see the do not dis- Y/N? What ar-” Ben was surprised. Surprised you knew where he was, surprised you’d come there after he’d told you he didn’t want to see you, surprised that you were covering his mouth to shut him up. “You wouldn’t reply to my texts and I didn’t know if you’d listen to any voicemails I left you but I have something I need to tell you so that’s why I’m here.” There was a beat as Ben waited to hear what could be so important that you’d come all the way to Spain to tell him. “I love you.” He gasped but your palm was still over his mouth so he couldn’t say anything. It had to be a joke, didn’t it? But you didn’t look like you were joking. He waited, listening as you explained everything. It was wonderful to know you felt the same but his shock didn’t lessen. He’d been so sure about everything. So sure about how little you’d felt for him, so sure you would have understood why he needed space. And now you were here telling him the exact opposite? It was unfathomable. Maybe it was a hallucination? Maybe he’d got a concussion when he hit the wall too hard earlier. Does concussion make you hallucinate? But blinking didn’t make you disappear and the hand against his mouth felt real enough. “I’ve missed you so much, so fucking much, and all I’ve wanted is to see you again and hear your voice and hug you and I’d really like to date you for real, or at least be friends again because not having you in my life is complete shit.” Ben felt tears prickling his eyes as he realised how backwards he’d had it. You loved him. You. Y/N. You loved him so much you’d flown to Spain just to tell him. “That’s all I had to say,” you said softly, pulling you hand away. Ben staired in disbelief for a moment but you looked as if you were fighting the urge to run for it and it brought him back to his senses. “Thank god,” it was all he could think to say as he reached out to hold you, pulling you tight against him and kissing you the way he’d wanted to kiss you for so long. Relief flooded his system when you kissed back. He didn’t have to forget you or force himself to move on. It had been an impossible task anyway. He was glad to stop trying.

 It’s only when someone makes a noise further down the corridor that he lets you go, asks if you planned to stay, lead you inside and towards the couch. There were things he needed to clear up first, before he could let himself be fully happy with the situation. He looks at you properly then. You look tired, worn out. He’s not sure if it’s from the late hour or the flight or because you’ve not been sleeping properly but it makes him feel guilty that he upset you. He hates that he pushed you away and wasted months trying to get rid of you when you’d both actually wanted the same thing, to be together. But you’re here now. He reached out to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear, almost dizzy with joy that he could do that. “I’m really sorry for how I acted,” You smiled softly as you took a seat and Ben fell into the spot beside you, unable to take his eyes from you. He lets you lead the conversation, trying to sort out his mess of emotions as he explains himself. I thought if I told you I’d never been into you, acted like it, then I could make it true.” “Did it work?” “Of course not,” How could you ever think it would work? That he could just forget you so fast, after he’d fallen for you so hard? “Which is why I pushed you away.” You nodded, seemed to understand where he’d been coming from. He hesitated before reaching out to grab your hand again, a little afraid of touching you lest you turn to smoke and vanish. But you didn’t. He stifled a yawn, hoping you wouldn’t take it as his disinterest in the conversation. He’d stay up as long for as long as it took to go over everything, no matter how tired he was. “Has there been anyone else?” “Anyone else what?” “I saw a thing about you dating again,” That was surprising, not what he’d expected you to bring up. He hadn’t even realised it had been reported on. But he shook his head, explained about his friends encouraging him to move on. It seemed to satisfy you because you leant on his shoulder, let him hold you. He apologised when he yawned again, about to suggest he put a pot of coffee on so he could keep talking. But then you suggested going to bed and he had to agree.

 As soon as his head hit the pillow Ben knew he’d fall asleep fast. Even with the excitement of your arrival and the buzz of joy you brought. He kept his eyes on you. Everything seemed too good to be true. You grabbed his hand and placed it around you, shuffling as close as you could. “You’re actually here, yeah? I’m not just dreaming it?” Ben asked, voicing aloud his biggest worry. “I’m here Ben.” She’s here. In your bed. “Don’t leave, okay?” “I won’t.” She’s here and she’s staying. “I love you,” he needed to say it again, to make sure you knew that he still felt the same. “I love you too,” It was comforting to hear you say it again too, made his heart burst as he kissed you again. He didn’t want to stop but he was much to tired to do anything else. Still, he fought sleep for as long as he could. He’d lost so much time being apart from you that, now he had you back in his arms, sleep felt like a waste of precious hours. Hours he could spend kissing you, being with you, making sure you felt loved. He couldn’t fight it forever though, eventually had to give up. The last thing he saw before he shut his eyes was you, smiling at him, as you lay beside him.

                                                      ***

It had been a long day what with moving you into his house. Even after the boxes were inside and everyone who had been helping out had gone home, there was still a lot to do. Everything needed to be unpacked and put away. Ben had been clearing space on all his shelves and in all his cupboards to fit everything you’d brought with you. Plus there was new furniture from Ikea to unpack and construct. Like the chest of draws he’d been working on before he got up to stretch his legs and grab a glass of water. He caught sight of the magazines that had been left in the kitchen and, chuckling at their stories of marriage and babies, stacked them in a neat pile before he grabbed his drink. As he walked back through the living room he saw you, curled up on the floor beside the box you’d been working through. “Y/N?” Ben shook your shoulder to wake you, trying not to laugh as you blink at him groggily, still half asleep. “Alright, cuddle bunny, up you get. Time for bed, yeah?” “But the boxes,” you argued though it was unenthusiastic and slurred with sleep. “The boxes will be there tomorrow. C’mon, come with me,” Ben half carried you to the bedroom and helped you under the covers, leaving you with a kiss on the forehead before heading back to the draws he was halfway through building.

 By the time he was finished putting the draws together Ben was feeling fairly tired himself. He moved the spare screws off the floor so no one would step on them and then headed back to the bedroom. You were still there, sleeping soundly. Ben paused in the doorway to look at you. It was a sight he loved, you in his bed. The first time you stayed over and slept in his bed rather than the guest room had been a monumental occasion though the novelty of it had worn off a bit now, especially with how frequently you’d stayed at each other’s places before the move. But still, he’d never get sick of seeing you beside him, where you belonged. Same as he’d never get sick of making you tea or trying to convince you to eat an actual breakfast or making you laugh. It was in that moment, leaning against the doorway of the bedroom you now shared, one wall lined with boxes of your belongings yet to be put away, it was then that he knew he wanted to marry you. Have a family with you, spend his life with you. He’d go out and buy a ring once you were moved in properly, though he could hear his friends telling him to wait a little longer, see how everything was living with you first. But that didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have to give it to you straight away after all. But he knew that was what he wanted with you. And now that you were together, after so much time and trouble, he never wanted to let you go.

[canonicallysoulmates]

No context provided recap of my reactions watching Manner of Death. Disclaimer: this will probably make no sense if you have never watched this show. 

Episode 1: OMG THIS IS A LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT LOVE STORY! I don't know what's happening even with subtitles but I am liking it! 

Episode 2: THIS IS MAKING ME SO ANXIOUS OMG BUN YOU ARE IN DANGER! BUN! BUN! OMG OMG I WAS GOING TO STOP WITH THIS EPISODE FOR THE NIGHT BUT I’M GONNA HAVE TO WATCH EPISODE 3 FUCK FUCK FUCK 

Episode 3: They are sharing a bed people! They are sharing a bed! 📢 THIS SHOW DID THE ONLY ONE BED TROPE! It is 2am and I am having a breakdown over these two, the sounds I am making are not human Tan x Bun are hitting everyone of my favorite tropes *screams in shipper*

Episode 4: AND NOW THEY’RE HITTING ME WITH THE DOMESTICITY?!?!?!?!?!?!?! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FOCUS ON A MURDER WHEN THESE TWO ARE BEING HUSBANDS?????

Episode 5: Is Sorn x That a thing I can ship?? I am shipping it. Tan the standards you are giving me for men are so sky high I’mma be single forever

Episode 6: AKA the episode where I gasped a lot. Also Tan omg you are such a goner for your man. Bless everyone who uploads this show with English subtitles, this ish too good. 

Episode 7: Is Tan Dam? Could Tan and Bun get more married? TAN IS DAM! 

Episode 8: BUN BABY I KNOW TAN LIED TO YOU BUT HE LOVES YOU 😭 WHY AM I SURPRISED BY ANY OF THESE REVEALS???!??!?! HE HAS NO BREAKS HE HAS NO BREAKS OMG OMG HE CRASHED! AAAAAHHHHHH TAN  SOMEBODY IS IN YOUR HOUSE SOMEBODY IS IN YOUR HOUSE WHY DID YOU NOT TAKE HIS HOOD OFF? WHY DID YOU GIVE HIM YOUR BACK? I KNEW THAT FUCKER WAS GONNA ATTACK HIM FROM THE BACK AND IT STILL MADE ME JUMP I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING  I GOTTA STOP SAYING IMMA WATCH JUST ONE MORE EPI BEFORE BED BECAUSE THIS IS RIDICULOUS

Episode 9: THEY ARE SOULMATES! ARE YOU KIDDING ME? IT’S NOT JUST LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT, IT’S LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT WITH SOULMATES! TAAAAN! Y’ALL REMEMBER THE SPONGEBON EPI WITH THE CLAM AND THE MUSIC CAUSE I’M MR KRABS RIGHT NOW SCREAMING STOP WITH THE MUSIC! TAN BABY 😭 OMG THE TAN X BUN JAIL SCENE! THERE'S SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE WHY IS THERE SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE AGAIN! THEY ARE BEING SHOT AT! TAN WTF ARE YOU DOING???? THIS EPISODE MADE ME SCREAM A LOT.

Episode 10: Showering together! Seriously, these two tick all the boxes! When you love someone so much you don’t care they left you handcuffed for hours  😭  I AM TORN BETWEEN SCREAMING AT TAN NOT TO TOUCH ANYTHING OR TELLING HIM TO GET A WEAPON. IS THERE ANY EPISODE OF THIS SHOW THAT WONT MAKE ME SCREAM OR ANXIOUS AF. BUN BREAKING DOWN OVER TAN 😭 I need this episode to end so the next one can begin and I can understand this insanity- THAT YOU ARE LOCKED AND KIDNAPPED AND YOU ARE THINKING ABOUR SORN?!?!??!?!?!??!

Episode 11: I feel like I’mma need popcorn for this one brb *makes some popcorn* okay let’s continue 🍿 WHAT THE FUCK THERE IS SOMEONE AT THE HOSPITAL WHAT IS IT WITH THIS SHOW AND PEOPLE BEING PLACES! JESUS CHRIST SORN ALMOST KILLED ME APPEARING OUT OF NOWHERE! I KNEW FOR A FACT HE WASN’T DEAD YET BUN APPEARING OUT OF NOWHERE SCARED THE CRAP OUT OF ME. LEGIT MY REACTION:

This show has scared me and made me jump more times than any horror movie I’ve ever seen. I am so used to seeing him in uniform I did not recognize Inspector M for a minute. Tan and Bun are so cute always worried about each other but poor Inspector M he on the sidelines like ‘they forgot I’m here and we got a murder to solve’  😂 TAN AND BUN LOOKING AT SORN AND THAT LIKE TWO PARENTS THAT KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON, SHOW YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME I'M A WEAK BITCH YOU CANT HIT ME WITH TWO CUTE COUPLES AND DOMESTICITY AND FOUND FAMILY FEELS AT THE SAME TIME! RUNG AND PEUD WERE A THING???? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? THIS EPISODE HAS ME GRIPPING THE EDGE OF MY SEAT AND IM NOT EVEN ON A CHAIR. WHY AM I SURPRISED BY ANY OF THIS WHEN I ALREADY SUSPECTED HER? 

Episode 12: The epi I prioritized over live watching the season finale of another series I’m watching. Peud sucks!. Bun you did not have to kick that poor man in the ribs! You and Tan acting like two parents who got caught doing something inappropriate 😂  Nah, this is too easy there are still two episodes left, you can’t pull the rug out from under me this time show I’m ahead of you, I know you hiding something. THE CACTUS THAT IS GENIOUS! I like M but should he really be trusted with such a big job? Flamingo? That should be the stupidest thing yet it works I am angry at the fact that line works. CHECK THE E-MAIL. SHOW YOU GOT ME AGAIN WITH THE TWISTS AND THE TURNS I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING

Episode 13: RUNG YOU DISGUSTING *censored* Those men are vile, her sister is even worse I can’t believe I ever even thought she was in the right, Peud I’m sorry I was wrong about you- I mean you still suck, but you’re not as bad as I thought you were. This might be one of the best episodes of tv I’ve ever seen, it is heavy af it left me feeling sick and crying but it is so marvelously done and other shows need to take note because this is how you use flashbacks and convey emotion. Writers, editors, directors, actors give yourselves a round of applause cause this was a masterpiece 👏

Episode 14: HOW TAN HOW ARE YOU GONNA SAVE HIM? YOU SET THE FIRE AND YOU RUN FFS! Who did he call-INSPECTOR M! YES! KICK HIS ASS INSPECTOR M! BUT DONT WASTE ALL YOUR BULLETS ON HIM! THIS DUMB BITCH UPLOADED THE VIDEO. UPLOAD ALL! UPLOAD ALL! DON’T GO THROUGH THEM JUST UPLOAD EVERYTHING! TAN GOT BITCH SLAPPED IN HIS OWN PROPOSAL 😂  THAT PROPOSAL WAS SO OVER THE TOP AND EXTRA AND YET FOR THEM IT IS SO PERFECT AND FITTING AND ROMANTIC I KNEW IN ADVANCE THEY WERE GONNA GET THEIR HAPPY ENDING BUT I’M STILL SO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Mabel AU- The Letters

@haberdashing

Martin is an at home care giver, trying to reach the Grandson of his latest client.

This is basically a rewrite of the first episode of Mabel.  There really aren't many direct quotes, only a couple very short ones, everything else is mine.

Thanks for reading!  If you want more of this AU, let me know, or just let me know if you enjoyed!   Another fic of some sort or other will be posted next week!

ARCHIVIST: Hello, you’ve reached Jonathan Sims.  I’m not here to take your call right now.  Please leave a message after the beep.  Thank you.  

[BEEP]

MARTIN: Hey, Jonathan, right?  My name is Martin Blackwood, and I’m with Kings County Home Help?  I’ve been taking care of your grandmother for the past six months.  I’m her at home carer?  I know I probably shouldn’t have your number, but I wanted to check in with you.  Nothing’s wrong.  Nothing’s wrong.  Gertrude Sims is fine.  Good, actually, for her age.  Sorry, is that insensitive?   In any case, I’d like a call back, if you aren’t too busy.  Right.  Let me apologize for how I got your number.  I know it’s probably unorthodox, probably breeching some privacy agreement or something… 

[SIGH]

[ASIDE]

Don’t tell him that, Christ what is wrong with you?

[TO JON]

Right.  Well I got your number from my coworker, Sasha, who’s friends with Tim, who’s friends with you.  And he apparently hasn’t heard from you in a little, and would like him to call you back.  He told Sash to tell me to tell you that, by the way.  That was the price for your number.  Sorry for that.  I’m sure you have …things.  A life in the real world and not in this distant and lovely house.  

…Sorry, that was… Anyways, give me a call back when you can, yeah?  Thanks.  Bye!

[ASIDE] 

Christ!  What’s wrong with you… catch sight of one pretty photo… SHIT, right, hanging up.  

[BEEP]

[MUFFLED THROUGH A POCKET] 

[QUIETLY SINGING TO HIMSELF OVER THE SOUND OF KITCHEN] 

…Onions in the paaaaaan.  Why aren’t you hot enough yeeeet?  The water sizzledddddd, but it isn’t sizzling noooow.  

[NEGLECTED PHONE SOUND] 

[REALIZING]

OH SHIT.  SORRY.  

[BEEP]

[CLEARS THROAT] 

Hi, Mr. Sims.  It’s me again.  It’s Martin.  I… I’m trying to reach you… again.  …As you probably can tell.  It’s just been three days, and I would really like a call back.  I just realized I didn’t give a number or like, I know you can probably figure out that you can reach me through this number, but I didn’t say it and I didn’t tell you when I was available, and maybe that’s why you haven’t gotten back to me.  At least I hope that’s why.  I… I can’t imagine not calling one of my Mum’s doctors back.  Anyways, my number is [CENSORED] in case you can’t just ring back or something.  Maybe your phone blocks unknow numbers and you haven’t even gotten this.  Maybe I was listed as private and you couldn’t call back.  Maybe you’re very polite and didn’t want to bother me when you didn’t know my schedule.  I’m available from 2-5pm and in the evenings after 9pm.  Or maybe you’ve got phone anxiety.  I know I do, heh.  I’m sweating just leaving you this message.  

Or maybe you’re just busy.  

Or maybe you tried to call, and I just didn’t get it.  The reception isn’t great out here, as …you probably know.  Given you grew up here.  But anyways I have made sure I can get your message even with the dead-phone zones.  It’s all set up.  So… just needing a call back when you can.  Well, not needing.  But… I’d like one.  Thanks.  Bye.  

[BEEP]

Hi.  It’s me …again.  Just… trying to reach you.  Whatever.  

[BEEP] 

Call me back and let me know you aren’t dead in a ditch somewhere, okay?  Sash says Tim is really worried… And… I might be too.  Not that I even know you.  Not really.  So if you aren’t rotting in some hole somewhere, give me a call back, please?

[BEEP]

Where did you go?  

[BEEP]

Hi.  It’s me.  …I’ve heard a lot about you, you know?  Mostly from you Grandmother, Gertrude.  

[ASIDE] 

Christ, Martin.  He knows his grandmother’s name.  

[TO JON]

Right.  Anyhow.  She’s told me a lot of stories, you know?  She’s actually pretty sharp.  Most of the time, anyhow.  Mostly lucid.  I’m not sure if that’s all because of her medicine or what.  I’ve… I help a lot of old people, at the end of their lives.  And well… when I say she’s sharp, I mean that she is sharp comparatively, and also just remarkably so.  Her words are confident, and considered.  She doesn’t waste words, but she doesn’t shy away from telling stories.  (I’m sure it’s just because she has no one else to talk to.  Not even you.)  But… you’ve stopped feeling like a real person on the other end of the line.  That’s part of why I wanted to call?  I guess?  The longer that it’s been since my first message, the more I doubt myself for calling, and why I called.  Sorry, then, for wasting your time.  Thinking of you more like a book character, than someone with feelings and thoughts and a life.  Someone who I know too much about for us to be casual strangers, even if I am a complete stranger to you.  It just feels like a weird imbalance, you know?  

Also… it’s a bit lonely out here, you know?  Gertrude has a lot of old photographs of you.  None of them are recent.  And I know it isn’t my business, but… never mind.  It isn’t my business… and I get it.  

But… she still has your photos up.  It’s my job to dust them.  So, every week or so, I get a really good look at them.  There’s one of you on the tire swing out back… it’s still back there, you know?  You have mud all over your dungarees.  And in your hair.  Then there’s one… you look about 7?  Your hair is in pig tails, and you are scowling at something off to your right.  I don’t know what it is, and I know I shouldn’t find that kind of adorable, but I do.  And there’s one of you in uni.  You’re flipping off the camera and your hair is short and you’re wearing eyeliner.  You look some odd combination of pissed off and like you’re having the time of your life.  

[ASIDE]

And really, really, really hot.  Christ, Martin, keep it together.  You are literally on the phone with him, and you haven’t even talked to him.  Jesus!

[TO JON]

I.. wish I could have known you then.  That’s the oldest you look in these.  Most of these are pictures of you when you were little.  Mostly just you.  A few of your dad when he was young, and one of your parents.  She’s pregnant, and it’s sunset.  They look so …happy.  Christ, I’m sorry about what happened to them.  I… I didn’t really know my dad either.  

Sorry.  This isn’t about me.  

I’m calling because this place is… spooky.  Spooky like a dark fairy tale.  

