#Paul's tongue needs its own tag

[know-it-all-freak]

Some Paul pics I found during the weekend. The first one is from the Inside Wiltshire Twitter account and is from the Chalke Festival last week and the other two are from Comic Con Yorkshire's Facebook page. (The last two were taken by the photographer Stu Whitaker.)

❤️Happy McGann Monday!❤️

He is so handsome and ador(k)able! 🥰

[silverfoxstole]

From the TV Movie's electronic press kit, 1996.

[paper-n-ashes]

The Late Shift - Part 3

Characters: Paul Sevier x Female Reader

Words: 3.9k

Warnings/Tags: Explicit (18+), PRAISE KINK, sex in a public place (voyeurism if you squint?), Oral sex (Female receiving), PIV sex, gratuitous use of the pet name ‘good girl’

Authors Note: Yeah, we sped right on into smut town in this one. This smutty addition should conclude our little story, and now this ADCU character will forever be known to me as Praise Kink Paul.

Part 1 + Part 2

~

It was eerily quiet as you stared at Paul in bewildered shock, not fully knowing if the word he just spoke actually left his mouth. It didn’t seem real. A man you’d met barely hours ago returning for you. Needing you. But what exactly did that mean?

Paul’s expression had kept its hesitation long into the silence, his body unmoving. He had never been so bold before. Making a move like this, so soon after a first meeting, was absolutely unheard of in his past. And yet here he was now, watching over your face, trying to gauge the thoughts hidden behind your eyes. There was an essence of shock clearly shining in your irises, and Paul could only come to the conclusion he’d scared the hell out of you.

“I- I, uh, I’m sorry-”

“What do you mean by that?” you asked suddenly, interrupting his bid at cooling your fear. “What do you mean by… needing me?”

Paul nervously pulled at his blazer collar, realising now how vague and outright creepy the statement must have sounded. Somehow he needed to explain himself without coming off more strange than he already did. “Oh, I just… I wanted to see if you were free for a late dinner. There’s are great dumpling house around the corner and-”

Your lids had narrowed as Paul continued to stumble his way through his words, stopping him again mid-sentence. “You said… you needed me.”

Fuck. He’d definitely freaked you out. He could tell you it was a lie, a colourful way of offering a date, but suddenly the prospect seemed rather difficult. Because in truth, he’d meant exactly what he’d said. He needed you, in a way he hadn’t needed someone for a long time. He needed to know what your lips tasted like, the softness of your skin, the sound of your quickened breaths-

“Ask me again,” you shot out, your demeanour having morphed into one of resolve. Paul could feel his heart rate pick up.

“What?”

“Ask me out. To dinner. Ask me on a date.”

The rhythm of beats turned erratic - a smile already desperate to spread across his face. Maybe he hadn’t completely ruined his chances. With a steadying breath, Paul kept his tone light, hoping to hide the excitement rattling inside his chest. “Would you like to get some dinner with me?”

“No.”

The word pierced the air with such a stinging jolt it made Paul want to recoil. “Uh… oh, but I thought… Isn’t that what you wanted?”

You took a step from around the service counter, a single finger sliding over the cheap marble, keeping your eyes locked with Paul as you moved. The only answer you supplied was a shake of your head, treading closer to the flustered man, his face creased into a positively adorable look of uncertainty.

It was your time to be bold now. You weren’t sure how it happened, when the rush of confidence flashed through your limbs, pushing you into a determination you’d not been allowed to embrace very often. Maybe it was because you’d already endured a horrifying dose of embarrassment today. Maybe it was because you found this stranger so attractive it physically burned your insides. Maybe it was because you had been fantasising about the things he might do to you for the last several hours and your logical brain was currently suffocated by lust. No matter the reason, you treaded towards Paul with a measured composure, until finally you were standing at his front, a thickened air of tension sifting around the two of you, the dimmed lights softly bouncing off the frames of his glasses. You saw him swallow hard, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, evidently nervous at the proximity. But he wasn’t retreating, he wasn’t edging himself away. When his stare flickered down to your lips, pupils swelling at the sight, you knew this was your opening.

“I don’t want a date. I want what I sent in that message,” you breathed. “In fact, I think I need it.”

To your surprise, Paul didn’t waver like you assumed he would. Large palms were quick to scoop under your jaw, pulling you forward into an impassioned kiss. Two sets of lips colliding in a hungered clash, bodies melting into one another, your own hands clutching at the scratchy tweed jacket he wore. The entanglement was frenzied, rough, much more forceful and impatient than either of you would normally act in your separate lives. In these moments those pasts selves seemed like distant memories, both of you shedding the bondage of your doubts in mere seconds, succumbing to the impulses sparked to life by what should have been an inconsequential meeting.

Each kiss never wavered in its intensity, only thriving with heat and fervour, feeling Paul beginning to suck and bite at your lower lip while his hands wandered over your clothes. The irritation that arrived at the barrier between his touch and your flesh was enough to make another decision resolute.

This man was gasoline to your waiting fire, and you wanted him to pour himself all over you, not caring if the world around you burst into flames.

Before you could get the words out, what was going to be an eager plea, he stole them from you.

“M-More?” he gasped, trailing delicate pecks down your neck. “Would… Would you want more?” The question was followed by the slow push of his hips into you, providing another show of evidence that was too persuading to refuse. Into his collar you grabbed two fists of fabric, pulling him backwards with you. He followed your lead gladly, a tangle of legs treading somewhat haphazardly over the shop floor, avoiding the circular displays of dress shirts until your back finally knocked into the dressing room door.

Even if you’d had second thoughts at the risk this was to your job if you were caught ravaging a newly obtained client on the security cameras, they would have been erased at the way Paul clutched at your hips and ushered you inside the small cubicle, refusing to let his mouth stray from yours as a single hand moved to fiddle the lock closed behind him.

The second after it clicked into your confinement, there was a pause, with a rushed whisper into your ear. “I don’t… I don’t usually do this…”

“Me either,” you rasped back, nails clawing into his hair as he set another deepened kiss on you. “This… I’ve never been… so hasty.”

There was a low groan that rumbled from Paul’s throat as you pulled lightly to tilt his head back, skating your lips under his jawline. He took the opportunity of your parted mouths to catch his breath. “Are you sure?” he asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice. “I’m not… rushing you… am I? We can stop… If you want to stop-”

You smile, warmed by his gallantry, before nibbling at the rise of his collarbone. “I want to keep going. Please… Don’t stop.”

“Say that again.”

“What?”

“Say please. Again.”

“Please,” you whined back, delving into a begging tone.

The fingers clutching at your waist tensed at the proclamation, moving down to the curve of your ass as another gradual thrust was pressed into the apex of your thighs.  You could feel it, feel him, the physical indication of just how sincere his desire truly was. It made you ache, made you suddenly feel too empty, too incomplete. Instinct made you about to reach for the buckle of Paul’s belt so you would know the full scale of what would hopefully be yours to take, but he was too quick.

With impressive dexterity, Paul unfastened the button of your slacks, slipping one hand inside while the other became curled around your neck, anchoring you into place. He hesitated at the hem of your cotton panties, his tempered breath warm over your face while your stares held one another’s.

“I want to touch you… Would that be okay?”

You immediately nodded, rolling your hips upward to meet his stilled hand. “Touch me Paul. Please.”

It was a magic word, dashing any of his reservations in an instant. Fingertips swiftly slipped underneath the thin fabric, skimming over the trail of pubic hair that the feel of made Paul’s cock throb even harsher than before. While never explicitly voiced out loud, he loved the natural state of a woman, knowing it set off something primal in him he couldn’t quite explain. The recognition made a hurried groan escape before even dipping into the line of your folds, only for another one to follow at the sensation of slick essence waiting there.

A gasp leapt from your throat, the sound settling into a delighted whimper as Paul explored you, letting two of his fingers trace up and down, teasing the edge of your entrance.

“You’re so wet,” he panted, capturing your lips in another fevered convergence. “Have you… Have you been like this since…?”

“The whole time,” you finished. “Since I first saw you, heard your voice…”

Paul’s subsequent groan echoed in the small space. The people in his life were never this forthcoming with their information, and here you were being so unrestricted and honest. He wanted to reward you for it. His movements shifted to centre on the swollen nub of your clit, placing sweetened kisses just below the lobe of your ear. “Do you want to come?”

You mewled as increasingly more intense pulsations of ecstasy began to billow out from your core. Every motion this man made with his fingers was unlike anything you’d encountered before. There was finesse, an elegance in every subtle action, smooth and severe at the same time. “Oh god, yes. I want to come, I want you to make me come.”

“Will you be a good girl for me?”

The question had arrived without Paul being able to prevent it, and he immediately felt a wash of dread simmer through him. What if you weren’t into that? What if he’d fucked this all up with one slip of the tongue?

He needn’t have worried.

“Do good girls get to come?” you asked, nails clawing into the hair at the nape of Paul’s neck.

He couldn’t have been more relieved, increasing his pace on you, a positively beaming smile being pressed into your throat in between the small licks and open-mouthed kisses he began to coat under your jawline. “They do. And you’ve already been such a good girl. So good for me. So wet… So willing...”

“A-anything for you,” you puffed out, breathless at the rising pleasure Paul was igniting, mind blurred from the combination of his exhale skating over your skin and the expert flourishes he traced over your bundle of nerves. “I’ll be anything. Your good girl, bad girl, anything you want.”

“You’re already everything I want,” Paul cooed. While true he’d only seen glimpses of your full self so far, he was already convinced of the words he’d spoken. It made him feel even more courageous, more ravenous to please you. “And I want to show you how much. Does my good girl trust me?”

A delirious hum filled the air as your agreement. How could you not say yes to such a question? You were already putty in Paul’s hand the moment he’d finally kissed you, and with his hardness pressing against your thigh as a promise of what might be to come, there was no way in hell you would have refused. It wouldn’t have been a lie either. You did trust him. Not that you could explain why right now.

With your consent given, Paul retreated from you, only to snatch at your wrist at the same time he unlocked the changeroom door. You gasped softly as he pulled you out into the now darkened space, thankfully having the shop lights set on a timer to switch off before you were meant to leave. Although, it now appeared your night was long from over.

The subtle glow of the computer screensaver guided Paul to exactly where he’d planned, steering you to the edge of the counter and immediately propping you onto it. You would have squealed in surprise if not for the way he led another assault on your lips, standing between your spread legs, also beginning to tear apart the buttons of your blouse and wrench the covering away. The dull, beige bra you wore underneath was the next item to be taken from your body, Paul having the latch unclasped with a single flick of his fingers. As the straps were dragged down your arms, he moved his mouth downwards to a perked nipple, tongue toying with the bud as you rocked your head back with a decadent sigh.

“So beautiful,” he rumbled against your chest. “Absolutely perfect.”

Your fingers snaked into Paul’s hair again, relishing the praise you’d rarely been afforded as he set himself onto your other breast, darting the tip of tongue around the sensitive centre. You could have let him linger there, but you became acutely aware of the shifted balance of your exposure, your torso bared while Paul’s remained irritatingly layered. That needed to be corrected.

You pulled on the inky strands to force Paul’s head back before starting work moving the jacket from over his shoulders. He allows it to slide off easily, hearing a small thud below as the heavy article fell in a crumpled heap. The sweater was next to be peeled off, finding yourself smirking at how Paul’s glasses became crooked from the woollen material slipping over his face. He caught your amused expression, eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you giggled softly, fixing the frames to properly sit on the bridge of his nose. “You’re just… so cute.”

A gawky smile spread across Paul’s face. He wasn’t sure he’d been called cute before. He liked it more than he would have thought. The warmth it set off in his chest made him capture you in a kiss once more, although this one was significantly less urgent and more… affectionate. Slower, delicate, mouths moving in a hypnotic synchronicity, so much so Paul didn’t notice you’d unlocked the buttons of his shirt until you were pulling the tucked in portion out of his trousers.

As the dreadful, yellowed fabric was finally abandoned to reveal the torso beneath, you heard Paul release a rumble of satisfaction when your hands began to roam over the uncovered skin. You, yourself had to stifle a moan just from the feel of him alone. You’d imagined in your idle daydreaming a toned form hidden underneath those god-awful clothes, but it hadn’t prepared you for this. Every muscle was defined, tightened, firm underneath your touch, his chest so broad even your two splayed out hands didn’t cover the full expanse. You couldn’t stop yourself from withdrawing backwards just to view it with your own eyes, biting hard on your lower lip as you took in the sight.

It made Paul suddenly self-conscious, casting his eyes down. “I don’t- My job keeps me so busy… Getting to the gym is a little hard-”

“What? No!” you stopped him, realising where his train of thought had gone. You tilted his chin upwards to force your stares to meet. “I was actually just thinking how much more I hate that terrible outfit for hiding all of this-” You let your hands skim down his front, leaning in close, “-from me.”

Paul’s lips curved upwards. “You were?”

“I really was.” You set your lips under his jaw, reaching around Paul’s flanks to scratch your nails lightly over the middle of his back. “By far the sexiest customer I’ve ever had walk in here.”

Paul wanted to scoff. Being called sexy was even rarer for him than being called cute. And yet, with the way you pressed your naked breasts against him, clutching him closer to you while your hot breath at his shoulder made his hairs stand up, it was the first time in his life he believed it might be true. So, instead of dismissing the sentiment, he allowed it to take over, embracing the swell of fearlessness it brought.

Suddenly your pants, along with the panties underneath, were being excitedly wrenched down the curve of your ass, Paul having them stripped from your legs within seconds. If anyone walking past peered into the shopfront, they might have seen you draped over the register now completely devoid of clothing. But, you didn’t care. Not when Paul had proceeded to lower himself between your opened thighs, holding them apart with his large hands, his eyes wide and wandering over your cunt.

“Fuck,” he marvelled. With one long stripe, his tongue travelled up the divide, groaning into your centre. “Tastes even better than it looks.”

Leaning on your elbows, you whined as Paul began to gently lap at you, dipping further inside each time, occasionally holding his focus on swirling over your aching clit. It made you whimper and writhe against him, overwhelmed with an incessant need of the release he’d been sparking for what seemed like hours.

“You want to come huh?” Paul spoke out loud. “Grinding your pussy on my face like that?”

“Please! I need it! So, so, badly.”

Ah, that magic word again. “I know,” Paul soothed, having to palm himself over his trousers just to calm some of the impulse to fuck you right then. “You’ve been so good, doing so well. And you’ll get to come real soon. Just promise me one thing okay?”

“Whatever you want,” you heaved, watching while Paul’s fingertips drifted over the slippery flesh, teasing in and out of the folds.

“Be a good girl and ask my permission when you’re about to come. Can you do that?”  

Again, it was only a pitiful moan you could supply as your answer, which this time wasn’t quite enough to satiate the man gliding his touch over you infuriatingly slowly.

“I need to hear you say it. I need you to tell me what you’re going to do.”

Another cry left you as Paul slipped two fingers inside your heat, your mind blurred from the feel of knuckles moving past the edge of your entrance, stretching you open. “Be… Be a good girl… I’ll be your good girl and ask permission.”

Hearing you say the words, Paul was sure he’d never been so hard in his whole existence. It was almost painful, his cock straining against the zipper he was trapped by, but it was a pain he savoured more than ignored. Even if this was as far as he got, if this scene ended with your cum smeared over his lips and nothing more, he would be grateful for the throbbing down below and gladly thank you for it. So, he dove in.

As the duel sensation of Paul’s tongue and fingers rose in their intensity, your back became flush with the marble countertop, only to have it arched as the rippling currents of ecstasy started shooting through your whole body. Muscles twitching, thighs trembling, you were astounded at how proficient he was at drawing your climax to the surface, somehow knowing the motions and spots that brought it ever closer to the point of breaking. Usually, in those uncommon occurrences a man would want to put forth the effort, many minutes would float on while you chased the seemingly unreachable high. Paul needed only a few of them before your breaths turned staggered and toes began to curl, scrambling to find your voice.

“I… I’m… oh god, Paul, you’re going to make me… Please… please let me…”

He didn’t dare to pull away to speak his encouragement out loud, instead silently spurring you along while keeping his pace steady.

Get the words out, you can do it. Just ask the question. I want to see you come. I want to see how pretty you look when you come.

You bolted up, stomach tensing, snatching both sets of fingers into Paul’s hair. With him captured in your stare as more waves of pleasure crested from your core, you turned begging. “Oh please. I’m so… So close… Can I please come? Will you let me come?”

Paul groaned, the vibrations ricocheting outwards, being quick with his reply. “It’s okay, you can come. Come for me baby, come nice and hard for me.”

Back slumping down onto the cold countertop, you did as you were told. Walls clenched around Paul’s fingers in quickened spasms as your coarse sighs filled the balmy atmosphere. He’d never watched something so enthralling, the way your chest rose and fell with sweat clinging to your skin as you rode out the heavenly bliss you’d fallen into. Only when he was positive you’d slipped into the beginning of your afterglow did Paul retreat, resting over your body to place adoring kisses at your forehead and cheek.

“You did so good,” he murmured.

The connection rattled you back into the current reality, moving to rub your palm over his hidden erection. “We’re not done yet.”

“We’re not?”

You were far beyond the point of playing coy. “Can you please fuck me now? I need you to fuck me. Right now.”

Your pleading tone set something alight inside him, dragging you down until your feet made it to the floor and spinning you around in one swift action. Bent at the edge of the desk, a jingle of a belt buckle rung out, finally feeling Paul’s hardness press against your rear. And he felt huge. Thankfully still seeping from your climax, it was with ease he was able to eagerly sink into your waiting cunt, a rousing groan escaping from each of you.

“Oh fuck. You… feel so fucking good.” An arm slinked around your waist to wrench you flush against Paul’s torso, having his panting breath directly in your ear as he continued to drive himself further inside, gradually building his momentum. “Such a tight, wet pussy for me to make mine.”

“It’s yours,” you mewled. “It’s all yours.”

Paul lost his ability to speak, merely producing a growling moan into your neck as the pace and strength of his thrusts amplified, having little restraint left to hold himself back any longer. Repeated lewd, slapping sounds mingled with the coupled moans and whimpers of your collective satisfaction, passion radiating off your bodies in the form of feverish heat. It wasn’t long until you noted the stuttered exhales rushing out of Paul’s chest, a clear sign you didn’t miss.

“Want you to fill me. If… If you want to… You can… Fill me all the way up.”

Sure, it was reckless as all hell, but Paul trusted you like you’d trusted him, and the sound of your begging hit him like a lightning bolt. He lost complete control, plunging harder and faster into you, feeling your ass bounce against him, the pulsing below growing harsher and harsher until finally… release.

His embrace around you was suffocatingly strong as he spilled himself within your walls, sure the grip of his fingers would leave marks to find in the morning. Not that you minded. As the last of his energy dwindled into slackening thrusts, you again felt the dotting of small, sweetened kisses touch your skin, lining the curve of your shoulder.

“You’re amazing,” Paul awed, still tracing his palm over your bare flesh. “That was… amazing.”

About to chuckle at his lack of originality, a worrying thought sparked. “Oh my god!” You spun on your heels to encounter a bewildered expression. “The security cameras! They would have filmed everything! Oh god, I’m so fired.”

To your confusion, Paul had a toothy grin spread across his face. “I’ve got some experience in surveillance. I can handle it.”

“Huh? You do?”

He kissed the wrinkled portion of your brow. “I work for the NSA. And I could have sworn there was some suspicious activity occurring in these premises in the last… 30 minutes or so.”

~

Tagging those who might be interested! Sorry if it’s not your jam

@tlcwrites @roanniom @princessxkenobi @hopeamarsu @fathersonandhouseofgucci @mariesackler @leatherboundriot @foxilayde @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @direnightshade @mylifeisactuallyamess @caillea @jynz-andtonic @paterson-blue @miraclesabound @prismaticpizza @millenialcatlady​

[justonemorechapternicercy]

What about something with pumpkins for percy × Apollo for your Halloween prompt thing??

Nice! 🎃 Thank you for the prompt and sorry, not sorry for the following 💙 (While I tagged it, I don't want anybody to be triggered - ⚠️ warning for gore!)

Percy loved carving pumpkins.

Among the handful of things he liked, not disrupted and destroyed by Gabe, was pumpkins carving. Every year, the first Sunday of October was filled with laughter, regardless of Gabe's grumblings.

Sally always brought home two pumpkins - one for him, and one for herself - and they would make a competition out of who could carve out the best faces.

What started as a little boy clumsily carving a lopsided smile with two unshaped holes as eyes, throughout the years it turned into intricate portrays. He might not know how to draw or paint, but carving pumpkins?

He was the best.

This little family tradition stayed with him for long. After Gabe died; after Sally fell in love with Paul; after his baby sister joined to the fun...

And now he brought this tradition with him to his marriage with Apollo, who, despite of his age, was not well versed in this activity.

"What do you think you are going to make?" Percy asked curiosity, looking at the unusually ugly pumpkin in front of his husband.

Apollo shrugged, "Maybe just a face?" he said, and tried to imagine the different faces he could carve. "It's not like music! Or poetry! This is more difficult, and I want to elevate this ugliness into something decorative," he pouted.

Percy just smiled at his husband, used to his dramatics, and turned to his own pumpkin. It was smaller than Apollo's, but just as colorful. Instead of the usual orange color, it was painted with reddish brown, giving it a morbid, yet more festive tint, because Percy was determined to have the most horrific decorations that year.

He rolled up his sleeves, getting ready to cut into his artwork. He had a clear picture in his mind how he wanted to elevate it, he didn't need to draw the lines.

"And you?" Apollo asked while carefully draw the outline of his work, tongue peeking out of his mouth in his concentration.

"Secret," the demigod grinned, and made his first incision.

They lapse into silence, Apollo's album blasting from the speaker. The only other sound breaking the focused silence was the golden god's hissed curses. Percy is so focused on his work, he almost missed Apollo's declaration of "I think I'm done."

