#Ronson Touch-Tip

[thatesqcrush]

Inaugural Sparks

David (A Murder at the End of the World) x reader.

AN: I know nothing about Raúl’s character so forgive me for any mischaracterizations. I just really wanted to write something for this character and couldn’t wait until the 14th.

Rating: NSFW for 🌶️🌶️

You stood poised in front of a rustic bar, your heart fluttering with the anticipation of your first date with David Alvarez. The autumn air is crisp, causing a soft blush to bloom on your cheeks. You are clad in a cozy, burnt-orange sweaterdress that complements the fall foliage. Your eyes, full of hope and curiosity, are as vibrant as the setting sun. Your fingers nervously played with the cuff of your sleeve, a silent testament to the excitement and uncertainty of the impending encounter. The scent of fallen leaves and the distant sound of laughter from the bar added to the atmosphere of anticipation.

In many ways this was a blind date. But it also wasn’t.

It was a date in the making through mutual friends, Andy Ronson, and his wife Lee, who showed you off to David on his phone and vice versa with him to you. It might have been just a picture, but the attraction was instantaneous.

And this date took weeks in the making thanks to conflicting work schedules. David was an Argentine venture capitalist who happened to be on the top ten Midas list for Forbes. While VCs only invested in 2–3 companies a year, the rest of his time was spent platonically courting entrepreneurs. Suffice it to say, he was loaded. But truthfully, you were well off as well and your work had kept you just as busy.

You and David had been texting and calling for weeks now. Some of the communications were purely innocent, while others were downright filthy. Finally, after so many nights of teasing and eluding, of shared pictures that showed little but promised much more, you were going to be meeting face to face. You had a feeling that this evening held the promise of something special.

You checked the time on your watch before re-applying your lipstick. Then drawing a deep breath in, you made your way into the dimly lit bar, poised, head raised in confidence. As you made your way in, you realized that David was already at the bar. He is sitting, facing the door with one leg hooked through the legs of the stool. He wore a crisp white button down, the top two buttons open, accentuating his tanned skin. There was a glint of a gold chain from the overhead lights. His hair - a distinguished mix of salt and pepper - was perfectly coiffed and accompanied with a neatly trimmed beard.

You could tell he was striving for casualness but there remained a tension in the way he sat, a restlessness you could sense in your gut - as if he preferred to pace and prowl the room while he waited. He exuded sophistication - but there was an air of rugged charm which added to his already distinguished features.

One broad palm cradled a tumbler full of brown liquor. He swirled the drink close to the rim, allowed it to settle and then raised it to his perfectly pink lips. You paused mid-stride, drinking him in. His eyes snapped up, meeting yours and the air cracked with a magnetic pull.

Unbeknownst to you, David had already spotted you outside, bathed in the early evening light, a vision in your sweater dress that clung to your curves in all the right places. He couldn’t believe his luck.

David’s intense gaze held for a moment before he lowered his, dragging along the curves of your dress. His lips twitched in a smile at the hint of skin between the hemline of your dress and the thigh highs that you wore.

You felt desire shoot down your belly, creating a warm pool between your thighs. The smoldering look in his green eyes caused your nipples to harden and pucker against the fabric, eager to show off for him, already seeking his touch. The tip of his tongue emerged to dance along his bottom lip. For a moment, you imagine what it must be like to sink your hands into his beard as you kiss him.

Pictures did not do him justice. He was without a doubt, the most fucking handsome man you had ever had the pleasure of looking at. You take in the width of his broad shoulders, down his chest. You finally continue your journey until you are standing face to face with him.

You get a whiff of spice from his aftershave. Your blood fizzes in response and your pussy is now throbbing in tandem with your heartbeat. More slickness gathers between your thighs and you know he would be pleased when he found out you weren’t wearing any underwear.

He shifted in his seat, causing you to smile. The two of you had not even touched, but you could already tell that he was growing hard, the bulge straining against the zipper of his pants. You ached to have him fill you, fucking you hard as your pussy milked him for all that he was worth.

Pleasantries are exchanged and as you sit next to him, you order a shot of tequila with a lime. David watched you with intense fascination as you slammed the shot back. You bit into the lime, sucking out every last drop of citrus, igniting an electric shock that sent shivers down David’s spine and right to his aching cock.

The night continued over a shared bottle of red wine as you each shared stories about work and life. David mentioned he was planning on attending an upcoming exclusive retreat at Andy’s high-tech hotel, located in the snowiest reaches of Iceland.

But as the evening deepened, so did the connection between the two of you. The chemistry was undeniable, and it only grew as the two of you shared more personal tales, vulnerabilities laid bare.

When the idea of dessert was floated to the two of you by the bartender, you took the opportunity to reach for David’s thigh.

“I am not hungry for dessert.” You felt as if you were almost vibrating with desire.

David’s fingers traced a path along your hand, causing your breath to hitch. “There is something about you that I can’t resist.”

You gave him a victorious smile. You changed to standing and planted yourself in between his legs. You leaned to his ear.

“Finish your drink and pay the man.” You finished with a nip to his ear causing David to groan.

The pupils of his eyes are dilated and you are pleased as punch watching him swallow the remainder of his drink before slamming the glass along the bartop. He reached for his wallet and dropped a few hundred dollar bills, more than enough to cover the tab and then some. “Keep the change.”

Finally, you found yourselves beneath the canopy of bar, waiting for an Uber to arrive. David pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a fiery, passionate kiss. You let out a moan as his tongue licked hotly into your mouth. The world around you both faded away as the two of you surrendered to the intensity of the attraction.

The kiss deepened, and the sparks that had been building all night ignited into a passionate, all-consuming flame.

FIN.

Tags: @beardedbarba @beccabarba @melk917 @madpanda75 @adarafaelbarba @storiesofsvu @dreamlover31 @detective-giggles @plaidbooks @eltrujillo @jenparis

[weaversweek]

Fear of Mu21c - the top 261

This is the conclusion to #FearOfMu21c, a crowdsourced attempt to find the most popular singles of the 21st century. An index post explains further.

108 people put in their lists of singles, awarding 10 points to all of them, 11 points to the top five, and 12 points to the favourite. Contest runner Arron has wrangled these together, broken ties, and compiled a full chart. It's below the cut.

Hear it all! Spotify playlists of the top 250 in chronological order by release date... and the top 50 in countdown order

266 pts 1 - 1 thing - Amerie

223 pts 2 - Paper planes - MIA

215 pts 3 - Hey ya! - Outkast

212 pts 4 - Can't get you out of my head - Kylie Minogue

198 pts 5 - Biology - Girls Aloud

194 pts 6 - Crazy in love - Beyoncé ft Jay-Z

188 pts 7 - 212 - Azealia Banks ft Lazy Jay

186 pts 8 - Dancing on my own - Robyn

176 pts 9 - Back to black - Amy Winehouse

175 pts 10 - Umbrella - Rhianna ft Jay-Z 11 - Freak like me - Sugababes

154 pts 12 - Video games - Lana Del Rey

150 pts [inc 10 in bonuses] 13 - BOB (Bombs over Baghdad) - Outkast

143 pts 14 - Get ur freak on - Missy Elliott 15 - Overload - Sugababes

142 pts 16 - Take me out - Franz Ferdinand

137 pts 17 - Hurt - Johnny Cash 18 - Bad romance - Lady Gaga

133 pts 19 - All my friends - LCD Soundsystem

132 pts 20 - Feel good inc - Gorillaz

131 pts 21 - Since I met you - The Avalanches 22 - The fear - Lily Allen

124 pts 23 - Maps - Yeah Yeah Yeahs 24 - We live here - Bob Vylan

121 pts 25 - I bet you look good on the dancefloor - Arctic Monkeys

120 pts 26 - Toxic - Britney Spears

114 pts 27 - One more time - Daft Punk

113 pts 28 - Mr brightside - The Killers 29 - Destroy everything you touch - Ladytron

112 pts 30 - Time to pretend - MGMT 31 - Do you realize?? - The Flaming Lips

110 pts 32 - Stan - Eminem 33 - Call me maybe - Carly Rae Jepsen

106 pts 34 - Crystal - New Order

105 pts 35 - Christine / Tilted - Christine and the Queens

102 pts 36 - Pure shores - All Saints

101 pts 37 - Roscoe - Midlake 38 - Tightrope - Janelle Monaé

100 pts 39 - Blank space - Taylor Swift 40 - Chaise longue - Wet Leg 41 - Song 4 Mutya (out of control) - Groove Armada

94 pts 42 - With every heartbeat - Robyn

93 pts 43 - Fell in love with a girl - The White Stripes

92 pts 44 - Make me feel - Janelle Monáe 45 - Crazy - Gnarls Barkley 46 - Witness (1 hope) - Roots Manuva

91 pts 47 - Ms Jackson - Outkast 48 - Theme from sparta f c #2 - The Fall

90 pts 49 - My girls - Animal Collective 50 - Chewing gum - Annie 51 - Milkshake - Kelis

83 pts 52 - Archie, marry me - Alvvays 53 - Blackstar - David Bowie

82 pts 54 - Bad guy - Billie Eilish 55 - Where are we now? - David Bowie 56 - Seven nation army - The White Stripes 57 - King kunta - Kendrick Lamar 58 - Wildfires - Sault