Everything here is a bit… magical and creepy.  

This house is old.  Like a museum.  Dusty boxes in the attic, full of treasures and dust the relics of the past, like the Long past.  Not just the past of one lifetime.  The garden is overgrown, despite my best efforts.  Sometimes, Gertrude comes out and helps me garden.  Usually in her chair.  Mostly I just wheel here out so she can get some sun while I work.  That’s where I hear most of the stories about you.  

It’s overgrown with twisting vines and the most beautiful roses I have ever seen, with scary-long thorns.  

I feel like I’ve walked into the setting for a classic.  Like Jane Eyre or Pride and Prejudice, or hell, even Tolkien.  Or even Grimm’s fairytales.  The original, dark ones.  

It’s… unsettling.  Especially when it’s foggy out.  

The rest of the hills disappear into the fog and the condensation clings to the flowers, desaturated with the thickness of the moisture in the air, and the everything is coated in the most delicate, perfect little water droplets.  

Anyhow.  The reason I’m really calling… are the letters.  

I was helping Gertrude move some things up to the attic.  She’s one of the practical sorts of old people.  She isn’t afraid of her death.  She wants everything to be easy on you, you know?  Make sure you don’t have to go through too much stuff when she passes on.  I’ve lived with a lot of people through their deaths.  It’s nice… making sure no one dies alone.  Making sure they are comfortable.  Making it as painless as possible.  

[ASIDE]

Lord knows my efforts were never good enough for my mother… but if I can help other people…

[TO JON]

I know it’s a little morbid.  But I like it.  I feel… useful.  I’m good at it.  I’m good at keeping up conversations, and at cooking, and cleaning, and providing medical assistance, as needed.  Not that I’m an actual doctor, but I, you know, do have a lot of training.  

Anyway.  The letters.  I was helping her move some stuff into the attic, and bringing down some older boxes so she could go through them and decide what she was ready to toss, when I found them.  This box full of letters.  Hundreds of them.  All unopened.  Sealed with a kiss.  Lipstick red.  Red as dying embers.  Stamped returned to sender.  Slightly scorched around the edges.  Tied in bundles.  Identical envelops.  Identical loose, looping cursive.  All from someone named Agnes?  All addressed to Gertrude.  

That would be fine, I guess?  

But she screamed when she opened it.  An inhuman sound.  

Like the sound was ripped from her.  

And, I have never cared for a more grounded person.  I have never seen her anything but… well not completely calm all the time, but mostly calm, you know?  I’ve seen her sharp, I’ve seen her annoyed.   Heh, half the time it looks like she wants to judge me, but then doesn’t… if that makes sense?  Mostly she looks… like she knows so much more than I do and that she is calm in her knowledge?  I’ve seen so much as a carer.  There isn’t much that rattles me.  Not death, not illness, not panic, but… but this was different.  

After that… she was shaken badly.  Screamed for what seemed like hours, then just stared at me and said “I’m going into the ground for you.”  I… I couldn’t calm her down.  Not until late evening, and I didn’t even have a break because the relief carer was off sick.  

I finally got her to bed, and… I had to take another look.  That’s when I got a good look at the envelopes.  I… I want to open them.  I haven’t.  I know I shouldn’t…. but…. I want to know what could have shaken her that badly?  Someone that stable and grounded, you know?  

Heh, maybe you could call me back and make sure I don’t do something stupid.  And ya know, let me know that you aren’t’ dead in a ditch.  Tim’s started texting me directly now!  He’s… he’s really worried about you.  

Anyhow, I just need to know-

[BEEP]

[CONTINUED BEEPING]

AUTOMATED VOICE: The voicemail inbox for [Jonathan Sims] is full. Please call again later. 

[DIAL TONE] 

[adamarks]

simon snow has fucking dragon powers or some shit and this is my goddamn proof

Whilst you people were having a meltdown over Baz and Simon not hashing it out (Simon’s not in a place of understanding his self worth enough for that yet.), I was having a meltdown about Simon Snow The Literal Fucking Dragon. 

Now, this is obviously going to have major spoilers for Wayward Son. I’m going to assume you’ve read it if you’re reading this. I’ve put a lot of thought into this theory and this is a long ass post so I’m putting it under the cut. Now. Let’s go, lesbians!

First and foremost, let’s start with the wings and tail. 

Simon’s wings are established at the very beginning of Wayward Son to represent something. We don’t really get to quite know what that something is until they start referring to Simon’s wings the same way they used to refer to his magic. 

The most direct reference to Simon’s wings symbolizing his magic is in Simon’s section of the prologue at the very end of the book:

“It’s time for me to stop pretending I’m some sort of superhero. I was that-- I really was-- but I’m not anymore. I don’t belong in the same world as sorcerers and vampires. That’s not my story.

Dr. Wellbelove said he could remove the wings. And the tail. Whenever I’m ready. I could go back to school then, or get a job...”

This section directly confirms that yes, these wings are a metaphor for Simon’s magic. They’re all he has left connect him to the world of magic. They’re the only thing still making him feel even remotely on the same level as Baz and Penelope. (This book really was all about the concept of self-worth and how completely lacking it affects not only us but those we love. Phew, talk about a doozy. No wonder we’re all crying.)

Now that we’ve established that Simon’s wings, at the very least, are his one tether to magic, let’s drive the nail into the coffin of the wings and tail being absolutely, 100% symbolic of his magic. 

As I mentioned earlier, the book starts treating the wings exactly the same as it treated his magic. This even starts before Wayward Son. The first mention of Simon’s emotions relating to his wings and tail is in the first book. In the epilogue, in Baz’s section, during the dance scene. 

“His tail whips out of my hand. It tends to slash around when he’s upset.”

This really starts to come out in the last fourth of Wayward when he’s “itching for a fight.”

His wings constantly poke, prod, and generally annoy Baz and Penny because he refuses to put them away. Almost.... like... how his magic..... felt suffocating.... and too much... and he couldn’t push it back... or tamp it down. *cough*

Okay, so that was all pretty basic, boring, base-building stuff, yeah?  Pretty “whatever we get it.” 

Well, here’s where it starts to get fun. 

Let’s talk about Simon’s Mirrors.

Lemme just explain what the hell a mirror is, first. In case we all flunked our high school Lit classes. 

A mirror character is, in simple terms, a character that acts, looks like, or reminds you of one of the main characters. Through these “mirror characters” some important information about the main character is revealed to us subtextually. 

Let’s name our Simon mirrors:

Ebb 

Agatha (she’s being developed as her own character but that’s not stopping her from mirroring our good lad.)

Aunt Fiona (to some extent anyway. she doesn’t really factor here.) 

There might be some minor ones I’m forgetting (I’m not including foils) but these are our main guys. 

I put Ebb on the list first, but let’s start with Agatha, the cranky heroine of our dreams. 

Throughout the whole first book, Agatha is shown to be Simon’s mirror. Them both mooning over Baz in almost the exact same way. (Jesus Christ they’re embarrassing to watch.) The waiting on rooftops, the handkerchief. (Don’t get me started on Simon carrying around Baz’s scarf in Wayward. I’m soft and everything hurts. Our poor, stupid, stupid boys.) It’s not exactly subtle. 

In Carry On, Agatha reveals just how much Simon also resents his fate. He never really expresses it, but Agatha is reflecting to us how he’s feeling. They both get progressively less resigned to the bullshit “Chosen One” fate as the book goes on. They both make it out alive. Maybe everything will be okay. 

But then Rainbow rolls up with a Sex On The Beach and Gucci sunglasses to tell us that “fuck no everything’s not okay.” (She’s right. God, I could go on a rant about how no one ever talks about how you feel when you’ve defeated the villain. When you’ve escaped the dungeon. Hhhhh)

Wayward Son immediately sets Agatha up as even more of a mirror than she was in the first book. We’re shown right away that the two of them are both in a depressed funk. They’re both at “15%” and miserable. These two are echoing each other like NEVER before and I am LIVING for it. 

Like, we even get this amazing bit in Chapter Four:

“That would feel like an answer to... the question of me. Then I could say, ‘Oh, that’s who I am. That’s why I’ve been so confused.’”

They! Are! Struggling!

Now, how does this relate to Simon having literal fucking dragon powers? Good question, thank you for asking. 

In Chapter Fifty-Six, when Pen and Agatha are stuck in the back of Fuckwad Vampire #3′s car, Agatha says this:

“I honestly thought I could walk away from it all-- like magic was a place. Like magic was a person. Or a habit I could break.

When Simon first came to Watford, he couldn’t make his wand work. He could barely cast a spell. He thought they were going to kick him out, that he wasn’t magic enough. 

“You don’t do magic,” Penelope told him. “You are magic.”

I... am magic. 

Whether I like it or not, whether or not I claim it. Whether or not I carry my wand. 

It’s in me, somehow. Blood, water, bone.”

They!! Are!! Both!! Magic!! 

Magic is in them! Magic is with them! They’re made of the stuff! They can’t cut off this part of them, no matter how much they want to. (lmao. talk about good old internalized homophobia. I don’t really have an opinion on what Agatha’s sexuality is, btw. I’m using homophobia as a blanket term because I have no clue what’s up on that front.)

Simon is made of magic. He doesn’t want to remove his wings. Even though he has to hide them. Even though he thinks he’s a Normal now. Like Penny said, “an aeroplane is still an aeroplane even if it’s on the ground.” (I’m not sure that’s verbatim, apologies.)

Simon still has magic. We just can’t see it. He’s made of magic. He is magic. He was literally conceived during a spell. Bitch is as magical as you can get. 

But where is the magic???? Where’d it go???? Hello????

I’m getting there. I promise. First, we need to talk about Ebb. 

Ebb wasn’t only Simon’s weird Aunt figure; she was his mirror. Ebb was what would’ve happened to Simon if he hadn’t rejected the mage at the end of Carry On. Ebb just gave in. She didn’t want to fight anymore, and she figured Shithead The Great knew more than she did. 

God I just fucking hate Mage so much like holy shit. Anyway, anyway. 

Ebb was the strongest magician next to Simon. She didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want to use her magic for any great purpose. She just wanted to be. Agatha even reiterates this in the epilogue of Carry On.

 “Like, they couldn’t just let her be.”

(No, Simon doesn’t miss killing things in Wayward. He misses excitement and having a purpose. He mainly misses having a purpose. Not having one of those fucking sucks.)

What the fuck does Ebb have to do with this? Why can’t I just get to the point?

My point is!

My Point IS!

That goddamn dragon with the sheep was supposed to remind you of Ebb.

So, let’s do the math. If 1=1x1= 1 then...

Ebb = Margaret = Simon

Sure, sure we had Simon screeching that he wasn’t a dragon. But Margaret was immediately like, 

“Not yet.” She pets his wing. “Are kitten. Someday dragon. Someday ferocious.”

Simon smells like a dragon, but also apparently “smells like iron.” Whatever the fuck that means. I mean I guess it means that Baz could still sippy sippy. (Which is gonna happen or I’ll eat my own toe.) 

One more thing: 

“I wanted wings,” he says. “I wanted to fly.”

“Why tail?”

“I wanted to be free!”

Gee, that sure sounds like what Agatha was saying earlier, huh?

YEAH OKAY HE’S HALF DRAGON!! WE’VE ESTABLISHED THAT!!! WHAT THE FUCK AM I ON ABOUT!!!!

Omg thank you for asking. I’m going to blow your mind with my final point. 

The Final Point: The Baz Problem.

Wayward Son is, by all accounts, Baz’s book. It develops everyone beautifully and everyone has an arc, but this book is where Baz gets to shine. 

We found out in this book that vampires are immortal.

This introduced a whole new issue, an issue that surfaces every time immortality is introduced as a possibility for one character but not the rest. 

Someday, Baz will be left alone.

He’ll inevitably outlive everyone he cares about. We all know our poor, beautiful, delicate bastard boy couldn’t take it. How deeply he cares is his most beautiful and wonderful trait, and this could break him. 

I wonder, how long does a dragon live?

Penny talks about the improbability of Simon and Baz in Chapter Three. 

“Star-cross’d lovers. ‘From forth the fatal loins of these two foes.’ The whole shebang.”

Simon’s magic was always described as smoke and fire. The first creature we learn about Simon fighting was a dragon. (Chapter 1, first page of Carry On)

“You’ve slain a dragon, Simon. Surely you can manage a long walk and a few buses.”

 God, I just really hate Bitchface the Mage. Anywho.

Simon. The One Who Came to End Us. Simon. The One To Save Us All. Simon is the dragon and the knight. He’s his own worst enemy. His arc will be completed once he accepts the “dragon” part of himself. It’s poetic as fuck, I must admit. 

Simon has to find love and care for himself, and then this baby dragon will be grown. He’ll be “on top” as Margaret had said. (God, could you imagine all the dragons waking up? How fucking epic would THAT be? Fingers crossed.)

The monster that drains living things and the monster that burns all in its wake. These losers are starcrossed, but they complete each other. Dumbasses. I just love them so much why can’t they get their shit together. 

Simon and Baz’s storylines are utterly intertwined. They’re perfectly matched. Simon might not know it, but their hearts are already tied together; they beat in sync. They’re two stars orbiting each other. And, if we’re all very lucky, maybe they won’t crash. Maybe this story won’t end in flames. 

So, in conclusion, I really really really want Simon to breathe fire. The only other way I could see this twisting is the wings somehow going away and Simon getting a regular-magician amount of magic. That’s kinda lame tho and doesn’t complete his arc correctly. This dumb boy is a dragon now and there’s nothing we can do about it. (EDIT: actually yeah simon’s not gonna lose his wings no way in fuck. check out my meta.)  Also? I would sell my soul to see Simon getting really possessive over really weird objects for his hoard. 

Thank you for sticking with me this far, dear reader. I’ll leave you with this thought: Baz is Donkey and Simon is the dragon from Shrek. 

Check out my other meta on the future of simon and baz’s relationship and how penny and agatha relate 

scarf meta as well check it

Gonna be tagging peeps so this can circulate better. 

@carrybits @neck-mole @watfordwallflower

[mrsbhandari]

Shutter - pt 5

a/n: bonjour!! sorry that this is a little bit later than i thought i would post it, i went to do a bunch of stuff today oop-- anyway, i hope you like this one!! also the instagram post described with nia and tyril is this one by the lovely lxdy-starfury because i like to think that they become good friends and share a love of books teehee.

warnings: there’s a section here that’s nsfw (masturbation) so uh yeah

words: 3k

tags: @lxdy-starfury, @huntress1024, @anotherbeingsworld, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @chaotic-ramsay-queen, @brycemaloliver

#

Jesus Christ. That was the first thought Naexi had when she nodded and Tyril slotted his lips against hers, effortlessly molding to her mouth as if they had been together for years. He tasted sweet, like funnel cake at the carnival and shared laughs as powdered sugar covered her mouth. In an instant, he hopped down from his stool and stood closer to her, gently placing a cold finger under her chin and positioning her head for an even better angle. Naexi’s head spun, feeling her mouth open and his tongue brush hers. She let out the smallest of whimpers, and all bets were off. He was borderline desperate to taste her, feel her, with his hands traveling down to her hips and pulling her close by her belt loops. 

He took her chin in one hand and tilted her to the side, exposing her neck and allowing him to trail his lips down her skin. Gasping, her fingers found his hair and the messy bun he’d thrown it in before tugging on the hair band and freeing the raven locks to fall down to his shoulders. She tangled her fingers into it, relishing how fluffy and soft it felt against her palm, images of it splayed out on the pillow below her and it hanging over her face as he looked down on her flashed into her mind, making her dizzy with desire for him. The feel of his fingertips finding their way under her sweatshirt and gingerly running across her stomach shocked her senses. His hands were cold, but soft, and gave her goosebumps wherever he stroked. 

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was husky in her ear before his mouth pressed a soft kiss to her neck, smiling against her skin when he felt a shudder go through her body. Their time was cut short by a loud ringing coming from his pants pocket, making them both jump.

“Dammit--Hello?” he impatiently answered, lips swollen and hands still twitching against her skin. 

“You’ve been there a while, boss. Just wanted to make sure she didn’t force you to write her into your will and kill you.” Imtura sounded bored on the other end of the line.

“Is that even possible?”

“You’d be surprised.” 

“Ignoring that...ominous statement, yes, I’m fine.”

“Did she say yes?” Naexi gave him a confused look, but he just offered a small, embarrassed smile in return. 

“I...didn’t get a chance to ask yet.”

“Ah, I see.” She didn’t say anything else.

“Well...I’m going to go. I’ll be on my way soon.”

“Later, boss. Oh, and uh--” He could practically hear her grin through the phone. “--give her a kiss for me.” 

Tyril hurriedly hung up the phone and slammed it down on the counter, face flushing a bright red at Naexi’s laughter. 

“Was that the bodyguard I met at the shoot?”

“Imtura, yes. She’s…”

“Fantastic!” Tyril rolled his eyes.

“Sure, we’ll go with that.”

Trailing her fingers up his sharp jaw, Naexi gave him a small smile. “What did you want to ask me? Does it have to do with the ‘favor’?” He hummed and closed his eyes, enjoying her gentle touch.

“Yes, my father has a charity gala coming up and I would like you to come with me.” He opened his eyes and bit his lip, making Naexi wonder what else he could do to get any sexier. “As my date.”

“A fancy rich people gala....with the girl who hated you when she first met you because you’re rich....sounds like a disaster, Tyril.” She looked away, unsure, but the moment he leaned down to her ear and whispered “Please” in her ear, she knew she was putty in his hands. “Fine!” He grinned down at her, making her knees weak. “But you owe me.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, one that had her leaning forward for more after he pulled away. “Anything.” His smile seemed to hold the promise of the world in it. 

She believed it.

#

Tyril sat heavily on the leather couch of his apartment, quiet and empty without Naexi’s smile to brighten it up. The feel of her lips against his and her body in his palms was intoxicating, enough so that his head still felt fuzzy and his pants still felt tight. He’d never felt this way for anyone after Kaya left him, and half of him felt completely ashamed for thinking of Naexi that way. The other half of him was extremely turned on. 

Making an executive decision, he stood and walked to the bathroom, turning on the water and stripping down, waiting for it to heat up. In that time, he couldn’t help but think of how perfect she looked in the candlelight of her kitchen, shadows flickering on her face and sharpening the roundness of her face. He looked at himself in the mirror, noticing how hard he’d become at the thought of her so close to him.

“What are you doing to me, Naexi?” he whispered to himself, turning back to step in the shower. The hot water hit his muscles just right, washing away the tension buried so deeply in his shoulders. If he closed his eyes and dreamed, he could imagine that it was her hands running across his back, kneading her fingers into the flesh and trailing down to his sides. He shuddered and braced one hand against his shower wall, nails scraping the grout. He resumed his fantasy, thinking of her soft hands sweeping down over his hips before wrapping around his hard shaft. He gasped as he felt the pressure surround him, water dripping into his mouth and off his chin from the hair that was plastered against his forehead from the steady stream of the shower hitting him. Her hand moved and she was whispering in his ear, walking around to face him as she got him off, forcing him to look at her in those big green eyes that had him in a trance.  

“C’mon, pretty boy, come undone for me.” Then she was kissing him and he could feel himself reaching his peak and spilling over his hand, ripping him from his mind as he opened his eyes to see that he was alone in his shower with his rapidly softening dick in his hands under a stream of water that was no longer as comforting as it was just a few minutes ago. Laying his forehead against the warm tile, he closed his eyes again and pictured her pretty face as his breath slowed.

#

“You sly dog!” Mal clapped Tyril heavily on the back, making the latter man nearly choke on his coffee. Being friends with Mal typically came with the inevitable injuries from the man’s brute strength and touchiness, and Tyril often wondered how exactly he hadn’t ended up in the hospital from one of his ‘friendly’ punches. 

“I am nothing of the sort,” he deadpanned, keeping his gaze forward as they walked. 