As he, too, was almost done, he just showed his pointing finger to his husband as a sign of 'one moment, please', and with a last flourish, his art was ready to be on display.

"Okay, me too," he said, smiling lovingly at his husband. He knew that no matter how Apollo succeeded, the fact that he participated in this tradition with him, meant the world for him.

"Are you ready to see the best Jack'o'lantern ever?" Apollo asked, bouncing on his toe, like an excited little kid, wanting to be noticed and praised by the parents. Percy nodded. "What do you think?" The god turned his art to face Percy.

It was...

Horrifying, but in the best way.

What looked at him with its carved out, hollow eyes and toothless smile, lights cheerfully flickering, was the severed head of Zeus. It looked like a wax head if not for the ichor still dripping from the eye sockets with lazy drops, painting the cheeks with gold. Apollo took out all of his teeth, and made a nice necklace out of it, as a reminder that he won.

He was with his husband, and nobody could ever break them up ever again.

Percy nodded, impressed, then showed his own art: the skinless skull of his ex-girlfriend. He left her blonde hair on the skull, but skinned the other parts. He carved 'Seaweed Brain', 'fuck-up', and her other "pet names" into the bones, as a reminder that it doesn't matter how smart do you think you are, there's always somebody smarter, better, more powerful.

That he was better than her.

Apollo whistled, admiringly. "Next to the others?" he motioned towards their living room, where other skulls and severed heads in various state of decomposition were in display. Percy nodded, taking both heads into his hands, and arranged them in a decorative way.

"Zeus, Hera, Dionysus, Artemis, Demeter, Eros, and Annabeth... All finished," Percy smiled, listing the names all of those, who tried to separate them from each other. All those mighty gods, and that one demigod, who thought it would be a good idea to oppose one of the most cruel gods and most powerful demigod, was nothing more than decomposing skin, dried ichor and cracking bones.

The lights in the skulls flickered threateningly, as if they were still trying to fight against the happy couple, but it was for nothing.

Apollo and Percy were finally free.

Send me a Halloween prompt!

[yespolkadotkitty]

I’ll Be by Edwin McCain came on the other day and instantly got me into my Zach feels. Something about it was so him - the mood, the 90s, the flannel. The line “rain falls angry on the tin roof as we lie awake in my bed” in particular sticks with me. If you have time, can I get a little nugget of Zach? Fluff or smut, or fluff with a wee kernel or smut? I love your writing.

Right so as discussed you didn’t ask for a multichapter fic but as I’ve got 4 chapters so far  LET’S DO THIS

So many shoutouts for this so here goes:

THANKYOU @kindablackenedsuperhero for this STUNNING BANNER.

THANKYOU @thestrawberry-thief for US library advice

THANKYOU @heatherbel for the beta and UK library advice

THANKYOU @knittingqueen13 for the encouragement

THANKYOU @pedropascallion  for the library clerk advice!

THANKYOU @disgruntledspacedad and @alienprincesspoop for screaming with me about this fic.

Chapter One

Warnings: Scenes of assault, attempted sexual assault  ~ Words: 1380

Pairing: Zach Wellison x OFC Martha Song

Walk with your keys in your hand and keep a key between each finger.

Watch your shadows and reflections - a split second’s notice is better than none.

If they take you and put you in the trunk, kick out the headlights.

These are all things girls are taught from a young age. Things I knew, almost unconsciously. Things that were smart.

But did knowing these things stop me from taking a shortcut through the park after the sun had set?

No, they did not.

I had my hand in my pocket, around the keys. I did not have headphones on - needed to hear if someone was approaching.

Usually, I did all the safe things at night. Walked in the road if it was appropriate, so someone would have to come out from the pavements and buildings to grab me. Stuck to well lit areas.

But, well, I was tired, and hungry for the Chinese takeout leftovers in my fridge, could already taste the sticky pork ribs in my mind, and I took the lazy, unsafe shortcut.

I’m sure the media would have blamed me for what happened next.

I heard them before I saw them. I turned slightly. Two guys, one wearing a beanie, another with his hood up.

It wasn’t even seven pm, but in January the sun set earlier, and darkness had descended, filling up all the corners that daylight usually illuminated.

I quickened my pace. I’m sure they’re just coming off shift.

“Hey, babe,” one of them called.

I glanced around. No one else in the vicinity, and the park spread flat enough for me to see. A single streetlight ahead beckoned and I headed for it, the bag of books from work on my back slowing me down.

I thought about ditching it, but: books. I value books more than anything. I couldn’t sacrifice them even for my own benefit.

“Not gonna stop and talk?” the other one called.

They’re just cat-callers, nothing to worry about.

It was just shy of seven in the evening - where the fuck was everyone? LA should have been busy, was always bustling, but I had somehow chosen the one time where this section of the popular park was empty.

“Come on baby, spare a little sugar?” the first one called. Their steps got closer. The second one was snickering and I felt the little mouse of fear skitter down my spine.

I clenched my keys tighter. Shouldn’t have taken the shortcut.

The streetlight got closer, and I watched it, saw the first guy’s shadow with a hair’s breadth of notice. I spun as he reached me, the keys poking out between my fingers, but I was scared and all my punch did was piss him off.

“Pretty girl,” he half wheezed as he grabbed for me. “Don’t pretend you don’t want it.”

I struggled. Under the streetlamp I caught a glimpse of the first guy’s face, straggly mousy brown beard, cold eyes. The pit of my stomach fell.

“Let me.” Guy two was at my back, hands on my waist. He smelled of alcohol and something like old food, and bile rose up in my throat. “Loosen up, baby, we only wanna make you feel good.”

I tried to shout, but the noise died on my tongue. Fear had clutched itself around my body and the muscles weren’t responding. My keys fell from my fist.

Help, I thought. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as the first guy slid his hand down my body.

No, no, no.

Then suddenly a rush of adrenaline hit my veins - come on, what would Katniss Everdeen do? - and I shoved my knee up into guy one’s groin. Not as hard as I wanted to, but he cried out, a litany of swear words falling from his lips. I kicked out, but guy two was stronger, and had an arm around my throat before I could move.

“Come on now. Don’t be like that,” he cajoled, his sour breath licking at my cheek.

By then guy one had recovered, his face caught in a snarl, white skin pasty under the streetlight. I felt like I was in a sort of backwards ballet, a dystopian dance where there was no way I could make the right moves.

“Hey, assholes.”

The new voice, deep, with a bit of Texas drawl, made me turn. 

A man, mostly in shadow, a large duffel bag by his feet, wielded what looked like a big section of industrial metal pipe.

Guy two huffed out a laugh. “Oh look, it’s the little soldier boy and he brought a new toy with him.”

“Let her go, man,” the stranger called out, taking a step closer.

Guy one had recovered from my knee to his dick. “Or you’ll do what?” He grabbed for me again, but he was distracted by my would-be rescuer, so I took the opportunity to knee him again, but this time, like I meant it, like my life depended on it.

He buckled, and the release meant I could drive my elbow back into guy two’s kidneys. He was stronger, through, and he tightened his arm around my throat. I grabbed for his wrist, scrabbling, barely noticing the stranger moving out of my sight.

“Duck!” He yelled, and I summoned all my strength to yank my head down.

In a moment, a loud thunk confirmed my suspicions, the sound of metal on flesh and bone, and guy two toppled like a tree.

Breathless, I turned to scoop up my keys, and stared at my knight in - dirty jeans. He was panting, his arms still holding the pipe up.

“You okay?” he asked, and I saw him clearly under the streetlamp, the glow picking out the gold in his brown-sugar hair. A patchy beard, more stubble than anything, hugged his well defined jaw. His eyes were soft, kind, the deep brown of hot cocoa.

“I am thanks to you.”

Below him, guy one writhed on the floor and, feeling too angry to think, I stomped on the part of him closest to me, his hand.

He cried out and I couldn’t have cared less.

“You wanna call the cops?” the stranger asked, but his tone was wary. As if I might have been just as likely to call the law about him as the attackers.

I thought it over. I’d likely be raked over the coals for having the audacity to walk alone at night (as if anytime after sundown could be counted as night) and my attackers would get a wrist slap. If that.

“Nah.” But I stomped on guy one’s wrist again for good measure.

He whined.

“C’mon,” Brown Eyes said. “I’ll walk you to the edge of the park.” He set the pipe on his shoulder and crossed over to the waiting duffle bag. It was the size of his torso. I took in his weathered, unshaven appearance, and wondered if the canvas fabric contained his every worldly possession.

I checked behind me, but the stranger was quick to reassure. “They won’t be back for a couple days.”

“You’ve… seen them before?”

He ducked his head, and in the glow from a nearby streetlamp I saw a faint flush of rose on his cheeks. “I’m... here a lot.”

He’s homeless. But of course I didn’t say it out loud.

We reached the edge of the park. People milled about, some queueing outside a deli popular for its pizza sold by the cheesy, greasy slice.

I didn’t miss the way the stranger’s head jerked up towards the scent of pizza.

How long since he’d eaten?

“Want some pizza?” I asked.

Something unreadable passed over his face. “I’m not a charity case.”

“Oh, but I am?”

His head whipped around. “What?”

“Did you come to my defence just now because you felt sorry for me? Oh look, there’s a woman of colour being attacked, gosh I feel sorry for her-”

“No, of course not, what the-” then he huffed out a laugh. “Touchė.”

“It’s just pizza. And a thank-you. I’m Martha.” I held out a hand.

He looked down at my outstretched palm for a second, as if surprised that I wanted to touch him. Then he shook my hand, his own large, warm, callused. “Zach.”

***********

Tagging: @thegreenkid @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @littlemissthistle @havenforafrazzledmind @myheart-pedro @john-in-the-sky-with-paul @idreamofboobear @rae-gar-targaryen @miulola @abuttoncalledsmalls @buttercup-bee @strangelittlenobody @qseomilk @jazzelsaur @songsformonkeys @mourningbirds1 @pajamasecrets @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @skdubbs @nelba @badassbaker @nelba @f0rever15elf @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @mylittlelonelyappreciation @theravenreads @filthybookworm @aeryntheofficial @toomanystoriessolittletime @lannister-slings-and-arrows (Zach Pit) and @absurdthirst might like this <3

please ask to be added or released from the tags!!

[therenlover]

Red Nights In Jupiter (A Jimmy Darling/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: At the end of another long day, you fall into bed with Jimmy Darling. The men you served throughout the day don’t matter then, nor do the coins in the mason jar by the door, or the women scheduled to attend Jimmy’s next Tupperware party. No, in that quiet darkness it’s just you and the man you love, bone-tired and happy to be home. Who could ask for more?

Tags: Cuddling, Prostitution, Wound Care, Hurt/Comfort, Referenced Past Non-Con (it’s not Jimmy, don’t worry), Implied Sexual Content/Innuendo

Rating: 16+

Warnings*: Mentioned Police Officer Abusing Their Power, Referenced Non-Con, Jimmy Drinks A Beer, Non-Graphic Wound Care 

Word Count: 3000~

* - This fic includes a reader who is a prostitute and has recently been taken advantage of by a police officer in exchange for not going to jail. There are no graphic scenes and it's mentioned only a couple of times in passing, but the ending portion of the fic is Jimmy helping the reader recover from wounds (just bruises/scratches) they got during the incident. If this is potentially triggering, please steer clear!

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

--------

“How did the show go tonight?” You mumbled, mouth full of toothpaste.

“It wasn’t anything special,” Jimmy responded as you spit, “some dumb kids snuck in a couple of rotten tomatoes but their aim was shit. Nobody got hit, so I’ll consider it a success,”

The two of you stood shoulder to shoulder over the tiny kitchen sink in his trailer, clumsily going through the motions to wind down from an exhausting day. Outside the sky was a deep red. The last of the sun’s dying light shimmered over the ferris wheel as it made its last run, cutting through the muggy Jupiter air. In the last weeks of July, everything was sweltering. Even the walls of the little trailer were hot enough to leave a burn in the full heat of the noontime sun. Thankfully for you, as the sun receded so did the worst of the scalding heat, leaving behind a hot, wet, and thick fog over the nighttime landscape.

Jimmy finished washing his face while you rinsed your toothbrush. “Elsa and I were thinking that maybe, in the next couple ‘a years, we should invest in another ride. Not a ‘coaster, nothing huge, just something other than the ferris wheel that would keep the kids busy while their parents watch the show,” As he spoke, he wet a washcloth under the tap before wringing it out and tossing it over his shoulders. “What do you think, doll?”

“I think-” you held your tongue, your biting reply dissolving into bitter acid in your mouth, “I think that if that’s what’s best for the show, we should start investing sooner rather than later. It’s always best to be prepared so we can figure it into the budget ASAP,” With a practiced hand you bundled up your toiletries and tucked them away in the drawer. The shake in your tired digits was barely perceptible in the dimly lit room. What was best for the troupe was what was best for you. Still, you couldn’t help but sneak a gaze at the half-full mason jar sitting on the counter by the door.

“You sure?” Jimmy asked. He was down in the mini-fridge now, pulling out a can of some cheap beer. You closed your eyes and offered a curt nod. There was no need to argue over an impossible dream. If Elsa wanted a new ride, she would get a new ride.

“I’m sure, Jimmy. I’m just tired,”

Thankfully, he accepted your excuse with a shrug, settling in at the pull-down table. “Whatever you say, sweet thing,” he cooed, “now get over here. I missed you today,”

You gave in to his request easily. After everything you’d been through over the last 12 hours, you weren’t about to turn down a little affection and attention from the man you loved. Your sunburnt shoulders stung as you clambered into Jimmy’s arms and allowed your face to settle into his sweet, sweaty embrace. His heart thudded under your ear, a steady quarter-note rhythm guiding your own soaring staccato down to normalcy.

Somewhere out in the field, probably in one of the other rusted-out trailers where your friends were settling down in their own nighttime routines, a radio buzzed to life. The sweet sounds of Paul Anka crooning his newest hit loosened your nerves. Over your shoulder, Jimmy took a long swig from his can.

“How was work?” you whispered. Jimmy set down his drink with a little more force than usual. One of his fused hands found its way into his hair. You both knew you weren’t asking about the show.

“I didn’t make much today, but I’m almost fully booked for Thursday. That’s the last party until next week unless the ladies want to throw something after church on Sunday. Wednesday we don’t have a show, so I’m all yours,”

His voice was tired, a departure from his usual confidence. This wasn’t Jimmy Darling the leader and performer, it was your Jimmy boy, the man who held your broken heart together with his unusual hands. You relished in the vulnerability, letting yourself nuzzle closer to his skin. He smelled like sweat and grease and cheap cologne but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It was him. That’s what mattered.

“I could take Wednesday off, Wednesday is never that busy,” you mused.

“Then we’ll go out on Wednesday,” Jimmy was jovial but not loud, dropping his hand down from his hair to rub abstract patterns into your back above the starchy cotton of your day dress, “I’ll take us down to the beach on my bike and we can have a picnic lunch by the ocean. I know a spot off the road that nobody would ever think to go to, it’s like a private beach we’ll have all to ourselves, and the guy at the deli owes me a favor so I can pick up sandwich stuff for cheap when I run in tomorrow. Maybe I’ll even spend a little extra a grab a bottle of that white wine you like. How does that sound, doll face?”

You hummed out an affirmative, far too deep into your newfound relaxation to form words. Your boneless, half-lucid state made Jimmy laugh. His smile only fell when he found a fresh bruise on your back, making you wince.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, pulling his hand away. You whined at the loss of contact. It was rare for you to have the time to wind down together these days, every second of attention was something to cherish.

“It’s just a bad bruise,”

In an instant, Jimmy had you straddling his lap to face him with your face in his large hands. “Did somebody hurt you?” he asked, running a thumb over your cheek to check for concealer or any small cuts and bruises he might have missed, “‘cause if somebody hit my girl I’m gonna have to show them what’s what. I don’t care if they paid, they don’t get to do that shit to you,”

You couldn’t help but avert your eyes, letting your gaze linger on the veins bulging in Jimmy’s neck instead of his face. It would be too difficult to risk seeing the disappointment in his eyes. “It was a cop, Jimmy. I got busted,”

He groaned. “Those bastards…”

“Thankfully this time he just took what he wanted and let me off with a warning. He’ll be back, though, they always are. I’m sorry, Jimmy, I’m just so tired,” A shudder wracked your shoulders, a silent sob you couldn’t quite choke down. You had to take a minute to remind yourself that you were safe. Jimmy had you. You were tucked away from the world in his arms, and he’d kill someone before he let them do anything to hurt you. Nothing and no one could touch you as long as he was there. When he wasn’t, though…

You gripped his thin, white undershirt a little tighter.

Jimmy was with you, not some stranger who had picked you up off the streets for a little fun. You were at home in your caravan with Jimmy and he was holding you and nothing else mattered. There was no reason to be afraid.

He gritted his teeth. Obviously, your distress wasn’t as invisible as you wished it was. “Don't be sorry, doll, this isn't your fault. You know what? You don’t have to go back out there. There are plenty of other ways we can make the money, sweetheart, just say the word and I’ll make it happen. You never have to deal with them again,”

“But the new ride-”

“To hell with the new ride!” Jimmy was shouting in earnest now, but you weren’t afraid, pushing yourself further into his touch. Part of you liked watching him come to your defense. It was something he would only do for someone he loved, someone who was a part of his family, not just any horny housewife that used him to chase their own desires. “Your safety is so much more important than a new ride a couple years down the line! I’ll go tell Elsa to scrap the idea right now if that means you feel better. You’re the most important thing to me, Y/N. You say jump and I say how high. I’m not gonna force you to do anything, if you choose to keep working I have no right to stand up all high and mighty and tell you not to, but if you do wanna stop… I guess what I’m sayin’ is that I want you to be happy, and if I have to pick up the slack for you to do that then so be it,”

You were cradled against his chest again by the end of his schpiel. Your anxiety wasn’t quite as bad as it had been before, and the newly fallen darkness added a sort of buffer to your feelings. Everything was fuzzier in the dark. In that place past dusk where the problems of the word lost their sharp edges you let yourself abandon everything that scared you during the day. Children were afraid of the things they couldn’t see by moonlight but you relished in the anonymity of the night. Life was much scarier by the light of the sun.

“Thank you, Jimmy, I mean it,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his palm before pulling away from his touch, “but we both know I can’t quit,”

“But doll, I-”

“No buts. I bring in more in a week than the troupe makes in a month, not to mention that I get half the essentials for the mess tent at a discount from customers who are sweet on me. Someday, and that day can’t come soon enough, we’ll have enough saved up to get out of here, but until then we both just have to do whatever we can to make that future a reality,”

Jimmy nodded, draining the last warm dregs from his beer and tossing the empty can into the trash. “I just hate thinkin’ about you standing out there alone while those assholes look at you like a piece of meat,”

“I get by well enough,”

“I know you do, but you can’t blame me for worrying,” In a moment of drowsy bliss, you let a soft yawn escape your lips. Jimmy grinned. “Are you fallin’ asleep on me?”

You offered him a loose, gummy smile. “Maybe a little,”

He was quick to sweep a well-muscled arm up under your knees, lifting you up bridal style. You let out a small shriek of surprise. Jimmy didn’t let that distract him, though, as he carried your wriggling form over to your shared bed before setting you down with a low chuckle. “Now dollface,” he said, pulling off his sweat-damp undershirt and the washcloth that had been resting on his shoulders, “you up for a little bit of the Jimmy Darlin’ magic tonight, or would you rather just cuddle?”

“Can we just cuddle tonight? I’m still sore as hell. That asshole cop had me up against a brick wall and didn’t exactly take the time to lighten up his grip when I started to bruise,”

Jimmy nodded. “I tell you what,” he said, running a fused digit over the top button of your dress, “first let’s get that dress off you, then I can rub on some of that arnica gel we got as a gift from the new girl last month, alright? She said it helps with bruises. Once you’re all taken care of, then we can cuddle,”

“That sounds heavenly,” You smiled up at Jimmy as you unbuttoned the front of your dress, easily sliding out and discarding it as he changed out of his work jeans and into some thin cotton pajama pants. Your bra came off last, and much to your surprise your beau didn’t spend much time ogling you, instead turning quickly to go recover the ointment from the shelf in the bathroom.

From your viewpoint on the bed, Jimmy looked like Adonis. He was always handsome, sure, but you loved how the moonlight hit his bare back, revealing each plane of thick, workers muscle as it caressed his skin. As your eyes fluttered closed, you could almost feel the ghost of his body above yours. The radio across the field was still droning on outside the window. In your bed, watching Jimmy putter around the trailer and listening to the fuzzy music that drifted in from the outside, you felt complete for the first time in a long time. There was only one thing left to do that could make you feel better.

“Jimmy,” you asked, “tell me about the future?”

He turned to you with a sigh, the glass jar of arnica gel in hand, “Doll, I’m no Dr. Seuss...”

“Pleeeease, Jimmy,” you whined, “for me?”

It didn’t take anything more for Jimmy to give in. “How could I ever say no when you ask so nicely,” He sat down at your side on the bed, nudging you to roll onto your stomach and give him access to your bruised and scraped back. As he began his gentle probing of your wounds, he started to talk.

“Once we save up enough money,” he whispered, scooping up some gel from the jar before rubbing it into a particularly tender purple spot, “we’re gonna get out of here. You and Ma and me will find a nice little house somewhere with some land, and we’ll be happy there. When we get there, I’ll find a job somewhere where people won’t gawk at me. I can work construction or grow produce in the yard, and you… you, doll, will finally get to rest. You can stay home with Ma, cook, sew, read; you’ll never have to sell yourself on the streets again,”

You squirmed under his touch. “Now tell me about the kids,”

Jimmy groaned. “Really?”

“They’re the best part!”