81 pts 59 - Blinding lights - The Weekend 60 - The rat - The Walkmen

80 pts 61 - Green light - Lorde 62 - Somebody that I used to know - Gotye ft Kimbra 63 - Galvanize - The Chemical Brothers ft Q-Tip 64 - Pagan poetry - Björk 65 - This hell - Ria Lina 66 - I don't feel like dancing - Scissor Sisters 67 - Blind - Hercules and Love Affair

73 pts 68 - Alright - Kendrick Lamar

72 pts 69 - You want it darker - Leonard Cohen 70 - Heartbeats - The Knife 71 - Seasons (waiting on you) - Future Islands 72 - Losing my edge - LCD Soundsystem

71 pts 73 - Uptown funk - Mark Ronson ft Bruno Mars 74 - You are the generation that bought more shoes and you get what you deserve - Johnny Boy 75 - Sunrise - Pulp 76 - I love it - Icona Pop ft Charli XCX

70 pts 77 - American boy - Estelle ft Kayne West 78 - Out of time - Blur 79 - Boys in the better land - Fontaines Dc 80 - Portions for foxes - Rilo Kiley 81 - Work it - Missy Elliott

66 pts 82 - Come on, let's go - Broadcast

64 pts 83 - Everything is embarrassing - Sky Ferreira

62 pts 84 - House of jealous lovers - The Rapture 85 - The look - Metronomy

61 pts 86 - No one knows - Queens of the Stone Age 87 - Get lucky - Daft Punk ft Pharell Williams and Nile Rodgers 88 - Royals - Lorde 89 - Burn the witch - Radiohead 90 - The show - Girls Aloud 91 - Hung up - Madonna 92 - Bulletproof - La Roux 93 - Standing in the way of control - The Gossip 94 - Silent shout - The Knife

60 pts 95 - Last nite - The Strokes 96 - Wolf like me - TV on the Radio 97 - Dog days are over - Florence and the Machine 98 - Family affair - Mary J Blige 99 - Cranes in the sky - Solange 100 - Strict machine - Goldfrapp 101 - Rolling in the deep - Adele 102 - Zero - Yeah Yeah Yeahs 103 - Slow - Kylie Minogue 104 - The mother we share - Chvrches 105 - Say it right - Nelly Furtado 106 - Digital love - Daft Punk 107 - Someone great - LCD Soundsystem 108 - That's not my name / Great DJ - The Ting Tings 109 - Hope there's someone - Antony and the Johnsons 110 - Wet dream - Wet Leg

54 pts 111 - I know a place - Muna

53 pts 112 - French navy - Camera Obscura 113 - I do this all the time - Self Esteem

52 pts 114 - Harder than you think - Public Enemy 115 - King of the mountain - Kate Bush 116 - There there - Radiohead 117 - Anti-hero - Taylor Swift 118 - Good fortune - P J Harvey 119 - The wire - Haim 120 - Int'l players anthem (I choose you) - UGK ft Outkast

51 pts 121 - There goes the fear - Doves 122 - Up with people - Lambchop 123 - The words that maketh murder - P J Harvey 124 - Emerge - Fischerspooner 125 - Shake it off - Taylor Swift 126 - Empire state of mind - Jay-Z ft Alicia Keys 127 - Two months off - Underworld 128 - One day like this - Elbow 129 - You ain't the problem - Michael Kiwanuka 130 - Love is a losing game - Amy Winehouse 131 - Mariners apartment complex - Lana Del Rey 132 - Myth - Beach House 133 - This is america - Childish Gambino 134 - Some girls - Rachel Stevens 135 - Lloyd I'm ready to be heartbroken - Camera Obscura 136 - Move your feet - Junior Senior 137 - Husbands - Savages

50 pts 138 - We found love - Rihanna ft Calvin Harris 139 - Damn, dis-moi (girlfriend) - Christine and the Queens ft Dâm-Funk 140 - Groovejet (if this ain't love) - Spiller ft Sophie Ellis Bextor 141 - Chandelier - Sia 142 - Levitating - Dua Lipa 143 - Don't start now - Dua Lipa 144 - Go! - Public Service Broadcasting 145 - About you now - Sugababes 146 - Since u been gone - Kelly Clarkson 147 - Heads will roll - Yeah Yeah Yeahs 148 - Slow life - Super Furry Animals 149 - Bootylicious - Destiny's Child 150 - This is the life - Amy MacDonald 151 - Welcome to the black parade - My Chemical Romance 152 - Pretty pimpin - Kurt Vile 153 - Go - The Chemical Brothers ft Q-Tip 154 - Days like these - Low 155 - Party hard - Andrew Wk 156 - The turning of our bones - Arab Strap 157 - Bohemian like you - Dandy Warhols 158 - Pumped up kicks - Foster the People 159 - We the people… - A Tribe Called Quest 160 - Take me to church - Hozier 161 - Williams' blood - Grace Jones 162 - Geraldine - Glasvegas

44 pts 163 - The girl and the robot - Röyksopp ft Robyn

43 pts 164 - Remember where you are - Jessie Ware 165 - Chaeri - Magdalena Bay

42 pts 166 - Evil - Interpol 167 - Hoppipolla - Sigur Rós 168 - Reflektor - Arcade Fire ft David Bowie 169 - Neighbourhood #2 (Laika) - Arcade Fire 170 - Midnight city - M83 171 - Coles corner - Richard Hawley 172 - Miami - Baxter Drury 173 - Heartbeat - Annie 174 - The modern age ep - The Strokes 175 - Lose yourself - Eminem 176 - Call the shots - Girls Aloud 177 - PDA - Interpol 178 - Loud places - Jamie xx ft Romy 179 - Don't shut me down - ABBA

41 pts 180 - Oblivion - Grimes 181 - Bloodbuzz Ohio - The National 182 - Düsseldorf - Teleman 183 - Such Great Heights - The Postal Service 184 - Precious - Depeche Mode 185 - I'm a cuckoo - Belle & Sebastian 186 - Somewhere only we know - Keane 187 - The rip - Portishead 188 - New rules - Dua Lipa 189 - Bring me to life - Evanescence 190 - Hard to explain - The Strokes 191 - Someone like you - Adele 192 - Star roving - Slowdive 193 - Lonely boy - The Black Keys 194 - Obstacle 1 - Interpol 195 - Not in love - Crystal Castles ft Robert Smith 196 - In for the kill - La Roux 197 - Queen of hearts - Fucked Up 198 - Stuck between stations - The Hold Steady 199 - Burn baby burn - Ash

40 pts 200 - Push the button - Sugababes 201 - Try again - Aaliyah 202 - Danny Nedelko - Idles 203 - Close your eyes (and count to fuck) - Run the Jewels ft Zack de la Rocha 204 - More than a woman - Aaliyah 205 - Feel good hit of the summer - Queens of the Stone Age 206 - Pyramid song - Radiohead 207 - Head home - Midlake 208 - Telephone - Lady Gaga ft Beyoncé 209 - Like I used to - Sharon van Etten and Angel Olsen 210 - Over and over - Hot Chip 211 - Into you - Ariana Grande 212 - Vampire - Olivia Rodrigo 213 - Archangel - Burial 214 - Emmylou - First Aid Kit 215 - Motion sickness - Phoebe Bridgers 216 - 99 problems - Jay-Z 217 - Clint Eastwood - Gorillaz 218 - Sea within a sea - The Horrors 219 - 1901 - Phoenix 220 - I follow rivers - Lykke Li 221 - Whenever wherever - Shakira 222 - Fake empire - The National 223 - Sprawl II (mountains beyond mountains) - Arcade Fire 224 - Frontier psychiatrist - The Avalanches 225 - Danger! high voltage - Electric Six 226 - Ladyflash - The Go! Team 227 - Katy on a mission - Katy B 228 - GMF - John Grant with Sinéad O'Connor 229 - Kids - MGMT 230 - You know I'm no good - Amy Winehouse 231 - I luv u - Dizzee Rascal 232 - Beautiful day - U2 233 - Mykonos - Fleet Foxes 234 - Lazy - X-press 2 ft David Byrne 235 - Club foot - Kasabian 236 - Fallin' - Alicia Keys 237 - Greatest hits - Jockstrap 238 - Remedy - Little Boots 239 - I believe in a thing called love - The Darkness 240 - Lies - Chvrches 241 - Leave the door open - Silk Sonic 242 - Reagan - Killer Mike 243 - Shut up kiss me - Angel Olsen 244 - Round and round / Mistaken wedding - Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti 245 - Glue - Bicep 246 - Black magic - Little Mix 247 - Hade - Charisma.com 248 - My heart is a drummer - Allo Darlin' 249 - One-armed scissor - At The Drive In 250 - Feel it still - Portugal, The Man 251 - Kryptonite - Three Doors Down

34 pts 252 - Irish blood english heart - Morrissey

33 pts 253 - Whole again - Atomic Kitten 254 - Feel you - Julia Holter

32 pts 255 - It's a hit - Rilo Kiley 256 - Papillion - Editors 257 - Summertime sadness - Lana Del Rey 258 - Everybody's changing - Keane

31 pts 259 - The middle - Jimmy Eat World 260 - Somebody told me - The Killers 261 - Editors - Munich

Performers getting at least 250 points in total were:

JAY-Z 552 pts/4 in the chart

OUTKAST 538/4

SUGABABES 499/4

ROBYN 465/3

BEYONCÉ 409/2

RIHANNA 408/2

TAYLOR SWIFT 403/3

KYLIE MINOGUE 394/2

GIRLS ALOUD 391/3

LCD SOUNDSYSTEM 345/3

AMY WINEHOUSE 339/3

DAFT PUNK 336/3

M.I.A. 333/1

YEAH YEAH YEAHS 324/3

LADY GAGA 318/2

LANA DEL REY 307/2

AMERIE 286/1

DAVID BOWIE 279/3

KENDRICK LAMAR 265/2

ARCTIC MONKEYS 263/1

GORILLAZ 262/2

(Yes, this includes nominations that didn't make the published chart.)