“Aw, come one, killer, admit it.” Tyril sent a sidelong glance to Mal. “You’re falling in love with her.”

Tyril rolled his eyes. “It’s far too early to say anything as serious as that.”

“But you’re at least falling for her,” Imtura corrected, holding a long index finger up. “No offense, boss, but after Kaya left--” He winced at the name. “--you were a whole mess. Like, watching rom-coms while crying and eating ice cream kind of mess. Like--”

“Yes, yes, I was broken up that my fiancee cheated on me and planned on buying my company out with her lover, who just so happened to be my biggest competitor. I was a mess who immediately dismissed the entire idea of love because if someone could really hurt me that bad, then what’s the point of believing that there’s any good in the world?” Imtura opened her mouth to speak, but Tyril continued. “Which is why I throw myself into my work and shun dating altogether because I’d rather focus on the good I know I can cause rather than the unguaranteed good of someone to date and marry.” He realized that his two friends were staring at him. “Were you going to say something different?”

“No, I was just going to say that you needed to get laid. I think that proved my point.” Imtura and Mal laughed, exchanging a fist bump as they walked after Tyril. He just rolled his eyes. “Plus, didn’t Kaya also screw over your competitor, too?” 

“What’s your point?”

“I’m just saying that at least you’re not the only one.” 

“You’re right, I feel so much better now. No more therapy for me!” 

Mal exaggeratedly shivered. “Hearing you sound sarcastically happy is creepy.”

“Listen, all I’m saying is that it’s good that you’re getting back out there! I’ve had enough of you moping. My job would be so much more exciting if you did stupid stuff because you’re heartbroken.” 

“Plus, now you’ve got a total babe to go to the gala with,” Mal interjected, earning an exasperated sigh from Tyril. “What? I’m right!”

#

“You made out?!”

“Shhhhhh!” Naexi waved off a few nosy patrons of the store before turning back to her best friend, who was trying to silently freak out on the couch. “Yes, we did.” 

“If I don’t get a detailed play-by-play right now, I’m literally announcing to the entire store that you made out with a billionaire.” 

“Well, you already half-announced it.” Naexi explained what happened in her apartment to Nia, who would interject with random squeals and squeaks at certain points, nearly spilling her coffee on her friend at one point. Finally, when she was finished, Nia was bright red and fanning herself.

“Wow! And now you get to go to the gala! You’re like a princess,” she sighed, earning a scoff from Naexi. She was about to retort, but her phone buzzed on the table. 

PICTAGRAM: @tyrilstarfury is now following you.

Nia glanced over her shoulder at the screen. “Ooh, getting serious, hm?” she taunted, poking her friend in the side and giggling. Nia’s own phone lit up, detailing an alert on Tyril’s name in a tweet. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh? What are we uh-ohing?” Naexi glanced over at the Zizzfeed account pulled up on her screen with a tweet reading “Who did Tyril Starfury follow on Pictagram?” with a link to an article featuring countless old gifs between sporadic sentences about the bachelor and his odd following of a random photographer’s account on social media. “What the hell?! How are they so fast?” 

“You’re famous!” 

“Did you forget that I’ve been published in multiple magazines, including Vogue, one of the most notorious fashion magazines in America?”

“I feel like Zizzfeed is like, officially famous, though.” 

#

“It’s not uncommon, I’ve always had news sites like that one sticking their noses into my business.” Tyril scowled into his glass of water. They were sitting on his couch, making his large apartment feel less empty with full kisses and even fuller laughter. She reached up a hand to trace his jaw, bringing his gaze up to hers. 

“It was just a little shocking, is all.” He reached a hand up to his hair and brushed a few strands out of his face. He seemed bashful, not at all like the typical powerful man she’d come to know in just a few short days. It made her heart melt. 

“I understand that this whole billionaire thing can be overwhelming, and I don’t want you to feel pressured to stay with me if it makes you feel uncomfortable with all the eyes that might be on you--”

“Tyril.” He stopped his rambling and looked at Naexi, all wide eyes and sweet smiles. “I don’t want to read any stupid news about you because I have the source right here. I want to be with you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it earlier, but I’m here now, hm? Kiss me, please.” He grinned happily obliged, their lips coming together easily in an act that had his head swimming every time they did it. Her mouth trailed down his throat, leaving pinpricks of heat as her teeth nipped at his skin, sure to be the reason he would need to wear turtlenecks for the rest of the week. 

“You’re a troublemaker,” he murmured, breath heavy under her touch. 

“Let me guess.” She leaned back, but their faces were still close. It was torture. “You were a good little boy who didn’t associate with the likes of little girls like me.” She ran her finger over some of the new hickeys decorating his skin, making him hiss. 

“Let me guess...you were a little girl who teased little boys like me.” His hands wrapped around her thighs and effortlessly pulled her into his lap. 

“That’s because I didn’t realize how naughty those little boys could be.” She was straddling his hips and he felt like he was living the teenage years he never got to have, full of raging hormones and obvious hickeys and immature laughter. Her body was pure warmth in his hands, heating his body up from its usual cool temperature. She had a red sweatshirt on, complementing the dark gray sweater he had chosen for himself after what seemed like hours of deliberation, eager to look perfect for her. Those words surprised him. It seemed like every step he took revolved around those words. 

For her. 

#

Beside her, a phone buzzed and she looked at the headline that took up the top space of her notification bar: TYRIL STARFURY SPOTTED ON DATE WITH VOGUE PHOTOGRAPHER. She clicked on it and was immediately met with a large photo, no doubt taken by a paparazzo on the sidewalk across the street from a local ice cream shop they had visited together. The picture featured a typically stoic Tyril smiling with a dot of chocolate ice cream on his nose, placed there by his new girlfriend who just wanted to make him happy. She smiled down at the picture and saved it to her phone, sending a screenshot of the article to Tyril. 

NAEXI: I still think this was a cute look. Shame it didn’t last longer. 

TYRIL: I seem to recall the reason it didn’t last long.

NAEXI: Enlighten me.

Tyril let out a small laugh and sent an embarrassed smile to Mal, who gave him an odd look in across the table in their conference meeting. 

TYRIL: You insisted on licking any ice cream off me, remember? I’m surprised the paparazzi don’t have more scandalous pictures. 

NAEXI: I’m going to email the pap and ask if I can have copies of the rest.

TYRIL: You wouldn’t!

NAEXI: Too late.

NAEXI: He said yes!!!

# 

Nia’s attempted sneaky picture was thwarted by the loud shutter sound that jolted the both of them. Tyril looked up from his book with furrowed brows. 

“What are you doing?” Nia flipped her phone and showed him the picture, which turned out surprisingly good considering the jostling. 

“Can I post it? Look how cute you look!” she exclaimed, hopeful eyes matching his tired ones, framed by his glasses. 

“Sure,” he confirmed, smiling a little when she let out a little cheer. She was busy tapping away at her phone while he leaned forward and tried to catch glimpses of what she was doing when she pressed a button and laid her phone back on the table. His phone lit up with a Pictagram notification a few seconds later, telling him of how @niaellarious_x tagged him in a photo. 

He looked down at his hair that fell nicely over his shoulders and the turtleneck he’d been forced to wear by Naexi, who was ever enthusiastic when given any sort of access to the sensitive skin on his neck. Liking the photo, he scrolled down to the comments and skimmed through the hundreds already asking how Nia knew Tyril, settling on one in particular that made his heart pound. 

@naexi_c gorgeous 

#

“I’m thinking about wearing this one for the gala,” Naexi said, holding up a violet dress that hung limply on the hanger. From what he could see, it was long and looked smooth, and he tried imagining her in it, but could only envision her in what she was in now, a pair of shorts and yet another sweatshirt. On anyone else, he was indifferent to baggy clothing, but on her, it only left him wanting more. She seemed to know the effect she had on him, stretching often to allow a sliver of her stomach to be revealed. His fingers twitched at his sides as she did it again. 

“Are you not going to try it on for me?” She laughed and hung the hanger back up. 

“You’re not slick, handsome. I see right through you.” Reaching out a hand that he grabbed, she walked over to where he was seated on her bed. He placed his lips on the center of her palm and brushed his lips over the inside of her wrist. 

“You’re right, I should know that you look beautiful in everything.” 

She leaned down and placed a kiss on his cheek before moving to his lips, where she simply said, “Sap.”

#

“Finally! I’ve officially kicked your ass!” Mal pumped his fist, nearly throwing his controller out of his hands.

“This is Mario Kart, it’s not like it required any actual skill…” Tyril grumbled, taking a sip of water from the glass on the table next to him. 

“Hand-eye coordination, bitch!” 

“Mal!”

“Aw, c’mon, am I not allowed to celebrate my victory?” Tyril rolled his eyes and threw the controller down on the cushion, left dissatisfied by the soft clatter it made. Checking his phone, he missed Mal’s scoff. “I can see I’m no longer the only one in your heart. It wounds me!” 

“Everything wounds you,” Tyril muttered, smiling a little at the text that appeared on his screen. 

“When am I gonna meet this chick, hm? She seems to have left quite the impression on you.” Mal wiggled his eyebrows over the glass of whiskey he was about to drink. Tyril remained unfazed and kept his eyes on his phone. 

“The gala.” 

“Two more days of having to snap for your attention!” Mal set his cup down heavily and realized that Tyril was sucked into his phone again. He snapped his fingers above the screen. “Hello?!”

[pinkysfaultorbrainsfault]

animaniacs - s3e6: hercules unwound

yeah it’s season three now. sorry. season 1 had sixty five episodes in it and season 2 had..... four. i don’t understand it either. but none of those episodes had mice, so i guess we’re here now!! (if i’m wrong, and they did have mice, feel free to get back to me, but i definitely didn’t see any mice on the wikipedia page.)

episode summary: inexplicably existing in ancient greece, the boys plan to steal zeus’ lightning bolt. which is the source of his powers, i guess? i don’t know. this episode makes no sense.

the rundown:

so here’s the thing.

they introduce ancient greece.

they introduce hercules.

they establish he’s a crybaby who has twelve (12) chores to do today, which... seems like an excessive amount of chores, sure, but he’s literally just rolling around on the floor and having a tantrum about it.

zeus gets pissed off and electrocutes him.

and then the warners show up. “i’m lost,” says wakko, “is that our cue?” they have no idea. they’re confused. i’m confused. this short has gone in like eight different directions since it started.

still, they potter down to where hercules is crying, introduce themselves (left; yakkoles, right; wakkonemnon)

(above, the goddess of cuteness, aphrodottie.)

and then dot goes and lays on the floor and decides she doesn’t want to do it.

“you wanna just skip this cartoon?”

“yeah.”

“alright, see ya, pal.”

and off they go, i guess.

that’s.... as accurately as i can summarise it. none of what happens there has anything to do with the mice or the future plot, so i’m just gonna skip past it, if that’s okay.

poor hercules. having to clean out the stables all by his lonesome.

meanwhile, after a sudden jumpcut, we see aristotle desperately trying to teach his class the source of zeus’ powers. it’s the lightning bolt, you goofs! the lightning bolt equals unlimited power!

none of them care.

good thing someone does! so we can get the review started already, christ. this is how they’re arranged at first, but it’s only for a couple of frames, so i’m highlighting it because it’s very funny! and also very easy to miss.

“we, pinkus, shall steal zeus’ lightning bolt, overthrow the kingdom, and

TAKE OVER THE WORLD.” good thing they managed to squeeze another closeup in there, huh. just can’t have an episode without them.

“but how do we get to the tippy-top of mount olympus, where zeus lives?”

“i have that figured out, pinkus. behold, across the street, the agean stables, where legendary, famed and godlike horse pegasus spends the day.”

calm down, brain. jesus. i thought pinky was the one with the Horse Thing. brain goes onto explain that every night, pegasus flies back to mount olympus,

okay.

and they’re just gonna hitch a ride. climb on his back without him noticing. steal the minivan, except the minivan is a flying horse.

so off they go to do that, i guess!

it immediately cuts to them being chased by cerberus, with a “run, pinky, run!” from brain, which is cute. his name is pinkus, in this interation, but brain calls him pinky for short. did the writers intend that to be cute? probably not. do i find it cute? absolutely.

it’s very peatb-esque. still, they outrun it eventually.

“in future, pinkus, let sleeping guard dogs lie. especially when one has three heads.”

“funny. the middle head seemed so friendly.”

honestly? the animation here is cute. and it kind of sucks that they gave the good animators whatever this episode is. is there something i’m not understanding? it’s just been completely threadbare random throughout. they always seem to give the good episodes to the guys who draw them weird. it’s upsetting.

but the stables are there, so off they go.

so while hercules cleans out the stable and whines about it,

medusa gives pegasus a makeover. she is just dying to braid his tail, for no extra charge. this would probably be a lot funnier if i knew who they were trying to make fun of, here? but it’s all good. (that’s one of the problems i have with this show, sadly. all these celebrities stopped being quite so famous literally before i was born. hoo hoo. i’m sure there are like, 30-40 year olds who appreciate the humour far more than i do.)

the mice have found their target. soon, they will strike.

“there he is, pinkus. in all his wing-ed glory.” he puts the stress on the “ed” and it’s uncomfortable. nobody says words like that, brain! or i guess he does? whatever.

so they climb this conveniently placed shovel, ready to jump right on! because, yknow, it’s right there.

except hercules decides that, yknow, he needs a bigger shovel to... clean out the stables with, and--

look. guys?

i have so much anxiety, okay? real talk for a sec. you see my head? nothing up there makes sense. this is why i run a cartoon mouse blog. one of the ways that manifests is in incredibly nervous coprophobia. i don’t like to talk about it. it makes things difficult for me. this episode makes things difficult for me. i barely made it through the stupid... garden of mindy. you don’t want to see this, i don’t want to see this, i do not want my comfort characters to have to deal with this, and i do not want to put myself through the heart attack of trying to transcribe it like the... bad children’s tv jokes bible. okay? i’m skipping this section because it doesn’t add anything and i’ve had enough.

hercules uses the shovel. the mice get dirty. presumably, between scenes, they go take a bath. let’s just say that happens. whatever. cartoon logic.

but nobody takes a bath without hercules’ sayso, so he decides to beat them to death. this is just the first frame i skipped to. i assume this is what’s happening.

i’m not enjoying this episode.

homeboy decimates a wheelbarrow. it has good faces, i’ll give it that. this episode has good faces. is it wang? why on earth would they give wang this bollocks.

“be gone, manure sprites!”

yeet.

thankfully there’s nothing weird in this barrel. it’s whatever medusa was doing pegasus’ pedicure with. dish washing liquid, i think? whatever that means. i’ll be honest, too many gross things have happened in this episode and i’m not sure i could handle anything e--

ah.

what.

thankfully, pegasus decides this is a good time to get the fuck out of dodge.

the mice agree.

hercules grabs bucket girl and also gets out of dodge.

that was weird and random and not needed.

but like, it’s fine. it’s good. they’re on the horse. the horse is flying directly towards mount olympus. yknow. it worked out.

conclusion:

as zeus mopes about his son’s work ethic, the mice get on with their own, tiny mouse jobs.

“upon that table, pinkus, is zeus’ mighty lightning bolt.”

“gee, i hope he has it charged up.”

with a LIGHTNING CABLE!! hoo hoo. hee. those were definitely not a thing when this came out.

brain doesn’t find it quite so funny, sadly, but he chooses to ignore it in favour of hustling his little mouse ass onto the table.

“all power is ours, pinkus. now to-- take over the world...”

bonk.

this is not the first time this has happened. (or maybe it is? chronologically? who knows.)

but oh no! zeus looks through his big old zeus telescope that he has and works out that the stables are worse than ever, actually, and hercules has no intention of cleaning them.

he’s off having a coffee break with medusa! typical. time to electrocute him.

so zeus reaches for his trusty lightning bolt.

pinky’s so chill about this. he’s just vibin.

yeet.

he just straight up throws the whole thing. does it respawn? y’all. i don’t get it.

“i sense the pivotal moment of failure quickly approaches.”

unfortunately - or perhaps it is forunate, depending on how you look at it - zeus just straight up misses.

the mice rebound.

aaaaand that can’t be good.

sploosh.

of course, whether or not this was zeus’ intention, the upshot is that the stables are nice and clean, finally.

so hopefully we never ever have to go through that again.

on the downside, the mice did drown, so i guess that’s the end of this blog.

brain: 3 ½ pinky: 5 ½ outside influence: 8

“as your reward, you get to marry a goddess.”

“the goddess of love? the goddess of beauty?”

“no!”

“the goddess of cuteness, aphrodottie.”

(so we iris out on child marriage. goodnight, everybody.)

[jellicleetcetera]

Cats 2019: A Spectacle of a Trainwreck

I saw cats 2019. And I had a lot of thoughts about it. So I thought I'd write an essay. Because that's what I do when I have a lot of feelings about something. I write about it.

So, I’m going to start this off by saying that I’m actually a huge fan of the original musical. I get the songs stuck in my head constantly. My personal favorite rendition is the 1998 direct-to-video adaptation. When I first saw the trailer, I was terrified. I saw that they were adding a speaking plot, and I immediately knew there were going to be a lot of changes. I was prepared, though, because the original musical would be very hard to sell to general audiences. Hell, Cats is hardly a musical for people that like musicals. Cats us a beast of its own kind. A lot of changes would have to be made if this were going to do well at all in the box office. So, I promised myself that I would go into it with an open mind.

My mom asked me a couple months later if I would go with her to see it. Now, as most of you die-hards would know, seeing Cats with your mother is a very dangerous gamble. Either she’ll understand what’s going on in That Scene, or she won’t. But either way, you’ll be uncomfortable the whole time. I didn’t know if they were going to include the scene or not. I was hoping so because I would love to see the reactions, but also praying that it would be cut because Jesus Christ I’m seeing it with my mother. I agreed, though, because I knew I was contractually obligated to see this damn thing and if my mom took me I wouldn’t have to spend my own money on the ticket. So, the release happens, a few days go by, and then my mom and I walk into an empty theater on the morning of Christmas Eve.

It was certainly a spectacle of a film. Everything was super vibrant and flashy. I absolutely adored the giant sets. I honestly think it’s incredible that they actually built giant sets so the actors would look effectively cat-sized. They looked a little too small, but then again, Jellicle cats are rather small. Also, my sense of cat size is warped because my own cat, Comet, is absolutely massive. But I digress.

Aside from the set design and the flashy palette, though, one thing really bothered me visually. And it will surprise no one. I really, really didn’t like the cats themselves. Design-wise, fine, they’re alright. Their faces are a little creepy but it’s not that bad. Add a little more cheek fluff and you’re good. However, there’s a specific reason I didn’t like that they did CGI fur rather than practical costumes. It cheapened the dancing.

The moment you slap something CGI onto something real, it makes the real thing look like it’s CGI. That’s just unavoidable. During the whole movie, I couldn’t really get over the fact that they looked CGI because it made the dancing look like it was computer-animated rather than real people actually dancing. Which sucks, because when you look past the gross look of their digital fur, the choreography and the dancers were incredible. (Although I do wish it was a bit more… feline. The original musical’s choreography wasn’t as complex or impressive, but it really got the message across that they’re cats, and not just human dancers with cat features.) It’s really a shame. If they had been in practical costumes, they would have looked like much better dancers. Creating practical costumes would have also added a bonus of getting to create interesting, modern reimaginings of the old 80’s fluffy wigs and legwarmers.

Now, on to the story and characters. Some changes I liked, some I was fine with, and some I didn’t like one bit. I think it would be easiest to share all of my thoughts by going down the list of musical numbers and sharing my thoughts on each one, with some digressions to talk about other related things. I don’t think I need to say this, but many spoilers lie ahead. I’m going to mostly assume that you, the reader, have at least a basic knowledge of the original plot and characters of Cats, but I’ll fill in crucial details here and there as needed. Here we go.