“Alright, alright, because you won’t stop buggin’ me I’ll talk about the kids, but next time I’m down and out after a fight you’d better return the favor. I expect you to talk my ear off about all the sinful things I wanna hear while you’re busy holding a steak to my eye,”

You grinned. “Since when have I ever let you down, Mr. Darling?”

“Not once, sweet thing,” he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your head before going back to focusing on your flesh, now doing more of a massage on the less marred areas than anything else. “Now where were we?”

“The kids, Jimmy,”

“Oh right, the kids!” You let your eyes drift closed as he spoke, relishing in the feeling of his hands against your skin. Every moment in his arms was heaven. It was a real shame the rest of society didn’t see him the way you did, but it kept any potential competition away, and for that you were grateful. Life without Jimmy would be like baking with no sugar; just plain wrong. “Once we have our own place and the money is coming in, I won’t have to waste my pocket change on rubbers anymore. I’ll get you nice and pregnant and then, after nine months of getting looked after by yours truly, you’ll finally have your own little Darling, yours an’ mine. Won’t that be a sight? A little Jimmy Jr. runnin’ around in the yard, absolutely spoiled rotten by his grandma. I dunno much about bein’ a good dad, but I sure as hell know what not to do. No matter what the child ends up looking like, I’ll be there every step of the way. Who knows, if you and I get real busy we may have a whole brood of Darling children before long,”

You wanted to offer up some sort of placation, a witty reply, but you found that your tongue was too heavy and your eyes were drooping lower by the second. It was cooler now that the moon had started her ascent into the night sky, cool enough to stay comfortable with the little air conditioning unit in the window running full blast. Suddenly, the bed shifted next to you as Jimmy screwed the top back onto the jar and got up to return it to its shelf.

“Hey, Jimmy?” you called, voice thick with exhaustion. He was quick to respond, slotting the jar into its place and stepping out of the dimly lit bathroom to check on you.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” you said, rolling onto your back and getting comfortable on top of the sheets, “I just wanted to say I love you, so much,”

Jimmy was back at your side in an instant. “I love you too, doll. I dunno what I ever did to deserve you-”

“Oh stop!” your words were slurred now, dripping from your lips as you watched Jimmy climb into bed. You found your place at his side quickly. It was muscle memory to link your leg with his and set your head on his chest no matter how tired you were. "You're the most handsome, wonderful, perfect man I could have ever asked for Jimmy Darling, and don't you forget it!"

“It’s time for sleep now, doll,” he whispered, burying his face in your hair and wrapping his arms around you, “There’s plenty of time to talk about how wonderful you think I am in the morning,” The smile on his face was clear from the tone of his voice, but you heeded his words, quickly falling into a dreamless sleep while he protected you from the rest of the world.

Things weren’t perfect. You would still wake up the next day and watch the man you loved leave as both of you sold your very bodies in search of an impossible dream for the future, but that was okay. As long as Jimmy was by your side, everything would be.

--------

a/n: I hope you enjoyed this fic! I intended for it to be a short drabble where I could practice writing for jimmy, but in the end I’m really happy with how it turned out. This is, genuinely, something I’m really proud of, so please let me know if you liked it. Thank you so much for supporting me!!!

[beeblackburn]

The Anti-TBR Tag

I was tagged by @books-and-doodles! Thank you! And poor you, for I am a long-winded bastard.

1. A popular book EVERYONE loves that you have no interest in reading?

On general principle, I feel like the really popular stuff (Twilight, Throne of Glass, Divergent, The Mortal Instruments) ends up being stuff I’m inherently not going to be attracted to and some of them have their own hatedoms going on, so going after them in detail would be punching down (though I don’t particular like any of the above). So I’m going to try to go off the beaten path with these seven:

A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab = nothing against her personally, though I heard her The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue was baaaaad, but apparently, she’s similar to Sanderson in the magic system being better than the characterization and I heard her writing’s got a white faux-female empowerment sort of thing going that I’m growing increasingly... discontent of by itself. I might try it out later, but I also got hundreds of books to drill through first and I’m in no rush.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo = I’ve been increasingly getting the sense that Six of Crows was a flash in the pan, Bardugo’s style more defined by fun than genuine substance. And given a rather scathing review that points out unearned shifts in characterization, lackluster supporting cast, and two really uncomfortable exploitative sexual assault fantasy scenes (one of which was underaged!), I’m gonna say no.

A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik = I generally like Novik! She’s a very solid writer to me and I’ve bought most of her books, so this is purely me not taking to the Wizarding School genre. Sorry, Novik, "a twisted, super dark, super modern, female-led Harry Potter" isn’t the selling point it once was, and even then, I probably wouldn’t have taken to it. Especially when I’ve already got The Gray House by Mariam Petrosyan to read.

The Alloy of Law by Brandon Sanderson = I’ve got mixed feelings on Mistborn looking back: it’s hardly the worst of his oeuvre (Elantris is that and was admittedly his first book) and The Final Empire took a few narrative risks that I admire, I also found the resulting books a tad juvenile and I don’t take to steampunk, genre-wise. I’m not even that much of a Sanderson fan, so I’d rather just read the summary for all I care.

Storm Front by Jim Butcher = given what I’ve been told about The Dresden Files’ lessening of noir roots past the first few books, how it later became more flashy-and-bang magical, and how it’s pretty sexist early on (and from what I’ve been told, doubled down on it later on and having worse treatments of its female characters), I’m in no particular rush to read them. The urban fantasy genre on them only turns me off more.

The Doors of Stone by Patrick Rothfuss = hahaha, I’m sorry, I did read The Name of the Wind, and read select parts of The Wise Man’s Fear, but everyone, instead of waiting and devoting your time for this book to come, I would suggest reading Fitz, Who Is Actually Good and Can Wring More than Disgust and an Eye-Roll out of You in Robin Hobb’s Realm of the Elderlings, given she is far better at characterization than Rothfuss.

Anything by Paul Krueger, Sam Sykes, and Myke Cole = fuck all three of these men and the idea that I’ll pay for their stuff. While I can’t demand any of you not buy from them and I’ll hardly claim to be a saint in terms of ethics, purchase-wise, I would beseech you all please don’t buy from these three authors who have a history of inappropriateness.

2. A classic book (or author) you don’t have an interest in reading?

Charles Dickens = look, I know his word count is padded because of serial installments back then, but I’m sorry, I wasn’t that impressed by the child-sanitized versions of Great Expectations and Oliver Twist. They were easily some of the most boring of out of the child-sanitized classics I read. It was the pictures that kept me going and barely at that. No thanks.

Emily Brontë =  look, if I wanted shitty people being shitty to each other, I’d much rather read Joe Abercrombie because at least I’ll get some intentional dark comedy out of dumb shitheads being terrible to each other (Best Served Cold comes to mind). And I know we’re not meant to like these self-destructive people, but I’d rather not hate everyone that much.

Alexander Dumas = Three Musketeers really didn’t age well, just from the TV Tropes page and I’m not really looking forward to an adventure that goes out of its way to valorize its protagonists being adventurous assholes who dueled, drank, and womanized harder than anyone else and we should commend that because they were men. Ugh.

3. An author you have read a couple of books from & have decided their books are not for you?

Leigh Bardugo = like I said, I feel like Six of Crows (and Crooked Kingdom, to a lesser extent) was a flash in the pan and she’s been increasingly running on fumes ever since then. Good and fun with a decent eye for characterization, but hardly revolutionary, considering how I think Crooked Kingdom isn’t quite as good as Six of Crows, and the less said about Shadow and Bone, the better.

Neil Gaiman = I’ve read some of his stuff (and I didn’t quite see the hype over his writing, but liked it decently enough) but having heard that, in his Sandman run, he wrote in a transwoman solely to get killed for an emotional ending and how he defended that choice for awhile left a battery acid taste for me to read more. He’s a formative part of people’s childhoods, so I don’t blame anyone for being fans, he’s just not for me.

Steven Erikson = really nothing against the dude, I’m sure he's probably a decent guy, but I didn’t take to Gardens of the Moon at all and skimming Deadhouse Gates and Memories of Ice (which were admittedly better) made me realize its prose was something I would need a hard and sharp shovel to crack through, and the darting around of many, many POVs made me feel not invested in anyone.

4. A genre you have no interest in OR a genre you tried to get into & couldn’t?

I’ll answer both because I have the time:

I’m not interested in romance, mostly because it’s an entire genre built around the build-up. It’s usually the story about the beginning of a relationship, not the relationship itself. I’d genuinely like to read about the story of a romance that doesn’t stop shortly after the hook-up or before the honeymoon period ends. The City Watch parts of Discworld by Terry Pratchett, The Memoirs of Lady Trent by Marie Brennan and The Sharing Knife by Lois McMaster Bujold all have romantic elements that are relatively undrenched in melodrama or frills, but none of them are pure romances, which is a huge problem. I can take romantic subplots in fantasy, but I can’t take the genre as-is.

Urban fantasy is a genre I’m not against having my mind changed on liking, but right now, I generally find it insipid, a shortcut to good world-building, short on great characterization, and an excuse to lampshade and pretense to being above fantastical clichés in a tongue-in-cheek attitude while still committing to them. I do genuinely like Rivers of London by Ben Aaronvitch, but that’s really the concession I can give the entirety of the genre. I took a crack at Rick Riordan and Cassandra Clare’s stuff, but it didn’t feel like my sort of thing. Again, would like to be convinced, but I’d much rather read a domestic or slice-of-life fantasy set in a more overtly fantasy world than the urban one. 

Also, sci-fi, but I’m trying again with the Wormwood trilogy by Tade Thompson, An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon, and either the Imperial Radch trilogy by Ann Leckie, or the Teixcalaan trilogy by Arkady Martine. I snoozed through Azimov’s Foundation and generally bored myself of hard sci-fi books, so I’m hoping contemporary sci-fi changes my mind on the entire genre.

5. A book you have bought but will never read?

A book I personally bought? Honestly, Traitor’s Blade by Sebastien de Castell. No particular reason, I just bought it at a closing-down sale at a branch of my bookstore on the cheap because the cover looked nice and didn’t really take to its blurb. I heard good things though, so if anyone else wants to read it...

I tag @vera-dauriac, @xserpx, @autoapocrypha, @kateofthecanals, @turtle-paced, @insecticidalfeminism, @secretlyatargaryen, @helix-eagle-hourglass-nebula, @xillionart, @jovolovo and whoever else that is following me and wishes to do this tag (I’d like to read your posts, so please tag me! :D)

[silverfoxstole]

Paul visiting his old school in 2018.

[melofanish]

Through Rivers of Family Blood

Have Me, Have You, Have Us

Summary:  Carlos slings his bag over his shoulder, sighing as he barely resists slamming the car door and jogging up the short stairs to the gym. It's his day off, and even though he's meeting with TK later on and that should have him in a good mood, he’s on edge, tethering the line to downright pain and anger, so he figured he could relearn whatever skills he might have forgotten over the past few years while punching his frustrations out rather than stew in his resentment.

Carlos can’t stop the booming laugh he lets out as he stands up, as Marjan drags him to his own car. She will never replace Dora - no one will ever be able to - but Carlos is starting to think that maybe he’s earned himself a younger sister, even though Marjan claims otherwise.

-Chapter Two of Have Me, Have You, Have Us.

Tags: Carlos Reyes, TK Strand, Paul Strickland, Marjan Marwani, Mateo Chavez, Judd Ryder, Owen Strand, Michelle Blake, Original Female Character, Original Male Character, Developing Friendship.

Warnings: Light emotional angst.

Beta: The owner of my soul @lire-casander. There’s literally no words to explain how much help this woman has been. She’s sat through me screaming cause of lack of inspiration, she’s been a sounding board as I threw messes of ideas at her, and then somehow made sense of all of them. This would not have been done without her, and I’m forever grateful.

Chapter 1

Read on AO3.

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Chapter 2: Marjan: Through Rivers of Family Blood.

Carlos slings his bag over his shoulder, sighing as he barely resists slamming the car door and jogging up the short stairs to the gym. It's his day off, and even though he's meeting with TK later on and that should have him in a good mood, he’s on edge, tethering the line to downright pain and anger, so he figured he could relearn whatever skills he might have forgotten over the past few years while punching his frustrations out rather than stew in his resentment.

His sister hasn’t been approved for time off. And neither has he. Which means they’re going to enter their third year of not meeting face-to-face. And he’s much more discouraged by it than he thought he could ever be. It hurts even more that they were going to go on a weekend vacation together - Dora was finally meeting TK in person - and the image of waking up to the two most important people talking and laughing together takes a step back, resigning to be unfulfilled in a yet again unknown timeline.

So he marches in and stands in line to the counter, getting the formalities over as fast as possible. He was hoping he could catch a quick run on a treadmill before the kickboxing class that he’s here for, but he’s barely fifteen minutes early, and he knows that’s not enough time - it still doesn’t stop him from longing for the burn that would spread across his thighs as he pushes himself harder than he should.

As he hands his membership card and is given the sign-in paper, somehow, even through the blurriness that's clogging up his mind right now, he notices 'Marjan Marwani' two rows over his own name.

A slight frown takes over his features before it clears up quickly. He remembers Marjan and Paul mentioning that they workout together. He just didn't think that he'd meet someone he knows his first day in a new gym.

He just about hands the paper board back when he feels a pat over his arm. He turns around to none other than a smirking Marjan.

"Here to show off your muscles to TK?"

Like a magic spell, Carlos laughs - for the first time today - Marjan bringing a quick lightness to his world. He shakes his head and follows Marjan when she motions towards the locker area with a flick of her head.

"Hello to you too, I'm very well, thank you very much for asking," he says, which Marjan rolls her eyes at, but he pays her no mind, and keeps going, "How's yourself I wonder? I hope all is well?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, Mr. Polite Texan Gentleman."

It's Carlos' turn to groan now. The crew saw him open the car door for TK once, and, apparently, the nickname has become a thing.

"Just wanted to kill a little time since I have nothing else to do,” he chooses to ignore her and explain instead, continuing when she raises an eyebrow at him. “Captain Strand has a hospital appointment today, so TK's over there with him," he elaborates.

Marjan lets out a sympathetic hum, frowning as she undoubtedly racks her mind for any mention of this session. He knows she won't find it. He confirms that no one knows about it when she asks.

"Damned Strands and their need to internalise everything," she huffs. And Carlos can't help but snort in agreement, even if he thinks he’s somewhat a hypocrite at this specific moment.

"I'd much rather punch the frustration out," she continues, and that is something Carlos finds himself agreeing with yet again.

"Which class are you taking?"

"Kickboxing," Marjan says, pulling up her arms in a classic defensive stance. “Started when I still was in Miami, and moved to this location since I moved here.”

"Oh, it’s my first class today!" he exclaims as he raises a fist to bump it to hers.

He hasn’t kickboxed in years, and he’s never been to this specific gym. He’s always been highly sceptical of it as a whole; it’s a famous chain with branches all over the country, and this specific branch is giant. Carlos would pass by it and wonder why it’s so large, why it takes up so much space. Knowing that Marjan has been a regular attendant brings a sense of relief. The fact that the recommendation came from his sister - she goes to the same gym in New Jersey - meant that he’d at least give it a try before deciding anything against it.

They fall into an easy silence as they walk to the locker areas, branching off to different sides when Marjan enters the Female-Only section of the lockers with a promise to meet him outside once she’s changed.

He hurries to the lockers, following the numbers until he gets to his assigned compartment for the day. He had caught a shower at home right before he left, so all he has to do now is change from his casual sweatpants and t-shirt into his workout gear. Which means that he barely needs five minutes before he’s leaving the locker room to find a seat in the lounge area.

Except that he must have miscalculated the time, because the moment he sets foot into the lounge area, the speakers come to life, announcing the end of the current classes and asking all attendants of the next class to make their way towards their designated halls.

So Carlos turns himself right back around, looking around the open hall for a moment trying to find the room that he’s supposed to go to before he finds the needed label and arrow, and follows them down a long hall.

He ends in a large hall, the entire front wall lined by mirrors, and what looks like an audio station shelf in one corner, a couple of headsets hanging from the corner. There are long benches that surround both sides and tables at the very end of said benches, water bottles and towels laid down across the top. The entire floor is lined with foam flooring, tape lines stretched across, marking squares where everyone has gone to stand. There are multiple sizes of punching bags both sitting on the floor and hanging from the ceiling.

Carlos can’t help the shocked expression he knows he must be making. He didn’t expect the gym to be as well furnished as it is. Especially not with the number of classes that they offer. And yet, as he stands in what is the best kickboxing hall he has ever set foot in, he can’t help but think that he might have found his new favourite gym.

He makes his way to an empty square, placing his water bottle on the ground at the edge of his border before standing in the middle. He starts cracking his joints, turning his neck both ways and folding his fingers in to get into the mindset for what he’s about to do.

Carlos would never call himself out of shape, but he is aware that he has lost much of his kickboxing abilities throughout the years. It started as a way to destress when he was a teenager, a safe and useful mechanism that helped him relieve his frustrations while keeping him healthy. As he grew older, it stopped being a coping mechanism and swung to being a sport. Unfortunately, once he graduated from the Academy and was a full-fledged officer at APD, free days came by less and less, forcing him to eventually give up the sport altogether.

So, when Dora informed him of this new program that had multiple classes throughout the week and the ability for its attendees to catch any of the week’s scheduled classes as long as they book a minimum of twenty-four-hours earlier, he knew it was a chance he couldn’t miss up.

Still, a breath of relief filled his chest at the sight of Marjan coming to stand next to him. He throws a grateful smile her way, and she responds with a low chuckle and a shake of her head. He's about to retaliate in a way, maybe take a page out of TK's book and stick his tongue out at her, when the coaches at the front of the room call the class to attention.

With a final shared grin, they both look ahead, listening as they explain the goal of the class and the plan of the day and the upcoming six weeks.

Marjan was not supposed to kick his ass the way she did.

It's not that he doesn't think she's fit or strong; she's a firefighter - and an adrenaline junkie - so he knows she's on top of her physical health.

It's just that Carlos thought that he was on top of his own physical health. And it turned out that he was wrong. So very wrong.

He noticed that while Marjan was walking with a spring in her step, arms swinging wide around her, he was limping out, holding his shoulder close to his torso after a particularly rough tackle that he didn't defend well enough.

Even now, after he's gotten a quick shower and is getting dressed in the locker room, he's starting to see bruises flourish and darken his skin, each one a testament to something he didn't do right.

Some part of him blames it on his distraction. He wasn’t exactly focused on following the tiniest of details, and maybe he wanted to get bruised and beat up a little. He hasn’t used working out as a way to disguise his emotional distress in quite a few years. And yet, as he pokes one particularly visible bruise, the blood starting to pool in distinct dark discolouration spreading across the lower edge of his ribs, he can’t help but think that his distraction wasn’t at fault here, and he’s just fallen back into older less-than-ideal coping mechanisms.

With a groan, he finishes dressing up, grabs his bag and makes his way towards the front desk.

Once he has given the locker keys back and received his membership card in return, he's out of the door. He finds himself stopping right in the middle of the parking lot, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. It doesn't fill him up like a breath of fresh air should - not that a parking lot has fresh air to begin with. But while he was expecting some relief, he finds that gets none. His shoulders are still tense, his mood still sour.

Letting out a small sigh and making a quick split second decision, he starts moving to the juice bar at the corner of the street, determined to grab a juice to go and wallow in his misery at home.

It’s a small shack right around the edge of the street that has made a magnificent business out of selling a variety of coffees, juices and post-workout drinks. The place is so tiny, it barely houses any sitting arrangement indoors, which works wonderfully when most of their regulars take their drinks to go anyway. Those who do want to sit for a moment though will find a rather large spread of benches on the terrace. It’s one of Carlos’ favourite places. The fact that it's locally owned makes it all the better.

It's on the terrace that he notices - while waiting for his drink to be prepared - a turban in the very far end of the outdoor sitting area. Immediately, he realises that he knows that turban. He knows the style and colour. Simply because he was just with Marjan. And now she's here, sitting alone, on a bench, staring at the small expanse of greenery and the parking lot ahead of her. His trance is broken when his name is called. Picking up the drink, he looks over and starts to make his way towards his car, only to stop a few steps later.

A frown starts to deepen on his forehead the more he stares at her. All the times he's met her, Marjan has always been a bright entity. Always smiling, eyes glittering with happiness and mischief. And yet as he looks at her now he finds that she seems… dull.

The worry has him abandoning his initial plan and moving towards her instead. He might be in a sad mood, but he'll be damned if that stops him from acting on his concern.

"Got space for one more person?" he asks once he's next to her. His suspicions that her mind is occupied elsewhere are confirmed when she looks up at him with wide, startled eyes. A few moments later - once she realises who is talking to her - she graces him with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes and a nod of her head.

Still, he takes the permission and plants himself next to her, drink in his hand.

The initial silence is comfortable, aided by the cooling effect that the juice had on his throat and the light breeze on his bruised body. And yet, it's heavy. Marjan is one of the firefighters he hasn't gotten many one-on-one interactions with. She’s a major part of their hangouts, and while they are friendly with one another, he hasn’t had the chance to know her better.

He's standing on uneven and unknown grounds with her. He wants to talk to her, ask if he can help. He just doesn't know how to. But the longer he takes to come up with something, the more awkward the air around them becomes, and the harder it is to speak.

So they sit in silence instead, while Carlos still tries to think of something. How it’s possible that there isn’t a single topic popping in his mind comes as a shock to him.

The silence seems to be choking Marjan as well, because she groans and drops her head into her hands. Carlos looks at her for a moment, before he slides a foot or so across the bench, inching closer to the seemingly troubled woman next to him.

"You okay?" he whispers, hands playing with the straw of his drink. Marjan sighs, so he turns his head to look at her.

She doesn’t look at him. Her head is angled upwards, eyes closed as the wind gently blows on their faces.