Observations

#FearOfMu21c was part of "Music Twttr", an accumulation of mostly-British mostly-middle-aged mostly-male posters. It reflects a particular cultural bias: primarily The Sort Of Tune They'll Play on BBC 6 Music. Almost nothing not in English, very little folk and country and roots music.

I ended up with 17 votes counting to the top 261, 16 to the top 250. This is as much as would be expected by sheer chance.

[ajl1963]

Art Deco and Modernism at the Brooklyn Museum

Art Deco and Modernism at the Brooklyn Museum

[gonetodash19]

Always wanted one of these.

Vintage Ronson touch tip lighter, 1930s

[bm-decorative-arts]

Cigarette Lighter, "Ronson Touch-Tip", ca. 1935, Brooklyn Museum: Decorative Arts

"Ronson Touch-Tip" model, streamlined, tugboat shaped tabletop lighter (a) with wick holder (b). Flat chrome-plated base rounded at one end, square at the other end. Incised all around with two parallel bands painted black. Chrome-plated turret-like top rounded on one side. Side elevation of top is quarter round curved down in back to meet base. All the vertical planes of the top are painted black. Three parallel chrome bands curve around the sides of the front extending about 1/3 of the length. On the horizontal plane at very top are a knob (b) attached to a flint that fits into hole and a finger depressor to activate mechanism. CONDITION: Good; with normal wear, numerous scratches on chrome, some pitting on black enamel. Size: 3 3/8 x 4 3/8 x 2 1/4 in. (8.6 x 11.1 x 5.7 cm) Medium: Chrome and black-enameled metal

https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/1708

[oh-yeaahhhh]

Vintage ronson touch tip lighter

[aiiaiiiyo]

1930’s Ronson Touch tip lighter Check this blog!

[vintage-tech]

Ronson Touch-Tip Lighter, 1930s.

Of course this video came from Imgur.

[headoverhiddles]

Disorderly Conduct - Sheriff Brackett x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You go visit the Sheriff at work to see if you can have a little fun. Then, an unexpected visitor forces you to improvise. 

@chari-koopa

It was one of those days.

Most days at work were alright-- Sheriff Brackett liked to think he did an on-par job taking care of Haddonfield and all its good citizens. Of course, today was one of those "fuddle days," as he called them. Everything was sticky and hot, as things got in early July, and Mrs. Bedford had called him all the way to Sicamore Road across town to settle a dispute with her neighbor over their gardening line. (He supposed it was for the best-- it had escalated to bearing arms by the time he got there.)  

Now he was looking forward to settling in with his sticky bun in the office until someone else decided they needed him.

"Sheriff?" Brackett looks up, clouds in his mind parting.

"Hm?"

"You've got a... visitor."

The fact that the officer was on the verge of a smirk should have tipped Brackett off, but one thing he was not was observant. Who could it be now, come along to bother him?! Maybe Jed from Strawberry Lane, come to complain about Mr. Adler’s golden retriever fucking up his lawn again. God forbid he have an actual issue to deal with as Sheriff, instead of riding around the streets in a god damn fur cap looking like Davy Crockett.

He headed right into his office, taking off said hat and sunglasses...

"Christ almighty!"

You smile up at the sheriff as he shuts the door quickly, checking out the frosted glass to see if anyone else saw you.

"Calm down. Nobody saw me but deputy hoo-hah in there. Shouldn't there be some more cops on duty? This is a station, right?"

"What are you doing out lookin' like that?!" Brackett blurts, cheeks reddening. You bite your lip, squishing your tits together a little more. You love making him squirm, and the remodeling of your school outfit did just that.

"I thought I'd come say hi."

"And what've you done to your uniform?" he sighs, swallowing as his eyes come to rest on your extremely accentuated bust. You had made a few modifications to your school uniform to make it sexier. The skirt now barely grazed the bottom of your ass, and your buttons were popping beneath your breasts.

"I made it my own."

"You sure did that," he nods. He rubs his face as he sits down. "You do realize everyone I work with is gonna think I'm a pervert now."

"Not if I were to beg you to fuck me loud enough for them to hear."

"(y/n)!"

You giggle. "Not that I would."

"You better not--"

"Fuck me!"

"Hun, I'm warning you!"

"What're you gonna do, daddy?" you breathe, spreading your legs. His eyes go down to your panties, which he can see are soaked through. He undoes the top two buttons of his uniform, takes a deep breath, and stands you up.

"Wait for me at home, I won't be long."

"But daddy, I need you now," you moan, grabbing his arm. He escorts you to the door, rubbing your shoulders.

"Sweetie, daddy's at work, he's working, he'll be home so--" He stops mid sentence and gasps a little as you reach forward to palm him through his pants. "What are you--" he gives a raspy moan, and you feel him get hard in record time.

"Mmm, I don't think you want me to stop now, do you daddy?" you blink up at him, licking your lips, and he grabs your arm, leading you over to his desk and hastily undoing his belt buckle.

"You drive me wild, princess," he mumbles, hurriedly taking himself out, "But you know it."

"Mhm," you smirk wickedly, and lick your lips at the sight of his cock. "Fuck, I want it, sir."

"Real fast," he groans, parting your thighs and grabbing onto one, "And I mean real fast." Just then, the landline on his desk rings. "Jesus," he mutters, and you press the speakerphone button for him, taking your top off. "This is Brackett!" His voice sounds so strong and authoritative when he's at work, and it turns you on. He knows that, so he tries to play it up.

"Sheriff, there's a Doctor here, said he came from Smith's Grove or somethin'. Got a big problem he's gotta talk to you about."

"You don't sound too urgent about the whole thing," Brackett says, moving your hips closer to his.

The deputy's voice lowers. "That's because he seems like a bit of a wingnut.” 

"Can it wait for five minutes?" Brackett blurts in exasperation.

"Only five sir?" You can hear the deputy smirking. Brackett looks less than amused as you giggle and bite your finger.

"That's enough outta you Ronson, keep quiet and tell him--"

Just then, there's a flurry of hard knocks at the office door.

"Sheriff!" It's a British voice. "Sheriff, I really must see you, it's a terrible emergency!" More banging.

"Oh hell," Brackett mutters, looking down at your spread out body on his desk, and you decide to take matters into your own hands. You slip under the desk, and Brackett follows your lead, quickly taking a seat in his chair just as the doctor bursts in.

"Haven't you ever heard of waitin' to be invited in?" Brackett snaps, covering his lap up, and the doctor puts his hands up.

"Sheriff, I'm Dr. Loomis. I'm so sorry for my lack of etiquette but this situation doesn't have very much time for it, I'm afraid."

"Alright doctor," Brackett says, sitting back, "I'm all ears. What's this big problem you've got for me?"

"Well you see, 15 years ago, I looked after a boy--"

As Loomis begins to speak, you put your hands on the sheriff's knees. He chokes a little as you get closer...

"--the devil's eyes. I couldn't get through to him. Now, he is dangerous, and he is coming here! Tonight!"

You swallow his cock down.

"Oh my god," Brackett breathes. Loomis hesitates.

"...Yes well, I'm glad you see the gravity of the situation, to be honest I feared you wouldn't--"

You go back to sucking him, almost gagging as you take him to the back of your throat. You start to dig your fingernails into his thighs through his uniform pants as you bob up and down on his cock.

"--and I believe he will make first for his childhood home."

You lick a stripe across the head.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"My thoughts exactly, Sheriff." You go up and down, tightening your lips and playing with the vein on his erection, teasing him, working him up to an amazing orgasm.

Brackett white knuckles the desk with one hand, and taps your head with the other. He's close, you can feel it by the way he's thrusting ever so slightly into your mouth. You're so wet, trapped there between daddy's legs choking on his cock, pushing him to the absolute edge. You'd get it in bed later for this.

Doctor Loomis pauses his rant for a moment, eyeing the sheriff's appearance. His eyes are fluttering closed, and his breathing is heavy.

"Are you alright?"

Brackett opens his eyes under Loomis' suspicion.

"Just fine. Just... just fine, keep going." The encouragement is obviously directed toward you, and you go even faster, bobbing and licking.

"--Right. Anyway, I know for a fact Michael will be coming for his baby sister, and the other houses in this town are in danger as well."

Brackett gasps and looks up as you suck him perfectly. "Lord above."

"Indeed, so you agree this is the course of action we must take before he finds her?"

You suddenly feel Brackett's fingers twist in your hair as he comes in your mouth with a slight grunt. His neck strains and he squeezes his eyes shut, then regains his composure. "Um. Doctor, I'm gonna level with you. I haven't heard one word you've said." Loomis looks extremely frustrated. "Now how about...” Brackett holds up both hands, “We try things again, over burgers later. My treat. I know a damn good joint just up the bend here--"

"Burgers?! While we're eating burgers and chatting, Michael Myers will be out turning your little town into a slaughterhouse!"

"Okay--”

“Slaughterhouse, Sheriff!” 

“Alright! At least give me ten minutes to... to right myself, dammit!"

"Very well."

You start to tuck him back up.