When the movie opens, we’re treated to a fresh new story for one of the main chorus cats, Victoria. In this film, she’s an abandoned cat dropped off at the dump in a canvas bag. I immediately knew she’d be our main character. I found the decision to make her a newcomer to be a pretty smart one. Victoria became the audience stand-in, since the movie is assuming you’re going into this having never seen Cats.

Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats was a banger. Can’t deny that. It was fun and upbeat, and the choreography was great. I loved the junkyard set, too. Plus, through the speaking plot, they gave The Naming of Cats a little more justification. Honestly, I think the entire speaking plot was just a huge justification for the songs for people that can’t connect the dots between them. But whatever. Anyways. Macavity also appears in this scene, but I’m going to get to him later.

I wish they kept Victoria’s solo dance… you know, a solo. The dance with Munkustrap was lovely, but I wish Victoria got to keep it. This is due to my own personal bias of that dance being my favorite, though.

Now, The Invitation to the Jellicle Ball brings me to a character that changed a lot. Mr. Mistoffelees. They say, in his song, that he is vague and aloof. There was nothing vague nor aloof about this Mistoffelees. They turned him into a hapless, bumbling fool. Personally, I thought he was kind of cute, but it seemed like an unneeded change. The plot would have been fine without it. I liked his pencil wand, though. I suppose they wanted to make the relationship between Victoria and Misto more sympathetic? Rather than making Misto this cool, distant character that any newcomer kitty cat would fall for, they gotta make him clumsy and dumb so Victoria doesn’t look shallow I guess? I dunno. It’s fine. I’m fine with it. Everything’s fine.

Also that song was fine.

Gumby Cat. Oh, Jennyanydots, what have they done to you? Okay, I’ll say it, I’ve never really found Rebel Wilson to be all that funny. I know, boo me, I’m the worst, I suck, moving on. She was fine in this role, and I’ll admit, some of the gags were pretty silly and fun, but watching Cat Rebel Wilson eat tiny roach people was just… not great. Also, the mice were creepy. *shudders*

Now, I’m going to go into this next song’s review with a disclaimer. The Rum Tum Tugger, in Cats 1998 specifically, is my favorite character. I love him. He’s an 80’s rockstar himbo delight with a smooth, sexy voice and he knows it. God help me. When I heard Jason Derulo would be playing the new Tugger, I found it to be a pretty obvious choice in making Tugger new and hip to the modern crowd. It’s fine, I get it. However, making him, like… Not as smooth? I don’t get why they did that. He’s supposed to be an unflinching badass personification (catification?) of swag and confidence. I didn’t like that change one bit. #NotMyTugger

Grizabella the Glamor Cat was pretty great. I loved Jennifer Hudson killed her role in this movie. 10/10 amazing job. However, this song brings me to another matter entirely. I couldn’t tell who was singing it! Pretty much none of the chorus cats were recognizable to me. I could pick out Jemima and that’s pretty much it! It took someone telling me that they changed Demeter to a russian blue for me to even have a chance of knowing which one she was. Demeter is one of my favorite cats, and we’ll be talking about her again later.

Although I wasn’t expecting it, I really liked Bustopher Jones. I thought that it was fun that they really went for it, making him shown literally digging through the garbage for all of the gourmet food he loves so much. It’s not made very clear in the original musical that this was what it was implying. I’m glad they did this, because otherwise it probably would have flown over everybody’s heads. I miss the “toodle-pip” though.

I loved Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer. They chilled it down a lot, which I was fine with, though I did miss their loud cockney accents and eccentric choreography. I also miss the double cartwheel… The movie made up for it, though, with having really fun imagery. This one was definitely my favorite one from the movie. They made them more like sly, seasoned mischief-makers, rather than boisterous bastards. (I do love bastards, though…)

I loved Old Deuteronomy. Judi Dench is wonderful, and that song is always a lovely delight. Not much else to say about it.

Can we get an F in chat for The Pekes and the Pollicles? It shall be missed.

They cut down a significant amount of the ten-minute dance sequence that takes place in the middle of the show. DAMN them for shortening it. Cowards, the lot of you. However, this also means they cut out That Scene. I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. To those saying this movie is incredibly horny, I BEG you to go watch Cats 1998. THAT movie is horny. It has The Scene, and also a multitude of ass shots throughout the film.

Also I was fine with them changing Victoria’s dance with Plato. (I think they replaced him with Munkustrap? I don’t quite remember.)

I loved Memory. Jennifer Hudson. *chef’s kiss* Amazing.

Beautiful Ghosts was… fine. It was a lovely song, don’t get me wrong, but it doesn’t… sound like the rest of the musical. It sounds more modern than the rest of the soundtrack. And they modernized the soundtrack, too, so that’s saying something. It just felt a little out of place for me. Also, I don’t like its placement. Let me explain.

Grizzabella and Gus the Theater Cat are supposed to be comparisons of each other. They’re both old and nearing their final days, wishing for days long past. However, the thing that makes them different is their relationship to the other Jellicle cats. While Grizzabella is cast out and rejected, Gus is loved by the clan and he’s a very strong candidate for being the Jellicle choice. There’s already a song between their two songs, The Moments of Happiness, but that song acts as more of a bridge between the two songs, rather than an interruption like Beautiful Ghosts feels to be.

I liked Gus the Theater Cat. Ian McKellen seemed to like his role, which I liked. He’s amazing at everything he does, too, so his performance was no surprise.

Skimbleshanks: The Railway Cat was fun and upbeat and everything I hoped it would be. 10/10 would tap dance again.

I didn’t like Macavity the Mystery Cat at all. They cut Demeter out of it entirely, removing her implied history with Macavity, and in the process removing her entire relationship with Bombalurina. Instead, they made Bombalurina Macavity’s bitch. She got the song all to herself. And I’ve gotta say it. I don’t like Taylor Swift. That song felt like nails on a chalkboard. I hated every moment of it. Also, I find it hilarious that they kept the lyric, “Macavity’s a ginger cat. He’s very tall and thin.” and he is very obviously none of those things in this movie.

I didn’t like a lot of things about Macavity, too. I liked Macavity he got more of a presence than in the stage musical, but some things were kind of… lame I guess. Some of the scenes on Growltiger’s boat (I thought they would do Growltiger’s last stand but I was wrong!) were slow and boring. Even their little “action” scene. They also removed the Macavity fight scene, where he tries to kidnap Demeter. Very cringe of them. ANOTHER thing that is very cringe fail terrible was what they did to Grizzabella. They stripped her of her original backstory and just made her Macavity’s ex. FORGET that. Horrible. Hate it. Stop making everything about Macavity.

Back to Mistoffelees and his own song. Although I didn’t like that they removed Tugger’s role in Mr. Mistoffelees, I understood why. They turned him into a main character, so of course he had to sing his own song. However, they kept the lyric, “His manner is vague and aloof,” (well, “My manner is vague and aloof.”) which I find very silly of them. Yet another lyric that directly contradicts what the movie is providing. Also, I didn’t like the lack of dancing in this scene! Mistoffelees is one of my favorite dancers in the original productions. Specifically the big, impressive toe touches. Cowards.

I wish they let Jemima keep her solo. I know why they gave her solo to Victoria, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Congrats, Webber, you got to cut your ex-wife’s part out of the musical. *claps*

I liked the reprise of Memory and the subsequent journey to the Heaviside layer. I loved the chandelier balloon, too. It was all very emotionally impactful. My mom literally cried next to me during Memory’s reprise. Amazing job.

I never really liked The Ad-dressing of Cats in the musical because it feels unnecessary after such an emotional, perfect ending note with the journey to the Heaviside layer, but this version was kind of fun, I guess. Old Deuts looking directly into the camera was a little off-putting, though.

Overall, I thought this movie was fine. Will I watch it again? I don’t know, maybe. If someone put it in front of me, I would probably watch it, but I’m probably not going to go seeking it out when Cats 1998 is right there. It was fun, and it was definitely a spectacle. But was it Cats? Mmmmmm… It sure does look like Cats, but it doesn’t really feel like Cats. Do I think it’s a good movie for someone that isn’t already a fan of the musical? I don’t know, maybe? I’m seeing that most people hate it, which is a shame. If anything, I hope this movie compels people to seek out other productions of this musical. It really is a fun romp of a musical that I think people might like if they give it a try. I mean, it was Broadway’s longest running show in its time for a reason.

Do I recommend this movie? Sure. Go see it if you want. I’m not about to give this movie a score out of ten, because I find those kinds of rating arbitrary. But sure, go see Cats. Maybe it’ll lead you toward the superior version. Cats 1998.

[shuahoonie]

bed, booze, and him. [tom holland]

PAIRING: college!tom holland x reader

SUMMARY: life as a university student is already hard. sharing a flat with two college guys (one semi-decent, one all-around-annoying) just to get through paying the rent? funnily enough, even harder. it’s halloween plus midterms just ended so that means parties are never-ending and students are getting wasted. you should be out partying but you're stuck finishing a paper. how are you going to survive the night again?

WARNINGS: swearing as per usual! mentions of alcohol! slight mention of blood! friends living that domestic life! reader literally being in love with their bed and i cannot stress that enough! otp sharing a bed????? what???? 

WORD COUNT: 4.3k 

SONG INSPO: drunk on halloween - wallows 

A/N: hiya babes! another long-ass note here! thank you for all the kind words that i’ve received from ragnarok.  i apologize as i’ve been slacking lately! i really tried to write whenever i had time but i’m mostly occupied with work & university. i’ll try to post something throughout the semester. [though no promises! the semester is going by way too fast and i’m trying to keep up lmao] in the meantime, enjoy this fluff that was based on a prompt that would’ve been poppin’ during 2013 lmao. also, can i just say how hard it is to figure out what type of songs tom listens to lmao.i based it off from this playlist i found on spotify! go give it a look 💛

gif credits: @tmholland  

vanessa’s masterlist

x

“’Cause you make me feel like, I’ve been locked out of heaven.”  A shirtless Tom sang loudly, looking for a top to go with his denim jeans. The basket of freshly done laundry was sitting on top of the couch when Tom started rummaging through it. 

“Oi, oi.” You called out as you swatted Tom’s hands away from the laundry. “I just folded these.” You countered as you began refolding and fixing the mess that he managed to create within seconds. 

“Just need a shirt,” Tom mumbled. 

“Yeah, no shit.” You grunted. “The top pile is yours, dumbass.” 

You didn’t even ask to do some of his laundries. He just saw you loading up yours and then started chucking some of his clothes inside of the washer. How you’ve managed to live with him, you have no clue.

“You’re welcome by the way,” You yelled sarcastically as you went back to your previous spot: the dining room table. Your notes were sprawled all over the table and sticky-notes placed on every possible page with your laptop beaming at you. 

“Thank you, darling.” He grinned, showing off that pretty smile that always made everyone swoon. “Y/N, can you tell me why are you writing a paper on a Halloween night when you could be partying and drinking the night away?” 

Tom was now sitting across you with his chin placed firmly on the palm of his hand, looking at your notes before turning his attention back to you. 

“Look, Holland,” You sighed “not everyone is having the time of their lives after the mid-term season is over. Some of us have to catch up with papers because life wasn’t supposed to be fair.” 

Tom held up his hands in surrender, “Alright darling, calm down.” He chuckled before standing up to pound on Harrison’s door again. “Mate, c’mon! You need to fucking hurry up or I’m leaving.” 

You just rolled your eyes at the sound of Tom’s annoying set of knocks. “Thomas Holland, I swear to god...” You groaned. 

“Y/N, darling, you know I love you but why can’t you just write in your room?” He asked. 

You narrowed your eyes at him before focusing back on your notes. “I could but I don’t want to pass out on my bed with a sloppy, unfinished paper watching me sleep.” You reasoned, not looking up at him as you were busy scrawling additional information on your notes. 

Tom hummed, obviously resting the argument as you’ve made your point. 

You really try your hardest and make an effort not to make your room a space that you associated your works with. You always studied either in the living room or at the library. Never in your room. 

You made sure that when you moved into the flat, you’d make an effort and would try to make your room as cosy as possible. You didn’t make a huge fuss regarding what you wanted. You got a skeleton-frame bookshelf, a study table, a nightstand, and a glorious bed. You had fairy lights strung up around your room as you kept the walls plain and white. 

You also had to accept that your bed would put a serious dent in your budget. You bought tons of pillows that take up at least half of your bed and a duvet guaranteed to keep you warm. 

You hardly meet the required amount of sleep a person needs but when you do get some zzz’s, the bed does the job and it does it well. 

Your room was sacred, and both Tom and Harrison knew that.

Harrison had only been inside your room once and it was an accident. It’s not that you forbade him, it was really just a matter of respecting each other’s privacies. 

Tom had been inside your room twice and none of those were accidents. 

One was when he and Harrison were playing hide and seek. You were quietly watching Netflix inside your room when Tom went in to hide since he claimed that Harrison would never suspect him being inside it. He promised to do the dishes for two days if you let him hide and you did. You were satisfied with his negotiation. 

The other was when he knocked on your door one night. 

“Hey, do you have a bandaid?” Tom asked you as soon as you opened the door.  

You raised an eyebrow at him.”Why?” 

He then showed his bleeding finger which caused you to gasp. “Tom, what the hell?!” 

You opened the door wider for him to come in and you quickly ran to your nightstand to grab the first-aid kit from the drawer. 

“Huh,” Tom hummed and sat at the edge of your bed while you sat on the floor, gently grabbed his hand to look at his wound. “Your room is oddly inviting.” He commented.

You looked at him oddly. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Hm?” You were still staring at Tom, waiting to elaborate on what he said. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.” Tom quickly apologized as he just realized what he just said. 

“Please, Tom, elaborate before it becomes awkward in the next sixty seconds.” You said almost too pleadingly as you started to clean his wound. 

Tom chuckled. “What I meant was your room is dangerously comfortable.” He said as he plopped himself down causing you to hiss at him.

“Hold still, you dickhead.”

“Seriously darling, if this was my bed, I’d never get up,” Tom mumbles happily as he tried to make himself comfortable, lying in your bed. 

“What were you doing that involved you and a bleeding finger anyway?” You asked. 

“I was trying to cook dinner.” He answers almost shyly. 

You were quiet for a moment, causing Tom to tilt his head over in your direction and look at you. You had your brow raised and disbelief was painted all over your face. 

You, Harrison, and Tom at least try to do some cooking in the means of saving money. It was a pretty smart way to get through their university life without always being on the brink of getting broke. You and Harrison usually took turns in making dinner while Tom was always in charge of breakfast, seeing that he was always the first one to wake up early. 

This set up was also made because Harrison claims that he doesn’t trust Tom with a knife. 

“I was trying to prove to Harrison that I can make pasta without getting myself wounded in some type of way!” Tom said defensively.

Harrison was right. 

You rolled your eyes playfully at him and finished up cleaning his wound. You rummaged through your kit, looking for a bandaid when you found a certain one that your friend gave you as a ‘gift’ from their trip to Japan. “There, all done.” You said after wrapping his finger with bandaid. 

“Thanks, Y/N. Sorry to-” Tom stopped himself when he raised his hand to look at his newly-treated wound and saw the pink, Hello Kitty bandaid that was staring back at him. 

You pulled a tight smile. “Make sure you change your bandaids every day! I have more if you need them.” You said innocently at him.

“Oh, darling,” He stood up to cup your face “I’ll make sure to knock on your door every day so you don’t worry too much.” He replied as he gently removes his hand from the side of your face. 

You dropped your smile and pushed Tom towards the door. “Bye, Tom.”

Now that you’ve thought about it, this whole “it’s Halloween! take a break at least!” thing only makes you want to leave all of your work behind and just crawl up to bed.

Harrison finally stepped out of his room, looking like he’s finally ready to intoxicate himself with alcohol and release himself from the stress this semester has caused him. 

“Fucking finally, mate” Tom let out a loud, exaggerated sigh as Harrison rolled his eyes at his impatient friend. “C’mon then, let’s go!”

“Can you calm down, mate?!” Harrison said as he made his way towards the kitchen. “You don’t even have a shirt on!” 

Jesus Christ, why are they always like this? You thought to yourself as you watched the two bicker in front of you. 

It’s always like this. The two would always have a tiny bicker every time they have to do something together. You always reasoned why on earth would they even have to do it together when they always end up bickering. They claimed that it’s all for fun and adds dynamic to their friendship. 

Dynamic my ass. Easy for them to say, they’re not the ones who have to endure two annoying dumbasses. 

“Could you be any louder?” You said in annoyance as you looked up from your laptop. You were about to start writing your paper, that’s due tomorrow mind you, and all you have is a sloppy mess. 

For crying out loud, who even gives out papers and assigns the due date the day after Halloween when they know students are drinking themselves shitless that night? Oh, that’s right, university professors do. 

And these two? Not helping. At all. 

“Yes? Is there something you’d like to add, darling?” Tom asked teasingly. Not without with a huge smirk plastered on his face. 

God, he’s ten times more annoying when he’s fueled by his impatientness and thirst for alcohol. 

“For fuck's sake” You grunted, bringing both your hands and ran them up in your face, obviously irritated. You’ve been roommates with Tom and Harrison for almost three years and until now, Tom can still find a new way to irk you.

Tom chuckled at the sight of you, dreading to pull your hair out due to the overflowing irritation. 

You stood up from the table and grabbed a black shirt from Tom’s pile of fresh laundry, then chucked it at him. “There, put that on and leave.” 

“Hm,” Tom looked at the black shirt that you shoved “Sure this is okay?”

“Yes, yes, now go. I can’t work with you two here.” You waved dismissively at them. “Especially you, Holland.” You pointed out as you looked at Tom pointedly. 

“Is it because you still have a crush on me, darling?” He teased, causing Harrison to chuckle. 

You narrowed your eyes at Harrison, who just grinned at your frustration. “That was a long time ago, ‘ya dickhead!” You groaned, slightly embarrassed that he still remembered that time. Curse the day you and a couple of friends went out for a drink. 

You had one too many drinks when Liz, a friend from your literature class, asked you a question. “Okay, I know you said that you’re friends-”

“Oh, no,” You groaned. “I know where this is going.” 

“Y/N!” 

“Okay, fine!” You raised your hands in defeat. “Shoot.” Fuck it, right?!

“Bed, wed, behead Luke, Josh, and Tom,” Liz stated with a teasing smile on her face. 

“Oh, the choices are horrible!” You exclaimed with an awful amount of concern for such a flimsy game. “Awfully considerate of you to use this version instead of fuck, marry, kill, by the way.” You added as you took another sip from your margarita. 

“Anyway, I’d kill Luke. After lashing out because I wasn’t comfortable giving out my number? Kill Luke, that easy.” You explained which earned a handful of approving nods. 

“I guess I’d have to fuck Josh,” You answered as you were still weighing the pros and cons of your answers as if they really matter. “I mean I’d only have to do it once anyway.” 

It was when you finished your drink when you realized what was left out of the options. “Wait,” You yelled quite obnoxiously. “I don’t want to marry Tom!” 

“Okay, but you have to admit that Tom’s cute.” Liz pointed out. 

“I mean,” You were flustered for a moment, “Y-yeah. Tom’ is good-looking, I’d be lying if I said otherwise but that doesn’t mean I’d like to marry him!” 

“You’re taking this game way too seriously, love,” Zoë commented with an amused look on her face.

“Is that so, Y/N?” A curious voice suddenly popped up from behind you and saw Harrison with a smirk on his face. 

Your friends said their quick hello’s and Haz politely returned them as well as asking how are they doing. 

“God, can I have one night without seeing both of my roommates?” You groaned and buried your face in the palm of your hands. 

“Well, I can grant you half of that wish,” Harrison commented before he asked the bartender for another pint of beer. “Tom’s stuck in the library, cramming for his Physics exam.”

“I told him to start his revisions early. That exam is no joke.”