"You know, usually I’d talk to Paul, Mateo, or TK,” she whispers so low that Carlos has to lean towards her a little, “hell, maybe even Judd. But they’re just, they mean well. But they also feel the need to give advice and help out. And sometimes, I just want to rant about stuff and listen to them rant. And at the end of the talk, I want to not have a solution for anything."

Carlos hums, pondering over her words for a moment. He knows that the 126 have gotten close - they've been through the wringer one too many times not to be. He's also been in the position where he was the one being given advice. Even when it wasn't solicited.

He knows it's out of good intentions, they want to help, and advice is a way to do that. But so is just listening.

"Well," Carlos starts, placing his drink down on the bench next to him, "I'm here to silently listen if you want."

Marjan flats him with a raised eyebrow, the questioning challenge clear in her eyes. When Carlos doesn't budge, she looks away with a sigh.

"It's a two-way street, man. If I rant, you'll have to rant about whatever put that frown on your face too," she says as she leans back on the bench, stretching her legs ahead of her.

Carlos shoots her a shocked look, not aware that his own bitter feelings had been so clear to an outsider. Marjan seems to read his shock too though, "I could see you brooding from a whole mile away, Carlos," she explains with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah, let's mend one sad soul at a time," he shrugs at her, waving her worries with a flick of his hands.

Marjan glares at him for a moment. But he’s been around her enough to know that this isn’t one of her judgemental or annoyed glares, this is more of a playful and teasing glare. He replies to it with a wide grin, and she reciprocates with a shake of her head and a soft smile.

“I miss my family,” she says after a sigh, all pretences of strength draining out of her. “I just, every time I think things are good and I start to savour life, something happens with them while I’m here and I start to think I let you down, mama and baba, and I just, I miss them.”

Carlos nods his head in understanding, the feeling somewhat familiar to him. But he doesn't speak, he lets Marjan rant, the way she seems to truly need.

“Like, my parents did raise us to go all out and be independent and live our lives for us,” she says as she gestures ahead of her. “But I guess I also just always thought I’d have them with me while I live life. And now I’m here and I’m on the move, and they’re not, they’re sitting at home catching up on their rest and their health.”

Carlos stays in his place, listening intently to each phrase Marjan is saying. Her words all run across scars he's had to deal with in the past, and they make him yearn for a time when he had his entire family under one roof.

“Did you know that my dad has been diabetic, on insulin, for a year and I had no idea?!” she exclaims, waving her hands around her head. “None at all! I don’t even think he was ever planning to tell me. I just happened to Facetime my mom one day just as he was giving himself an injection in the background.”

She pauses for a moment, dropping her head to rest her chin onto her chest, and Carlos thinks she might have gotten everything off her chest. But he’s proven wrong moments later when she lifts her head.

"And it's not just my parents. My younger sister, Yara, the fifteen-year-old one, she has grown so much during the past year I've been here. And I've missed a lot of what makes her who she is. And now, when I talk to her, there's nothing to talk about. I don't know what she likes and doesn't like, what shows she watches and what foods she enjoys and what career she wants to pursue." She stops for a moment to catch her breath, before she keeps going at it with the same passion as before.

“And my eighteen-year-old brother, Karim? We used to do everything together, he was my best friend when I was younger, and now? We could go for literal weeks without speaking. And I just,” she pauses to sigh, “I just miss the simpler times, you know? Waking up to have breakfast together, going to school, coming back to have lunch together, doing my homework quick and early to watch some dumb show with my entire family while we have dinner together, I just miss them all.”

She stops for a moment, her hands coming to rest in her lap as she whispers, “Is it supposed to look like this?”

This time feels like this is an actual question, rather than a rant, so Carlos turns to Marjan, raising an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

“Adulthood,” she groans, throwing her hands in the sky. “This whole I’m an adult and I need to leave my family and I must transcend the world on my own. I want to live and go through the world and still go back home to them, you know?”

Marjan stops talking for a moment, eyes on Carlos before she frowns and trails her eyes away. Carlos keeps his own gaze on her, waiting as she comes to a conclusion to whatever question is obviously racking her mind.

"Do you?" She asks then.

Carlos has to blink a few times, certain that he missed something.

"Do I what?"

"Do you know what it's like to leave your family? I just realised I have no idea if you have siblings or where your parents are or anything."

"I… Well… I’m the younger one, so my sister left for college first, and she still works far away, so, I guess?" he questions, unsure if his answer is what she was looking for and trying to conceal his pain with confusion.

It seems to work because a wide smile breaks over Marjan's face as she turns to face Carlos completely, bending one leg under her.

"You have a sister?! I never knew!" she exclaims as she does a full one-eighty, going from hurt and frowning to eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yeah, one sister."

Marjan stares at him with wide eyes for a few moments. "And? Tell me about her!" she demands when he doesn't say anything else, making a “go on” gesture with her hand.

An easy smile takes over Carlos' face, even as he breaks eye contact to shake his head in amusement.

"Well, her name is Dora, she's four years older. And she's kinda my favourite person in the world, but don't tell her I said that," he threatens with a pointed finger.

It brings a chuckle out of Marjan, but she still mimics a zipper closing over her lips.

"Dora and Carlos Reyes, huh?"

"Well, kinda. Her full name is Isadora," he explains, continuing when she both frowns in confusion and nods in encouragement. “I saw her wearing a pink shirt one day, and she had a bowl cut like most kids of the early nineties, and my two-year-old self decided that she looked like Dora the Explorer,” he smiles as understanding starts to take over Marjan’s features.

“Isadora in a pink shirt and a bowl cut, it’s only a natural progression that you get to Dora.”

“Exactly!”

Marjan sits back on the bench, a laugh filling the space between them. She pulls to a side and grabs her drink, Carlos copying her when she brings the straw to her mouth. Silence follows as they gulp down their now warm drinks in quick sips, trying to catch up to the last thread of coldness.

This entire situation reminds him of his own self some ten years ago, when Dora first-ever left for college. He remembers how heartbroken he was, how he felt abandoned. He knew she was leaving for her future, and that he would undoubtedly do the same. But his fourteen-year-old self was still extremely offended and hurt, no matter how illogical it was.

“Do you miss her?” Marjan asks just as he realises that she finished her drink first, and has put down the empty cup beside her. “I mean, if she’s four years older, then she graduated at least eight, nine years ago, and she isn’t here, is she?” She asks, continuing when Carlos answers with a shake of his head. “Did it ever feel like she abandoned you?”

Carlos hums for a moment, trying to figure out how he’s supposed to control his emotions when Marjan puts it like that. It doesn’t help that he can’t really tell who she is asking about. But he wants to answer her in a way that’s both honest and gentle.

“Are you asking me about me, or asking me for your siblings?” he asks, figuring he doesn't need to assume when he can get the answer almost instantaneously.

Marjan snorts, shaking her head as she takes a deep breath and lets it out in a slow sigh.

“You’re too smart for your own self, Reyes,” she grumbles before she concedes, “I don’t know. Both, I guess?”

“Well, I can only speak for myself when I say that I did feel abandoned. I was so sad and angry at her that I didn’t really talk to her properly for the first few months, even though she kept trying and calling and adding me on social media," he starts to explain, taking a moment to think of the best phrasing. "Home was her, my dad and I, and when she left, she somehow ruined our home."

He shrugs as he stops, the memories of how hurt he was coming back to him, mixing with how hurt he feels right now.

“But after a while, she just kinda messaged me less, and we weren’t that close-knit unit we were anymore.” He feels the earlier bubble of anger return, but this time at his past self, at how he was so angry that he did things that are just so stupid.

“Yeah, that sounds very familiar right now,” Marjan sighs. "Are you guys in contact now? Or has it been that way ever since?"

"No!" he almost screams in his haste to correct Marjan, the sole idea of being on non-speaking terms with his sister leaving a sour taste in his mouth. "No, no, God,no, we're good now, we're best friends, we're proper close," he assures her, crossing his index and middle finger together.

"So how did you go from not talking for months to being best friends?"

"This is tethering on advice-giving, Marjan," he teases, raising an eyebrow at her and chuckling when she rolls her eyes at him. He can’t help but chuckle at how he seems to be getting the full blast of the Marwani Eye Rolls today.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm done ranting, I'm now asking for advice. I heard you gave Paul amazing words that started his journey with the mystery bar lady, so share that wisdom, Reyes," she huffs in feigned annoyance, much to Carlos' amusement. He knows that Paul has been making progress with Bar-Lady, but he's been keeping it under wraps lest it gets jinxed and falls apart, and Carlos has been respecting his wishes, refusing to say anything about their conversation or the events leading up to Paul approaching her.

Carlos reaches a hand to Marjan, grabbing her cup and getting up to throw the trash into the bin. Even though it's covered as environmental care, it's a way for him to catch his breath and organise his thoughts. And from the soft look Marjan gives him when he turns around, she knows that as well.

Still, she doesn't say a word even when he sits back down, giving him his space as he stretches his legs and finds a comfortable position on the bench. After a couple of minutes of silence, he finally turns to face Marjan.

"So, when my sister left, I was really hurt. Dora and my dad are all I've had, they were my entire world. In my head, she left our family and somehow that meant that it was broken," he begins, recalling how his joy over her getting into her dream college was quickly shattered when he realised how far away she'd be. "And at fourteen, I didn't know how to express that pain, so I just stopped talking to her."

"Now that I'm older, I think that I did that to hurt her back." He remembers when he came to that conclusion many years after the event was done and gone. "I knew how much our relationship meant to her, and I think I wanted her to know how it feels to be left, the same way she left me."

He sneaks a glance at Marjan, finding a guilty frown on her face. He wishes there was an easier way to say what he has to say, but it's one of those things that can't be sugar-coated.

"To be fair to her, she did keep trying. She was always calling and messaging me, asking about school and sports and TV shows. And I was sad and snappy, giving her short replies or single word answers. Sometimes I'd leave her on read just out of spite."

The memories are somewhat fuzzy in his mind, those months something he'd rather forget. But he still remembers how he'd race into his room after school, turn on his computer, open Facebook, read the message, only to exit the website again.

He'd give young Carlos a good slap up the back of the head if he could.

"It wasn't until one day, a couple of weeks before her first spring break, I got home earlier than usual. And I walked into my dad in the kitchen, talking to Dora on speaker. The first thing I had registered was how hurt she sounded," he recalls the absolute agony in her voice, the defeat, the resignation. "I was about to run in, ask what was wrong, when I heard her say I just don't know what to do, Papa, he won't talk to me, and I miss him so much."

He stops for a moment, he needs to, his voice just on the verge of cracking on that last word. It's a stark reminder of the rush of emotions he felt all those years ago, when he first overheard that conversation.

"I think I needed to hear that, though. To hear that she missed me too and to realise how hurt she was by leaving. I pretended I didn't hear anything, and just snuck up to my room. Except that now, I knew exactly how she felt. I knew that she was hurt too, but it didn't feel good. I didn't feel satisfied because she missed me. I just felt like I had lost her."

"A few days later, I went downstairs to my dad, and asked him if Dora would ever forgive me." The mention of his dad forces a smile out of him, and how he was so distressed that he just had to seek his dad's wisdom. "I think he tried to play it subtle at first, asking what I meant. But when he realised how affected I truly was, he quickly laid the truth down for me."

He can tell that Marjan is hanging onto every word he says.

"He told me that Dora laughed every time I hit a milestone and cried every time I got hurt. She wasn't going to hate me just because I didn’t talk to her for a few months. But that didn't mean that I was off the hook. The ball was in the middle of the court, and I had the chance to take the first step to make things right," he shrugs, his dad's words running through his mind again.

His dad was gentle, the way he always had been, but he didn't lie to Carlos either. He made sure that Carlos knew that he was responsible for the hurt both he and Dora were going through. And no matter how he felt at the very beginning, the end result was still pain for both of them.

"So I did. The next time she texted, I replied. And then I called her, and she picked up. And, you know, it took time, but we got there. And now, we're best friends again. We're so close right now that the fact that she hasn't gotten approved for time off has put us both in the worst of bad moods."

Marjan sighs as he comes to a stop, turning around to fiddle with her rings. He thinks that part of it is giving him privacy to get his emotions under control - they both act in the same way in that they aren't overly emotional in front of just anyone, and he doesn't think they're at that level of vulnerability quite yet.

"So," Marjan says after a long moment of silence, "I just need to keep going at it? Keep trying until they see what’s been happening, then we’ll be best friends again, Yara, Karim and I, huh?"

”I mean, I don't know for sure. But yeah, I think so."

"You know," Marjan quips with a frown on her face and what he thinks is the beginning of hope in her eyes, "I think I heard Yara mention Marvel and Iron Man once, and Karim is super into video games these days. I'm no expert in either, but…"

"But interest is the first step. I don't think Dora understood a single word of all the Pokémon talk that I used to tell her, but it got us talking!"

Marjan hums, looking out ahead of her into the parking lot. There isn't something in particular that's worthy of attention, but Carlos finds himself staring at a random tree next to the juice bar.

There's a weirdly placed nest high up on one of the branches, a bird of some kind making trips back and forth between the nest and the street underneath. He's starting to wonder if birds feel sorrow when one of them leaves, when Marjan breaks his non-conventional train of thought.

"Well, that's my family drama," she sighs, turning towards him again, slinging her arm on the backrest and rests her head on top of her hand. "What are we going to do about your sister?"

"I don't know. Suffer in sadness, I guess," Carlos huffs. "There's nothing to be done. Neither one of us is getting approved for time off anytime soon."

The sad smile that Marjan gives him is exactly why he didn't want to meet anyone right after he got the news. The sympathy would only make him feel worse. Though, now that he got the frustration beat out of him, it covers him like a comforting blanket.

"Well, I know no one can replace your sister," Marjan says with a shrug and a suspiciously teasing smile, "but I can be your big sister until you meet her again."

The rapid blinking that Carlos' eyes do on their own accord is probably enough of a reaction, because Marjan stares at him for a few moments and then breaks into laughter, the happiness he's come to associate with the woman finally making itself visible.

"You're, you're younger than me!" he exclaims.

“That just doesn’t sound right, does it now?” Marjan quips, a smirk spreading on her face.

"It's literally a fact!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," she says as she gets up off the bench, hooking an arm around his once Carlos is standing up. "Drive me home, baby brother."

Carlos can’t stop the booming laugh he lets out as he stands up, as Marjan drags him to his own car. She will never replace Dora - no one will ever be able to - but Carlos is starting to think that maybe he’s earned himself a younger sister, even though Marjan claims otherwise.

[autistic-girl-academic]

Hypmic OC Crew: Freestyle Angels

so I’ve seen a lot of people posting their Hypmic OCs lately, and that made me want to buckle down and finalize the details for mine!

An all-female team based out of Tokyo’s Minato Ward, the Freestyle Angels are technically an independent crew - they got together to drive out crews who were abusing their claims to the territory, but aren’t interested in winning more territory themselves. (Not that they’d qualify for the DRBs anyway, of course.) Rather, they serve as a foil/rival team to the Chuohku trio.

Sumire Kuino, AKA Queen of Street

“Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much” - Helen Keller

Occupation: Humanitarian aid organizer

Birthday: October 7th

Age: 30

Zodiac: Libra

Height: 6′0″

Weight: 165 lbs

Blood type: AB

Likes: Bargains, fixing things, dogs, birdwatching

Dislikes: Wastefulness, unpaid debts, technology, selfish people

Favorite food: Chazuke

Least favorite food: Fugu

The daughter of a corrupt businessman and his mistress. Her father was an associate of Sairo Tohoten, who helped him flee the country when he got in trouble with the authorities, leaving a young Sumire and her mother behind. Sumire’s mother, only viewing her as another mouth to feed, likewise abandoned her daughter once she’d found a new lover. Frightened at the possibility of ending up in an orphanage, Sumire struggled to fend for herself on the streets until she was taken under the wing of an older homeless man named Takayoshi. He would go on to raise Sumire as his own, with her quickly coming to call him ‘Grandpa’ and taking on his family name. Over the years, Sumire became increasingly protective of him in turn, and he and his circle of friends would jokingly call her ‘queen’ for her assertive, take-charge nature; Sumire was always exasperated by the nickname, but grudgingly grew to accept it.

Takayoshi was the sort of person who was always willing to lend a hand and always kept an eye out for those who needed it, and Sumire followed his example. After he passed away, she became a guardian for anyone with nowhere to go, spending her days building shelters, distributing food, and standing up to whoever threatened the people that depended on her. She had fleeting hopes that the Party of Words would remedy some of the ills plaguing society, but found that little changed once the H Age began. Before the formation of the Dirty Dawg, Minato Ward went through a tumultuous period where it rapidly changed hands between many crews who abused their power. Sumire stole a set of Hypnosis Mics off of one such group and began using it to defend the defenseless, forming a duo with Ageha Hinokuchi called the Rough Diamonds, then a trio once they met Kaori Sakuragi.

Her microphone takes the shape of a street sign, while her speakers are a graffiti-covered castle made from debris. Her ability, Bulwark, decreases the damage done to her allies, albeit at the cost of taking it herself. Her personal rapping style is based off of Hime.

Personality-wise, Sumire’s an incredibly caring person under an intimidating exterior; her default stone-faced expression rarely changes and she speaks very bluntly. She won’t really judge or try to control the choices of those she helps, but if she needs to put her foot down for someone’s own good, her naturally commanding presence makes it hard to not do what she says. She’s a quick learner who can fix up just about anything she puts her hands on (with the exception of hi-tech gadgets) and a highly efficient penny-pincher; show her something with a high price tag and get ready to hear a thorough breakdown of just how many groceries it could buy. Her biggest flaw is that she doesn’t always take care of herself as well as she does others, requiring her teammates to step in and force her to take the occasional break.

She deeply respects Jakurai’s work, but finds Hifumi too flashy for her tastes. She’s also helped Dice a few times in the past, but he finds her kind of terrifying and tries to avoid her. The one person who can immediately make her lose her composure is Rei; plenty of his victims have ended up on the streets, and one of them even committed suicide despite Sumire’s attempts to save them. Unless her teammates stop her, she’ll attack him on sight.

Ageha Hinokuchi, AKA HI-FLYA

“Once freedom lights its beacon in man’s heart, the gods are powerless against him” - Jean-Paul Sartre

Occupation: Fitness & self-defense instructor

Birthday: May 6th

Age: 28

Zodiac: Taurus

Height: 5′6″

Weight: 138 lbs

Blood type: B

Likes: Pro wrestling, action movies, dancing, the beach

Dislikes: Muscle cramps, energy drinks, smoking, conformity

Favorite food: Barbecue

Least favorite food: Sea cucumber

A former member of the Party of Words. As a child, she lost her parents to an armed robbery, leading her to support Otome’s goals of eliminating conventional weapons from Japan. However, she increasingly found herself unable to turn a blind eye to the ways in which the Party manipulated innocent people. Once she learned about the True Hypnosis Microphone, she attempted to sabotage the facility where they were produced, but was discovered. In the fight that followed, a fire broke out; she fell from a great height into the flames and was presumed dead by the Party members who had been trying to apprehend her. However, a friend of hers in the group discovered that she’d survived and smuggled her to safety. After recovering from her wounds, she took on a new name and face, leaving her old identity behind to become Ageha Hinokuchi.

Her goal of stopping the Party of Words remained unchanged, and for a while she was constantly on the move, collecting evidence of their crimes and trying to come up with a way to stand against them. In Minato Ward, she happened to cross paths with Sumire Kuino, who had stolen a set of Hypnosis Microphones and was using them to defend people in need. Though initially reluctant to use one herself, she was forced to when Sumire was outnumbered and lured into a trap. Sumire, who was a firm believer in always repaying what she owed, asked what she could do in exchange for Ageha saving her life. This sparked a deep bond that eventually led to Ageha divulging her past to Sumire, and they formed a duo known as the Rough Diamonds. They later met Kaori Sakuragi and rechristened themselves the Freestyle Angels (incidentally, Ageha came up with both names, the latter because she was a fan of Charlie’s Angels).

Her microphone takes the shape of a portable music player held on an armband and a pair of headphones with butterfly wings on them, while her speaker is a four-sided boxing scoreboard. Her ability, Reverb, allows her to hit her opponent twice in one go, although the second hit isn’t as strong. Her personal style is inspired by Akkogorilla.

In contrast to Sumire, Ageha is fun-loving, always wears a smile, and is overflowing with energy; this is largely due to regretting how she previously lived, as someone blindly obedient who didn’t fully appreciate the joys of life. She can quickly befriend just about anyone and is a bit of a flirt, but only to tease. All of this belies a keen observational eye, though, and she’ll play up being an airhead to make others underestimate her. She knows a wide variety of martial arts, with kickboxing and aikido being her specialties. Because she currently lives and works in Roppongi, she’s also good with foreign languages.

Ageha is a big fan of Sasara’s comedy routines. She's suspicious of Ramuda because she knows he was involved with Chuokhu, but isn’t fully aware of his nature as a clone. Likewise, she detests Rei for having worked on the True Hypnosis Mic, but is much better at hiding it than Sumire.

Kaori Sakuragi, AKA wallflower

“Be not another, if you can be yourself” - Paracelsus

Occupation: Self-employed craftsperson

Birthday: December 5th

Age: 20

Zodiac: Sagittarius

Height: 5′3″

Weight: 116 lbs

Blood type: A

Likes: Homemade things, aromatherapy, reading, gardening

Dislikes: Cameras, busy places, the dentist, controlling people

Favorite food: Croquettes

Least favorite food: Beef tongue

Child-star-turned-idol, lead singer of the wildly popular group ‘Cutie Blooms’, Kaori seemingly vanished off the face of the earth one day. In truth, years of constant media presence, overwork, and pressure to please her demanding stage mother had driven Kaori to have a mental breakdown. Unable to be in the presence of other people without suffering severe panic attacks, she shut herself up in her apartment just before the start of the H Age for two years. When a paparazzi tracked her down and began harassing her for interviews, she fled and became lost on the streets of Minato-ku, but was rescued by Sumire Kuino and Ageha Hinokuchi. Seeing them wield their Hypnosis Mics in her defense reminded her of her original love for singing, and she begged them to make her the third member of their crew.