"Oh, by the way," Loomis turns with a slight smirk, "The lovely little thing you've got under the desk is a right looker." He winks your way, and you blush. Brackett starts to babble, so the doctor waves it off. "What, you thought I'd never gotten a blowie under the table before? Nothing like it, eh? And she seemed quite the talent, judging by your entertaining facial aerobics." He laughs at Brackett's embarrassment. "You've not exactly got the best poker face, Sheriff." His face gets serious again. "We'll be in touch tonight."

The door closes, and Brackett gets up, running a hand through his hair.

"Dammit... (y/n)... this was not appropriate!" he moans, making sure his fly is done up.

You can see the conflict in his face easing away as you bite your lip and act coy.

"Daddy didn't enjoy it?"

He sighs, looping his arm around your middle and drawing you close. "I enjoyed it, princess. I enjoyed it a lot. Too much."

You smile, cuddling into his chest and tucking your hands into the back pockets of his uniform. "Love you."

His heart melts a little. He can never resist you. "I love you too, babygirl. So much. Now you get home safe." He gives your ass an affectionate little squeeze under the short skirt, and fits on his furry Sheriff hat. "Seems like the punishment for all that'll have to wait til tomorrow night."

[azure7539arts]

Indirect

Pairing: Ronson/Bond (yes, i’m back at it again)

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Fluff-ish, Hurt/Comfort

Warning: None

In the spilling daylight of the morning after, Ronson was still as soft as he had been the day before, all lazy smiles and sleep-leaden limbs, and Bond was watching him with a subtle curiosity and a mingling sense of resignation. Mostly because Ronson had always been like this, ever since the day they had first met—Ronson fresh-faced and Bond mentoring as a side job that’d help him work his way up the ranks.

There was something about the general air of mostly contentedness about Ronson whenever the man was off duty that had drawn Bond in and hadn’t really let him go. 

Bond, the hungry and ferocious creature that he was, hadn’t really been able to understand it. The world was not enough was Bond’s motto to live by, whereas Ronson, even though he also knew very clearly about what he wanted and had never been slow on gaining all of them as quickly as possible, was okay with a long-term status quo.

That was one of the reasons that made Bond a double-oh and Ronson a senior field agent, Bond supposed. The fundamental difference that lay in the basis of their core characters.

Bond blinked at the lit cigarette that Ronson was suddenly offering him, the warm breezes of the Turkish wind rustling through the wooden panels of the barely cracked open windows, and took it anyway after a second.

Dragging in a deep breath for the nicotine, Bond thought, in an amused and distant sort of moment, that this was as close as they were going to get to sharing an indirect kiss.

They didn’t kiss much, Ronson and him. 

Which was okay really—they had sex enough to make up for it at any rate.

And Ronson smiled when Bond passed the cigarette back to him.

(They didn’t kiss much. The brush of supple lips, of breathing in the same air and pressing their bodies against one another, of slipping fingertips into the rough roots of their more-often-than-not short hair, too intimate to describe.

Too intimate to risk.

MI6 truly trained their operatives so well, it was remarkable.)

Ronson sat down in the seat opposite from Bond, basking in the glittering, golden paths of sunlight and stretching his feet outward, the tips just short of touching up Bond’s own.

They spent the remainder of the smoke in companionable silence.

-

“Thanks,” Ronson said, freshly out of the shower with the occasional water droplets still glistening on the planes of his taut skin and muscles. He leant forward and ran a hand down along the clean, pressed suit that Bond had left out for him at the edge of the bed.

The smile on Ronson’s lips was crooked, and Bond shrugged, doing the last loop for his tie and securing it into a perfect knot. “Thought you might need one,” he replied, a rumble in his throat and a returning small smirk that also held little to no sharp edges at its corners.

He hadn’t actually stopped to think about it, picking out a suit for Ronson from the limited selection that the man had tucked away inside his closet, until the full body of the folds of fabric had weighed on his arm a surprisingly significant amount, shocking him into realizing just exactly what it was that he had been doing.

“Dark grey?” Ronson prompted, shooting him a curious look.

Bond arched his eyebrows. “You don’t like it?” he asked, despite highly doubting that this was the case.

“No, not at all.” Ronson’s smile widened. “I rather like it, actually.”

“Good.” Bond hummed in satisfaction and nodded. “I’ve never picked a wrong suit.”

-

-

-

The thing about dark grey is that it’s not a bad color to hide blood, first and foremost. Nor is it a bad funeral color.

It’s just that Bond, an indirect kiss still tingling between his lips in that one single moment, wasn’t thinking of these things when he had been picking out a suit for Ronson on a quiet morning mid July.

No.

———————————————————————————————————

(Angst and fluff prompt tables: [Free Space] (Loss) + Breezes)

[gifophunia]

Ronson Touch-Tip 'Octette' Table Lighter, 1935 via @gifophunia. Follow, like and reblog!

[fluffmugger]

I haven't read Good Omens but I just got done watching the show and I'm confused on one point: what was behind Aziraphale's decision to not tell Crowley he knew where the antichrist was? I thought it was because he didn't want Crowley to kill him but he later petitions heaven to do just that. What did I miss? Why did he keep that information to himself when before they were trying to find the antichrist together?

He does try to tell Crowley, as in the book. However, at the time Crowley’s dealing with Hastur and Ligur  (well more accurately mexican standoffing against Hastur). So:  1) he tries to be a Good Angel, then fucks that shit off and 2) calls Crowley and that phone convo goes nowhere, then 3) Aziraphale runs face first into Shadwell, tries to stop him from stepping into the communication circle, accidently does so himself, utters the best fuck in the history of mankind and discorporates. The sequence from the book: 

Aziraphale was dithering. He’ d been dithering for some twelve hours. His nerves, he would have said, were all over the place. He walked around the shop, picking up bits of paper and dropping them again, fiddling with pens. He ought to tell Crowley. No, he didn’t. He wanted to tell Crowley. He ought to tell Heaven. He was an angel, after all. You had to do the right thing. It was built-in. You see a wile, you thwart. Crowley had put his finger on it, right enough. He ought to have told Heaven right from the start. But he’d known him for thousands of years. They got along. They nearly understood one another. He sometimes suspected they had far more in common with one another than with their respective superiors. They both liked the world, for one thing, rather than viewing it simply as the board on which the cosmic game of chess was being played. Well, of course, that was it. That was the answer, staring him in the face. It’d be true to the spirit of his pact with Crowley if he tipped Heaven the wink, and then they could quietly do something about the child, although nothing too bad of course because we were all God’s creatures when you got down to it, even people like Crowley and the Antichrist, and the world would be saved and there wouldn’t have to be all that Armageddon business, which would do nobody any good anyway, because everyone knew Heaven would win in the end, and Crowley would be bound to understand. Yes. And then everything would be all right. There was a knock at the shop door, despite the CLOSED sign. He ignored it.Getting in touch with Heaven for two-way communications was far more difficult for Aziraphale than it is for humans, who don’t expect an answer and in nearly all cases would be rather surprised to get one. He pushed aside the paper-laden desk and rolled up the threadbare bookshop carpet. There was a small circle chalked on the floorboards underneath, surrounded by suitable passages from the Cabala. The angel lit seven candles, which he placed ritually at certain points around the circle. Then he lit some incense, which was not necessary but did make the place smell nice.And then he stood in the circle and said the Words. Nothing happened. He said the Words again. Eventually a bright blue shaft of light shot down from the ceiling and filled the circle. A well-educated voice said, “Well?” “It’s me, Aziraphale.” “We know,” said the voice. “I’ve got great news! I’ve located the Antichrist! I can give you his address and everything!” There was a pause. The blue light flickered. “Well?” it said again. “But, d'you see, you can ki—can stop it all happening! In the nick of time! You’ve only got a few hours! You can stop it all and there needn’t be the war and everyone will be saved!” He beamed madly into the light. “Yes?” said the voice. “Yes, he’s in a place called Lower Tadfield, and the address—” “Well done,” said the voice, in flat, dead tones. “There doesn’t have to be any of that business with one third of the seas turning to blood or anything,” said Aziraphale happily. When it came, the voice sounded slightly annoyed. “Why not?” it said. Aziraphale felt an icy pit opening under his enthusiasm, and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. He plunged on: “Well, you can simply make sure that—” “We will win, Aziraphale.” “Yes, but-” “The forces of darkness must be beaten. You seem to be under a misapprehension. The point is not to avoid the war, it is to win it. We have been waiting a long time, Aziraphale.” Aziraphale felt the coldness envelop his mind. He opened his mouth to say, “Do you think perhaps it would be a good idea not to hold the war on Earth?” and changed his mind. “I see,” he said grimly. There was a scraping near the door, and if Aziraphale had been looking in that direction he would have seen a battered felt hat trying to peer over the fanlight. “This is not to say you have not performed well,” said the voice. “You will receive a commendation. Well done.” “Thank you,” said Aziraphale. The bitterness in his voice would have soured milk. “I’d forgotten about ineffability, obviously.” “We thought you had.” “May I ask,” said the angel, “to whom have I been speaking?” The voice said, “We are the Metatron.”* “Oh, yes. Of course. Oh. Well. Thank you very much. Thank you.” Behind him the letterbox tilted open, revealing a pair of eyes. “One other thing,” said the voice. “You will of course be joining us, won’t you?” “Well, er, of course it has been simply ages since I’ve held a flaming sword—” Aziraphale began. “Yes, we recall,” said the voice. “You will have a lot of opportunity to relearn.” “Ah. Hmm. What sort of initiating event will precipitate the war?” said Aziraphale. “We thought a multi-nation nuclear exchange would be a nice start.” “Oh. Yes. Very imaginative.” Aziraphale’s voice was flat and hopeless. “Good. We will expect you directly, then,” said the voice. “Ah. Well. I’ll just clear up a few business matters, shall I?” said Aziraphale desperately. “There hardly seems to be any necessity,” said the Metatron. Aziraphale drew himself up. “I really feel that probity, not to say morality, demands that as a reputable businessman I should-” “Yes, yes,” said the Metatron, a shade testily. “Point taken. We shall await you, then.”The light faded, but did not quite vanish. They’re leaving the line open, Aziraphale thought. I’m not getting out of this one. “Hallo?” he said softly, “Anyone still there?” There was silence. Very carefully, he stepped over the circle and crept to the telephone. He opened his notebook and dialed another number. After four rings it gave a little cough, followed by a pause, and then a voice which sounded so laid back you could put a carpet on it said, “Hi. This is Anthony Crowley. Uh. I—” “Crowley!” Aziraphale tried to hiss and shout at the same time, “Listen! I haven’t got much time! The—” “—probably not in right now, or asleep, and busy, or something, but—” “Shutup! Listen! It was in Tadfield! It’s all in that book! You’ve got to stop—” “—after the tone and I’ll get right back to you. Chow.” “I want to talk to you now—” BeeeEEeeeEEeee “Stop making noises! It’s in Tadfield! That was what I was sensing! You must go there and—” He took the phone away from his mouth. “Bugger!” he said. It was the first time he’d sworn in more than four thousand years. Hold on. The demon had another line, didn’t he? He was that kind of person. Aziraphale fumbled in the book, nearly dropping it on the floor. They would be getting impatient soon. He found the other number. He dialed it. It was answered almost immediately, at the same time as the shop’s bell tingled gently. Crowley’s voice, getting louder as it neared the mouthpiece, said, “ — really mean it. Hallo?” “Crowley, it’s me!” “Ngh.” The voice was horribly noncommittal. Even in his present state, Aziraphale sensed trouble. “Are you alone?” he said cautiously. “Nuh. Got an old friend here.” “Listen-!” “Awa’ we ye, ye spawn o’ hell!” Very slowly, Aziraphale turned around.