“Yeah, and the bloody idiot didn’t listen,” Harrison grumbled. “But speaking of the idiot, you were saying you didn’t want to marry Tom? I didn’t even know he proposed.” He teased. “I didn’t even know you had a crush on him!” 

“I will kill you in your sleep, Harrison.” 

“Hey, I was just asking why you didn’t want to marry Tom.” He defended himself with a grin, obviously enjoying how flustered you were. 

“What are you even doing here, Haz?” You asked, plain exasperated. 

“Well, Y/N, I need to have a social life too.” Haz answered. 

“Can you have a social life somewhere else then?” 

“Nah,” He dismissed you and out of sheer reflex, you smacked the back of his head. “Oi!” He yelped in pain. 

You and Harrison were pretty close and you two established that early when you three started living together. You two definitely bickered like siblings and everyone knew that. Tom never felt out of place with you and Harrison as you three collectively found ways to annoy one another.

“It’s okay, YN,” Zoë tried to console you for a moment before adding, “Harrison can stay.” 

“You’re just saying that because you have a crush on him,” You grumbled before taking a sip of your drink.

 You suddenly felt a stinging pain from your arm and saw Zoë glaring at you, cheeks blushing. “Oi, what is wrong with you?” You cried while rubbing your arm, trying to disperse the pain. 

“I don’t see why you’re so deeply affected with the idea of marrying Tom,” Liz commented as she turned to you. “The two of you already fight like a married couple anyway.”

“I still would’ve loved to hear it from you, darling,” Tom commented as Harrison was fighting off a laugh behind him. 

“Keep dreaming, Holland.” was all you said before turning back your attention to your laptop. 

“We’re heading out for Jackson’s party, ‘mkay?” Tom called out, stuffing his phone and wallet in his back pockets.

“Mhm… sure… as if I care…” You mumbled as you started typing your essay, with your draft as reference. You were definitely annoyed at how you were spending your free time.

“I’m just saying!” Tom remarked in his defense “I just thought that maybe you’d wait up so…”

You tore your attention from your paper and looked into Tom’s eyes and said bluntly, “I don’t know how you do it, but you never fail to surprise me with that ego of yours.”

“I’ll miss you too, darling. Don’t stay up too late.” He winked then left.

"We’ll see you later, Y/N. Lock the doors!” Harrison said before waving you goodbye. 

x

You sat up from your bed, sneering at the loud banging noise coming from outside of your door. You blindly looked for your phone and as you found it, you checked the time and it says 3:21 AM.

“For fuck's sake," You grunted as you stood up and marched your way to the living room. You’ve only been asleep for less than two hours and you were ready to kill whoever’s outside your door. 

As you opened your door, you saw a very drunk Tom who looked like an absolute mess and will probably regret everything the next time wakes up. You leaned into your doorframe, as you watched Tom successfully maneuvered his way around the living room. 

“Tom, it’s past 3 AM.” You groaned in exhaustion as you watched Tom, clearly drunk out of his mind, trying to keep his balance. 

“Y/N, baby,” Tom greeted you, “‘ve missed you.” His speech was beginning to slur as he engulfed you in a hug. 

“Holland, you reek of alcohol.” You scrunched your nose in disgust and wriggled your way out of his hug. “Come, I’ll take you to your room.” 

“Nooo,” He drawled out as he dragged his footsteps inside your room, lazily walking to your bed.

“Tom, you can’t sleep here.” You argued as he still didn’t budge and just flopped on the top of your bed. 

“Why not?” He murmured, clearly out of it. 

“Because that’s my bed and you have your own, dumbass.” You replied as you threw your head back, frustrated. At this point, you knew it was hopeless. This was the most you’ll be getting out of him. 

“Hey, Y/N?” 

“What?” 

“I really, really like your bed,” Tom confessed which only made you roll your eyes. 

“Yeah, I figured.” You commented as you began pulling out the sleeping bag stashed in the back of your closet. You often wondered why you bought this as you were never the type who camps for pure pleasure. 

I guess I finally have the reason to use this now, you thought to yourself. You grabbed a couple of pillows and the plush blanket you’ve always adored then began setting them up on the floor where you will be sleeping. 

You stepped outside for a minute to grab a glassful of water and some aspirin for Tom before placing them on top of your nightstand. You also stopped inside Tom’s room for a quick minute to grab some clothes for him to change in. 

You didn’t know why you were doing all of it but there you were, standing in front of Tom’s closet, looking for a shirt and some sweatpants that he could change in. 

After you’ve managed to grab Tom’s clothes, you popped back into your room only to find Tom completely sprawled on top of your bed. You quietly approached him and gently dabbed the damp towel (that you also prepared before coming back to your room) all over his face. 

Brushing Tom’s hair away from his face, you couldn’t help but stare at him in complete awe. Until now you were still asking yourself why you’re going the extra mile for him. 

Maybe you were trying to convince yourself that you’re trying to be a good friend and should be looking after him. 

Maybe you were trying to convince yourself that you’re trying to be a better person and through this, you wouldn’t feel a sense of guilt if you let Tom pass out in the living room. 

Or maybe those pesky little feelings that you tried to suppress were emerging once again. You did have a little crush on Tom but there was no way in hell that you’d ever admit that nor does anyone have to know. 

Tom wasn’t bad. Yeah, maybe he does annoy you out of sheer pleasure but the guy wasn’t the absolute worst. 

Tom always gets you coffee when he knows he went over the line and pissed you off. 

He’d always leave little notes beside them too, saying “sorry if I was being an ass last night :(” or maybe something like “coffee in exchange for letting you sleep in a bad mood”.

You always said they were cheesy but you secretly adored them. You always kept the notes too, you were a sucker for those sentiments. 

You pushed your thoughts in the back of your mind and gently tapped Tom’s shoulder, asking him to wake up.

He eventually obliged, half-asleep as he sat up from your bed. 

“You need to change into more comfortable clothes, Tom.” 

“M-don’t want to,” He murmured as he rested his head on the headboard. 

“You are literally covered in sweat, dumbass.” You argued, “Also, I don’t want my sheets to smell like sweat and alcohol.” 

Tom sighed as he took off his shirt and changed into clean ones. He was about to take off his pants when he caught you watching at him. 

You quickly turned your attention away from him, your cheeks definitely burning from embarrassment. You didn’t even know why you were watching him in the first place. 

You always see Tom shirtless so that wasn’t a huge deal, and there are a couple of instances where you saw Tom walking around the flat with just his boxers on.

Why you were suddenly embarrassed with an almost half-naked Tom, especially when this was not a foreign sight for you, only confused you. 

Maybe, I’m the one who's drunk. 

"Are you decent?” You asked Tom, afraid to turn around as the embarrassment was still running through your veins. 

You heard a soft chuckle from Tom and he murmured “yeah” in response. 

Tom laid back and took the spot at the edge of your bed as you took the sleeping bag that you prepared a little while ago. 

You quickly peeped at your phone to check the time and it was almost 4 o’clock in the morning. You were wide awake now. 

“Hey, Y/N?” Tom suddenly called out.

“Hmm?” You hummed in response. 

“Did you know that flamingos bend their legs at their ankles and not at their knees?”

“I-uh,” You were lost for words, either at this fact or due to the fact that Tom even knows this. “What?”

“Well technically, the joints that we see on their legs are their ankles while their knees are much closer to their body and are hidden under their feathers.” 

“How do you even know this?” 

“I usually do a deep-dive on the web when I can’t sleep.” 

“Oddly enough, that makes sense.” You confessed, chuckling. 

There was a small period of silence and you suddenly wondered where Harrison was. 

“Hey, do you know what happened to Harrison?” You asked out loud. 

“No,” He murmured. “Why are you suddenly looking for him?”

“Well you two left together and only one of you made it home, so I think I get worried for that idiot right?” 

“He probably crashed at Jackson’s or he’s hooking up with someone.” Tom answered. “I told him I was heading home and he said he wanted to stay so that’s my best guess.” 

You picked up your phone and tried calling Harrison but he wasn’t picking up. 

You furrowed your eyebrows and sent a text to Haz saying, “text me if you’re alive. need to know if we need to clear out your room. jk. pls text back.” followed by a “ also pls don’t do something remotely embarrassing. text back, haz. i mean it.” 

The room fell into silence once again and it made you a bit uncomfortable. 

“Tom?”

“Yeah?” 

“Do you mind if I play some music while sleeping?” 

“Go ahead, it’s your room.” He answered. 

You scoffed, “Yeah, thanks for reminding me.” 

“Anytime, babe.”

You connected your phone to the bluetooth speakers and put your playlist on shuffle. Soon enough Cigarettes After Sex’s song “K.”, started playing softly in the background. 

You shuffled across your ‘bed’, trying to find a more comfortable sleeping position. 

“This is going to kill my back when I wake up.” You mumbled to yourself.

“Sleep with me then,” You heard Tom suggest. 

“I beg your pardon?!” You were appalled. 

“Wha- Oh! Not like that, babe.” He quickly took it all back, trying to recover from another layer of embarrassment he just cost the two of you. “I mean yeah, sure, why not.” He joked.

“Ha ha, very funny Holland.” You said sarcastically. 

“What I meant was lay down next to me. Here. In the space next to me.” He cleared out. 

“I think I’ll be fine here.” You answered. “I mean what’s a day of pain right?” 

“Y/N, I think we’re two grown adults. We’re just sleeping together.” Tom tried to explain which only made you wince even more. 

“Tom, you really have to clarify things well.” 

“We’re two grown adults, sleeping in one bed. Nothing malicious there.” He did his best to do it properly. “Besides, are you really passing up the opportunity to sleep on your outrageously comfortable bed?” 

You sat up straight and shot daggers at him. “Screw you, Holland. You should be sleeping on your own bed.” 

He closed his eyes and said, “’m too tired to move.” 

You sighed, grabbing a few pillows and your blanket. You made your way to the empty spot of the bed, right beside Tom. “Don’t try anything, Holland.” You warned him and laid right next to him. 

With his eyes still closed, he chuckled and said, “I promise, darling.” 

“I’m serious, Tom. If you try something, I swear I will curse you and the next three generations of your family to fail.” 

“I’ll marry you then.” retorted Tom.

Flushed from what Tom just said, you grabbed your phone to divert your attention to something else. It was then when you noticed a text message from Harrison saying, “i’m fine. crashed at jack’s lol. it’s not me you should be worried about, it’s tom. the blabbering drunk might finally confess he likes you haha.” 

You quickly turned off your phone as it only left you even more flustered. Right then, you felt Tom tug your hand only to interlace his fingers with yours. 

You turned to face him but he had his eyes closed. You decided to just close your eyes and force yourself to sleep. 

You were slowly falling into a deep slumber when you heard soft mumbles from Tom. “Goodnight, Y/N. Going to sleep with my heart racing is harder than I thought. The things you do to me, darling, you’ll never know.” 

x

hiya again babes, please leave some feedback!!!! whether you think it’s shit or just plain horrible! or maybe you liked it for some reason?? lmao any feedback is nice.

[anarchy-lives-eternal]

First of all, I’d like to apologize if you don’t like OOC fanfics or Charlastor fics, please ignore this one if that’s the case! So basically, this is about if Charlie and Alastor had been human and grew up together. This is entirely based on if Alastor was Demiromantic (which actually falls under the Aromantic umbrella) and had fallen in love with Charlie towards the end of their schooling/early adulthood. It is set so that they were born around 1904/1905. But anyways! I’m giving away the whole entire plot! Don’t mind me! Some warnings do include: References to violence/murder, OOC-ness of main characters, and there is some r-rated language. There are almost zero references towards, ahem, adult activities, or even really any kissing. Mostly references cuddles and hugs. Also, if anyone wants to suggest a name for this, please do so. Again, wasting your time! Sorry! Let’s get this show on the road!

A Charlastor AU

Alastor was angry. He was sad. He was grieving. He stood at his wife’s funeral, his smile was in place, but it looked more like a grimace than anything. Her friends and family had come, as well as his.

“She left this world far too early.”

“Taken away before her time.”

“She was far too kind for this world.”

Alastor couldn’t agree more. Charlotte, or Charlie as she preferred, his wife, his confidant, his world, was gone. They had grown up together, even though they came from wildly different backgrounds. His mother had been the Magne family’s head chef, and they had allowed her to bring Alastor along, saying that they had a daughter of the same age, and they could even play together.

Alastor had been a shy child, though, so when he first met Charlie at the tender age of 5, and she had immediately declared him her “bestest friend”, well... he had hid behind his mothers skirts. She had pushed him back out though and urged him to get to know the little heiress, telling him that he couldn’t spend all his time with his mother, and he knew well enough he wasn’t allowed in the kitchens anyways, “Too many knives, dear.”

So, he had been pulled out of the house and into the lavish gardens by the little girl wearing a frilly pink dress, that apparently she hated.

They had spent the entire day and the days to follow together, and when the time came for them to go to school, they both thought that they would be separated, only for Alastor to be invited to attend the school Charlie was going to go to. When he asked his mother, she said that Charlie’s parents had offered the scholarship as a “perk” of working for them. (Later on, Alastor would find out that Charlie’s mother, Lily, had seen the school Alastor would be attending and immediately denied it, saying there was no way any friend of Charlie’s was going to go to such a run down school)

And so the trend continued through their adolescence, until it was time to graduate. By this time, the two were nigh inseparable, and Alastor, despite his best efforts, had fallen in love. It wasn’t until his first broadcast a year and a half later that he finally got the courage to ask her out for a date. And only because he had found out the hard way that Charlie had a jealous streak a mile wide.

Alastor had laughed at his own idiocy, “Darling, why don’t we go out dancing tomorrow night?”

Charlie peeked up at him, her cheeks a rosy hue from her embarrassment, “Like a date?”

Alastor grinned, his chest warm, “Yes, Doll. A real date.”

And the rest was history. At least to the rest of the world.

You see, Charlie was the only person in the world who knew the identity of the New Orleans killer. And not only did she know who he was, but she literally helped him get away with murder. After all, she loved him.

She also created his cause: only ever kill the ones who were dirty. Abusers, rapists, dirty cops and dirtier officials.

She had helped him bury bodies or clean up blood on multiple occasions. She had even acted as a lure for others. She had been the one to come up with the template for his victims when he had admitted to her his desires to hurt others those years ago, “We can’t control your urges, Al, but we can aim them in a more... proactive direction.”

The 1930’s were rife with crime, if the FBI were to be believed. Just last year they had come out with a Bulletin, trying to get the public to speak up. They also had a fancy new lab for solving crime. ‘Oh well’ Alastor thought, ‘37 victims in and they’ve yet to even come close to me. Then again, I had Charlie before.’

Another wave of grief washed over him. He felt actual tears roll down his cheeks. Finally he was asked to speak.

Alastor cleared his throat, speaking was his specialty, but now it seemed so hard, “Charlie... she was my entire world, my confidant, my only love, and my.. partner-in-crime. She never deserved this. She was always so happy! Her smiles even outshone mine! I just want her back, if I’m entirely honest. I’d give anything to hold her again.” He turned, a blood red rose and a fist full of dirt clutched in either hand as they finished lowering her, he kissed the rose and tossed it down, then threw the handful of dirt as well. At that moment, something about Alastor seemed to fracture. After that day, no one ever saw him without a smile again.

Charlie

She awoke in a strange, gray room. Surrounding her were 3 forms, their faces indistinguishable, “Charlotte Rose Magne, you have been brought before us for judgement. Do you repent for your sins? Do you accept Lord Jesus Christ as your savior?”

“Repent? Repent for what?”

“For aiding in the murder of 37 individuals.”

“You mean taking horrible people off the street? For loving my husband?”

“If you shall not repent, to Hell you shall be sent.”

Before anything else could be said, three gavels slammed down, and Charlie could feel fire burning her soul. As she fell, she changed. Horns grew from her forehead, curling backwards, her sclera turned blood red, and her iris poison yellow. She lost all color, turning porcelain white. Her canines sharpened and she could taste blood in her mouth. She landed on a strange ground, everything around her was red, and there was a set of wrought iron gates in front of her. She picked herself up, walking forward.

So this was Hell. It was nothing like what she expected. Demons walked the streets, from all the eras thus far. She looked to her left and saw her reflection, ‘Well this just won’t do.’ She felt a strange tug as she concentrated on changing her appearance to that without the horns and eyes. There. Once her eyes had changed to black with yellow sclera and her horns were gone, she looked like an actual doll. She grinned.

Looking around some more, she noticed there were demons selling drugs and murdering others out in the open. It was obvious to her that everything goes in this place. There is one thing she is certain of, though. She needs some kind of protection.

There was a commotion to her right, a building that looked like a jazz lounge stood, and in front of it she could hear two demonesses arguing, “you can’t just up and quit! You’re our only Canary!”

Mimzy, I do believe I just did! Now enough with this jive, I’m off to bigger and better things!”

Charlie decided this was her chance. She knew she had a great voice, Alastor and others had always told her so. She felt a pang of grief and pain. Alastor...

She pushed it aside. She needed a job to survive now. She would just wait for her husband. They wouldn’t be apart forever.

“Excuse me! You’re Ms. Mimzy? You own this lounge?”

The demoness turned to her, “Yes, that’s me. What do you need?”

Charlie grinned, using the charm that her husband had taught her when she wanted something, “Why! I’ve heard quite a bit about this place and I would just love the chance to audition for a singing position. I’m told I have quite the pipes, and you seem to have found yourself in need of a canary!”

Mimzy looked Charlie up and down before hefting a heavy sigh, “Fine, at least you’re a looker. Let’s go. Hopefully you aren’t a trip for biscuits.”

Charlie just kept her smile at full blast. She was taken into the clip joint and straight to Mimzy’s office, where she was given a list of songs to pick from. She chose Blue Skies by Irving Berlin, as it was one of her favorites.

As she sang the song, she watched Mimzy’s face go from doubtful, to elated, to downright giddy. When she was done, Mimzy jumped up, “Why I never! What a talent! You can count yourself hired. What is your name anyway? You never told it.”

“My name, Ms. Mimzy, is Charlie.” She said, adding a flourishing curtsy.

“And what kind of demoness are you? I was a Lady in White until they finally got a hold of me and sent me down here.”

Charlie didn’t know how, but she knew the immediate answer, and her grin widened, “I am a siren. If I wanted, I could entrance all those around me. Make them do what I wish. But no worries, Ms. Mimzy, you’ll not have to deal with that unless you ask it of me. I prefer to just let things lie.”

Mimzy laughed, “Oh, but I wouldn’t mind at all if it brought more patrons in. What with that new lounge down the street, patronage has been on the fritz lately.”

“Well then, Ms. Mimzy, I do believe you have yourself a new Canary!”

And thus, for the next year, Charlie would sing at The Black Silhouette, and business was booming. Charlie would use a siren song once or twice in a night in order to draw in patrons, and Mimzy paid her extremely well. By the end of a year, Charlie had more money than a couple overlords with how much she made the lounge. Mimzy ended up having to buy a bigger building just to keep up with the intake of patrons.

There was one incident that became the reason Mimzy knew why Charlie was in Hell in the first place.

One of the men her husband had murdered, a serial rapist if she remembered right, had come to The Black Silhouette with a pally or two and recognized Charlie right away. After all, she’d actually lured him into the trap, and considering his pastime, had wanted a personal hand in bumping him.

He’d made a huge scene, of course, so Charlie had to deal with it personally. Killing him again in front of all her patrons had admittedly been a tad bit thrilling. Unfortunately that nagging guilt had nipped at her heals again. She pushed it down. He was the real monster. Still, she wished her husband was here. He’d enjoy doing the dirty work so she could keep her hands clean.

When Mimzy had asked what that was all about, Charlie had a simple reply, “Why, I used to help my husband murder people of course! He was one of them. Even had a hand in it myself, though I usually prefer not to do the real dirty work.”

She had grinned the entire time. As her husband used to say: smiles are power. If you can smile through anything, then people will always move out of your way.