While her teammates have been helping her work through her trauma, Kaori is still afraid of having her face or voice recognized. She keeps her features obscured by glasses and masks as much as possible, prefers to stay out of sight, and primarily communicates through a tablet that reads out what she writes; she’s very quiet and stammers a lot when she does speak. During her years as a shut-in, she learned to provide for herself in a number of ways, such as growing her own vegetables and making clothes and other handicrafts, the latter of which she sells online.

Her microphone takes the shape of her tablet and stylus, while her speaker is a greenhouse that overflows with more and more flowers as she gains confidence during battle. Her ability, Tongue-Tied, scrambles her opponent’s speech. Her personal style is based off of Haru Nemuri.

Kaori is sensitive, timid, and somewhat pessimistic, but still possesses a very strong determination deep down at her core. She despises the fake persona that was forced upon her by the idol industry and wants to “win back her true self”. The more comfortable she gets around someone, the more she shows her passionate and cheerful side. She’s also very creative and good at memorizing small details, but at the cost of sometimes getting lost in her own thoughts and not noticing what’s going on around her.

She’s an avid reader of Gentaro’s novels, having sent him lots of anonymous fanmail in the past. She’s also recently started listening to Jyushi’s music.

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Nine, “Another Day”

Clickable Links: 

- Masterlist feat. all chapters and Character Surveys

- Inspo tag

- Hecky Playlist

- Read Becky’s FULL dream here

- Read on Wattpad 

Music Inspo: Another Day by Paul McCartney (click to listen)

WARNINGS: Some Smut

                                  SNEAKYYYYYYYY PEEK

A soft ‘thank you’ leaves me in reply, and I think for the first time the silence isn’t awkward. I wonder if for him too it’s full of so many unspoken words that I’m dying to say, or if that’s just me. So often, I doubt that he feels the same way about me, but God, when he looks at me like I’m the only person in the world, I can’t remember what doubts are. And I swear he looks at me that way every single time.

Standing here before him, I remember the plan I made, and like he keeps his promises, I decide to keep this one. No matter if it’s the hardest one I’ve ever made in my entire life, and I know it’ll be the hardest one to keep.

                 “It’s still you, it always has been you, it always will be you.” 

                                                     - B.D.

His eyebrows knit into a question and I finally return to devouring his lips once they fall from the confines of his teeth. Hurried breaths escape us as I nudge my hips against his, sighing when his hand returns home to its place on my ass. He echoes my groan when my dripping center brushes against his warm tip, and I whimper when it tickles my clit. Goosebumps crawl across my flesh at the sensation, and at the sounds he makes. A smirk grows on my lips as I drag myself over him again, a high pitched sound leaving him. 

“Becks,” he sighs before I quiet his lips with a kiss, moving my own with his. 

The remnants of his morning coffee tickle my tastebuds while I massage his top lip between my own. I hum a question back to him, letting my fingers wander from his unshaven cheeks and down to his toned chest. My name leaves his lips once more while my wet folds drag over the slope of his cock below me. I try to replace my lips on his, but he won’t let me, and instead I find his dark eyes with mine. 

“What?” I huff, searching his eyes for an answer as I grind down onto him again. A giggle flies from my mouth when his bottom lip comes between his teeth, accented by a roll of his eyes. 

My laughing is forgotten when he presses down on my hips as he thrusts upwards, and his cock enters me suddenly. Now, it’s his turn to laugh as a surprised moan escapes me. 

“Not so funny bein’ teased, ‘s it, Becks?” Harry purrs, a smirk curling into his cheeks while my insides stretch around him. His breathy laugh tickles my neck as he leans forward to plant whispery kisses above my mother’s necklace he had gifted me. “Now, fookin’ ride me already, babe, befo’ I lose me patience and flip ya ova.” 

“I’d like to see you try,” I tease, feeling his warm breath waft over my face when he exhales while clucking his tongue. 

“Becks, Becks, Becks. I thought we were way past this ‘playin’ hard t’ get’ shit.”

“What, it’s fun?” I giggle, leaning forward slowly as I stare into his eyes before his lips meet mine. 

“Ya, fer you it ‘s.” My laugh dances across his lips as I lift my hips before letting them fall, feeling his groan against my mouth while his cock slides back into me. “Y’know jus’ what t’ do with me, dontcha, bug?”

I nod with a ‘shhh’ against his cheek where I trail kisses, whining when his thumb presses against my clit to draw circles. Curses fall under my breath when his hips meet mine in a thrust. 

“Fook, Becks, I love y-.” 

Bleeeeeeeeep! 

Flying to a sitting position, heavy breaths rack my chest as my bedroom comes into a blurry focus. Swallowing against my dry throat, I cough as I try to come back to reality, but that’s easier said than done after what just happened. Anything and everything is going to be difficult after that dream. 

“Holy fucking shit,” I mutter under my breath, letting my hands relax where they grasp at my sheets. With an attempted deep breath, I move back to sit up straighter in bed, the images from before burned into my brain. Harry’s face. The blush suit. His naked torso. His coc-

“Okay, Becky, it was just a dream. Just a stupidly amazing dream. Oh my God,” I whimper into my hands, letting my fingers card through my hair as I try to collect myself. “God, that dream was so amazing. Ugh, Harry,” I sigh sadly, a long whine spilling into the air as I recall every detail of the dream. Our made up daughter, the blissful feeling of his lips upon mine, and our naked bodies so close and then meeting. 

It was a dream indeed, because as if I wasn’t sure of it before, I know now that I want that more than anything. I want to be able to steal a kiss from him whenever my heart desires. I want his hugs whenever I need one. There’s a sharp pang in my chest when the next thought hits me. I want to have a family with him, and to have mini Harry’s running around, both girls and boys. 

“There’s so much that I want with you, Harry,” I murmur aloud, the floral design on my comforter growing hazy as tears fill my eyes, but nothing could ever cloud the dreams that sit behind them. The multitudes of dreams that all take place with him, and that my heart yearns for so badly. I want to finally be able to call him mine, and even if he doesn’t know it, I’ve been his for longer than I’ve known.

The churning sound of the percolating coffee pot rouses me from my bed where I’ve been stuck, unable to leave for far too long. Belatedly, my feet touch the floor as the images sting inside of my head.

“You’re just getting up? You’re gonna be late, Ree,” Skye scoffs when I finally drag my feet into the kitchen, limbs heavy with tainted dreams and sleep. “Aren’t you going to have any coffee?”

My head goes from side to side in answer, hopefully scrambling the ideas and images that ache within my mind. I had already slid on something decent looking and ran a brush through my hair, stuffing any makeup I could find into my purse for a later time today. Grabbing a banana and a muffin from the box on the counter, I make my way for the door, feeling like a zombie, after all that’s already happened this morning.

“Ree, are you alright? You won’t be late, you know, you still have ten minutes before you need to leave. I was joking,” she calls after me, but when I don’t reply as I pull my black Chelsea boots past my black jeggings, I hear my name again. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

I refrain and push away for as long as I can, but when I reach for the closet door, her fingers painted three different colors stops me. Again, that nickname I’ve had for almost my entire life falls from her lips as she guides me over to the sofa.

“What is it? Did something happen?” she implores, but with my eyes glued to an unraveling tassel on the rug, I continue to ignore her until I can’t any longer.

“I had the weirdest dream of my entire life,” I confess softly, surprised at the sound of my own voice, and how much it sounded like that of the voice in my dream. The continuity of it all, as well as the numerous discrepancies only confuse me the more.

“Tell me about it, it must have bothered you. I can tell,” she encourages softly, running a hand through my wavy curls.

“I was at the firm with Harry, working with him,” I begin, soon hearing her question of how that was so weird until I shake my head, eyes still elsewhere. “I had just come back after a maternity leave, because we had a baby together. A girl. Her name was Iris, and I don’t know why because I don’t even like that name. I must have been working there again for a year or so, and his mum was taking care of her while the two of us worked. He got mad at me for not finding a good client for a new case, and then he said I could have anything I wanted to make up for it. I told him I wanted to play Strip Scrabble and we did in his office, and then we had sex on that very sofa in his office, Skye. Sex, like every single detail of it was in my dream. How could I know what his dick looks like if I’ve never seen it before? And we were talking about our daughter together so casually, and we were kissing, a-and-,” I come to a sudden stop, the words expiring from my lips as my eyes widen.

“Holy shit, that’s one intense dream, Ree. But, why was it so- Oh,” Skye replies, her hand falling to my arm that she runs her palm along soothingly. “Sorry, I haven’t had my coffee yet this morning either, so I’m a little slow to the punches.”

“It’s what I want, well besides naming my daughter Iris, because that was the name of the bully in our third-grade class who kept stealing my favorite erasers. I’d never name my daughter that. And ugh, how do I get there? I don’t even start for another five days, and I already miss him even though we’ve been texting. Now, I miss him even more because of that stupid wet dream,” I sigh, letting my head fall into my hands as my heart aches, another chip falling from the disintegrating armor within my chest.

“It sounds like to me that maybe you should pay a special visit to see a certain somebody today,” she suggests cheekily, her words lifting my head and turning it to her. “Come on, it’s not that hard, Ree. Make up an excuse to go and see him! Oh, you were just in the neighborhood, or you had to drop off a document that you didn’t actually have to do, or-.”

“Or, I could bring Asher lunch,” I suggest feebly, extending a hand forward in question.

“Yeah, make him jealous! Make him think that you’re there to bring him lunch and eat with him, but really it’s for Asher! He’ll go nuts, please do it or else I’m not talking to you for the rest of the day,” Skye squeals, hands coming together in a prayer-like fold. A shy giggle escapes my lips as I nod, the idea knitting together within my head, soon pushing away the dream. It’s not that easy though, because I know it’s going to take a long time to remember that vivid as fuck dream. Oh yes, a very long time, indeed.

“Who knew that four hours could feel so long,” I huff, standing to my feet and quickly sliding on my coat, hugging Skye as I begin to count down the minutes until my lunch break at one o’clock. I just hope to God that he’ll be around at that time. My monstrous doubts are silenced when I remember from last Friday that he waited until around that time to eat lunch, keeping his entire hour free to do just that.

Here I come, Harry. Well, Real Harry, not Dream Harry, but maybe one day he’ll be both of them. I can only hope, very hard. Maybe one day soon, it’ll finally pay off, all this hoping and dreaming.

+

“Since when do you bring me lunch?” Asher questions, confusion painting his face in waves as he stares dumbfounded at the brown paper bag in front of him.

“Because you’re one of my best friends, and I’m nice,” I answer feebly, shrugging my shoulders as I unwrap the greasy paper around the burger. An unsure laugh escapes his grinning lips as a golden chip disappears between them.

Soon, my burger is gone and so are my chips and drink. Meanwhile, Asher is still crunching away on his as I steal nervous glances at him. Wringing my hands in my lap, I nibble at the inside of my cheek anxiously.

“Okay, go already,” Asher sighs, waving a hand at me to shoo.

“What?”

“I know you’re not here for me,” he begins firmly, but when my eyes narrow at him, his face relaxes. “And it’s okay. I appreciate the lunch, but go see him already, Becky. I’m sure he’s dying to see you too.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, get out of here already,” he grins while picking up another chip dotted with salt.

“Thanks, Ash!” I exclaim with a beaming smile. “You’re the best!” I finish on the way out his door.

“I’ll remember you said that!” he laughs in return as I already trek down the hallway, failing to ignore my heart hammering against my rib cage. There it is again, Asher speaking for how Harry feels, as if he knows him when I thought they’ve spoken like three times in total? Hmm, weird, again.

Like it so usually is, his hallway is empty, and I just hope that I won’t be interrupting something. An important phone call. A meeting. A consultation with a potential client. Or that all of this is for nothing and his office is empty, because he’s at one of the courthouses around town. God, I really hope it’s not that last one.

Again, like so many times before, his door is closed when I arrive in front of it. Somehow, it sends a tingle down my spine reading his name etched into his door, and the boasting title below it. Something I can’t remember doing very much, and I can’t recall why. It catches me off guard, which is rare, because most of the time he’s just Harry. My Harry. Then, I remember that he’s this insanely successful and well-known lawyer who co-owns this law firm, and it throws me for a loop. Not to mention the stunner that he’s my boss, again.

With a deep breath, I bring my fist to the glass and knock. I straighten my black Columbia opened to my floral blouse and smooth down my black slacks. I just hope I look more than decent after swiping mascara onto my lashes before coming here. But after waiting a few moments, I realize that I’m worried about it all for nothing when there’s no answer. I did this all for nothing.

Turning around, my chest falls with a sigh and my head hangs low, until I hear a sound. My name. Glancing up, a smile breaks it way onto my lips at the sight in front of me.

“Dunno if I can trust me eyes. ‘s that Becks I see waitin’ at me door?” he rasps with that adorable breathy laugh, walking towards me with the ancient messenger bag strewn across his chest. “Hullo, darlin.’ T’ what do I owe tha pleasure?” Harry asks, stopping just a step away as a smile clings to his lips, its exit nowhere in sight. Yeah, my smile feels rather eternal as well.

“Hi, Harry. I almost thought I had missed you,” I shrug, realizing too late the irony in my words, but all of a sudden, I don’t really care what he makes of them. After all of this time, I’m so sick of hiding my secret.

“Yer right on time, bug. I jus’ got back from me mornin’ in court,” he murmurs, the honey sticking to every word he speaks. He nods his messy head of chestnut curls towards his office as he unlocks it, and I gladly follow him. “Seems tha last thing we were talkin’ ‘bout in our texts was what food we’ve been cookin’. Do I get any o’ those brownies yet?”

“Not quite yet,” I grin, keeping my hands hidden behind my back as I observe his movements.

“Shucks, ‘ve really been lookin’ forward t’ ‘em, ya make ‘em sound so good,” he giggles softly, draping his North Face over the back of his office chair.

His long legs clad in a pastel purple suit carry him over to his sofa where he drops his messenger bag with a plop, and it all comes rushing back to me. The sofa. That baby pink suit. The Scrabble game board and tiles that I don’t know the next time that I’ll be able to touch without that dream ruining it for me. The stupid name, Iris, that funny enough doesn’t seem too bad now. That confusing dream, and all that it entailed.

“Alright?” Harry says, his deep voice pulling me back to the present. I blink hard and focus my eyes back on him, soon nodding. “Good. How ya been since yer orientation last week? Sorry we haven’t spoken much, ‘ve been busy with this case ‘m finishin’ up.”

“It’s okay and I’m good, maybe this will help,” I answer, setting down the striped white and blue paper bag. His eyes fall to it and his smile grows, reaching all edges of his blushing face.

“Becks, you didn’t,” he chuckles, reaching forward and prying open the bag. “Aw, love, ya rememba’d. Thank you, ‘s been too long since ‘ve had one o’ these muffins, they’re me favourite,” Harry finishes, setting down the bag smelling of croissants and sugar cookies.

His favorite muffin in the entire world sits inside wrapped in waxed paper, a lemon poppy seed muffin with a powdered sugar glaze. It took, let’s just say a lot in me to not eat it myself in the lift, because after he introduced them to me, I became addicted to them too. They have to be the most delicious and light muffins I’ve ever had, and not to mention incredibly flavorful and yes, moist.

“I hope ya got yerself one, I know ya like ‘em too.”

“Don’t worry, I couldn’t resist. I ate a little bit on the way here, and then I’m going to save the rest for later,” I tell him, clasping my hands together and twirling the ring around my finger anxiously.

“Jus’ how I taught ya, ‘atta girl,” he nods with the happiness consuming his features - eyes, cheeks, and all. “Thank you, Becks . . But I hope ya didn’t make a special trip jus’ fer a muffin.”

“It’s okay,” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders, my attention lingering on the sincerity held in his thank you, and in his eyes during those three simple words. Not simple enough. “I picked up burgers to have with Asher, so I was uh, in the neighborhood.”

“Ah, I see,” he nods, rolling up the lip of the bag to keep it fresh. Scratching at his cheek, he avoids my gaze and sure enough, Skye is right.

Is he jealous?

Oh, girl, he is jealous indeed. You better use it to your advantage.

I just might, but I don’t know if I have it in me for those kinds of games, anymore.

Becky, you better.

“‘m glad ya stopped, ‘s good t’ see you. Are ya on yer lunch break or sumthin’?” he wonders aloud, bare nails tapping along the head of his chair his hands drape over. Why oh why, does he have to stand so far away? It’s killing me. He receives his answer when my head rises and falls with a nod. “Mmmm, I figured.”

“I should probably go, I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” I announce suddenly, lies laced through every single syllable I regrettably speak.

The heaviness in my gut at having to leave grows another few pounds when I watch the disappointment leech the happiness from his face. I’m sure Sophie wouldn’t mind if I was late returning after my break if I told her who I was with. This is due to during each free moment we have, I may or may not be telling her all about him. She may or may not be loving every second of it, and so do I.

“Yer neva a botha, Becks. I dunno why ya’ve always thought that. I love seein’ ya, but if ya hafta get back t’ work I undastand,” Harry mumbles, fingertips pressing into the black leather quickly. “But hey, next week this will be yer place o’ work again, kinda mad t’ think. Inn’a good way, tho.’”

“I know, I can’t wait,” I smile, his echoing mine already as the dimples live in his cheeks covered in more dark stubble than the last time I saw him. Holy hell, am I not complaining about it. “I like the stubble by the way,” I blurt out, ghosting a hand over my cheeks to refer to his.

A buttery laugh flows from his lips as he runs his long digits over his cheeks, suddenly turning me into the jealous one within seconds. “Thanks, I dunno what ‘m doin’ with it really. It doesn’t make me look too old or anythin’, does it?”

“No, it looks really good on you. You look great, Harry,” I confess, waiting for that hot embarrassment to cover me in waves, but it doesn’t. Instead, a sense of contentment washes over me, and I’m grateful for finally telling the truth, however insignificant.

“Thank you, bug. You do as well, in yer uh, courthouse outfit. I shoulda stopped t’ say hi this mornin’ when I was there, sorry I didn’t think o’ it. This case has jus’ been mad, I can’t wait fo’ it t’ be ova.”

“I guess it’s okay, as long as you say hi the next time,” I tell him, hands clasped behind my back again. Another titter sings from his lips as the words hit me, knowing full well that that would be tomorrow, and boy, do I want to show him off to everybody. Even if he’s just my new boss and my friend right now. For now.

“Ya have me promise on that one, and I like yer hair longa again, y’know. Ya look like me Becks again, it was different bein’ all short befo’. Still pretty, jus’ different,” he comments, nodding his head at me once again, helping him talk. Yeah, I’d probably have to do the same thing if it was me, because I would undoubtedly be struggling for words after what he just said. Man, oh man.

A soft ‘thank you’ leaves me in reply, and I think for the first time the silence isn’t awkward. I wonder if for him too it’s full of so many unspoken words that I’m dying to say, or if that’s just me. So often, I doubt that he feels the same way about me, but God, when he looks at me like I’m the only person in the world, I can’t remember what doubts are. And I swear he looks at me that way every single time.

I wish I could do it all right now, or even just one something. One kiss, but I need to wait. I should wait until he comes back from that case, and things are established with my new job. Standing here before him, I remember the plan I made, and like he keeps his promises, I decide to keep this one. No matter if it’s the hardest one I’ve ever made in my entire life, and I know it’ll be the hardest one to keep.

“I’ll leave you to your muffin and your case then, Harry. It was good to see you, I’ll um, text you,” I announce finally, feeling the weight in my words. The longing. The anticipation. The regret. The excitement. The everything.

“Thanks fer stoppin’, Becks, I enjoyed yer li’l surprise visit. ‘s always so good t’ see you. Have a good rest o’ yer day, and I can’t wait fer tha muffin. Thanks again. ‘ll talk t’ ya soon, bug,” he smiles before I return it with a breathy ‘bye’ and then turn around, and wonder why this was so hard.

I wonder why I was nervous about this all morning, and also why I never took Skye’s advice before in the last two years and stopped to say hi to him. Lastly, I soon realize why, because it even hurts to walk away from him now when everything is so close. I know now if I had done the same thing all of those times Skye had told me to, I don’t think I could have handled leaving him and not being able to come back in just a few more days, like I get to do now. I have so much ahead of me, and he’ll be there every day, just as he promised.

Finally.

+

For some godawful reason, my department is always the busiest in the middle of the week, and two years after working here, I still don’t know why. The number of forms I’ve had to distribute, collect, and then do the job of submitting already this morning boggles my mind. Finally, I found a gap in the craziness to grab a cup of tea and a chance to catch my breath. Unfortunately, the fancy teas that I had been enjoying my few moments of peace and quiet with have since disappeared, and nothing but green tea and English Breakfast remain.

“It looks like I need to do some shopping, I’m sorry for the depressing tea drawer, love,” a voice murmurs from behind me as I linger there with the drawer open.

“It’s okay, I don’t have English Breakfast enough, anyways,” I comment, feigning complacency because I was really looking forward to a refreshing fruity cup of tea. I craved something exciting to break up the monotony of today, and training my replacement in. An experience I’ve never once enjoyed.

“You only have a few days left, love. How’re you feeling about it?” Sophie questions, arriving at my side with a pat to my arm. “Wait, I dunno why I asked. If I were you, I’d be itching to get out of here too after the shit storm this morning was,” she laughs as she opens the fridge, muttering about the lack of anything good to eat or drink around here. Our laughs mingle with the other’s during the next few minutes as I debate whether or not to make a cup of tea, finally deciding the need for caffeine is greater than that of my stubborn taste buds.