Shadwell was trembling with excitement. He’d seen it all. He’d heard it all. He hadn’t understood any of it, but he knew what people did with circles and candlesticks and incense. He knew that all right. He’d seen The Devil Rides Out fifteen times, sixteen times if you included the time he’ d been thrown out of the cinema for shouting his unflattering opinions of amateur witchfinder Christopher Lee. The buggers were using him. They’ d been making fools out o’ the glorious traditions o’ the Army. “I’ll have ye, ye evil bastard!” he shouted, advancing like a moth-eaten avenging angel. “I ken what ye be about, comin’ up here and seducin’ wimmen to do yer evil will!” “I think perhaps you’ve got the wrong shop,” said Aziraphale. “I’ll call back later,” he told the receiver, and hung up. “I could see what yer were aboot,” snarled Shadwell. There were flecks of foam around his mouth. He was more angry than he could ever remember. “Er, things are not what they seem—” Aziraphale began, aware even as he said it that as conversational gambits went it lacked a certain polish. “I bet they ain’t!” said Shadwell triumphantly. “No, I mean-” Without taking his eyes off the angel, Shadwell shuffled backwards and grabbed the shop door, slamming it hard so that the bell jangled. “Bell,” he said. He grabbed The Nice and Accurate Prophecies and thumped it down heavily on the table. “Book” he snarled. He fumbled in his pocket and produced his trusty Ronson. “Practically candle!” he shouted, and began to advance. In his path, the circle glowed with a faint blue light. “Er,” said Aziraphale, “I think it might not be a very good idea to—” Shadwell wasn’t listening. “By the powers invested in me by virtue o’ my office o’ Witchfinder,” he intoned, “I charge ye to quit from this place—” “You see, the circle—” “—and return henceforth to the place from which ye came, pausin’ not to—” “—it would really be unwise for a human to set foot in it without—” “—and deliver us frae evil—” “Keep out of the circle, you stupid man!” “—never to come again to vex—” “Yes, yes, but please keep out of—” Aziraphale ran toward Shadwell, waving his hands urgently. “- returning NAE MORE!” Shadwell finished. He pointed a vengeful, black-nailed finger. Aziraphale looked down at his feet, and swore for the second time in five minutes. He’d stepped into the circle. “Oh, fuck,” he said.There was a melodious twang, and the blue glow vanished. So did Aziraphale.

* The Voice of God. But not the voice of God. A entity in its own right. Rather like a Presidential spokesman.

[wildbillslighters]

Back in the day, when you walked into someone’s house to visit or into an office for a meeting, it was time to fire up a cigarette and chat. Chances are, if the host was classy, they had a communal table lighter for guests to use.

The number of styles are seemingly endless, from figural and artistic pieces to glass, pottery and even wood bases. Zippo even made a few styles over the years.

The collector market for table lighters is interesting. They’re not generally as desirable as pocket lighters, but some (like Ronson Touch Tips) are highly sought after.

I think table lighters are a personal preference. If you collect airplanes, you might like the many plane styles, for example. Glass collectors might want a lighter or two in the collection.

No matter what, there’s a table lighter for you out there and they look fantastic in displays. Or on the coffee table for your guests, if you still let them smoke in the house …

[oddlysatisfyingbot]

1930’s Ronson Touch tip lighter via r/oddlysatisfying

[carolinecastro123]

1930's Ronson Touch tip lighter

[unkindnessofone]

Unhook the Stars PT 1

This is a long story. It’s a doozy. Also TW: sexual assault. I would never write something I didn’t have some experience with or some education on.This was very therapeutic for me to write, but I still advise you to take caution if that topic triggers you. Your comfort is important to me. I will post something lighter before part two. I love you all very much.

About a year ago, industry parties lost their appeal. It was no longer exciting for Grace to rub her bare shoulders with agents, directors, and other wannabes in hopes that it led to an audition somewhere or some kind miracle job. It was now just a means to an end. It was how she had landed her first audition so every now and then, she would force herself to change clothes after work and drive to the Hollywood Hills or Bel Air with her smile on and tits out. Michael, on the other hand, refused to go to any schmucky events anymore. They only increased his anxiety and made him feel dangerously uncomfortable. The only reason he had showed up to Oscar winning actors mansion was because he had heard through friends that Grace had been invited after her third call back for an audition for a pre-production casino drama. The role was just for “sexy waitress” but Grace was in no position to be picky. She was still trying to break into the business.

Michael, on the other hand, was still lusting after her, the sexy waitress she actually was. Every time he felt he was making progress, she would come up with a new reason to push him away. He told her he could introduce her to the few connections in film he had, but she refused with a loud desire to do everything on her own. He always offered to run lines with her over the phone or Skype or after a whole day in the studio, but she never took him up on it. He showed up with three friends and his hands in his pockets, the scent of Cuban cigars and crusty penises greeted him right after valet did, but Michael grit his teeth and pushed forward. Grace was there and he figured he would smell her unforgettable spicy hair mist soon.

“Isn’t that your girl?” As they moved through the living room, past the twin topless models kissing on a pool table, Michael’s bud pointed through the windows to the dimly lit pool.

Her ruby red lips stood out as Michael found her among the few other young actresses. She was sitting on the edge of a blue and white pool chair with a whiskey on the rocks bored in one hand, resting in the exposed knee under her simple black dress. Michael had seen it on her before, remembering how the thin straps kept falling off the shoulders as she danced in front of him at Nectar, her hair in his face and hips in his hands and against his lap. He has just crossed into the outdoors when Grace stood up, her hand being held by the owner of the house, actor turned director Malcolm Wilcox. He kissed her cheek and Michael felt his stomach burn. Provoked somehow, he picked up the pace of his feet, but Grace and Malcolm were moving toward the pool house already.

“Hey! Grace!” As a last resort, Michael held one hand to his mouth and called for her attention, earning it instantly.

At the sight of Michael, Grace lit up. Everyone knew she liked him even if she was openly denying it. She waved at him first and then held up a finger telling him to wait just a moment. Michael relaxed once he had her attention, his hand returning to the pocket of his tight black pants. He found an empty wicker chair to sit in, two of his friends joining while the other went to find drinks. Michael watched Grace as was led toward the pool house. She looked over her shoulder again and mouthed to him, “Malcolm Wilcox! Ahhh!”

When she grinned, Michael shot her two thumbs up.  He knew how badly she wanted this. She had shared with him how badly she wanted to be an actress, how watching the XMen shows and movies were when she felt the most like a kid growing up. She felt like an outsider and most of her time was spent trying to fight bad guys. She fancied herself something of a Storm character. Still, a worried feeling twisted around in his gut when she disappeared into the small house with Malcom. Michael knew she would tell him that she could handle herself and her own business, so he decided to let her be. He knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of her glare and he was actively trying to avoid it. So Michael sighed and went to get himself a drink, maybe find someone he kind of knew from an award show or random party.

His head thrown back in laughter in the middle of the kitchen, drinking top shelf scotch, Michael was surprisingly enjoying himself in the middle of a conversation with the legendary producer, Mark Ronson, and a couple other famous faces he had admired for years. If he hadn’t turned his head slightly to itch the stubble in his jaw against his shoulder, he would have never even noticed Grace. She was stalking through the living room on a mission, head down and with her strappy black heels between her fingers. He pushed himself off the edge of the concrete kitchen island, leaving his drink behind, to talk to her. He could have been in the middle of a meeting with God and he would have excused himself to be rejected by Grace. Just a minute with her was better than an hour with anyone else.