Charlie missed her husband dearly. Her heart ached every day. She hated the pain, but she also hoped that he didn’t join her too soon.

“Charlie! You’re on in 1 minute!” She grinned.

Alastor

Hell. He was in Hell. The crown of his head still ached where his horns had come in, his smile still ever present, only now his teeth were sharper. There was a constant pain in his stomach, and he knew it would never be relieved. Wendigo. That word crossed his head and he knew it to be true. He stepped through the gates and into Hell’s streets. He didn’t expect to find his wife. She was probably sent up top. The grief struck again.

Truthfully, Alastor had only gotten angrier and messier once his beloved departed.

He would have kept going though, if not for the hunter. That fucking hunter. Those fucking dogs.

As he passed by a Jazz lounge called The Black Silhouette, the door opened and a voice he knew all too well came lilting out, curling around him and soothing something inside him that he didn’t realize until that moment needed soothing.

His head whipped to the side, and he immediately made for the doors to the lounge. He passed the Bouncer and as he caught sight of her, his lungs stopped working.

Up on stage was his Charlie. His doll. His partner-in-crime. She was beautiful in a sparkling red floor length dress, her blonde hair longer now than he remembered, but still gorgeous as ever. She looked like a porcelain doll.

He stood for minutes as she finished, heading backstage. He rushed to go find her. He had to.

Charlie Charlie Charlie.

He was stopped by a small woman, “You may be a fan, but no one is allowed back stage to go see her.”

Alastor felt rage at being held back from his beloved. Red sigils started dancing around his being, smile becoming sharper, “You will not stand between my wife and myself. Move.”

The woman looked shocked, but not by his power, but by his words, “Wait. You’re her husband?” She narrowed her eyes, “What is your name. I’m the only one she’s ever told her husbands name to, so I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Ah. So Charlie trusted this woman enough to tell her his name? He supposed he could play along then. Wouldn’t want to upset Charlie, after so long apart, “Alastor.”

The woman looked at him closely, “Very well. Her dressing room is the third door on the left. There are no names on the doors so people can’t just see who’s in where.”

Without another thought or word, Alastor rushed forward. He got to the door before bursting through it, forgetting for the moment all the manners his mother taught him.

He watched Charlie whip around, her eyes red and yellow, and a vicious smile on her face. Until she caught sight of him, “A-Alastor? Is... that really you?”

“Why hello Darlin! Wasn’t expecting to see you down here!” His heart wouldn’t stop beating.

Charlie let out a watery laugh as Alastor stepped through the door, shutting it firmly, “I refused to repent when they offered, and I knew you wouldn’t, so I got sent here. I managed to run into Mimzy right as I arrived. Her Canary had just flew the coop and she needed a new one so I offered right then and there. After all, I had a lavish lifestyle I was quite used to.”

Alastor chuckled, “Darling, you hated that lifestyle.”

Finally neither could take it and Charlie was in his arms, and he finally felt whole again.

[ludi-ling]

Crazy Eights

Well, here it is, a little treat for my followers - the first chapter of Crazy 8′s, the sequel to 52 Pickup. I’m sharing since it’s Day 7 (AU) of Rogue/Gambit Week 2020. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish this story, even though I got a fair way through it, since I wrote myself into a corner, and I’m not sure I like it very much. But I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy!

Crazy Eights

Chapter 1

               Thieving 101.

               Simplest rule in the book.

               Don’t get caught.

               I can hear pere’s voice in my head, clear as day, literally beatin’ the words into all of us, his snotty-nosed, grass-stain-scuffed li’l Fagin’s gang.

               Don’t. Get. Caught.

               And then his face, leaning in towards mine, grinning, saying:

               Unless, o’ course, you have a reason t’get caught.

               Yeah, that was mon pere, full of good, subtle ideas. He’d usually direct them at me cos he knew I was like the worst kind of sponge. I’d be soakin’ all that shit up, swimmin’ in it like a gator swims in swamp water.  As a kid, I’d always figured he was just picking on me. As an adult, I realise all he was doing was laying down challenges, cos he knew this punk-ass kid would rise to the bait every time, pushing every damn boundary he could along the way.

               You got potential, boy. But you got no discipline. Always halfway t’ bein’ in a rage, t’ ventin’ it out on some poor trash. You play de con, kid, you live de con. No heart-on-your-sleeve shit.  Dat stays inside. Cos y’know what? Folks can read dat crap a mile away.

               “C’mon, pretty boy,” the man to my right grunts, as the alarms I’ve set off still scream all around us. “Getcha arse in gear. The boss don’t take kindly to waitin’.”

               He prods me in the back with the barrel of his gun, a little too sharply than is strictly necessary; but I get it, he has a job to do, and actin’ mean is part of it.

               “Yeah, well, that’s what bosses are like, mon ami,” I answer with a smirk. “Never got time for nothin’. Mebbe you should think about goin’ freelance, neh?  It has its advantages.  No calls at unsociable hours… Don’t gotta do all the dirty work y’self… Get t’ have a couple of pretty femmes hangin’ on your every word… Still. I reckon mebbe you two ain’t smart ’nuff yet t’ graduate from the ol’ ‘Crime Boss 101’ course, am I right?”

               “Hey!” The guy to my left gives me a crack on the back of the head with what I assume is also the barrel of a gun. “Shut the fuck up!”

               See? Boring, predictable, run-of-the-mill flunkies. These couyons ain’t never gon’ make it past mid-tier bodyguard material.

               And those alarms are still screaming.  Ain’t some asshole gon’ shut it off already?  It’s givin’ me a headache.

               Whatever. I do as I’m told and shut the fuck up. Mostly because I’m busy scanning the décor of this corridor we appear to be walking down.  The walls are lined with paintings, a mess of eras and styles that could tell anyone with an ounce of taste that whoever’s collecting this shit has none.  Taste, that is.  All it tells me is that this guy has cash, and he don’t mind throwin’ it ’round.  We walk past a Cezanne, and I grimace.

               Hang on in there, li’l guy, I say to myself as we sweep right by it. One o’these days I’m gonna free you.  Soon.

               Cos let’s face it.

               You think I’m gonna leave a Cezanne to rot in Cain Marko’s fuckin’ playboy mansion when it could be on my wall?

               I think not.

               We get to the end of the corridor and, thankfully, as soon as we do, someone finally finds the off switch to the alarms. My lovely escorts throw open the burnished oak doors that I can only assume lead to Marko’s private hidey-hole; and before I have a chance to admire the woodwork, I’m being pushed inside in yet another unnecessary show of who’s boss.  I stumble a little over the threshold, and there he is.  Cain Marko, kingpin of London town.  A big, ugly, concrete slab of a man with a mat of red hair and a jaw like a foot.  He’s sitting on a burgundy-red velvet sofa that looks to be late Victorian.  Possibly a Chippendale? Something to research later.  True to form, he has a girl on each knee.

               Crimes bosses.  I toldja so.  Predictably borin’.  Boringly predictable.

               “Well, well,” Marko greets me with a menacing grimace and a Cockney rasp. “Robert Lord.  Your reputation precedes you.  Finally, we get to meet face ta face.”

               It’s at that point that Jake decides to kick in, a harassed voice in my earpiece, hissing: “Remy? Remy, where the fuck are you? Is everything okay?”

               I jerk my head to one side and Jake’s panicked questioning cuts out.

               “Yeah,” I address the man on the sofa. “Coulda been under better circumstances, though. Don’t much care for bein’ kicked around and chained up.” I clink the restraints at my wrists and ankles meaningfully. “Unless, o’ course, it’s consensual and there’s a woman involved.”

               An ugly grin crosses Marko’s face.  He shifts a little and pats each girl on the ass; they get the message and get to their feet, tottering out on stilettos that take a certain art to walk in – neither of them have it.

               “Well,” Marko says with mock disappointment as he, too, gets to his feet. “If ya wanted to meet under better circumstances, you coulda made a less shitty attempt to rob me, Mr. Lord.  I’d heard you were supposed to be some thief extraordinaire, but you ask me? You, breakin’ into my safe? That was pretty fuckin’ amateurish.”

               “Hey,” I banter back good-naturedly as I watch him walk over to the bar and pour himself a drink. “I got through most of your li’l traps jes’ fine, mon ami.  You wanna talk amateurish, let’s talk ‘bout your alarms. They’re more fuckin’ painful than Tante Mattie boxin’ me onna ears.  And it takes too long to shut ‘em off.  Either that, or your flunkies are too stupid to figure out how.”

               Marko, who’d looked half-amused up to this point, lets his mouth drop into a disdainful sneer.

               “Y’know somethin’, yank?” he growls at me, turning back from the bar. “You talk too fuckin’ much.”

               I raise a wounded eyebrow at him.

               “Yank? Hey, now you’re just insultin’ me.”

               “Oh really?” He laughs; and I take back the comment about his alarm system. This is worse. “Mr. Lord, insults are gonna be the least of your problems tonight. No one steals from Cain Marko and gets to just walk out again. You picked the wrong house to rob, mate.  This is one job you ain’t walkin’ out of.”

               He lifts his chin slightly and calls out:

               “Klein?!”

               There’s no answer, and he gives an irate little pause, looks over his shoulder and says again:

               “Klein?! Where the fuck are you?”

               “I’m here,” a woman’s voice replies from a darkened corner, her presence so unexpected it even causes me to jump.

               “Fuck me, woman,” Marko rasps at her. “How long you been standin’ there?”

               The woman says nothing, simply stepping out from her corner.  I realise there’s a door there.  It’s impossible to say whether she’d just walked through, or whether she’d been there all along.  Marko ain’t big on lighting.  Which is a shame, ‘cos Klein is a woman to be looked at.  Mile long legs and a figure to get all wrapped up in.  Brunette hair scraped back into a bun that begs to be loosened. A glance like wildfire.

               “Sorry,” she says with a small twist of humour, all delivered in a perfectly delicious and proper English accent.  I feel some sorta expression begin to form on my face; an appreciative little smile begins to shift round my lips.

               Forget pretty girls tottering around in sexy stilettos they can’t walk in.  This is a woman.

               She glances over at me, then back at her boss with an expectant expression.

               “This shit thief stole me old lady’s engagement ring.” He takes a cellphone out his back pocket and stares at it. “Lesse how fast you can find it for me.”

               Klein don’t waste time mincing words.  Unlike the two couyons behind me, she’s calm, quiet, efficient.  She marches on up with a roll of the hips that’s entirely unconscious.  When she’s finally in front of me, I catch a whiff of her perfume – a barely-there scent that’s not quite fruity and not quite flowery.

               I cock my head to one side and hitch her a smile.

               She doesn’t take the bait.  Her expression is composed as she sizes me up, wondering where to start.  It’s as if she hasn’t even noticed my smile at all.

           “Be gentle, chere,” I quip.

              That’s when she raises her eyes and gives me a look – part disinterested, part unimpressed. Her facade is almost frosty, but it don’t fool me. Beneath the cargo pants and the bomber jacket and the unadorned face, there’s a something to this woman. It’s in the sway of her hips and the sensuousness of her scent. It’s in a whole lot more besides.

              She frisks me in all the usual places, and, Goddamn, her hands alone are enough to set me on fire. Her movements are precise, clinical... yet as insinuating as the touch of a lover.

              Did I mention yet I haven't had sex in 8 fucking weeks?

              She gets on her knees and runs her palms down my legs, and it’s almost more than I can take.

              “While you’re down there, chere...” I can’t help but say; and she pauses, looks up at me with steely eyes and says... Nothing.

              Her gaze fixes on my fly like it’s the only option left, and now we’re talkin’.

              She holds eye contact as she raises both hands, and thumbs open the button of my pants. Her look is impassive; but there’s an undercurrent there, a something that’s signalling to me loud and clear. She unzips my fly slow as a strip tease, and that’s when the shadow of a smile flickers across her face – a brief split second of something more, something to work with.

              Jesus Christ, I’m holding my breath.

              She knows what I’m thinking. She rises to full height and this time she doesn’t bother to hide the smile. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

              “Thought you were s’pposed t’be lookin’ for contraband, p’tite,” I can't help but drawl. The comment wipes the smile from her lips and her gaze drops. She yanks open my fly and within a few short seconds she’s found the fob pocket hidden inside the waistband of my pants. Another split second later and she’s found the ring.

              She turns and flashes it triumphantly at Marko.

              “You made record time, Klein,” he observes approvingly, glancing up from his phone. “Twelve seconds. I’m impressed.”

              Twelve seconds? I swear it coulda been a lifetime...

              She throws the ring to her boss and I watch on, with a wistful sense of loss, as it arcs across the room and into his hand. Oh well. Next time, maybe.

              “If you’re done, chere,” I pipe up behind her, “mebbe you could zip me up again? O’ course, if you ain’t, we can always take dis somewhere a li’l more private... ...”

              I hadn’t exactly been expecting an answer, so I’m doubly taken off guard when she whips round and socks me hard with a fist to the face.

              I totter a bit, tasting blood and seeing stars.

              Damn, this woman packs a punch!

              In the background, Marko’s laughing raucously.

              “Looks like you chose the wrong woman t’ try and charm, yank.”

              Seriously? Enough with the ‘yank’ thing already!

              I grit my teeth and scowl as he continues:

              “Zip ’im up, Klein. I can afford to be charitable to trespassers. I think we can let him leave here with his dignity, if not his life. He has taste after all. Me old ma’s engagement ring,” and he grins sardonically over at me, “is my favourite piece outta my entire collection.”

              Klein obediently turns around and zips me up with more force than necessary. No more smiles and subtle flirtation. She doesn’t even look at me.

              “Sentimental value,” Marko is saying, turning the ring between thumb and forefinger as he approaches me. “That’s what this ring has, Mr. Lord. Me old ma woulda been turnin’ in her grave if I lost it. Specially to some shitty low-feeder like you.”

              I lick the blood from my lip slowly. Low-feeder, huh? This guy is really throwing out them punches tonight.

              “Yeah, I getcha,” I retort with a sarcastic grin. “Momma woulda slapped ya t’ kingdom come if you ever messed wit’ her jewellery. Beat you wit’ a belt, prob’ly, told ya you were a good f’nothin’ piece o’ shit, I’m willin’ t’bet. Sure, I can read a mommy complex a mile away, homme, and you got it bad.”

              I dunno what’s gotten inta me tonight. Or maybe I do. Frustration is a thing and a half. I'm fuckin’ wired, and I can’t stop running my damn mouth off. I ain’t usually this lippy. Honestly.

              Anyways, I’m steeling myself for a beating from my End-of-Level-Boss, but surprisingly he don’t take the bait. Judging from his get-up, he’s ready for a night out, and he don’t want my blood soiling his purple Savile Row suit. Which is good for me, ‘cos the rings on his fingers look like they could double up for some pretty nasty knuckle dusters.

              “I take it back,” he sneers down his nose at me. “This bloody yank don’t deserve jack.”

              He sweeps away and grabs his jacket.

              “You’ve been lookin’ t’prove yerself, ain’t’cha, Klein,” he throws over his shoulder at the woman still standing beside me. “Take care of Mr. Lord for me, and consider yerself one of the gang.” He walks over to a side table, pulls open a draw and takes out a gun. When he throws it to her, she catches it like she doesn’t even have to think about it. “Just make sure you keep some suitably gory keepsake for me to remember ’im by. I’m thinkin’ his teeth. He’s got them pearly whites you can only get in ’Murica. It'll remind me of ’is charmin’ smile.”

              He laughs to himself, throws the ring up in the air, catches it, and deposits it into his pocket.

              “Sorry, Mr. Lord,” he addresses me, “but I have places to go and people to kill.  Don’t worry. Klein’ll entertain you in the playpen.” He waves absently at a door to the right. “I’m sure she’s just itchin’ to get her hands on you.”

              He chuckles and heads for the door, followed by one of his henchmen, leaving with a final, gleeful, “So long!”

              The door bangs shut and now it’s just me, Klein, and Henchman #1.

              Wise strategy on Marko’s part, if Ms. Klein is basically untried and untested.  I might break her little heart, and Henchman #1 might have to put me down instead.

              I suppress a laugh at the thought.

              Klein says nothing. She turns abruptly and sticks the barrel of the gun into the small of my back.

              “Move,” she says.  Her voice is deadpan – nothing to work with.

              “Y’know, chere,” I venture conversationally, as I start shuffling over to the door, “I could speed up some if you’d jes’ untie these chains… Then we could get t’ playtime in the playpen a whole lot faster…”

              “Hey, shut up will ya!” Henchmen #1 barks at me, punctuated by a sharp poke in the back by Klein’s gun. All right, all right, already. I get the message.  They hustle me up to the door and next thing I know, I’m being shoved inside.  Henchman #1 shuts the door behind me and I hear the locks thunk shut.  Now it’s just me, and Klein.

              It turns out the playpen could give H. H. Holmes’ hotel of horrors a run for its money. It’s a pokey little room, and someone’s done gone and painted the walls in a nice shade of red and crusty brown. Blood, gore and brain matter.  The whole place stinks of death.  Merde. The light-hearted mood I’ve managed to maintain so far immediately takes a dive.

              “I take it housekeepin’ don't come round often,” I quip in an undertone – hardly as insolent as it could've been, but it earns me a kick up the ass anyway.  I stagger forward under the momentum, turning to face my would-be executioner as I do so.

              She has the gun pointed at me.

              “Chere, I’d put my hands up if they weren’t tied behind my—”

              The gun fires.

              And the bullet hits the wall over my shoulder.

              The crazy femme don’t give me a moment to recover.

              In a flash she’s lowered the gun and is marching right over to me, grabbing the front of my shirt and jerking me down into a hungry kiss.

              “It’s okay,” she whispers when she sees I’m too shocked to respond. “There aren’t any cameras in here.”

              The words are barely out of her mouth and she’s kissing me again. This time I slip easily out of the chains that I’ve been working on ever since they were clapped on me, and as soon as they hit the ground, I let my palms slide up over her cheeks, pulling her closer, deeper into our kiss. Her fingers wind into my hair, tugging lightly; her body presses against mine, reminding me exactly what I’ve been without the past couple of months. I grab handfuls of her perfect ass and pull her in closer.

              God, I’d fuck her right here, right now, if we weren’t in this shithole and this wasn’t a very important job.

              We kiss until we have no air left to breathe.

              “Lord, I’ve missed ya, Remy,” she murmurs against my lips.

              “Mmm, not as much as I’ve missed you,” I answer sincerely, stealing another kiss before adding heatedly, “Eight whole weeks without you, chere... It’s enough t’ drive a man certifiably insane.”

              She laughs, soft and sexy, her fingers combing lightly through my hair as she backs up a bit and regards me.

              “Darlin’,” she murmurs with a smile, “you were the one who said no contact...”

              “Didn’t wanna risk breakin’ your cover, Anna,” I reply, bridging the slight gap between us and feathering light kisses along her jawline. “Cain Marko’s gang don’t got a real nice reputation, sweet.”

              “Pfft,” she scoffs. “I can handle myself.”

              “For sure,” I agree. “But I’d prefer it if we didn’t tank this mission ‘cos we couldn’t keep our hands offa each other.”

              She hums with vague agreement and runs her thumb across my bottom lip.

              “Sorry about the fist to the face, babe,” she apologises. “Hope I didn’t hurt you too much."

              “Peh.” I wave it off absently – I'd pretty much forgotten it already. “You do what you gotta. Speaking of...”

              But she’s already way ahead of me, rooting around in her utility belt and taking out the small mem-chip case.

              “Nice distraction, by the way,” she congratulates me wryly as she hands me the goods.

              “Didja like it?” I ask her, pocketing the small case.

              “In theory. Thought you had more style, though, Cajun. You managed to set off every alarm in the fucking building.”

              “Heh. Just wanted to make sure you had enough time to pull the heist, cherie.”

              She rolls her eyes expressively.

              “You thought it was funny pissing everyone off, admit it. And what was all that business with the fob pocket?”