The rest of the day was rather steady with the flow of people in and out, making it unfortunate for my ‘browsing lawyer outfits’ time, and fortunate for my replacement’s training. Thank God, they dipped out a few hours before we closed, so I could stop feeling like somebody was breathing over my shoulder. At least by now, they seem to have mostly everything down pat, and I soon got to take over the role of ‘the breathing over the shoulder.’ Not soon enough, though.

The tea hadn’t quite done the job, and my lunch was rather unfulfilling as well, but I had gotten used to that sensation recently. With only a few hours left of the work day, I saw my end in my sight, and yet every time I looked at the clock, only a few more minutes had passed. Then of course, we had run out of copies of a certain form, leading moi to have to make more. Yipee!

It was just one of those days, because next thing I know, a stranger is almost biting my head off for telling him he needs his birth certificate for a form, as if I made the rule or something. It all only kept reminding me of how happy I was to be leaving this job soon, no matter how good it had been to me over the last two years. I couldn’t leave soon enough, I was on my last straw.

“Becky, you’re being requested,” a coworker of mine tells me from over my shoulder. I hurriedly slide the new copies of yet another form onto the shelf behind the front desk.

“What now?” I grumble under my breath, trying to turn around without bumping into her behind the front desk where we handle all of the customers, if you want to call them that. The public, the people, the clients- the whatever.

A huff passes my lips and by now, I’m done slapping on a cheery smile for a stranger, because it doesn’t even pay to do it anymore. But when I find the smiling face that awaits me, I don’t even have to think about putting on a happy face, because a smile is already claiming my lips.

“Harry, h-hi,” I say, the words tumbling clumsily from my lips.

“Hi, Becks. How are you?” he asks adamantly, lips settling into a content smile with one corner greeting his cheek. I could never see enough of those dimples, I really couldn’t.

“I’m okay,” I sigh, my eyebrows touching my forehead before falling.

“Rough day, love?” he hums softly, and I nod in response, somehow hearing all of the extra words inside of his. “‘m sorry, seems we’re both havin’ a shitty day, but I hope this’ll help,” he finishes, bringing forth an arm draped in his familiar warm gray blazer, setting down a tall white Starbucks drink in front of me. I know without needing to taste it that it’s my favorite drink, my drink. I already know that he remembered, and soon the name of the drink falls from his lips.

“Thank you so much, it’s much appreciated. You’ve always had a good memory, it’s something I know you for.”

“‘s it now?” he titters softly, his thumb and forefinger finding a distraction with his bottom lip for the twentieth time, not at all to my dismay. “‘m glad it’ll help, bug. I jus’ got in a few minutes ago fer anotha day o’ arguin’ me case.”

“Oh, well thanks so much for thinking of me, it was sweet of you.”

“‘Course, Becks, I couldn’t not come and say hi t’ me favourite person here at tha courts,” he smiles, and the combination of that grin and those words light that fire inside of me that was rekindled when I got to see him yesterday.

My oh my, two days in a row now. I am one lucky girl.

Only a few more days, Becky, and you get to be lucky every day!

Maybe you even get to be a certain kind of lucky, hehe.

Stop.

“Are those blushin’ cheeks, I see?” he teases, setting down his arms to rest them on the space where people usually lay down their forms and the like. Yet, here he is standing there in that warm gray blazer he wore for my class lecture, a suit I’ll never forget.

“Stop,” I laugh, trying to fix my hair, and soon remembering the embarrassment that is my lack of makeup. Once again, I didn’t even try this morning, and I admittedly spaced that I told him to come and say hi today.

And here he is, just as he promised he would be.

Yes, just he like he promised. God, can he get any better?

Yeah, if the two of you fucking kissed already.

Tell me about it.

“Ya look even prettier when ya blush, y’know that?” he snickers, that familiar song leaving his lips and finding its way to my heart, just like it so often does. I have a feeling he’s not letting up on the brake either in the honesty department, and I’m so surprised I don’t know what to do with this onslaught of feelings.

My glowing smile that couldn’t grow any bigger doesn’t get a chance to let any words out, because we probably look like idiots just staring at each other. Yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way, and I think that’s becoming my tagline for this whole entire thing. Sure, I wish things could have been easier from the get go, but I’ve come to peace with not being able to change the past. Especially, when I’m so excited about the future and all of the multitudes it holds.

“So do you, you know,” I reply mischievously, suddenly wishing I could pull off a wink like he can so effortlessly as he does that very thing.

“Good one, Becks,” he tsks, shaking his head as he wags a finger at me. What I would do to be able to touch it and to hold that hand. Wow, I need to get myself under control, but I really don’t want to. “Ah, ‘s this yer lovely boss I spoke t’ on tha phone?” Harry says, turning his attention to Sophie who had slipped behind the desk to grab something, but now her eyes are on him.

“Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met,” she announces, taking his hand that he holds out. Silently, I applaud how she pretends that she doesn’t know who this is, as if I haven’t shown her a few pictures of him already. It may have been a few, or enough that she’s decided she prefers him with the longer hair from before. “I’m Sophie Waters, Court Administrator here, and you are?”

“Harry Styles, Attorney at Law, from Styles and Lawson. ‘m uh Becky’s former boss, and well, new boss now. I jus’ stopped t’ say hi befo’ continuin’ me case t’day down tha hall,” Harry replies with a warm smile, once again any hand shrinking in comparison to his massive one. There are very few things that surprise me about him anymore, and yet I’m still surprised by the attentiveness, kindness, and professionalism he carries every time I’m present for him meeting somebody. I’ve witnessed it a handful of times now, and it still makes me melt as if it could never grow old.

“Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Styles. I’ve heard a lot about you from Becky,” she responds gently, faking the brightness in her eyes at the realization of connecting the dots. I think we have him fooled, Sophie. Yes!

“Please, call me Harry. I get enough o’ ‘Mr. Styles’ as it ‘s,” he tells her, lifting a hand into the air to accentuate his words. “Oh, has she now? Should I be worried?” he wonders aloud to Sophie, peeking an eye over at me with a raised eyebrow, stroking his hairy chin. The dimple sits in his left cheek again, and he surprises me with another wink before returning his attention to Sophie. It continues to amaze me how he always devotes his attention to whoever he’s speaking to, and yet he still seems to be fully present with me.

“No, not at all, it’s all been very nice. She’s quite fond of you as well, and I know she’s excited to come back and work with you, even though I’ll miss her.”

My eyes dart from Sophie’s bittersweet smile to that of Harry’s whose eyes linger on me without my knowing, and I wonder what they hold. As if I haven’t asked myself this question time and time again, I wish I could know what he’s thinking. I wish I could ask, and that he would tell me.

“I can’t wait t’ have her back with me at me firm next week. Thank you fer takin’ such good care o’ her here tha last two years. I know she’s enjoyed it, and tha experience will help her loads fer when she comes back t’ work with me as my mentee,” he continues, and I swear that somehow he manages to be sexy while talking about him being my mentor. I think he knows, and that perhaps he has some inkling that it’s my favorite part about this whole thing. I could never hear too much about it.

“You’re very welcome, and I trust you’ll take good care of her again. I’m certainly looking forward to seeing what our little Becky will do, and running into her in the halls here. Speaking of which, why don’t you walk him to the courtroom? I think things are dying down here as of now,” she encourages, goodbyes soon bid between the both of them. A tight lipped smile plays on my lips as I look at her over my shoulder while he leads the way. She just shrugs her shoulders with the tiniest of waves, and I silently thank her repeatedly.

“She’s very nice,” he comments once we reach the hallway, and it all feels new. Then again, it’s hard to tell when there are so many new things going on in my life as of late.

“Yeah, she is. She’s been a really great boss and friend,” I respond, clasping my hands together as our footsteps follow the other, both in sounds and in distance. “But you’re my favourite boss of all time.”

“Am I now?” he boasts, flitting his eyes to mine with a effervescence behind them as his dark eyebrows dance overhead. I only nod, but it’s soon captured by a giggle when his arm comes around my shoulders and pulls me against him. “Good. I better be yer favourite, Becks.”

“Don’t go messing it up now!” I squeal when I feel his fingers on my side, finding my ticklish spots that he still remembers.

“Don’t worry, I neva would, Becks. Neva again will I mess it up with you,” he whispers, long fingers drifting to my shoulder that he squeezes. Glancing upwards, I find his sincere eyes waiting for mine and they take away another chunk of the wall around my heart. There’s not much left of it now.

“Am I your favourite, too?”

“Favourite what, bug?” he inquires, eyes darting away at times to watch where we’re going, but by now we’ve wandered to the side of the hallway and stopped. I too wonder where I’m going with this.

“I don’t know, maybe-.”

“Ya, yer me favourite one,” he answers, interrupting suddenly.

“I didn’t even get to say what,” I protest, but it all collapses into a giggle that he soon copies.

“Doesn’t matta, ya still are, no matta what it ‘s. Oh hey, looks like we’re in tha right place, this ‘s me courtroom fer tha afternoon.”

Although painstaking, my eyes leave him to find the wooden doors of Courtroom #3 just across the way. The confession that just fell between us and the reminder that he has to leave combine into a tragic concoction. In the same breath, they fill me with something I haven’t had for a long time. Bravery.

“I should let you go then, literally,” I giggle, stepping away and letting his arm fall from my shoulder, a triumph in itself. “Good luck with your case today, I hope everything goes well. You’ll do great, Harry, I know it,” I tell him, taking hold of one of his hands like I’ve wanted to do for the last ten minutes, and possibly much, much longer.

“Thank ya, bug. Maybe ‘ll do good afta seein’ me good luck charm,” he mumbles, a warm pink filling his cheeks as his eyebrows lift with a nod to me. “Hopefully ‘m all finished t’day, or at tha latest t’morrow. Then I get some time t’ relax and plan ahead befo’ you come along next week.”

“Hey!” I scoff, and he surrenders with that delightful song his lips create as I squeeze his hand.

“I didn’t mean it like that, jus’ gotta get ready fer t-this new beginnin’, bug. That’s all. Y’know ‘ve been lookin’ forward t’ it . . eva since ya got tha job,” he insists, but I was never upset. He was right that one time, I can read him as good as anybody else I’m close to. His expressions, his tics, and the words he doesn’t say.

“I know, I’m just giving you a hard time, which you better get ready for, Styles. You won’t need it, but again, good luck today, Harry,” I announce, the syllables shaky as they fly from my lips. I just hope he can’t feel the trembles devastating my body in this very moment as I stand on my tippy toes and press my lips to his prickly cheek. “You’ll have to let me know how it goes.”

“I will, Becks. Promise,” Harry says, the two dimples alive and well in his reddening cheeks when I dare to look him in the eyes after that. A gentle squeeze from his hand accentuates his words. A short breathy laugh escapes his happy lips as he looks back at me, and even though we again look dumb staring at the other, I think we shared a few more words in that moment. Ones we weren’t sure of how to say or when to say them, but we still did. “Have a good rest o’ yer day. ‘s always a treat t’ see ya, bug.”

“You too, Harry, thanks for saying hi. You may have made my day.”

“May have, hmm? ‘s that right? I wonder what I could do t’ actually make it,” he ponders aloud, doing that dorky thing again where he strokes his nonexistent beard. Dorky or not, I love it more than I could know. An eyebrow nears his forehead wrinkled in his quizzical expression that’s dissolved by another breathy laugh, all while his thumb draws circles onto my knuckles. “Maybe I should take one from yer book, hmm?” I barely have the time to think about what he means or for the emotion to play on my face, because he dips down and places a kiss on my cheek. To top it all off, his other hand comes to cup my head as he presses another kiss there, his fingers affectionately tickling my hair as he does so.

“Bye, bug. It made me day two days in a row gettin’ t’ see you. I dunno what ‘ll do gettin’ t’ see ya e’ry day next week, and two weeks afta that, and e’ry week afta that,” he reveals in a whisper against my hair, giving my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

If there weren’t theoretical butterflies in my tummy before now, they’re surely alive and well now as I watch him walk away, and give me a wink over his shoulder before disappearing into the chambers. All because of the words he just said, and the proximity of his lips to mine just a few moments ago. I think he just might know how I feel about top of the head kisses, and it’s all thanks to him. I have so very much to thank him for.

I think I know what I’m going to do about it, Harry. Oh yes, I do and you’re making this waiting game all the harder when you do things like that.

+

The next few days until I started back at the firm sometimes went painstakingly slow, and at other times, they flew by like a breeze. I think the long texting conversations with Harry helped the time pass. It went by with the speed of molasses when I sat at my desk during my last few days wishing I was sitting at another desk, longing to be somewhere else. More than once, a random text from Harry brightened my day, whether it was a song he thought I’d like, a recipe for a baked good, more often a mixed drink, or something about the show FRIENDS.

Now, with shaking knees I reverse my steps until my back runs into the little rest on the wall of the lift. As I watch the number climb higher, the thrashing of my heart quickens as it nears the one I wait for. Quickly, the pan held in my hands and the jade-colored blouse I wear both feel stupid and inadequate. I’ve been dying for this day to come, and yet here I am, feeling as if I’ll die from my overactive nerves, now that it’s here.

The doors soon part with a ding, and Seventeen comes back to me, too quickly and at the same time, not quick enough. I can’t get my legs to move as the anxiousness attempts to consume me, but as the doors begin to slide shut, I make it out just in time. Few people linger in the lobby this morning, seemingly waiting for appointments and trekking back and forth from the printer and other places. The very person my eyes, and perhaps heart, search for this morning is nowhere to be found. On my way down the hallway, my feet stray to my office that beckons for me, and it’s like the first time all over again.

It’s cozy and the lights inside of it are warm and mellow. The natural light seeping in through the window to London might be my favorite part, although there are so many good features to it. I say hi to the succulent as I set down my handheld laptop bag, over the chest purse, and the covered pan. The sight of it all and what it means, brings tears to my eyes that I knew were coming, but I weakly attempt to whisk them away. Sniffling, my lips greet my cheeks as I take another look around. This is all mine, and all thanks to Harry whose touch I can see in so many places.

“Alright?” a voice murmurs from behind me, and I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. But I do, and there he stands, waiting for me with a smile brimming with warmth. Slowly, this all feels too good to be true, and yet it feels so right and so overdue. “Come and give yer new boss a hug, will ya?” I don’t need to be told twice and within moments, his spicy vanilla scent engulfs me once more, welcoming me home.

Finally, oh finally, I’m home again.

“Jus’ gonna assume those are happy tears,” he hums from above me, and I nod into his shoulder with a giggle that matches his own. “Good, I may have shed some o’ my own, but ‘m not revealin’ all o’ me secrets t’day.”

With dried tears on my cheeks and a song inside of my chest, he squeezes me before I pull away to find his sparkling green eyes.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hiya, Becks. Ya ready fer yer first official day as a lawyer at Styles and Lawson?” Harry beams, brushing his thumb across each of my cheeks briefly, lastly tapping my nose.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Sure? I was expectin’ mo’ excitement outta you. Why dontcha sound so confident ‘bout it, bug?”

“I’m just nervous. I don’t want to screw anything up, or do something wrong,” I reveal slowly, feeling the weight of my words that hold more meanings than I can accept. I can’t even fathom the thought of him reading into all of it, knowing how well we know the other.

“Deep breaths, Becks. Ya did wondaful on yer orientation day, and I know you’ll do bloody amazin’ t’day. ‘m here t’ help with that, t’ guide ya and help ya learn. We’ll start off slow t’day - we have a team meetin’ in half an hour at nine-thirty. There, ya can meet e’rybody ‘gain properly and they can meet you. I know they’ll all love ya too, bug,” he explains with a gentleness to his speech, and yet it doesn’t help me relax, and only makes my heart slam against my rib cage harder. “Hey, relax ‘kay? Then tha rest o’ tha day we’ll start t’ work on me case I have next week. Afta some o’ that, we’ll take a break, and prolly play some cribbage while we eat lunch. Durin’ all o’ this, ‘ll introduce ya t’ some stuff, and tha processes we have t’ use. I know we went ova ‘em durin’ yer orientation, but this will all be a refresher. We went ova most o’ tha legalities and borin’ proper rubbish last time, so we can dive in this time. Ya ready?”

I nod and begin to turn away, but then I feel his hand squeeze my arm. Looking back, he winks at me with a few encouragements behind his eyes. I try to hold onto them after they disappear when his eyes dart to my desk.

“Becks, are those what I think they are?” he almost groans through gritted teeth, but happily. His hands escape from his wine colored pockets and slowly reach for the pan sitting on my desk.

“Mmmhmm, but you can only eat one right now.”

“Yer no fun,” he pouts as he brings a dark, chocolatey square to his lips. The war being fought within my gut, or so it feels, rages on as I wait for his reaction. “Fook, these are incredible brownies, and ya made ‘em from scratch? Yer bloody amazin’, Becks.”

“You’re welcome, I’m relieved you like them. I forget to ask if you like cakey brownies, or fudgey brownies.”

“Fudgey, all tha way. ‘m no pussy,” he cracks, picking up the pan and plopping onto my sofa with it held possessively in his lap.

“Oh good, I’m so glad you said that. If you had said anything else, I don’t think we could be friends anymore,” I reveal sarcastically, falling onto the pillow cushions beside him.

“Bloody hell, ya’d neva break up with me ova sumthin’ as stupid as that, although brownie preference ‘s very important,” Harry scoffs, his eyes falling to the pan where he plucks another small square from, handing it to me. “Alright, afta we’re done with our brownies, are ya ready t’ start this thing, bug?” he wonders aloud and earns a nod from me, knocking his knee against mine casually. I try not to freak out when he leaves it resting there, or when I have to pull away to use the bathroom.

After taking my time in the bathroom, noting the extensions of the remodel to even this part of the firm, I wander into the break room with the same intentions. Memories are thrown at me from every direction, and I try not to dwell on the negative ones, but they overwhelm me. All of the shared lunches with Asher venting about Harry. Hiding from Harry in here when he had gotten mad at me for whatever ungodly reason it was that day. The pathetic cold lunches I would bring. I especially feel the sting when I remember that time I walked in on Harry kissing Amber, and he came here to look for me afterwards. That one perhaps hurts the most, because it brings up all of the others that revolve around her and what she did to me. She was the real reason I left in the first place, because she got the dominoes falling.

“How’s your first day been so far? I hope it’s off to a good start,” somebody comments from behind me, curiosity behind their words. Looking over my shoulder, I find Myles strolling in with an empty cup that he sets down by the electric tea kettle on the counter.

“It’s going good so far, thanks. I just got here a few minutes ago, but it’s a little daunting, I must say.”

“Yeah, it can be, but don’t let it get to you. Harry will be there every step of the way, and I know he’s over the moon about having you back, and working with him on top of it all,” he assures me with a gentle smile as he rinses out the mug. There it is again, him and Asher keep doing it, and it’s not helping with this whole ‘trying not to go crazy over Harry thing’ all over again. Well, too soon, that is.

“Thank you, really,” I nod appreciatively. “Hey, while I have you here, I was wondering if you have any plans for his big birthday on Friday?”

“Eh, not really, he doesn’t want anything. He’s already upset about turning thirty.”

“What, how come? I tease him about getting old, but it’s just a number, and it’s really not that old,” I comment, watching his shoulders rise only to fall as he rips open a packet of tea I didn’t catch the name of.

“Yeah, I know, but I dunno. He said he thought he’d have more to show for being thirty, and that it’s depressing to him, or something.”

“Oh, so co-owning a renowned law firm, and being one of the most successful lawyers in London isn’t enough for him at thirty?” I scoff, observing the smile bending his lips upwards while the hot water gurgles into his mug.

“I told him the same thing and I’m sure you know him well enough to know how swimmingly that went. It seems you know him better than me in some rights,” he tuts, jigging the bag of tea up and down in the steaming water.

“Sometimes I think so, and other times not so much,” I comment, the words getting the better of me as my voice falls to a melancholy whisper. “We should do something for his birthday, though. We could at least do a cake and lunch.”

“That would be perfect. I’ll order pizzas from that pizzeria he likes over on Juniper Street, and we can have some drinks too.”

“Sounds great, I’ll take care of the cake. I remember he loves chocolate a little too much sometimes,” I laugh, and he nods while one sits at the edges of his mouth. “All we have left to do then is to tell everybody, well except for Rory, because I don’t know, he seems like he can’t keep a secret. I hear he has a big mouth, so that’s probably why, and he’s also too flirty.”

The laugh finally explodes from Myles’ lips as he adds a fresh spoon to his aromatic mug, fitting a finger through the handle as his lips part, “Right you are, Becky. I knew I was right to let Harry convince me to hire you, because you’re as smart as a whip.”

My own chuckling soon matches Myles’ and it continues for a few more moments, before we part our separate ways, and soon I get to meet the entire firm. It was overwhelming, which seemed to be the word of the day for me. I had recognized only a few of them from when I had worked here before, but a few more of them I’d never met, even though they’ve worked here for years. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to memorize the names of the dozen or so lawyers that make up the legal team at the firm, but with Harry by my side, I could breathe a little easier.

“How d’ya think yer first day went, Becks?” Harry hums, playing with his bottom lip from his perch across from me.

“Good, I think I’ll feel better now that it’s done. There’s so much pressure on having a good first day,” I answer, exhaling when I place my last card down. “Twenty seven for six.”

“Ya did bloody great per usual, and a go ‘s seven, which makes you tha winna,” Harry tsks, shaking his head while he tosses the rest of the cards down in a huff. “Looks like ya got some luck from yer first day right there. I thought I had ya at tha beginnin’, but I reckon yer gettin’ good at this game. Beginner’s luck right there, beatin’ me in our first game in years.”