As Micheal stepped between two people in the middle of a fake conversation, he smiled at her fallen dress strap. It wasn’t until he was a single step away that he realized both were broken from her garment. His face was perplexed as he stepped right in front of her, blocking her path. Micheal reached out to touch her shoulders, but Grace’s reflexes were on edge and she slapped them away.

“Move.” She managed to grumble before walking around him. He noticed as she moved to his left that her perfectly applied red lipstick was smudged across her chin and one of her fake lashes was falling from her eyelid. Grace’s hair was messy, but not in a way considered stylish. Before she was out the door, he caught her wristlet and pulled her to face him.

“Are you okay?” His voice and face matched in their concern. She threw her tangled hair back and Michael’s eyes widened fearfully. He realized he had never seen her cry before, but she looked close to it with sore eyes that appeared damp. She was sucking in her lips, hollowed cheekbones, trying her best to keep herself together. “Grace, what happen?” Michael asked in a hush time, letting go of her wrist purse. He saw her skinned knuckles and felt his hand curl into a fist. “Did that fucking fuck  - Did he?” Words were not coming easily to Michael as his mind wandered to painful places.

“I’m going. This party is lame.” Shrugging, Grace attempted to play it cool. Out of habit, she pulled her right strap over her shoulder, but it instantly fell in front of her chest.

“Grace, did he hurt you? Did he touch you?” Michael moved as soon as she tried to exit, keeping close to her while his eyes searched the room for the acclaimed actor.

“I’m fine.” She lied through tight teeth. “I’m going home.”

Michael drew his own conclusion, “I’m going to fucking kill him.” He turned away from her in a blind rage, both his hands at fists at his side as he walked straight through the living room with fury pounding through his usual gentle eyes. Grace rolled her eyes and sighed, going back into the house she wanted to so badly vacate for her shit box apartment.

“Mike, don’t.” She gripped her hand around his shoulder and tried to pull him back, but he shook her away. He was on a mission. “Mike, stop!” She shouted knowing it would capture others attention. Privately, she hoped one of the friends he came with would see and intervene. While her face had fallen from its former perfection, Grace’s eyes were still powerful and she let them speak sternly into Michael’s once he turned around at her hand tugging on his shoulder again. He was fuming from the nostrils and just as he had never seen her appear so small, she had never been witness to this enraged side of him.

“Please, don’t.” She whispered through a locked has before gripping his hand in hers. Michael stopped preparing himself for murder in order to stop and stare at their hands. Grace had made him cum by wiggling the tip of her tongue back and forth over the tip of cock while holding it tightly in his mouth, but she had always refused to hold his hand. “You’re going to make things worse.” Grace said and brought him back into the moment.

“Did he - ”

“I sucker punched him, Michael.” This time she whispered to him as if it was a secret. Grace was already positive that she had lost every chance of making it as an actor, but she didn’t need to make things any worse. “He was reaching under my dress, so I punched him.” She hadn’t made it this long on her own in a crime crowded neighbourhood without knowing how to preserve her body from predators. Grace could have done a lot more than just make Malcom Wilcox’s nose bleed.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.” Again, Michael stated and started to leave. He yanked his hand out of her grip and went back to his original plan.

“No,” Frustrated and still holding her emotions in from earlier, Grace whined as she tried to keep his face. “Michael, please, just take me home.” Grace stopped behind him and whimpered in defeat. He wanted so badly to look after her and now finally she was giving in. She could do it in her own, but she wanted him to be there. Grace was too tired to fight anymore. “If you really want to help, just take me home.”

Once Michael turned around, he saw her outstretched hand and he didn’t think twice before taking it back and leading her through the rooms. He kept her fingers tightly laced in hers as they waited for his car to pull up.  He handed her his cell phone once she was bucked into the front seat and told her to text his friend to explain that he had to leave due to some emergency.

Faintly, since he turned he volume lower, metal music played through their silence as Michael drove out of the gated community.

“How are you?” Michael had barely calmed down himself, but he was trying to be a pillar for her. He couldn’t read her as she sat looking like a defeated party clown in his front seat.

“I’m fine.” Like she always claimed to be. “Thank you for not making a scene.” She picked at the scraped skin on her knees, trying to pull her dress down enough to cover the proof that someone tried to take advantage of her.

“Still haven’t made up my mind if I’m going to go back and kill him once I drop you off.” Michael spoke while looking straight through the windshield, practically talking to the license plate of the SUV in front of them.

“It’s not worth it.” Grace mumbled through a sigh before giving up on her knees and leaning her head against the window. Her adrenaline had balanced itself out and now she was just feeling embarrassed. She hated that she thought something would actually work out in a private meeting with a director, that she had been naive and hopeful, and then she hated that Michael had seen her since disheveled not to mention that she asked him to take her home.

“Uh, yes it is.” Absolutely shutting down any negotiation about the topic, Michael replied.

“I’m not worth it then. Go and fight for the next girl that finds herself being pushed onto her knees by some industry dickhead, but don’t waste your time worrying about me.” She sounded sincere, like she meant every word she said and that kept the angry flames in Michael’s stomach burn.

Causing Grace’s head to by thrown off the window it was resting on like an uncomfortable makeshift pillow, Michael swerved the car through the next lane without warning until the car was in park on the side of the road.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Grace screamed at him and then glanced at the wheel that he had spun off its balance. She had pulled off her other eyelash when they first started driving, but she still looked like a leftover mess as her eyes threatened him.

“Me? What the fuck is the matter with you?!” Michael shot back. He knew she had been through an ordeal, but the bubbling aggrevation in his bloodstream was burning and every dig she took at herself only made it boil hotter.  “I don’t know if I’ve heard you say a single nice fucking thing about yourself. I’m not listening anymore, Grace. It doesn’t matter if you are the garbage you think you fucking are, you don’t deserve to be touched or made uncomfortable or hurt. I like you so fucking much and I’m not going to sit beside you and pretend the shit you say makes any sense. It doesn’t. You’re so fucking wonderful and you have value and I want you so badly all the time, so fuck off with your self-hate bullshit! I’m done with it.” Michael yelled into her, their eyes never leaving each other’s as he unloaded on her. Grace didn’t think she even saw Michael blink as he growled and tried to make his point crystal clear. He let out a gruff sigh as a tense silence danced in the space between them above the cup holders and radio. “I’ll just drop you off at home …” From what he knew about the girl beside him, he doubted she took being yelled at well and he figured he had finally lost the last inkling of a shot that he had with her. There was no way she was going to let him up into her place now.

Michael turned up his music and started to merge back onto the freeway as Grace silently used the moon as her light source. She pulled down the mirror and wiped hard at the lipstick stains around her mouth with her wrists as she replayed what Michael had just shouted at her stunned and tired face.

Once the mirror was closed again, she fiddled with her hands over her usdd knees for a moment before surprising Michael and reaching for his hand. He saw it out of the corner of his eyes and took his hand closest to her off the steering wheel and held her fingers tightly. He needed the assurance he hadn’t lost her and she wasn’t ready to say in words that she appreciated him.

Michael wound up driving her to the place he was renting with Ashton at the moment. It was empty tonight since the drummer was out presumably getting fucked up somewhere with strangers disguised as friends. Grace had told Michael that her little sister was crashing at her studio apartment at the moment. While she didn’t mind Michael meeting her strung out mess of a teenage sister,  she also didn’t really want Anne to see her looking distressed. Grace also wanted some alone time with Michael especially since he had just raised his voice at her like a provoked goon.

His keys jangled as he stuffed them back into his pocket and then tossed his jacket in a nearby chair as they entered the quiet and dark house. Grace had been there before, but not when she felt as destroyed and small as she did tonight. She hugged her arms around around her chest, under her boobs, and watched as Michael walked to the stairs.

“I’m going to get you something to change into.” He explained with one hand on the rail, his voice low and with little emotion. He was still angry at Malcolm Wilcox and he still wanted to rip his head from his shoulders. “You can have a shower if you want.” He was sure she knew where either bathroom was.

“Okay.” Grace simply agreed and began to walk after him, still cold from the lack of jacket she had brought with her. “Mike?” She was still at the bottom step while he was near the top. He only turned around and raised his brows slightly in response. “Thanks…” For a girl who always said what was on her mind, she was struggling now to express herself. “You didn’t have to - ”

“I wanted to. You’re welcome.” Michael left it at that before heading to his room to find clothes. He felt like he didn’t take a breath until he heard the water running from the shower down the hall. Michael wanted to join her. He wanted to put his lips on her wet shoulders and run his hands all over the body that he was practically obsessed with, but he considered the night they had just left and Michael wasn’t sure how to act. He didn’t know what she needed or wanted, so he left the clothes outside the bathroom door and went downstairs to find something to eat, deciding to just order sushi from a close by twenty four hour joint that he had only eaten when he was completely drunk.

Grace found him under the hanging kitchen lights, drinking beer from a bottle and dipping a California roll into soy sauce in a plastic container. She had her wet hair tied up into a slick ponytail starting at the top of her head and her whole body was lost inside a pair of his plaid pajamas pants that his mom had bought years ago and a giant Gwar t shirt that she could have fit into twice. She waited on the line between the unlit living room and the bright kitchen for him to notice her, free of lipstick stains and her scraped knees hidden.