              “Chere,” I answer with mock sincerity. “Eight weeks of celibacy and you think I’m gonna pass up the chance to have you feel me up? C’mon.”

              The punch she lands on my bicep is enough to hurt.

              “You are such a troll!” she shoots at me with more affection than ire, I’m happy to say.

              “You love it,” I mutter, grabbing her helplessly and kissing her mouth soundly. We end up wasting a few more precious seconds making out again.

              “So what we gonna do, huh?” I ask her once we break apart. “Henchman #1 is waitin’ outside, and I figure we could both take him out pretty easy...”

              “Nuh-uh,” she cuts me off with a mischievous grin. “That’ll break our cover for sure. You, sweetheart, are taking the back door out.”

              Her gaze slides over my shoulder, and when I look back, I see that the back door is actually a chute in the wall. From the amount of gore it’s covered in, it’s pretty obvious it's a disposal chute – for corpses.

              “You have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me, p’tite,” I groan under my breath.

              “Think of it as payback for kicking me down that garbage chute back at the Plaza hotel,” she banters back lightly, clearly enjoying this.

              “Anna, after this, we’re even and then some,” I say dolefully.

              “Yup,” she replies cheerfully. She swoops in for another quick kiss before saying: “I’ll be waiting for you by the East gate in about 30. Got some stuff to finish up here, otherwise they’ll get suspicious.”

              “All right.” My response is half-hearted. I ain’t relishing goin’ down that chute, that’s for sure. Anna, however, is completely indifferent to my plight. She’s almost at the door already when I stop her.

              “Uhh… Anna?”

              She stops, turns.

              “What?”

              I point down at my chained-up ankles.

              “Li’l help, please?”

               She gives a theatrical sigh; but she comes back anyway, dropping to her knees and undoing the chains round my ankles.

              “I’m pretty sure you could do this yourself faster than I ever could, Cajun,” she says pointedly, to which I shrug and reply:

              “Sure. But havin’ you down on your knees in front of me brings back all sorts of happy mem’ries I’ve been denied the past couple of months.”

              The chains clatter to the floor and she quirks an unimpressed look at me.

              “Jesus. You’re puttin’ out more pheromones than a skunk puts out spray.”

              “Chere, I been insulted ’nuff today, bein’ called a ‘yank’ an’ all. You reckon you could find an analogy a little more flatterin’ than a skunk?”

              She gets to her feet and plants her hands on her hips.

              “Swamp boy, there ain’t enough analogies in the world for the dirty things I wanna call you right now,” she declares in her gorgeously titillating and rarely-bestowed native Mississippi accent.

              “Oooh,” I banter back. “Dirty, huh? Beb, when I get you home tonight, you can call me all the dirty things under the sun. I can’t wait.”

              She chooses to ignore the statement, walking over to the chute instead and pulling it open. When she looks back at me, she’s smiling sweetly.

              “Sugar, when we get home tonight, the first thing you’re gonna do is take a shower. Cos once you’ve gone down this here chute, you’re gonna be dirty as hell, and not in a good way.”

              Trust her to kill the mood. I peer down the hole gingerly. The miasma wafting up from down below is worse than any skunk’s.

              “Chere, you wanna rethink this? Only I get the feelin’ one shower ain’t gon’ be enough t’ get the stench out...”

              “Quit being such a baby!” She’s smiling way too hard for my liking at this point. “The sooner you get this over with, the sooner we can wrap up this job.”

              I step reluctantly up to the edge of the hole, and she leans in over my shoulder, murmurs in my ear: “And the sooner I can get my hands on you again.” She lets that suggestion linger. And, Dieu, does it linger.

              “Now buckle up and hold onto the railings,” she warns me.

              “What railings?” I manage to get out, before her boot heel connects with my ass, and I’m suddenly tumbling through the filth and mire down, down into the depths of the Marko mansion.

-oOo-

[Chapter 2 now here!]

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Delight || Michael Gray x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: 10 & 14 with michael, idk why but i read these and immediately thought of michael hilariously trying to calm his girl who’s losing it Summary: n.10 & 14 from prompt list:  "I swear to God, I’ll blind you” + “Have you totally lost your mind?”

Warnings: swearing, Michael being a flirty sexy bitch (and me loving him)

Author’s notes:

First of all, this gif makes me wet. That. damn. smirk.

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

Let me know what you think and tell me if this is what you expected  ♡

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

The very first time you met Michael he was effectively still Henry, your favourite classmate at the night-school course in accountancy at Worcester College. Truth to be told, it wasn’t easy at all to attend those kinds of lessons, since the vast majority of people couldn’t afford something like that, but you had always been an excellent learner, whoever knew you noticed your uncommon intelligence, your lucid intellect, your charismatic personality and, for all these reasons, you eventually decided not to quit your studies, managing to combine your daily job with evening classes. Naturally, it took a lot of hard work and you’d found yourself about to give up everything more than once, but four years later, continuing your studies turned out to be the best decision you’d ever made: first and foremost because you had the chance to come across the love of your life, secondly because your degree allowed you to aim at pretty prestigious employment, considering the terrible men’s world you were living in. Moreover, your strong personality together with your determination drove you to constantly improve your job skills; in the space of a few years, you went from working as a simple personal assistant for an important Irish businessman to actually becoming his leading and most trusted secretary, so now, after countless months of unspeakable efforts and sacrifices, you clearly hoped to become to all intents and purposes his second in command. And you would have succeeded, if it hadn’t been for the fact that your direct competitor had a penis between his legs. “This is all fucking insane, fucking intolerable!” The door shut noisily behind your tense shoulders as you angrily shouted, entering the Shelbys’ earliest office in Small Heat; Michael was sitting there alone, with his feet comfortably placed on a desk, a fuming cigarette through his fingers and the latest edition of the Birmingham Daily Gazette held in his hands.

“Love?! Is everything okay?” His green eyes immediately gave you a look halfway between interrogative and worried, however you were too wrapped up in your heated discussion with yourself to mind his concern, so you just roughly threw your crimson red jacket on a random chair, before going back to curse against the whole world.

“Five damned years, five! I broke my back, not sleeping for days, always running from a place to another” Michael’s amused gaze followed your movements as you went up and down the room like a spinning top and your hands frenetically removed your emerald hairpin, letting your locks fall softly on your bare neck, just the way he liked it.  It was easy for him to understand what you were complaining about and, being aware of how much you cared for your career, he decided to simply let you blow off steam while enjoying the little comedy show you were putting on.

“I wore out and bought so many shoes, with all that money I would’ve set up my own fucking company by now! And all of this for what?!” Your mad outburst paused for a brief moment as you poured in a glass a massive amount of gin, then chugging it in the twinkling of an eye with a stern expression on your face “To have my job stolen by a total jerk, only because I’m a bloody woman!”

The crystal cup you had drunk from loudly crashed into a thousand little pieces when you violently flung it against the wall, in a fit of absolute blind rage; only then your boyfriend  rapidly got to his feet, reaching you on the other side of the office in a matter of seconds, in order to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself. “Jesus Christ, y/n, have you totally lost your mind?” His look softened as he held both your wrists in his big hands, ascertaining that you were okay and there was no blood on your velvet skin, then again a small grin appeared on his lips since an adorable frown formed on your flushed face. Your pupils rolled with annoyance and you slightly pushed him away, taking some unquiet steps in no particular direction.

“Yes, I fucking have! I’m a complete fool, to the point of thinking that in this shitty world people could achieve something by merit, regardless of their damned gender!” Once more Michael reached for you, his fingers went to lovingly caress your shoulders in attempt to calm you and keep you in one place, while his eyes captured yours with urgency. “C’mon, baby, I know you’re furious right now, but you can always start working for Tommy, he’s been begging you for months, plus we’re way better than those screwed idiots” Yet his warm voice didn’t succeed in soothing your terrible disappointment and you unwittingly got away from him again, your nerves still overcoming you. “You know I don’t want any special treatment, I need to make it with my own strength, not because I’m your stupid girlfriend!”

Your boyfriend smiled subconsciously realizing how proud he was of you and your incredible persistence, a sudden surge of tenderness caught him off guard, leading him to gently cup your face with both his hands.

“If you don’t slow down, I swear to God, I’ll blind you” He playfully whispered a few inches away from your nose, while pecking your lips several times, finally managing to defuse your fury, even if only a little. Indeed, for a brief moment, your mouth involuntary curved in an imperceptible grin, before you turned your back on him in search of your purse.

“Please, do it already, so I won’t have to see that bastard’s face ever again” You muttered, messing with the content of your bag, and a low laugh left his throat, Michael shook his head, resigned to your extreme stubbornness, as he watched you stand in front of the only mirror in the room, busy fixing your make-up without a real reason, merely to keep your nervous fingers occupied with something.

He took a moment for just observing your figure in pure delight, while you continued to wildly powder your nose and ramble about your discontent; he loved the contrast between your tiny self and the huge fire in your belly, he loved the fact that you were able to be both the sweetest creature on earth and the fiercest woman he knew, he loved the way your cheeks heated with strong emotions and how your hair nuzzled your skin whenever you let it down, and all of a sudden he found himself eager to make you his, right there and then. So he kept staring at you and removed his grey jacket, starting soon after to unbutton his matching waistcoat and then his shirt, always maintaining an alluring smirk on his magnetic face, even though you were not looking at him; at least not until you raised your eyes, noticing his silhouette through the mirror. Your mouth went totally dry in a single instant, you forgot what you were talking about, your irises drinking every drop of that stunning sight: Michael’s lean but toned shape, together with his flirtatious expression, literally mesmerized you as the afternoon light filtering from the windows emphasized the features of his solid chest and abdomen. “W-what are you doing?” That was everything you were capable of stumbling when his arms possessively gathered around your waist, pushing you against his body so that you could physically feel how much he wanted you in that moment, his lips left a wet kiss on your neck before slowly moving towards your ear.  “I’m being a good boyfriend, babydoll, ‘gonna help you relax a bit, yeah?”

@namelesslosers

[misterbitches]

i have a lot to say about mr queen but idk how to say it so ill just collect what i did say (ammmz)

wrote this somewhere else in response to someone but:

i think the writers backed themselves into a corner here. your comment got cut off and hopefully you can finish the thought later (if you so choose.) i agree with everything you said!

i see some issues in the way the story is received now that it’s ended.

1. interpreting this as a gay story in the literal sense 2. discarding SO YONG’s self and her womanhood which is integral to the story / discarding anyones womanhood and/or precarious situations (IE being poor, being a gisaeng, etc) 3. gender confusion in the end

my issue in the plainest terms is that, in the original, we get a happy ending in the most clear cut sense. SY goes to the present, BH stays in the past. i say they could have gone further and just made them have souls projected or some shit with SoBong mix in the past, and SY alive as BH in the present (however she sees fit to live this life.) this is interesting because so yong is living as a man in SK. a man who (pre accident and post accident is a hero) had money, was a cis man in 2021 SK, worked at the blue house, and, like all men, didnt have the respecting woman juice bug.

it would be cool to see how SY could have lived in the present as a cis man (on the outside.) how she would choose to live going forward is up to her; would she keep her appearance? would she have ease as BH the way BH did for her? could they still have the ideas of the mind and know themselves in the body? since, essentially, So Bong is that idea. and this is all philosophical too like literally ONTOLOGY! the show delves into philosophers and thinkers so it could have done this from a philsophical standpoint (and hello! they seem to be on a kick these days post-stranger like sisyphus?!??! but you know…lol)

i wont regurgitate what you said beause you’re absolutely correct (IMO~~ not that it matters) bc the show is all about autonomy and ownerhsip and living HAPPILY especially for the people who do not get to determine that life. that is largely to say the women in this story, the women of joseon. sidenote: i do not know as much about korea and its sociopolitical history as i would like but like all movements, the labor movement (what would evovle from the peasant rev) is very very very masculine and not open to genfder and sexual minorities worldwide. isnt it interesting that such a heavy movement (starting from donghak in the show) is so so female centered? the whole show is an estrogen fest in the best way 🙂

so for people to miss that all of that IS so yong is sad. because sobong is so yong. and so yong is so bong just like bonghwan is. they chose each other. them kissing each other is a mark of a transfer of souls or some kindred spirits or something. it’s alarming that people miss the point of how crucial this selfish man going into this desperate woman’s body is. how her suicide was to save her mind but still our interpretation is that a man saved her and took over for her. as if bong hwan wasnt hugely flawed which is why he worked for so yong because she couldnt have the chance to discover that on her own because of her place. gee wouldnt it be interesting if we took away that, maybe, women have a right to exist? that maybe bong hwan was majorly flawed, narcissistic, disrespectful to WOMEN and that his life turns upside down and he learns what its like to have NOTHING for yourself. to be a woman who is told she is nothing because of her existence, because of men, because of money and power. and for BH to truly be shocked at how horrifically she was treated.

this is why i go so far as to say that CJ with all versions of queen cheorin make sense. he didnt give a shit about her frailty and that is the catalyst for her realizing htat she has to rely on herslef. her suicide was her CHOICE. so what if it’s negative, unsavory, cowardly; she got to decide for once.

hwa jin’s end especially (i stopped mid ep 18!) i love. she knew she was gonna go insane and we hated her for it. but she chose HERSELF.

but this is where the writers need to explain the gender and sexuality thing comes at the fault of them and also our society~ (lol) and us as viewers. it is queerbaiting in the sense that gender is confusing or whatever and if you’re GNC or NB you (AFAIK correct me if im wrong someone) are in every sexuality. sure people may have missed that but we’re so stuck on and obsessed with BOY OR GIRL? GAY OR NOT? (i’m not saying you as a user have done this, just ing eneral) that when we fight against just going with the flow which the show does for its whole run until its final explanation hits it bits us in the ass. now the questions are: was h eboy all along? which lol

no doubt SK is conservative (and no doubt they present gender and sexuality differently as well but one thing no matter how progressive or conservative places are—and you know, most are conservative because that’s how capitalism gets us and we’re just going against the current sorry couldnt help myslef—our societal ills stay so MASCULINITY and ideas of sexuality permeate and are constant through the world. fear fo gayness, femninity, no gender, transness, whatever it is) but the questions i am asking are – why did it have to end that way? was this planned? since the source material is different. if the writers think the trajectory makes sense, why? and if not, what would they change? – what was their intention?

from a technical standpoint, i think the ending does not support hwat the show has shown. just in literal set up and execution. that is a minute problem though in the grand scehme of things. in terms of story, what does this mean for BH and SY and CJ? why wouldnt he notice her? but i can pretend all of that doesnt exist and handwave and pretend it is so bong and CJ (which it is, until the end.) what is so hard to have So Bong exist? what doesnt make sense about that in a fantasy? why this ending?

i’d like to know if it was fear or if they couldnt accept that ending. it’s possible and that makes it unacceptable. or did it just not make sense to them? or it owuldnt to the viewers? in which case: jesus christ who cares. the show does a good job of propelling itself but it seems the gender question is just too fucking pressing that it put itself into its own corner. which you know fair enough. it manages to sustain itself even with that blunder but it’s like why and now why does it seem that the point of all that is missing. what could they have done differently to drive this point home? and really what can we all learn from it?

as a cis person this has taught me a lot oabout gender and my thoughts. i am inclined to this type of thought naturally and admittedly i do want to be a pretentious artist dumb bitch social justice warrior 😛 but even with all the things i know, the things i’ve done, when it comes to radical shit i’m still learning SO MUCH. there’s so much history i dont know, so many prejudices i still habor even if i fight against htem an know theyre wrong, privileges i have. this is why media IS important (and why i hate capitalism) bc even me at 29, even me the girl involved in a solidarity union and a resurgence of the black panthers doesnt know shit, hasnt experienced shit, grew up in a shit system too with poor understanding of difference. even as i try and dismantly everything a fucking south korean drama and kurt cobain has me thinking about how absurd gender is and this is SOMETHING I KNEW. there’s so much information to take in and ways we process that information, it’s taken me years to undo the gender industrial complex, and it will continue to take me years. i am a woman and a proud one but as a cis woman i am aware of my own limitations and this world expanded it. and it makes me think harder about my status and what about femininity and womanhood in a cis lens is so important. and that blockade or erosion of that blockade via the show is something i appreciate. the show was saying go with the flow because we dont HAVE TO understand it. we dONT. it’s just gender. it means everyhting and nothing all at once. but it had to be explained so much to its own detriment when it was already saying so much of what needed ot be said. hopefully many a non cis people found it compelling (and if anyone wants to LMK what they thought of the end from any perspective but that one specifically i am interested cos yea!)

[raisingsupergirl]

My Supernatural Courage, pt. 1

*Author’s Note: Since writing this, I’ve had a thought, and I’m mulling it over. It might change my stance on things. It might not. Regardless, proceed, dear reader, to better understand where I’m coming from and where I may end up.*

I've been nervous a lot lately. I think everyone has. Not scared. Just nervous—uncertain. I've been nervous about the corona virus. I've been nervous about maintaining my hours at work. I've been nervous because I overcommit. I've been nervous because this past weekend I had to give a speech in front of my freemason brothers and had to play music in front of my church family. And, most of all, I've been nervous about the widespread civil unrest. But the weird thing is, even though national tensions seem to be on the rise, I'm finally starting to achieve some inner peace. Not because I've reached some sort of new normal or because I've given up in some way, but because my frayed nerves weren't actually about the civil unrest at all. They were about my own inner battle. And it took a bunch of local hillbillies to finally set my mind at ease.

If you've followed with me for long, you know that I stay pretty busy. A few weeks ago, I posted about how I didn't have time to truly commit to the conversation regarding ALM vs BLM. The week after that, I posted about not being ready to die because I still have "stuff to do." Well, even though I knew this past week would be crazy busy, I had one request for Father's Day weekend—I wanted to do nothing. And nothing is what I did. My family spent Saturday at the waterpark, nothing but fun and sun. And then we went out to my mom's for dinner on Sunday. That's it. No blogging. No editing. No mowing the grass. Nothin'. And it was amazing, not just because I needed a breath, but because I needed a moment to think. Creatives know that it's essential to recharge every so often. And after I took Father's Day weekend off, I had newfound clarity on, well, a lot of things.

Like I said, the following week came with its own stresses. Not only did I have a ton of editing to do along with practicing songs for the upcoming weekend's church worship team, but that Thursday night, I was to be installed as my masonic lodge's master for the upcoming year. It's been five years in the making—five years of growth, learning, mistakes, and patience. I've learned so much about what it means to be a man in that time. The core masonic principles are brotherly love, relief, and truth, and it's principle duties are to be, "diligent, prudent, temperate, and discreet." And as I said in my speech last Thursday night, masonry is a confirmation of the men we've always been and a reminder of the men we want to be. It doesn't forge us, but it does sharpen us. And as I dwelt on those principles the week leading up to our officer installation, an inner peace settled over me. But, unfortunately, as I said before, it took a bit of a slap in the face by a really ugly counter protest in a nearby town to get me there.

Growing up and living in central Missouri, you'd think I would be used to racism. And I guess I am, but only in the, "Oh, look, a black guy. How about that?" sort of way, which I guess isn't really racism, but I'm also not surprised when I see someone raise an eyebrow at an interracial couple (I also won't deny that I've heard plenty of racist jokes in my day, but I'm not going to get into the nuances of political correctness, Mel Brooks, and South Park). Again, I've always seen it as lack of exposure more than actual racism, and while I've known there were hardcore racists living amongst us, I guess it's just been an out of sight, out of mind kind of thing. But those blinders were ripped off this last week.

There was a BLM rally in a town about thirty minutes from my house. And, as you'd expect, there were plenty of people who showed up with "White Lives Matter" and "Blue Lives Matter" posters. Which is fine. As I said last week, we live in a free country, and our diverse viewpoints make up the spirit of this huge country. But this rally was pretty awful. First, there were local storeowners standing on their roofs with rifles, looking down on the protestors. I guess I get it. Protect your house, and all that. But, geez, was it really necessary to have your weapons shouldered and at the ready. And, obviously, that increased tensions, leading the BLM and ALM folks to move from "peaceful" to a little more verbally aggressive. And that, unfortunately, led a few of the more, ehem, outspoken anti-protestors to (and I almost hesitate to say it) act like monkeys and pantomime lynchings.