“Thank you, boss,” I reply, trying to forget the connotations of that word from that confusing dream I had. When I lift my eyes to his, stretching out my hand of cards, his grin grows a fraction as his hand surrounds mine. “Good game.”

“Good game, love. Ya should head out now, ‘s already five-thirty, unless ya’d like t’ grab a few celebratory drinks with me. Again.”

“I’d love to. Did you drive the bike to work this morning?” I inquire, letting the expectant happiness loose on my face as I watch it unravel on his.

“Perhaps, and I may have packed an extra coat in case sumbody gets cold again.”

Once again, words escape me as we pack up the cribbage game while laughing, setting the board and cards on the bookshelf above us on the sofa. A few words suffice an escape to my office where I pack up, realizing I never touched my laptop, glancing over to the brand new rose gold Macbook Pro he surprised me with. I swear he can pull a tear from me like no other person can, in a good and bad way, and it didn’t help when he explained he chose it over a cheaper iMac. The tears came harder when he ended it by telling me that it’s because I’ll be spending so much time with him in his office, and it’s easier to tote around.

“Ready t’ go, bug? I found this new shot called a B-52 that I want us t’ try, sounds like sumthin’ we’d like coz it’s a creamy coffee type o’ one,” Harry says, catching me off guard from his stance leaning against my doorway. Once again, I swear he knows the things he does to me, especially in that wine colored suit hugging his trim body. My favorite color, and he knows it too. I murmur a short response as I slide on my coat, placing my back to him as I drape my purse over my shoulder. “Figured we could grab dinna befo’ if ya wanted, me tummy’s makin’ all these weird noises tellin’ me ‘s hungry.”

“That sounds great,” I hum happily, peering down to fasten the buttons on my coat. I wonder where that melancholy went from all of the times I dreaded the end of our visits, unsure of when I’d see him next. A thought finds its way up my warming cheeks when I realize that it’s here at last, the end of that and the beginning of getting to see his smiling face every single morning. Again. It grows bigger when another thought rushes on by.

It’s one more day of keeping my promise, and the end of it is in sight. It’s just another day, and one just like it will be here tomorrow and all of the tomorrows after that.

[myukulelegentlyweeps]

Nowhere Man - Part IV

Pairing : George Harrison x female reader

Summary : George was sick of the Let It Be sessions, took the day off and met (Y/n), waitress and amateur musician, who happened to be performing the song Nowhere Man at the exact time when he felt like one. 

Previous chapters : Part I, Part I bis, Part II, Part III

In this chapter : Geo cuddles his girlfriend (a.k.a you)

Tag list : @givemequeen

Word count : 1.3k

A/n : The long awaited Part 4! So basically this is pure fluff and I really enjoyed writing (Y/n)/George dialogue, but you could consider it a “filler-transition” chapter...I strongly advise you read it anyway :)

Warnings : Descriptions of a healthy, happy relationship in its honeymoon phase

February 1969. You and George had been dating for two months now, and it was heaven.  Every conversation was full of meaning, every touch filled with intention, and every kiss made you feel like you were the most important person in the world in his eyes. You would not have imagined it beforehand, considering his laid back public persona, but the man was clingy : especially now that the Let it Be sessions had ended, he called you at the most random times asking to see you - he even rang you at work occasionally, which your boss found less amusing than you did.

You told each other everything, to the point where you seemed like the oldest of friends to the outside eye. Come to think of it, this relationship was different to your previous ones, since you actually felt completely at ease with George. There was no need to impress the other person and keep them interested in you, as you both loved and admired each other as equals. Silence was as comfortable as conversation : if either of you was too tired or not in the mood to talk, you would find the nearest couch and simply exist in each other’s arms, listening to each other breathe.

So you found yourself here. It was Saturday afternoon. You and George were spooning on the couch of his living room; he had picked you up the previous day at the end of your shift and you had driven to Kinfauns to spend the week-end together. His arms were wrapped around your waist and his hands rested on the naked skin underneath your white button-up shirt. His fingers were slightly cold, but he made up for it in body heat : with your back pressed against his chest, you had your eyes closed and a small smile painted on your face. You could have stayed there all day.

“If you could be anything in the world instead of a human, what would you be?”, he asked you out of the blue. It was not completely unexpected : you two had a sort of running competition for who could come up with the most ridiculous open-ended question - this might have been the best one yet. You shifted your position to face him. “It’s a good question, I’ll give you that”, you admitted. He flashed you a toothy ‘I know, right?’ grin, but you were not finished: “But how would it work? Like, do you mean if I could turn into that something right now, and know that I’ve been a human beforehand? Would I still have my (y/n) conscience while I live in this new body? And would I be able to transform back into a human again at some point?” “Always the smart one aren’t you, with your follow-up questions”, he teased, a slight smirk appearing on the corner of his mouth. You chuckled in disbelief : “But that’s the entire point, isn’t it?” “Dunno, it seemed like a pretty straightforward question to me before you started takin’ it apart.”, he shrugged, making you sigh in defeat. “Right. You answer it, then”, you stuck out your tongue and went back to your original  little spoon position.

You expected him to have an answer prepared, instead you were met with only silence as he buried his nose in the back of your neck, making you squirm. “That - tickles -”, you complained breathlessly, but he only tightened his grip around you. Slowly, the initial tickles morphed into a warm tingling sensation moving down your spine, and you settled into the hug in pleasant defeat. “Your hair smells great. I wish they made nice shampoo like that for men.” You shook your head at the remark : “Is that what you would be, then? A bottle of orange blossom shampoo?” Considering your suggestion, he cocked an eyebrow. “Well, no, because bottles run out. It’d be a very short and uneventful life, seeing only someone’s bathroom…Although I wouldn’t mind it if it were yours”, you could almost hear him wink at you. “George, you see me naked all the time. No need to find strategies get into my bathroom, we’re not in middle school.”

After a few minutes of more cuddling, he broke the silence again. “It’d be nice to be a tree.” “Hm?” “Think about it. I’d live a quiet life, constantly surrounded by nature, watchin’ it change with the seasons…Have all sorts of birds make their nests on my branches…” You nodded slowly, trying to picture his words in your mind. Life as a tree. It did sound pleasant. Growing slowly ; never fazed by the elements, being able to enjoy the rain and wind. Grounded by your roots, though still able to touch the sky with your crown…“But you like travelling,” you pointed out. “Could you really enjoy staying put in one same spot for hundreds of years?”

“There’s other ways to travel. That’s what meditation’s all about. Without going out of your door, you can know all things on earth,” he explained, brushing a stray hair strand out of your face. You  instantly recognised a line from The Inner Light, the song on the B side of Lady Madonna. “Quoting your own songs, are you now?”, you mocked jokingly, making him chuckle. “Didn’t know you knew that one.” “I was a Beatles fan before I was your girl, remember?” “Oh yeah?”, he smiled, acting all fake-surprised despite it being very old news. “Who was your favourite?”

You did not reply right away. Not that you didn’t know the answer, which was George, through and through : something about his voice had always pulled you to him, and there was a magnetism to being “the quiet one”. Even before you had met him, Mary (the bigger Beatlemaniac out of the two of you) used to tell you you were a “George kind of girl” all the time, referring either to your moderate shyness, your spirituality or your constant snacking. But you did not want to give him that much satisfaction quite yet.

“Paul.”, you finally decided, managing to keep a perfectly straight face through the lie. “Really?”, his smile only widened. You could tell he didn’t completely believe you, but at least you had installed a tinge of doubt. “Funny, I’d pegged ye more as the John type.”, he teased. “John? Never. I do love his songs, but he seems like the most likely to grab a girl’s arse without her consent.” “Well, you’re not wrong…Ringo?” “He’s the sweetest. Love him to bits.” “And rightfully so.”, he agreed.  

George went silent, as he often did when the mention of something or someone became a train of thought. Ringo had been the easiest to work with at the studio during the recording of Let it Be - being his good old laid back self, occasionally trying to diffuse the tension, not getting on anyone’s nerves. Had someone asked George about his favourite Beatle at that time, he would have definitely gone with Ringo. Of course it did not mean he disliked John or Paul, as he tried to separate his friendship with them from the recent developments of the band dynamic… They had known each other for ten years, it would not just crumble to the ground the moment someone was being petty. John was still his mate, Paul was still his mate. “But you said Paul was your favourite. What’s it you like so much about ‘im, then?”, he asked as he shook his head back to reality.

“That it would push your buttons the most. Of course you’re my favourite, dummy.”, you brought your lips onto his, pulling him into a sweet kiss.

“I figured. Since you’re dating me and all that.”, he gave you a toothy grin once you had pulled away. “So you don’t like Paul then?” “Never said that. He seems nice enough, and his songs are beautiful. But he’s too attractive, I don’t trust him.” He couldn’t help but laugh at your straightforwardness.

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t hate him, because I was thinking, it’s about time I introduce you to me mates.”

[mithranqueersmusings]

Before This Dance Is Through I

Chapter: 1/16

Rating: T

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

It had been over a year since Ringo had sex, but the only thing worse than that was telling his best friend John drunkenly one night. John never seemed to have any trouble finding someone to sleep with, it was like second nature to him, but still neither of them seemed to be making any progress in the relationship department. Ringo had never been a massive fan of one night stands, but at this point he'd take anything he could get; John on the other hand seemed to prefer them, the amount of notifications he got on his phone from Grindr or Tinder, or whatever new app he was trying out, was astounding. In general John was more open - and obvious - about his sexuality, sporting a pin that read 'sword swallower' almost every time they went out. Ringo wasn't ashamed to be gay, that was far from the truth, but he just never seemed to align with the more flamboyant expression that a lot of gay men tended to follow. Despite all this, it didn't stop him from allowing John to drag him out to Pride every year covered in glitter and cheap boas, or to a gay club every other weekend, or in tonight's strange case: a strip club.

The two of them tried to meet up at least once a week to have a catch-up and tonight was one of those nights, it had started with dinner at Ringo's place but ended up - as it often did - at the pub. John was very open about his sex life, Ringo didn't particularly mind but recently it had been bothering him since he had no stories of his own to share. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly why it had been so long, it seemed like in the blink of an eye a few months had turned into over a year. He was just always so busy with work and when he wasn't working he was either sleeping or with John, there was just no room for another person; although his bed did feel incredibly empty. Ringo knew that all it would take would be to follow John's confident lead, to get dressed up - or down - and to seek somebody out in the club, or even try one of his "dating" apps, but as he got older Ringo just didn't feel incredibly comfortable doing that. He had begged John to not drag them out to a club that night, which he begrudgingly agreed to, but it then lead to the dreaded question.

"Well how long has it been since..." John finished the sentence with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Since what?" Ringo chuckled nervously behind his drink.

"Since you had a good shag." John widened his eyes dramatically, stretching his neck forward.

"Erm... Not that long." Ringo mumbled then desperately took a sip of his beer.

"Jesus, that long?" John tutted and leaned back in his chair "Why didn't you tell me? I could've set you up with someone."

"No offence but I'm not massively interested in your 'friends'." Ringo bent his first two fingers to make air quotes.

"There you go again talking about 'interested in', it's just sex Ringo!" John raised his voice a little, a telltale sign he was getting drunk.

"Keep your voice down, Jesus." Ringo hissed "I'm just sick of all the meaningless sex, alright?"

"You say meaningless like it's a bad word." John chuckled then sighed when he saw Ringo's disapproving look "Fine, fine. But that doesn't mean we still can't have some fun tonight."

"No, John. I am not in the mood for a club tonight." Ringo said plainly.

"I didn't say anything about a club." John grinned in his signature way, a way that made Ringo panic.

"What then?" Ringo asked cautiously.

"Well..." John began, drawing out the word "There's a little place I've been frequenting that might interest you."

"Out with it, Lennon." Ringo rolled his eyes with a small laugh.

"Just hear me out, okay? Because as soon as I say the word you're instantly gonna say no." John had put his drink down now, meaning he was being 'serious'.

"What word?" Ringo huffed.

"Strip club." John spoke quickly "That's two words but you get my point."

"No." Ringo said simply.

"Come on! Why not?" John whined, reaching his hand forward to pull at Ringo's sleeve.

"Because I don't want to. The last thing I need is some lad giving me a lap dance and I cum like that." Ringo clicked his fingers to emphasise his point which made John laugh.

"You're so modest." John giggled "It'll be fun, I swear. If you don't want any meaningless sex or whatever, you may as well go the next extreme."

"That makes no sense." Ringo was trying not to smile but it was difficult with John.

"Look, you're probably gonna go home tonight and wank to some boring, twinky porno, right? How's it any different to go and watch some beautiful, twinky dancers in real life? I'll tell you how it's different, it's better." John had begun pointing his finger with almost every word.

Ringo sat in silence for a moment then burst into laughter "I hate that you know me so well."

"I'm your best friend, it's my job. It's also my job to get you out of this rut you've gotten yourself into, and if you won't let me set you up with anyone and I'm guessing you won't let me get you a prostitute..." John paused and looked at Ringo with hopeful eyes.

"No." Ringo scoffed.

"Then you have to at least let me take you to this strip club. It's not that seedy, I promise. There's some gorgeous guys there, and I mean gorgeous. You don't even need to get a lap dance or anything if you don't want to, we can just sit at the back and drink, just like we're doing now." John retained his hopeful gaze.

Ringo paused once again, screwing up his face slightly in thought then let out a heavy breath "Fine."

"Really?" John almost gasped.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm just about drunk enough to go along with this." Ringo laughed "Let's just go now before I change my mind."

The two of them downed what was left in their drinks and headed out into the night. Ringo pulled his coat close to his body as they walked down the street, John leading the way excitedly; Ringo couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him so happy. It was cold enough to justify getting an Uber, but Ringo didn't think he'd enjoy the knowing look on the driver's face when he dropped them off at a strip club. The walk to the gay quarter of the city was a familiar one, it was almost exclusively where John spent his time therefore where Ringo would find himself at the end of most of their nights together. Ringo was aware of a few more 'adult' establishments in this part of town but sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between what was a sex shop and what was merely a gay bar with a raunchy name. It didn't take too long before they'd arrived outside a fairly large building painted all black with neon trimmings around the doors and windows and a few people outside smoking; they passed John a knowing nod which Ringo was hardly surprised by.

"The Helter Skelter?" Ringo asked as he read the sign, turning to John.

John shrugged his shoulders "It's phallic, I suppose."

The inside looked considerably less questionable than the exterior, but it was also incredibly dark. As they entered one of the bouncers greeted John warmly, and Ringo was certain he'd seen him in the morning at John's at least once or twice. The music was loud to say the least, it probably wasn't any louder than it was at the club but the whole atmosphere made everything seem more claustrophobic. There were two bars that Ringo could see, one near the entrance and one towards the back which gave a better view of the main stage. The scantily dressed men hadn't caught Ringo's eye immediately, though he was consciously trying not to stare, but once he noticed them it was hard to ignore; almost all of the men walking around were shirtless, some of them in nothing but a jockstrap and a bow-tie or a hat - Ringo wasn't sure whether that was meant to be sexy or comical. He suddenly felt very aware of his presence and couldn't feel like he could walk much further than the door, but John was already sauntering in like he owned the place, which he probably wished he did. John turned around when he noticed Ringo wasn't beside him, gave him a frustrated look and hurried back over to his side.

"What's wrong? Cock got your tongue?" John winked but it didn't help Ringo relax in the slightest.

"I should probably go home." Ringo murmured, he didn't feel like he had full control over his mouth.

"Don't be a git, we're here now. Let's just get a drink and observe, okay?" John didn't wait for a response, instead he practically dragged Ringo over to the bar.

The bartender offered John his usual and Ringo ordered the same, not knowing exactly what he was ordering but his brain didn't feel able to process the question.

"How often do you come here?" Ringo asked when the bartender turned around to make their drinks.

"Not as often as I'd like." John was already perusing the crowd.

"But why?" Ringo turned his back to the club, feeling unable to look at the spectacle on the main stage.

"I dunno, I just like it. Mixes it up a little. It's an art, you know? But its like... sexy art." John rambled and Ringo couldn't help little out a low chuckle.

"Sexy art? Sometimes I wonder why I'm still friends with you." Ringo mumbled.

The bartender returned with their drinks and the two of them muttered a thanks, Ringo began drinking it desperately to calm his nerves. Out of the corner of his eye he could see John mouthing words to someone across the room, as much as he told himself he didn't want to know what was happening he couldn't help turning in his seat to get a better look. On the other side of the club was a man meeting John's gaze and mouthing back at him, he was holding a tray of drinks and serving a group of men without breaking eye contact. Once the tray was cleared the man gave a smile to the customers then began walking over to the two of them. He was one of the few men actually wearing a shirt but his bottom half was almost entirely exposed, wearing tight, black shorts and boots with a sleeveless, white shirt with a black bow-tie to match, it was supposed to be some kind of a 'sexy waiter' costume Ringo guessed. He had a very pretty face, Ringo had to admit, with dark hair and large, doe eyes and a fairly slim body; yet the petite appearance he had was counteracted by his body hair, of which there was quite a lot, with his arms and legs covered. Ringo wasn't trying to stare but it was difficult when someone looked so inviting, but the man hadn't given a single glance to Ringo as he walked over, rather his eyes were fixed on John's entirely.

"Fancy seeing you here." The man spoke, he had quite a soothing voice.

"Haven't scared me off just yet." John grinned but then turned to look at Ringo "Where are my manners? This is my mate, Ringo. It's his first time in a strip club, can you believe it?"

"Virgin, eh?" The man laughed "Well we'll have to make sure you have a good time tonight, won't we?"

Ringo felt his face getting a little hot with the man looking directly at him, he let out a nervous laugh "I'll probably just stick to drinking."

"Come off it, we're gonna get you a lovely lad." John nudged him playfully then turned back to the man "Who's working tonight?"

"Same old. Except, we do have a newbie that started two weeks ago." The man smiled somewhat devilishly "He moved over from the joint that shut down, what was it called..."

"Honey Pie?" John replied a little too quick.

"That's the one. Awful name." The man chuckled.

"I can agree with that." Ringo spoke after taking a final sip from his drink, signalling to the bartender to get another.

"Well he's up on stage next I think, in a few minutes or so." He gestured to the stage where a man was currently on all fours twerking to a Britney Spears song "Could give you some time alone, Ringo, while I take care of your friend here."

Ringo gulped and looked over to John who had his eyebrows raised suggestively "No harm in looking, I suppose."

"That's the spirit, Rings." John smirked "We'll just finish up our drinks, when the new guy's up I'll come and grab you, yeah?"

"Sure thing, love." The man winked then headed back off into the club.

Ringo had already almost finished his second drink, gripping tightly onto the glass as though it would crush his nerves somehow. John slapped him on the back warmly, ordered a second drink for himself and leaned on the bar so that he could get a view of both Ringo and the rest of the room.

"You two seem to get along." Ringo had tried to sound jokey but the tension in his body was immense.

"Oh yeah, me and Paulie go way back." John chuckled.

"Paulie?" Ringo asked.

"Well his name's Paul but you know me, I love my pet names." John finished the last drop of his first drink.

"Not much of a stripper name is it? Paul." Ringo chuckled quietly.

"Well he's a stripper and his name is Paul." John was looking at Ringo a little worriedly "What should he be called?"

"I guess you're right. I just figured it was like porn stars or something." Ringo let out a heavy breath and tried to straighten his back, he'd been huddling over the bar as though it would protect him somehow.

"Well you better not make that mistake again. That'll get you kicked out before you can say 'latex jockstrap'." John picked up his second drink now.

"Why do I feel like you're doing this to punish me?" Ringo groaned.

"Loosen up, Ringo. Let's get another drink in you and we'll see how you feel, yeah? I'll stay with you if you want but I figured you might be a little more comfortable without me hovering around." John motioned to the bartender for another round "All you have to do is sit back and watch the bloke dance, is that so hard?"

"It might be hard, that's the problem." Ringo laughed, he felt himself loosening up a little.

"I wouldn't worry about that, they probably take it as a compliment. Hell if I was grinding on a bloke's lap and he didn't even get a semi I think I'd slap him one." John patted Ringo on the back again, a lot harder than he probably intended.

John continued trying to get Ringo to relax for the next several minutes and it seemed to work, although Ringo felt the alcohol was the main factor, and it wasn't too long before the stage was emptied and a voice came over the club announcing the next dancer: Spike.

"Spike?" Ringo asked with a giggle.

"Oh so Paul isn't stripper enough but Spike is too stripper? Make your mind up." John got up from his seat and motioned Ringo to do the same.

They headed over to the seats that surrounded the stage, Ringo wanted to sit at the back but John shoved him forward to the front. Before he vanished off in search of Paul, he reached into his pocket and fished out a couple crumpled notes which he then thrust into Ringo's hand. Ringo stood there dumbfounded for a moment before music began playing and he quickly sat down in a chair, he regretted how close he was to the stage immediately but he figured it might look a little insulting if he moved now. He tried looking around for John but he was nowhere to be seen, neither was Paul for that matter.

Ringo recognised the song quickly, it was 'Fame' by David Bowie and it was some consolation that the music was at least familiar but then he began to worry whether he'd be able to listen to it again without this memory coming back to his mind. He didn't have very long to worry because someone was walking out onto the stage, and Ringo swore for a moment his heart stopped. Spike, although Ringo seriously doubted that was his real name, was absolutely gorgeous. He came out in a mesh vest and purple baggy trousers, his dark hair was slightly coiffed - an attempt to give him a Bowie look - and his face was insanely chiselled. Ringo's mouth dried up almost immediately and he cursed himself for not bringing a drink with him, a part of him wanted to get up from his seat and rush out of the club but an even larger part was desperate to stay, to watch.