“Hey.” He looked up from his phone on the counter, a recorded Twitch live stream playing at a low volume that she could hardly make out. Michael paused it quickly with his cold beer drinking hand and then motioned for her to join him at the generous kitchen island that was covered in sushi take out. “I ordered a lot, so there’s probably something you like.” He remembered that she had told him multiple times how much she loved sushi. “Are you hungry?”

“Very.” There was something about escaping the unwanted clammy touches of egotistical men that really increased her appetite. Grace headed forward and sat on the black wooden stool right next to Michael. “I’m going to have to make you dinner or something to pay you back for tonight.” She cleared her throat and announced, eyes observing the smorgasbord of rolls while her hand reached for a soy sauce container.

“I can not imagine you cooking.” Maybe it was because of her lack of kitchen, but Michael had a hard time trying to picture Grace in front of a stove or mixing bowl.

She slanted an unimpressed glare in his direction before softening and choosing her first few rolls, rubbing her chopsticks together and then picking them onto her plate one by one.

“I can make a few things.” Honestly, she told him.

“Toast doesn’t count.”

“Okay, I can make a couple things.” Grace gently chuckled and corrected herself. “And I bet I would be fine with a recipe.”

“Well you don’t have to pay me back for anything, but I’m not going to turn down a night with you and a free dinner.” Before popping a salmon bakudan roll into his mouth, Michael explained with a meek smile. He liked that they were having a low key night, but his mind hadn’t forgotten the place they had come from. She may have washed her face clean of makeup and signs of assault, but Michael wasn’t sure he would ever forget how shaken she looked when he saw her trying to leave the mansion.

“Fuck it, I’m going to have another.” Grace sat up off the stool and picked up the end piece of a specialty roll. It looked like one she had had before with eel and deep friend salmon inside. “I’m probably never going to be an actress now.” That was what burned the most. This guy still had power over her. He could manipulate her success just because she didn’t go along with what he wanted.

“I could introduce you to - ” Michael stopped his offer as soon as she raised her already arched brows at him. “Hey if you’re taking a break from auditions then you have no excuse to not join me on tour.” He tried to find the silver lining in the situation even if it was selfish.

“I could never leave Annie.” She covered her hand with her mouth to explain while she ate her first oiece, fish eggs exploding in her mouth. “As fun as it would be to see the world.” She made sure not to tell him how amazing she thought it would be to see the world with him, perhaps the funniest person she had ever met and the easily the best tongue she had ever tasted.

“How’s your sister with merch?” If it meant having Grace on tour with him, he could try to set up a place for her sister.

“I wouldn’t trust her with a dollar bill.” Grace made a point to buy her sister food and socks, never give her any money because she knew she would use it for blow or something harder.

“Well, the offer stands.” Michael shrugged and kept eating. “I got to go to the studio around noon so I can drive you home in the morning if you’re cool staying here.”

“Yeah, sure.” Grace agreed. She had never stayed over with him or let him crash at her place either. She was strict with the boundaries she created to put between them but tonight was an exception. “I was been wondering if you’re a snorer or not anyway …” Grace teased.

“Oh, I am.” Or so former girlfriends and Calum had told him. Michael just laughed though, his mind thankful that wanted him to share the bed with her. He was trying to be mindful of how she was possibly feeling. “I’ll keep you up all night.”

“I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much anyway.” Casually, she rolled her eyes at the evening and dipped her second California roll into the soy sauce until it was saturated. “I never can sleep when stuff like that happens. Takes a day to shake.” She explained without looking at Michael, missing the way his face exposed surprise and disgust at the same time.

“I hate that that happens at all, but, like, all the time?” He didn’t want to believe it. Michael had girls scream vulgar things to him all the time and it made him feel uncomfortable. He never felt threatened though. He knew he could roll up the window or have security handle the “fan”.

“Well, Malcolm was the first director, but God, I can remember being chased by some man when I was like 13 and he whipped his dick out at me and Annie…” That was her earliest memory of having to defend herself from men and their predatory impulses. “I’ve been pretty lucky though. I have friends who have much scarier stories.” Her little sister being the first friend to come to mind. She remembered having to help her wash cum out of her matted hair when she had just started junior high.

“That’s so fucked up.” Michael stabbed at the piece of yam tempura in front of him, imagining it was Malcolm’s smug face. “I’m so sorry.”

Much to his surprise, Grace laughed in response. He didn’t know what was so funny about their conversation.

“You’re so nice to me, you know?” Grace leaned in and put down her chopsticks so she could reach behind her neck and wipe at the hair that had fallen from her ponytail. “I can’t think of anyone nicer who hasn’t wanted something in return.” She knew that Michael wanted to be with her, but his actions seemed genuinely altruistic. Grace was hesitant to admit it, but she trusted Michael.

“I’m not a bad guy.” Noisy and without any discretion, Michael inched closer to her, bringing his stool against the tile floor toward her. “I like you. Deal with it.” Tight lipped, he grinned at her without any sign of teeth.

“But if we’re together and it doesn’t work out, I’d lose you.” She changed their easy repore, giving him naked truth with a little quiver in her voice. “I don’t want to risk losing the nicest person.” Not to mention the first person to make her orgasm with just their fingers. She had to guide him slightly, but it was better than all the button pushing from men who fingered her before.

“Is that why you shut me down all the time?” Turning to knock his knees against her, Michael asked, astonished. “Well, try thinking positively. Maybe we work out and you get to be with the nicest person, as you called me, forever.” He never thought he would be happy to hear his dream girl describe him as ‘nice’, but he could tell how much it meant to her, how significant it was.

“You can’t guarantee that.” She reached with her bare hand and popped another dynamite roll into her mouth, filling it up so she didn’t run the risk of letting any more of her secrets out.

“No.” Michael didn’t want to promise her impossible things, so he took her hand and kissed the knuckles twice, holding it steady to his chapped lips. “I think you deserve a little niceness. Maybe we could be together until I leave next month and if you want to readjust, then, we readjust.” Michael was willing to give her control. He was willing to pretend like it wouldn’t break his spirit if she rejected him by the end of their trial run. He just didn’t want to lose how close they were right now.

“Can we just get through tonight first?” She asked after she swallowed. “Tonight and then I’ll make you dinner and then…”

“One meal at a time.” He promised his fiery girl who was letting him see her softer side. He leaned in and kissed her, his hand around the back of her neck and feeling the cold drops of water from her hair. Michael didn’t care though. She was safe with him and kissing him back. A little drop of anything couldn’t hurt them now. 

*   *    *    *     *   *   

There was very little that scared Emmeline Clifford. She was born to take on the world with an over-pronounced pout and perfected eye roll. She killed spiders in her brothers bedroom from the time he was born, she took stairs by twos both up and down, and she greeted the people and camera lens that waited for her and her large family outside of hotels with two waving hands and a know-it-all grin.

However, as she sat in the waggon that her Dad was pulling down the block, Emmeline felt a tight knot harden in her stomach. She watched her father and his black hair pop in front of her, wondering when he was going to leave. Her concept of time was not yet solid as she was only just going on five this year. He had to be in Tokyo on Tuesday and she didn’t know where that was or when Tuesday was, but she knew both were taking her father from her. She would be staying back with her mom and baby brother, Iden.

“What are we going to do first, Emmylou?” Michael talked back toward her without even glancing at her. He just needed to check in. It wasn’t like his munchkin girl to ever be quiet. She even mumbled in her sleep sometimes. “Swings?” He guessed. She loved that she was big enough for the “adult” swings. Emme was particularly fond of when he would run under the swing when he pushed her, sending her into a fit of giggles so hard that she forgot to pump her little legs. “Twisty slide?” It was not her favourite part of the park, but she always gave it one or two tries before moving on. “Emme?” Michael finally stopped and turned partially so he could see his suddenly silent daughter. She was sitting like a queen in her wooden waggon, arms crossed over his chest, eyes pretending to look everywhere but at him, and lips pursed tightly to suggest she was not pleased. Michael frowned his brows at her in a quizzical look. They were going to the park. Just the two of them. Why did she look so disappointed in all her royal and loyal subjects?

“I will swing, I guess.” Emme raised her pupils upward and waved her chin at him as she poked it through the air. She was being difficult on purpose. Michael never found it cute where other people leaned into and played along. It drove Michael absolutely crazy, so he just turned around and kept pulling her behind him.

“Well, we don’t have to go to the park. I can turn around and you can play by yourself while you mum bathes Iden.” He practically whistled, dandy as can be.

“I want to go to the park.” Emmeline responded, recognizing their last crosswalk before they would be at the place she loved so much. It was always the best to go to the playground with her Dad because he would climb on the structure and play with her where as her mother had to tend to Iden and Iden couldn’t keep up with Emmeline’s preferred pace. Sometimes, a friend and their Dad would come along too, but Emmeline was partial to just being there with Michael. She liked having his full attention.

Once on the other side of the metal fence, Michael rolled the waggon behind any empty bench and set down the handle. Emmeline had already hopped over, kicking up rocks with her faux brown suede boots with two big buckles. She liked them because they were 'stylish like mummy’. Michael walked right behind her, surprised she wasn’t rushing over to the empty swing set or onto the green and white structure. The only thing Emmeline didn’t like at the playground was the monkey bars because they hurt her arms and only Penny was good at them anyway because she did gymnastics and Emmeline just did swimming lessons. In an effort to raise the mood, Michael swiped Emmeline off the ground from underneath her pits, causing her little grey dress with it’s painted black horses on it to hike up and almost reveal the crotch of her white tights. He made a loud 'whoosh’ sound as he flew her through the air and then sat her down abruptly on a swing, waiting for her hands to curl around the chains before he let go.