I've seen the pictures. I've heard the reports. The BLM protestors weren't innocent. They threw out racial slurs and accusations. But they didn't resort the that level of debased scum. And I don’t use that phrase lightly. Thinking about it makes me want to spit. Or punch someone. It's no different than making sexual jokes to someone who was molested as a child.

It's easy to write that horrible display off as a small, idiotic percentage of the community. It's easy to sigh and move on, remembering that most people aren't that way. But… some people are! They exist in my community! And those people infect the rest of us. The more they talk, the more they normalize actual (even if it's subtle) racism. Thankfully, their public actions have called them out. They've done much more harm to their cause than good. And that event was at catalyst for me. Well, that and one other.

This next turning point was a small one. It was a simple comment by a black lady. She responded to an "ALM" Facebook post. It was simple and humble. "Everyone already knows that all lives matter but everyone don't agree that black lives matter and if it is never said then we will never matter. So because I say black lives matter it's because I wanna be just as important as you would be to the world…"

Yes, I already knew this obvious truth. Yes, I'd heard it a hundred times. But the way she said it, the fact that it came from her, and the timing of it in my life just made things click. BLM isn't just a social movement with an agenda (which I tend to tie together with human imperfection, various other motives, and some of the rioting). It’s a statement. And it's a simple statement, at that. It doesn't have to be political or loaded. "Black lives matter," I said with a smile and a nod as I waited for her to cross the street. Just imagining that scenario makes me happy. Is it wrong to open a door for a woman, wave a tattooed biker on in front of us at a stoplight, or pay for the meal of someone richer or poorer than us? No. Such acts don't relinquish any of our own self-worth or threaten our futures. They're simple, humane kindnesses that make the world a better place. They're acknowledgements that we are a diverse world, and it's neat to remind specific peoples that they are important, not just to us, but to the Most Holy Lord God.

Oops. I'm sure I lost some of you just now. And that's okay, but stick with me. I'm a Christian, through and through. Christ is a part of my everyday life, and one thing that I've reminded myself of for a long time is that every person I meet is a unique child of God. Jesus told the parable of the Good Samaritan, and Freemasonry reminds us by proclaiming, "Every human being has a claim on your kind offices. Do good unto all." And even though it took me a while to get here, I've found peace in those sentiments. I'm doing what I'm supposed to do. And I'm not afraid in the slightest about the future.

When I hear about rioters pushing down statues, I'm reminded of Jesus overturning the moneychangers' tables in the temples. There are plenty of excuses to maintain the status quo, but none of them are really good ones. What are you afraid of? Losing our history? Really? I can still find MySpace comments I made fifteen years ago, and my mom still has pictures of me naked in the bathtub. We're not talking about destroying someone's personal property or threatening their lives (or livelihood). We're talking about a symbolic act of desperation. Was it smart? Or right? Or productive? Who knows, but it's nothing to freak out about!

White people, what are you afraid of? Seriously. Are you afraid that black people will enslave you? Are you afraid of economic collapse? Are your guns going to be taken from you? Your jobs? Your freedom of speech? I mean, c'mon. Even if all of those things did happen (which they won't), who cares!? … Okay, wait. I get it. Slaves care. I'm sure it sucks. But you know how black slaves survived in early American history? They relied on God! Remember the Jews? Christianity was literally born out of a nation of slaves! Oppression is woven into the story of humanity, start to finish. We're a broken world. It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven. The first shall become last, and the last shall become first. Are any of these ringing a bell?

Okay, sorry. I got a little worked up there. But I can't help it. Everyone is so afraid of losing stuff, and nobody is taking five seconds to ask why. Why, truly, are you alive? What are you trying to do? Okay, yes, I get the compulsion to protect your family and future generations. It's biological (which doesn't make it any less important). It's engrained within our race's perpetuation. But we are one race, and I’m sorry, but your family isn't the pinnacle of genetic, moral, and intellectual perfection for the human race. Your kid may have won the spelling bee, but he's not going to cure cancer.

So, ease up a little bit. Let the rest of the world have a little space. Do I agree with everything the BLM movement has been associated with? Of course not. And I never will, because there are a lot of people who hitch themselves to bandwagons, regardless of their own, personal motives. If rioters make the USA into Mad Max, well, then you'll finally be able to tell your wife, "I told you so" about all of the guns and ammo you've been buying over the years. If one truly evil civil rights activist rises up and turns us into a nation of white slaves, well, I guess we'll just have to focus in a little more on being kind to our neighbor, looking to the afterlife, and trusting in God to reward us for obeying his commandments. But more than likely, all of the extremists on both sides will be cut off from the herd, and the rest of us will (eventually) live in a slightly different-looking America than what it has been for the past couple centuries. That's the funny thing about time—the present eventually becomes history. We don't continue to live in it, and we don't forget it. We accept it, learn from it, and move on. Simple enough.

In the end, it's your choice. I've probably offended just about everyone with this post (but as usual, I did it in a super nice way, so good luck calling me out, jerk). But this has been my journey to peace with the situation. My family will live on. My nation will live on. Maybe we'll be blessed with earthly comfort, or maybe we'll be sharpened by trials and tribulations. But eternity waits for me, and while I still walk this earth, I'll have no problem praising and building up specific people and specific groups. Why? Because differences are what make people awesome, and I'm not afraid to remind them of it.

[anarcoqueer1994]

Trans Platonic Tarty Story part 6.

So this is most like my last part! Thank you everyone for reading and reblogging. Probably going to start a new Trans TJ story soon with less focus on the coming out parts.

This is a heavy Marty chapter with some Muffy moments. I hope you like it!

Also remember that you are valid whether you pass, don't pass, or don't want to. How you live your gender or lack there of is up to you. <3

Marty felt so stupid running off from his friends like that. He just doesn't know what else to do right now. He knows TJ isn't mad at him for not coming out. He knows that TJ is right about it being his choice to make about when or if he wants people to know he is trans. He understands this all objectively. But knowing something  doesn't necessarily change how you feel, and right now Marty feels like a coward. 

He ran off from the lunch table leaving his very confused friends to piece together what just happened. When he finally stopped running, he finds himself under the bleachers around the football field. He collapses onto the patchy grass under the metal seats above him. Usually running helps him feel better, at least for a bit, but not today. 

He had been doing so well, the past few months. He finally got out of that emotionally exhausting and abusive household where he couldn't be himself. He had formed a really great friendship with TJ. And most excitingly of all, he was finally dating the girl that has been invading his dreams every night for the past year and a half.  He should be the happiest he has ever been, but right now, in this moment, every negative thought that has ever crossed his mind about himself, is racing through his brain.

He feels so angry. He wants to blame someone else. Maybe it was his parents for fucking him up and causing all this internalized guilt for just being himself? Maybe he was mad at the few kids at school for being so hateful towards TJ for coming out, that made him terrified to do the same. Maybe he was mad at TJ for coming up with this stupid shirt idea in the first place? 

No. None of these were it. He was mad at himself for not being brave and he was mad that he lived in a world where you had to be brave to be open about being trans. He couldn't just be open with an expectation of no one having a problem because there was always going to be people who wouldn't be kind. It's really not fair. When you are born and the hospital assigns your gender, nobody questions it. But if you go against that assignment, it's a whole damn thing.

As he is mauling this over, only making himself more and more upset, he sees someone sit down beside him out of the corner of his eye. "Buffy, you didn't need to follow me."

"I mean, I kind of did. I don't know for sure but I am pretty sure it's part of the whole girlfriend job." She smiles, trying to lighten the mood. The boy sitting beside her, doesn't look. He anxiously messes with his shoe lace, while remaining silent.

"Marty, Kira is a mean, horrible person. Those things she said to TJ and Cyrus were inexcusable. But you didn't do anything wrong." She rests her hand on his knee.

"Well that doesn't change the fact that I stood there and did nothing, Buffy. You literally got in school suspension for standing up to Kira and I was a coward." He says, eyes not leaving the patch of ground below him.

"Marty…that's not true. You are not a cowa… "

"I don't need you to lie to me." He interrupts, coming off way angrier than attended.

She looks a little stunned at how harshly he talked to her but tries to brush it off. She knows he isn't really mad at her. She takes a deep breath. "I'm not lying to you, you aren't a coward. Its okay to protect yourself against toxic people like Kira. TJ and Cyrus know you care and they definitely don't blame you for not saying anything. It's your choice to come out on your terms."

He clutches a clump of grass and dirt. "Everyone keeps saying that to me, that it's my choice. Like it is that simple! But it's not. I feel like my head wants to do a 1000 different things at once. I don't want it to be some secret but it scares me to think of anyone besides our friends finding out. This would be so much better if I was born cis. If I didn't have to hide behind tight binders and loose shirts to be myself. " An angry tear forms in the corner of his eye. He quickly pushes his palm against it, pressing so hard he sees specs of color. "Jesus Christ."

Buffy opens her mouth to speak but is at a loss for words. She quickly closes it again. She doesn't know how to help him. He clears his throat. "I'm going to go."

"What about your afternoon classes?"

"What about them?" He says coldly before turning and walking away. Buffy, against every instinct she has to meddle, let's him walk away.

***********

Marty really doesn't know what his plan was, walking off from school like that. He knows his aunt won't be very happy about it when she finds out, but he didn't really care. He needed to be away from that school. He does regret how he treated Buffy though. She didn't deserve for him to treat her so coldly.

He walks for a while, careful to avoid main streets so he doesn't get caught. He doesn't know who he can talk to. The two people he usually turned to, he couldn't. He had blown off Buffy and TJ had his own shit to deal with right now. He thought about running, maybe take some things off his mind but that was too risky in the middle of the school day. So he decides to just go home...but not to his aunt's house.

He was headed to his parents house. He knew they both were at work right now so he would be alone. But also since they were at work, the house was locked. Luckily his old bedroom window was at the back of the house. So when he got there, all he had to do to get in was climb the tree and crawl in through the window.

When he stepped foot into his old room, it seemed unrecognizable. His parents quickly erased all remnants of ever having a child. The blue walls had been painted a deep burgundy. There were 2 black leather recliners in the corners of the rooms with a large smart TV screen against the opposite walls. There were some other miscellaneous things placed in the room, DVDs, some shelves with tons of books, etc. His parents had basically erased the child they were ashamed of with a room full of stuff that will always be more important to them.

With books, and movies, and TV shows, they could choose what they wanted to see. It was in their control. But with Marty, they couldn't control him and force him to be something he was not forever. He was always just going to be an inconvenient thorn in their side.

 He suddenly regrets coming here. He doesn't quite understand what he wanted to accomplish. Maybe he was hoping that his bedroom wouldn't of been changed. That they maybe kept it the way he left it because they missed and hoped he came back. He wanted some proof that his parents loved him. But all they did was ignore the fact that they ever had a child. 

He feels so angry, and hurt and even worse than he felt at school. He doesn't even know how it happened, but he finds himself walk the room, when he stops at a small framed picture on the side table next to one of the chairs. It is a picture of his mom and dad, but it looks familiar. He takes the backing off the frame and pulls the picture out. His heart drops into his stomach when he realizes that the picture had been folded to cut him off. It had been their family picture from the year before where his mom had forced him to where something "more feminine." 

He hated the picture because he didn't look or feel like himself in it. But it hurts more to know that now, his parents were just hiding him and existence.  He puts the picture back the way he found it. In his head he knew he should just leave but apparently his body did not want to listen.

Without thinking, he picked the picture back up and chucked it across the room where it hit the TV, busting it before the picture fell to the ground, glass from the frame shattering. Once he got started, he couldn't stop, he let his anger take hold of him. He knocked over books and movies, and broke the nearby lamp in the process. He trashed the room.

Then he was left standing in the middle of the chaos he created. The floor littered with the objects his own parents valued over him. He took it all in. He hoped this would make him feel better but it didn't. It just served as a reminder that the people that created him, saw this trash that surrounded him as worth more than him. That he was less than trash. 

Well he wasn't about to let them ignore him any more. They could hate him but couldn't just stamp him out. With what he had done, they couldn't just push him to the back burner. He grabs a sharpie that has ended up on the floor and in big black letters across the wall he wrote "DO YOU SEE ME NOW?" and with that, he climbed out the window and headed far away from that house.

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

It was a few more hours until he finally headed back to his aunt's house. While he was out his phone died. He walks in to find her waiting at the kitchen table. She looks concerned.

"Marty?" She whispers. 

He turns to her with blood shot eyes. He had been crying on and off since he left his old home. His voice cracks. "What?"

"I've gotten some interesting phone calls today." Her face looks apprehensive. Her voice is soft and caring. He can tell that she isn't mad at him as much as she was concerned. "Why did you leave school? Why did you go your parent's house? Your mom called."

He looks away. He takes a sharp, pained, breath. He tries to choke something out, but his words get stuck in his throat. He felt terrible for putting his aunt in this situation. He wishes this didn't affect her but it does.

If she is upset about that fact, she doesn't show it. She can see how hurt her nephew is and that is the only thing she cares about. She gets up without a word and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. He sniffled lightly again her shoulder. She doesn't say a thing, just gives him her unconditional love.

After standing there for a while, he quietly whispered, "I'm sorry…I'm sorry for causing any problems for you with my parents…"

"Baby, it's okay. I got it handle, okay?" Unknown to him, when his mom threatened to press charges on the phone, his aunt reminded her she could take her to court for child abandonment and child support.

"Okay. And um...thank you." He says timidly. 

"For what?" She smiles

"For caring about me…" He says as he steps to walk away. He doesn't really want to talk more now. "Hey...um...can we talk later? I kind of wanna lay down." He asks.

"Yea, of course." She says as he walks up to his room and shuts his door. He collapses on his bed and tries to clear his mind. It is not working out that well.

After more of an hour of silence, he hears a knock on his door. It pulls him out of his head. He yells to whoever is outside the door. "Yeah?" 

"Marty, it's me."

He scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. "Buffy? What are you doing here?"

"Your aunt let me in. Can I open your door?" Her voice sounds like she is trying to be positive but it is tinged with worry.

He clears his throat, "Yeah, come in."

"Hey." Buffy says as she pushes the door open enough for her to come in before closing it behind her. She steps closer to the edge of his bed. "Can I sit?"

"Um sure, look Buffy, I'm sorry." He starts as she sits on his bed, half facing him. "I'm sorry that I just left earlier. I shouldn't have just ran away. I was kind of a jerk to you too."

"Yeah you were." She jokes. "But that's not why I'm here." Her voice gets more destressed. "Marty, you really had me worried. You ran off and weren't answering your calls."

"I'm...sorry." He exhales into an annoyed sigh but it wasn't aimed at Buffy. It was aimed at himself. "My phone died."

Buffy reaches forward and grabs Marty hand. "It's okay, I just care about you a lot."

Marty tries to joke. He puts on a half smile and says "Watch it, Driscoll, you getting soft on me?" 

She chuckles back. Keeping her voice low, she implored, "So, what did you do?"

He quickly looks away while rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Something stupid…" He confesses.

"You wouldn't be the first person to do something stupid today. I got myself in school suspension...with Kira" She says in disgust.

"I broke into my parents house?" He continues to not look at her.

'Marty...why? What if you would of got caught?" Her eyebrows are raised in a mixture of confusion and surprise.

He finally meets her eye. "Yeah, I didn't think that far. But they weren't home so they didn't see me."

"Oh good so they don't know you were there?" 

He lets out a dry laugh. "Oh no, they definitely know I was there."

"What...did...you...do?" Emphasizing each word with a pause.

He places his other hand over Buffy's so that her hand is sandwiched between his. "It just happened, Buff." His voice sounded weak and defeated. "I went into my room to see if it changed. And it definitely did. They got rid of anything I didn't take with me. They made it a home theater. They purposely  blotched out any reminder that I ever occupied space in their lives. They even cut me out a stupid family picture." His breath sounded more labored now like he was trying to keep himself together and force himself not to cry.

"Marty, I'm so, so sorry…" She says, kicking off her shoes, so she could scoot closer onto the bed. She removes her hand from his, just for it to reappear on his shoulder a few moments, arm pulling him tight.

"I just wanted to believe that my parents really did love and we would someday get past this. But I don't think we ever will…and when I saw all that stuff, I was so angry. So I wrecked the room. I don't even know why. But part of me hoped that at least I could get some reaction off of them. Something so I could pretend that they care. But they don't."

"Well they didn't deserve to have a son as funny, and athletic, and...sweet…" She smiles into the word  "...as you. I mean that, okay? Your parents made their choice, and now they will never get to see all the great things you are going to do."

He can't help but smile at her words. He really is lucky to have the people who chose to stay in his life. "Hey, guess what?" His mood is notably lighter. 

"What?"

"One good thing came out of today. I realize I have a lot bigger problems than some terrible kids at school. At the end of the day, they are just other kids. It's nowhere near as bad as full grown adults hating you for just existing, especially when they are your parents. So…" he trails off.

"So what?" She urges for him to finish.

"So I'm going to come out tomorrow. I know some kids are going to be assholes  but Like you said…They made their choice. And I am making mine."

"Marty, are you sure?" She asks, to verify if that is what he really wants.

"Yeah. I'm tired of so much of my life being dictated by fear. I don't have to worry about people finding out if they already know. Even if it is terrible, I know my girlfriend and my friends have my back." His voice changes to a more silly competitive tone, "Plus TJ is already beating me on this coming out thing, so I really gotta step up my game." He cracks a goofy grin.

Buffy laughs before resting her head on his shoulder. "You are really full of surprises, Marty…"

"What can I say? I am." He holds onto her too.

***********

The next morning, Buffy meets Marty at his house so they can walk to school together. As they get closer to the school, Buffy asks "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." He admits.

"What's your plan?"

"I think I'm just going to wing it?"

"Which means?" She asks as they climb the steps leading into the school. 

"Not sure." He answers before opening the door to the crowded, busy hallway. They spot their friends in the hallway. TJ is still glued to Cyrus' side more than usual but he looks like he looks happier today. When Jonah, Andi, Cyrus, and TJ notice Buffy and Marty, they immediately smile over to them.

He can't help but feel great in that moment. He had friends who really cared about him even after he accidentally outed himself to them yesterday. Buffy has his hand in hers as they walk closer. A few feet from them though, he stops, drops Buffy's hand and turns to face the hallway, packed with students. He clears his throat loudly before speaking over everyone in there. "Hey excuse me?"

Andi walks close to Buffy and whispers "What is he doing?"

"I think he's winging it?" She says back equally as quiet. Her attention turns back to Marty as he continues.

"I just want everyone in here to know that I'm trans. I'm trans guy. And no I don't want any weird questions. Google it."

Moments later, a few chuckles leave the now quiet hallway. But when Buffy moves forward and stands next to him, the laughs go quiet. Most likely because they saw what she did to Kira. 

"So no one has a problem,right?" He finishes, looking around, trying to hide his overwhelming sense of anxiety. But before long, the hallway chatter starts back up seemingly not fazed by the revelation. He feels better at the lack of reaction. 

The rest of his friends step closer. TJ goes and stands in front of him. "That was sudden."

"Well a lot of things came into perspective last night." Marty smiles.

"So...l I guess we are doing this coming out thing together?" TJ's voice is full of relief but will never admit to it if you ask him. He is just happy to be going  through this with his best friend.

"I guess so, man." He lets out an airy laugh through his nose.

"And you have all of us, too." Buffy says, taking her boyfriend's hand, with Cyrus nodding and doing the same to TJ. Andi and Jonah also smile in agreement.Marty realizes that in this moment,  it can really only get better from here.

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