Spike made his way slowly down the stage, swaying his supple hips as he walked, a serious and sultry look in his eyes. There was a fixed pole in the middle of the stage which he gradually moved over to, standing in front of it then lowering himself down to the ground with his legs spread wide with one hand ghosting over the pole and the other running down the inside of his thigh. Some of the other men in the club had already begun whooping, yet Ringo didn't feel like he could make a noise if he tried. Spike then began thrusting his hips slowly into the air, rolling them in a circle with his mouth slightly hanging open. He lowered himself onto the stage floor so that he was balancing on his knees, he straightened his back and ran the hand that had previously been gripping the pole to run over his chest. His slender fingers began toying with the fabric at the bottom of the vest, his other hand mirroring the first, and he raised his eyebrows just slightly in the direction of a group of men who called out incoherently to answer the unasked question. Then the vest was peeled off his body agonisingly slow revealing a toned chest beneath it, and Ringo suddenly realised he'd been clenching his fists tight enough that his nails had begun to leave marks.

Ringo swore he was feeling light headed, his vision felt a little fuzzy and his heart was racing. Spike had continued moving his hips to the beat of the song, one hand roaming over his now bare chest. Much to Ringo's dismay he began walking off the stage into the crowd, first heading over to the group of men Paul had been serving earlier to collect the notes they were eagerly waving in the air. There weren't too many people in the club, it was a Wednesday night after all, which meant Ringo wasn't as hidden as he'd like to be. When he saw Spike turning his gaze to look at him, a bank note currently between his teeth, he felt his heart drop. Both of his fists were clenched in his lap and his heartbeat sounded almost as loud as the music, but worst of all he was hard. Shit. If it would've looked rude to have moved seats earlier, it would have been like a spit in the face if he got up and walked away now.

Ringo wasn't sure if Spike could see the intense panic he was currently experiencing, perhaps that was the very reason he was coming over. He continued to sway his hips as he walked, his brooding eyes fixed unshakably onto Ringo's, a small smirk on his thin lips. Spike looked Ringo up and down, his tongue darting over what looked like rather sharp teeth, before he turned his back on him and began lowering himself down onto his lap. No contact was made, instead he hovered painfully close over Ringo's growing erection, grinding his hips with his hands sliding over the silky material of his trousers. It was torture, but just about bearable. Ringo was gripping the arms of the chair ridiculously tightly, he wondered if he'd be able to break them through the power of his panic alone. He focused on controlling his breathing, but it was increasingly difficult when Spike looked over his bare shoulder and licked his top lip sinfully. You can do this, Ringo kept telling himself, and he almost believed it until things got much, much worse. There was a ripping sound and Ringo felt all the air leaving his body, he couldn't even prevent the rather pathetic moan that left his lips; Spike had torn off his trousers in one fluid motion, throwing the discarded fabric onto the stage, revealing nothing but a jockstrap underneath.

The group of men began cheering again, one of them urging Spike to come back over but he didn't pay them much attention. Instead he turned back around to face Ringo which only made things more difficult - hard would've been a better word to use - with Spike's bulge almost eye-level with Ringo and his sharp face looking down at him. Ringo looked up to meet his dark eyes and felt like he could've orgasmed then and there from a single touch but before he could get too used to the sight, Spike was returning to the stage. Ringo had no idea how a single song had managed to last this long, but apparently it had, and he was almost certain he couldn't survive another minute of it. When Spike had begun wrapping himself around the pole, Ringo forced himself to get up from the seat and find the nearest bathroom to cool off. While a part of him was still worried about appearing disrespectful, he wasn't quite prepared to be reduced to a pile of sweat and moans in front of all those people.

In the bathroom, which was thankfully empty, he splashed his face with cold water and stared at his face hard in the mirror to gain some sense of normality. Part of him wished he'd be able to hide in there until the club closed but unfortunately that wasn't a valid option. He took a few deep breaths and headed out of the bathroom, making a beeline to the bar near the entrance and ordering a drink immediately. Spike was still on stage dancing to another Bowie number, but Ringo forced himself not to look. Two drinks later and Ringo felt an all-too-familiar slap on his back as John reappeared into his sight.

"What you doing sulking over here?" John asked, he had a very satisfied grin on his face "You're missing the show!"

"Fuck you." Ringo chuckled, the glass in his hand was almost empty.

"What? Why?" John scoffed.

"Look at him, he almost killed me!" Ringo gestured drunkenly over to the stage.

"Jesus, I'll be honest I didn't expect him to look like that." John snickered "You can't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

"A little too much, if I'm honest." Ringo sighed "But right now I'd love to go home and have a very, very cold shower."

"You sure I can't tempt you to a private dance?" John nudged him.

"No." Ringo said firmly, but his speech was a little slurred "Home, now."

"Fine, suit yourself." John groaned "Did you at least give him some money?"

Ringo paused for a moment then reached into his pocket, pulling out the same notes John had given him "Oh, suppose I forgot. My mind was a little preoccupied."

"Who raised you?" John scoffed, snatching the money back "The money's not for you."

"You do owe m-" Ringo began but John cut him off.

"Don't start with that." John was looking out across the room again and motioned for Paul to come over.

"You want another one already?" Paul purred after hurrying over and looking down at the money.

"Not tonight, love." John winked "Can you pass this on to the new fella, Ringo was too busy trying not to cream his pants that he forgot to tip him."

Paul looked over at Ringo with a smug smile "Enjoyed the show then?"

"Depends on your definition of 'enjoyed'." Ringo mumbled into his drink.

"I'll make sure it gets to him." Paul swore as he took the notes from John and tucked them into the waistband of his shorts, Ringo debated how hygienic that was, then disappeared into the club once again.

There was a silence between the two of them for a while before John began to laugh for no real reason, and Ringo couldn't prevent the contagious nature of it, so the two of them sat laughing at the bar for a few minutes. When the silence fell again, Ringo was the first to speak.

"Now can we go home, please?" Ringo urged, discarding his empty glass on the bar.

"Fine, fine. Thanks for coming with me tonight, and more importantly: you're welcome." John got up from his seat and Ringo sluggishly followed him.

"For what?" Ringo asked.

"For giving you something new to wank about." John giggled.

[autistic-paul]

When It's Over

Summary:

Everyone in Hatchetfield has their own way of coping with everything that happened, and Paul understands that. Everyone is okay, really. Paul and Emma are doing just fine.

Tags: Paulkins, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Post-Canon, Post-Apotheosis, Post-cure, Slime

Read it on AO3, or under the cut! 1967 words.

Hatchetfield wasn’t exactly known for being a strong, tight-knit community. If someone was struggling, it was their problem. Everyone has their own issues, why exert effort into helping others? Paul thought maybe it’d be different when everyone had the same issue. The same trauma. He had hope for his hometown. Emma scoffed when he told her that he’d expected something to come of it. She knew better. It was Hatchetfield, the same one she’d always known.

A single support group had sprung up. Some kind-hearted soul trying to bring people together after everything that had happened. Paul and Emma passed the fliers from time to time a couple of weeks before the first meeting. They seemed to disappear. Paul was sure there’d been one on the window of Beanie’s, Emma said she couldn’t recall. What did it matter? There wasn’t one now. Paul couldn’t remember what the date was supposed to be. Not like he’d go, anyway. Silly, to expect more of Hatchetfield when he was no better than anyone else. Paul was a Hatchetfield resident, born and bred. If anyone went to the group, he didn’t hear about it.

It was fine, he thought. A tearful sharing of experiences, of grief, wasn’t Hatchetfield’s style! They had their ways. Nods on the sidewalk between people who should have been strangers, but now shared a memory, a tune they could never quite get out of their heads. The steps to a dance they would never perform again. The collective agreement that they could do without music for the time being. The Hatchetfield news was safe. It took some getting used to, hearing the morning news followed by silence and dissonant static. That static seemed to follow everyone. The absence of music, the refusal to talk about it.

Beanie’s got rid of the bell on the door. Of course, now whenever people came in for their coffee the employees jumped. Everyone was jumpy, these days. Any unexpected noise was startling, and it was common to apologize for it. Paul was almost used to those rapid turns, the frantic eyes scanning for danger before settling as they saw it was just him. He could almost tune it out.

The streets were silent. Hurried footsteps as everyone followed their routines echoed against the buildings, too casual discussions merely whispers carried on the wind. Paul understood. He understood the need to keep things quiet. The voices in his head were loud enough as it was. Words to songs he shouldn’t know. A constant beat tapping against the inside of his skull, reverberating down his spine. Colonel Schaffer said that was fine. It’d go away, someday, it was just memory. His body and mind had been through hell, it was just trying to recover. He wasn’t alone, she said.

But wasn’t he? Emma didn’t want to talk about it. He’d tried to, leaning against the wall as she absentmindedly searched through the fridge. Paul didn’t know why, they’d just eaten. She seemed to be looking for something. Something to do, maybe. Paul had spent ages running through the speech in his mind, mumbling them in the shower, making sure he could get a true discussion going without breaking down. It was all for nothing. The words ran together, gelling and sticking in his throat as he watched Emma pull out a jar, reading the label and absorbing none of it, her fingers shaking slightly. Paul took a deep breath. I want to talk about what happened, he’d say. I want to talk about what I did to you. I want to talk about the things we saw. The silence around us and the cacophony in our heads. I hurt you. How can you stand to look at me? I want to talk, and I want things to get better. He had so much to say. He just had to say it. He could feel every unspoken word on the tip of his tongue. Burning, aching in his throat. He just had to let them out.

“Emma, I’m sorry.”

Emma froze, and Paul’s blood turned to ice. He hadn’t meant to speak exactly those words, that phrase. It was just that damn song, the one that followed him wherever he went. He opened his mouth to correct himself, say what he meant to. Emma placed the jar on the counter, glass hitting so hard that Paul flinched. Her eyes were hollow, as she looked at him, a cold, blank stare that reminded him of radio static, of the swish of doors opening unannounced.

Paul didn’t bring it up again. Emma certainly didn’t. They talked about safe topics. About work. About their pasts. They didn’t talk about it when Paul was startled awake at three in the morning by Emma’s sobbing, he just held her closer, pressing his eyes closed so tightly that it hurt. They didn’t talk about it when Emma shook him awake, Paul waking with a gasp, his lips dry as if he’d been talking for ages, the next lyric resting in his mouth. He just swallowed it down and squeezed her hand. They didn't talk about it.

This was recovery, perhaps. Hatchetfield wasn’t going to come together anytime soon, but the solemn nods were a group effort. The lack of acknowledgment was a sort of recognition in itself. Everyone was dealing with the same thing, Paul was sure. They’d be fine. They’d all move on. The tension in the air would dissipate.

It only seemed to get thicker day after day, but Paul was convinced it had to peak at some point. He didn’t know what that meant, what would happen if it did, but anything had to be better than this. Day after day, pointedly ignoring the noises in their heads. Night after night, waking to moonlight pouring through the window and illuminating their pale, sweat-soaked faces. Paul got up, careful not to jostle Emma on the other side of the bed, though he knew she was awake. Always so careful not to jostle her. He’d come back to her soon, but his thoughts were a scrambled mess, tangled and knotted, and the longer he lay there, the louder they grew. The bathroom light hurt his eyes, leaving spots for him to squint away. Some cold water would help. Shock him awake, give his unfocused mind some clarity.

Paul stiffened, looking down into the sink. The white porcelain was marred by a faint blue splatter. It was small, nothing more than a droplet. Paul shuddered. It was two in the morning, he was still half asleep. Paul turned on the faucet once more, watching it dilute into nothing, swirling down the drain. He closed his eyes and breathed, a deep inhale that did nothing to calm his nerves. There was nothing there. Opening his eyes again was a struggle, they wanted to stay closed.  

The drop was still there. The same spot, he was convinced it was the same size. It was supposed to be gone. Another drop took its place beside the first. Another. They spread like a cancer, one drop after another, dropping from his face, sliding over his lips, his chin, and Paul couldn’t breathe, couldn’t bear to look up and see what he dreaded. What would he see if he looked in the mirror? Cold, unrecognizable eyes, blue crusted in the corner of his mouth. Pale, lifeless skin. Blue stained teeth and lips stretched into a forced grin. An image that shouldn't be familiar, but would be, if he dared to look up and greet it. He wouldn't. He couldn't make himself look.

Paul’s arm shot out to the tissues, grabbing at them frantically, more than he could possibly need and shoving them to his face. It was fine. It was just a nosebleed. He was asleep. He was hallucinating. Anything but this. His heart thundered in his ears, a beat so loud he was sure Emma would hear it.

Emma.

He had to make it stop. There was nothing wrong. He wouldn't allow anything to be wrong.

In his panic, Paul's gaze flicked up towards his reflection, and he cried out into the mass of tissues at his nose. His eyes were flooding with blue fluid, pooling at the corners, slowly trailing down his cheeks. Faster and faster, a steady stream to drip into the sink and soak into the wad of tissues. It wasn’t enough, he couldn’t stop it, he was helpless and alone and he couldn’t see through the blue clouding his vision as he stumbled back, letting the thoroughly soaked tissues fall to the ground. His back hit the wall hard, he’d underestimated how small the room was. Paul slid down to the floor, and he was sure if he looked, he’d see a trail. A handprint, a splatter on the floor. He was contaminated, everything he touched would leave evidence of what he'd become. What he'd always been.

He couldn’t hide his sobs anymore, and he knew it was seeping out of him faster the more he cried. Shudders wracked his body, as he repeatedly wiped the slime off of his face with his bare hands, feeling it slip between his trembling fingers. What was the point in trying to soak it up? It would never stop. Paul choked as it filled up his throat, gasping for breath. His lungs were on fire, sucking in air that didn’t exist, pulling in more and more of the poisonous unearthly fluid. It soaked through his clothes, flowing freely over his lips, out of his ears. The lights were still blinding, and Paul pulled himself into a ball in the corner, pressing his face into his knees so hard it hurt, still trying to breathe, to block out the world around him.

He didn’t know how long he was there, it felt like an eternity, but the second he felt a hand rest on his cheek he gasped, jerking back, knocking his head on the wall. Emma dropped her hand, and Paul was grateful, though he missed the warmth the second her comforting fingers left his skin. She shouldn’t touch him, he didn’t want to see her untainted hands splattered with blue. She needed to run. She wasn’t safe. He opened his mouth to express that, tell her to flee from him, but choked on another sob. It was still so thick in his throat. Emma caught his eyes, and her lip quivered. Yes, Paul thought. She could see what had become of him, maybe she’d have time to go before he lost control entirely. Maybe this time he wouldn't hurt her.

Emma didn’t leave. She didn’t jerk away in terror. Emma simply leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his tightly bound form, pressed her forehead onto his shoulder. Paul’s panic dissipated, though he knew he should be terrified. Why wasn’t she running? Why was she simply holding him, pulling him closer and closer? She was speaking, and Paul realized she must have been for a while.

“We’re going to be okay, alright? We will be. We can get through this.” She sounded so sure of herself, her words strong, and Paul could feel his muscles relaxing, the stiffness seeping out of his body. His movements were nearly mechanical as he returned the affection, holding her nearly as tightly as she was holding him. She wasn't scared of him. Paul exhaled shakily. No, things weren’t okay. Not at all. They didn’t know how to begin setting things right again. But this could be a start. They could try. Paul held Emma close to him, taking in her warmth, her certainty. Not a drop fell from his lips as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. Nothing stained her skin. Paul closed his eyes, letting the perfectly clear, perfectly human tears run down his face.

[chaotic-bells]

🌟 dig a little deeper 🌟

My tag buddy Emma @herefortommo​ knows my addiction to tag games too well and tagged me for this fun one. It is indeed long, so read more after the thingy.

I’ll tag... @promisethatillnevertell and @cgg3913 - it’s totally fine if you don’t do it! this is a long, long one. 

1. do you prefer writing with a black pen or a blue pen?

blue pen

2. would you prefer to live in the country or in the city?

country

3. if you could learn a new skill, what would it be?

writing

4. do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar?

yes, how much will depend on the mood and what it is. 

5. what was your favorite book as a child?

I had two books of fables, like... massive books with over 100 fables each. I read *a lot* as a child, but these two were some of my favorites as a little kid. 

6. do you prefer baths or showers?

shower. really don’t like baths - i get suuuper bored and it feels cramped (probably because not only am I tall, but I am also fat)

7. if you could be a mythical creature, which one would you be?

vampire

8. paper or electronic books?

paper is nicer, but I don’t mind ebooks at all and it’s nice cause I have a huuuuge collection at all times.

9. what is your favorite item of clothing?

a sheer tiered black dress. dresses in general.

10. do you like your name? would you like to change it?

nah, it’s fine. when I was a kid I wanted to be called Luisa, which is what my dad wanted to name me and it was the name of my best friend. since I’ve started using nicknames more, i don’t mind so much.

11. who is a mentor to you?

don’t think I have one. @whatagreatproblemtohave was definitely unknowingly (or knowingly, possibly) my Tumblr mentor. but in life i was just the .... go and do it type.

12. would you like to be famous? if so, what for?

not particularly. a writer would be a cool kind of famous; mainly famous between fans, no one would recognize you all that much and you probably could still live a somewhat normal life.

13. are you a restless sleeper?

depends. i usually don’t remember dreaming, i fall asleep pretty much instantaneously when i want (people have said it’s almost freaky at how fast i fall asleep) and stay that way until my cats start headbutting me in the morning. But from time to time, usually when I’m stressed with something, i do remember my dreams and then it’s just tossing and turning the whole evening.

14. do you consider yourself to be a romantic person?

yes i am. but I also have a baggage where this was used against me, and it’s really hard for me to show that side anymore, so I usually come off as cold. 

15. which element best represents you?

earth

16. who do you want to be closer to?

some of the people i’ve met recently here. i think there are a lot of people here who share my world view and could be amazing real life friends. 

17. do you miss someone at the moment?

no one in particular. i miss the idea of someone though.

18. tell us about an early childhood memory.

when I was about 6, my friend and I were very bored and it was very warm. we stealthily stole a bunch of toilet paper rolls from our apartments, went down to the building’s playground, stuffed the paper in all the drains and turned on the hose. We flooded the playground really, really badly, but weren’t discovered until hours later when we went to our homes soaking wet from playing all day.  

19. what is the strangest thing you have eaten?

I don’t think it is strange - it is super tasty - but loads of people freak out? Chicken feet, neck and other weird bits of the chicken? My grandmother used to make them in a stew like way, and they get all melty and it’s delicious. Also ‘dobradinha’ which i don’t like at all, which is made out of  cow's flat white stomach lining. And cow’s tongue, which is probably the best part of the cow and people who have never eaten one cooked well really freak out? 

20. what are you most thankful for?

not sure how this is going to sound like, but... my own adaptability. i really can’t imagine where I would be right now if I wasn’t so good at handling life changes. I’m 31 and already had to start over with nothing to my name four times. 

21. do you like spicy food?

Not really. I mean, I do - but I like the spice level to be at a point where I can taste the dish. I don’t like when everything is so spicy you might as well just eat the pure pepper, which seems to be most dishes I see. Pepper can be super flavorful, but if all you’re feeling is the heat than that’s not enjoyable for me.

22. have you ever met someone famous?

yes, quite a few times. both my mom and my stepfather worked in TV and cinema (where they met) as a costume designer and sound engineer, and with that I met loads of people. 

23. do you keep a diary or journal?

tried many times, failed. I’m horrible with a routine.

24. do you prefer to use pen or pencil?

pen

25. what is your star sign?

capricorn

26. do you like your cereal crunchy or soggy?

crunchy

27. what would you want your legacy to be?

i don’t really care? i don’t feel like i need to leave my mark on the world.

28. do you like reading? What was the last book you read?

yes, a lot. i’ve been reading a LOT of fanfiction. Actual book was probably The Rosary Girls.

29. how do you show someone you love them?

spending time with them, sharing interests. it will very very rarely be a vocal thing.

30. do you like ice in your drinks?

depend on the drink. i prefer if the drink itself is cold.

31. what are you afraid of?

disappointing people. (and never seeing 1D back together). This is an unintentional RPDR reference, but that dialogue really spoke to my soul.

32. what is your favorite scent?

peppermint

33. do you address older people by their name or surname?

name. 

34. if money was not a factor, how would you live your life?

probably the same, except with less worry. instead of working on what I do now, I would spend my time volunteering for a cat shelter, or have my own. more time for my craft and sewing, would study something.

35. do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean?

neither, if I am honest, but definitely swimming pools if i’m forced to chose.

36. what would you do if you found $50 in the ground?

try to find the owner. if I couldn’t, i would keep it. wallets are one thing - i’ve found a few before and I always call their bank and give them my contact (not the police, that doesn’t do anything), but pure cash? can’t trace that. i’ve lost money before, and i just hope whoever found it used it well. 

37. have you ever seen a shooting star? did you make a wish?

yes and yes. 

38. what is one thing you would want to teach your children?

empathy

39. if you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it?

my next one is definitely going to be Louis’ smiley face. I actually dreamed about it this evening, it was a very anxious dream and apparently my subconscious really want me to get the smiley with a tiny little doodle anchor next to it? on my wrist? 

40. what can you hear now?

the fan of my computer screaming and my cats eating.

41. where do you feel the safest?

my bed

42. what is one thing you want to overcome/conquer?

is it too much to put my entire childhood here?

43. if you could travel back to any era, what would it be?

Woodstock. I would enjoy those days for about a week before going mad. I like my modern comforts.

44. what is your most used emoji?

🤣

45. describe yourself using one word.

impulsive

46. what do you regret the most?

nothing. i do the best i can at the situation I am in. yes, i would probably change stuff if i had the knowledge i have today, but that’s not regret. 

47. last movie you saw?

Mr. Right.

48. last tv show you watched?

Ru Paul Drag Race All Start season 5

49. invent a word and its meaning

out of 49 this is the only one I’ll skip. oversharing? no problem. creativity? erm... my brain just goes blank.

[silverfoxstole]

I'll just leave these here. Feel free to make up your own caption.