“I’m going to push you so hard you’re going to go flying over the fence, okay?” He teased her, desperately trying to engage her somehow as he walked behind the swing set. Michael was so used to his daughter being at one  hundred all the time that he didn’t know what to do with himself when she hit a tired place early. He just assumed she was exhausted even though there day had been very low key with all four of them just hanging out around the house. It was what he wanted when he had to be on an early flight the next day, his last day with his family for just under two weeks. He hated that he couldn’t bring them along this time. He knew it would be hard on all of them and he was dreading it even if performing was still the best high Michael had ever experienced.

“No, Daddy, don’t. Push nicely!” Emmeline instructed, her hands gripping the chains tighter just in case he could do actually send her soaring over the fence and into the road.

Michael reached over top of her hands and pulled her back just three paces before giving her a small push.

“You got to pump.” He reminded her. If Emmeline had it her way, everyone would do everything for her.  “Remember, bend your knees in and then out.” He instructed from behind her, bouncing on his knees in an attempt to do it standing up. His words didn’t mean anything, Emmeline kept her legs dangling and as the swing began to slow down, her feet dragged in the wet rocks underneath her. Sighing, Michael tried again. He pulled the chains backwards four steps this time and gave her a larger shove. Instead of waiting behind her, Michael jogged around her and caught a glimpse of her smile as her messy locks that she had put four different coloured barrettes in flew up behind her. Emmeline hid any sign of enjoyment once she saw her Dad. He stood in front of her and pretended to be smacked in the face by the sole of her boot as she came forward. It was almost impossible for her to stifle her laughter at that. It was foolproof. No matter how many times he pulled that prank, Emmeline cracked up.

“Okay.” Michael leaned forward and gripped her swing chains as her toes touched the rocks. He brought her to a sudden stop with his stomach right in front of her face. “What gives, Emme?” He waited for her to look up at him, staring down with confused, but tired eyes. “Why are you in a mood?” They had strawberries after dinner and she loved licking up the juice from the berries as it trickled down her chin and fingers. She had been giggling at the table at the way her little brother kept sneezing and getting strawberry juice all over himself. While it was casual, Michael really enjoyed his last supper at home. It was just the four of them and everybody smiling. Even Grace seemed relaxed as she held a napkin at the ready, always prepared for Iden to let out another sneeze that threw his whole face forward due to it’s size being bigger than him.

Exercising patience with Emmeline came naturally to Michael at this point. He could wait out one of her temper tantrums now as if nothing was happening. He could drown out the screaming and continuing to work on whatever task was in front of him. In fact, he credited Emmeline’s attitude and failure to behave herself as a positive building block for his friends who had become parents after meeting his baby diva. So Michael stood still and waited for Emmeline to reply. She was taking her time by scooting her butt off the swing and trying to drag her boots through the rocks below. Her vocabulary was rudimentary and her parents were always on her to 'use her words’ and not just blow up when she felt anything at all.

“You’re…going to Japan.” Still holding the chains at her sides, Emmeline managed to blubber out while keeping her eyes peeled on her boots and the ground.

“Yeah. Tomorrow morning.” Michael nodded. Emme wasn’t a potato anymore that they could hand to just anyone and be on their way. Their actions had a bigger impact on her now as she was becoming more aware of the world around her.

“And I am…” One hand curled itself off of the metal chain and she began to flick her mouth with three germ covered fingers as she mumbled. “I’m going to go to…school.” To her, kindgarten was as much of a geographical location as Tokyo, Japan. She was going to one place and he was off to another. They were being separated and it was frightening to her. She wanted him to go with her or the other way around.

Michael didn’t know what to say. Somehow he thought he had a couple years left before Emme would start resenting his job and the pieces of her life he would miss because of it. He had sacrificed moments and events already, but she and her brother had been to young to notice he wasn’t there or even that he was supposed to be. Michael sighed heavily and lost her eye contact before slouching down in the swing next to her.

“Are you mad I’m not going to be there for your first day?” He checked with a low tone that suggested he already was cross with himself. Mike’s wife and mother had already laid into him about his schedule, but he claimed it was beyond his control. Everybody had to miss out on something, there was no dream agenda for anyone involved. All Michael could do was grin and bear it.

“I am sad…” She corrected. Her mom was working diligently on Emmeline properly identifying her feelings in an effort to cool down the number of freak outs they had to deal with. “that we won’t be together.”

The first day of kindergarten didn’t hold any meaning to Emme like it did to the adults in her life. She didn’t think her Dad was missing out anything, she just knew she was going to miss him. Her mom never moved down on all fours and let her ride on top like a cowgirl, her mom didn’t do nearly as satisfactory a Donald Duck impression, and she never snuck Emmeline cookies during bed time. Michael was a very miss-able guy to Emme. His presence could not be replaced. Who was going to cut out her paper dolls for her now when her mom was too busy helping Iden with little kid stuff? 

“I am sad about that too.” Michael confessed with his head hung low. He felt like a failure. When it came to this, he couldn’t do it all. Grace was against home schooling the kids which meant they couldn’t join him on tour as easily as they had when Emme was diaper bound. It was going to be a huge adjustment for everyone and Michael did not feel ready. Maybe their delightful day together hadn’t actually been a blessing. He wondered if it would be easier to leave them behind if they had been a terrible trio all day. “I’m going to call you after school though and we’ll talk on Mum’s laptop.” Mike explained. “You’ll be too busy with school to be sad.” It sounded like bullshit advice and he was upset at himself for giving it to her.

“Do you want to go?” She looked up from her knees and curiously wondered aloud.

It wasn’t an easy question for Michael. He was looking forward to the next four tour dates. It was always a miracle to him that he still got to tour with his friends from his teenage years. Taking music he wrote all over the world was fulfilling and he couldn’t imagine having to do some other job, a regular 9 to 5. He didn’t like leaving his family though. It wouldn’t matter where he was going or with who, that would never be worth it.

Luckily, Michael didn’t have to sort out an answer for her. She moved on before he could.

“Daddy?” Emmeline clumsily removed herself from the swing, bending at the knees to keep herself from falling on her face. She moved over to his swing and pushed her palms into his knees, urgently trying to come up onto his lap. “When will I see you again?” As he hoisted her up, boots to the side of him, she asked and pet at he arm that he laid around her like a seat belt.

“Nine days.” It didn’t sound that bad, but he knew his children would grow like weeds in that time. After that, he had a week home before he was gone again.

“Nine days.” Emme repeated back to him. She could count to one hundred, so nine felt manageable. She held up all ten of her fingers prompting Michael to bend her thumb down before wrapping his whole hand around hers. “Can I call you whenever I want?” That was important to Emme, but she kept staring at his hand over hers, comforted by his hold somehow.

“Always. Any time. I am always just a phone call away.” He tightened his around around f her stomach and brought her closer to his body, her head instinctively leaning against his chest comfortably. “If you want to call me nine times a day for nine days you can.” He promised the little princess. Often, people accused Emmeline of being spoiled and Michael tried to police himself, but when it came to his time, she had infinite access.

Emmeline wasn’t ready to dive into playing yet. She kept her head against the cotton of his shirt and stayed close to him as he slightly pushed them back and forth on the same swing. He lightly kissed the top of her head, between two of the barrettes, and wished he could take her with him like old times.

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

“I’m not going to wait around for you to see what’s right in front of you. If you need the approval of a bunch of strangers, go get it. Don’t let me stand in your way, princess.”

Eddie’s voice droned on as her head pounded as if she had slipped and landed on a cinder block. It was the last thing Emmeline properly remembered of the night prior. She had been standing in line for the women’s washroom when he found her and let loose. She had brought him as a date to the charity event since they both knew similar people, but then she spent most of the evening flirting with any man or women who offered her anything close to a compliment. He was fed up, annoyed and tired. All Eddie Styles wanted was for her to say 'yes’ or 'no’. He already knew that he wanted Emmeline completely, drama and all. It was her who pushed and pulled with him. She would invite him over and laugh all night just for him to see her photographed having breakfast the next day with some football player or wannabe musician. He was done pretending the situation didn’t burn him. He left Emmeline alone when she laughed off his outburst and tried to lean in and simply kiss his frustrations away.

She turned on the comfortable cotton black sheets that she woke up on, but her sides ached. Her first instinct was that she was just hungry. It wasn’t as if she was filling her body with much fuel these days. She had felt stabbing pains in her stomach before or aching between her eyes, but this was different. It felt more invasive in its tenderness. Emmeline’s eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but she opened them again and didn’t recognize the mirrored ceiling above her. The ceiling in her bedroom was just white. Emmeline’s eyes fluttered shut, but she forced them open and tried to see through the haze. In her reflection, it looked like she was naked so she reached down with sore hands and felt her body. She was naked. She was naked and in a room that she didn’t recognize. Emmeline felt around anxious, her knuckles scraped and leaving dry blood scabs on her stomach as she grabbed at it quickly. As her hand slid down to her bare thighs, she felt a dry oath and recognized what it was. She had had enough sex at this point in her life to know what dry cum felt like. She pushed off the covers and shot up, causing a groan to flee from her mouth, as she checked and saw it was exactly what she thought it was. Instantly, Emmeline felt an urgency to cry and run, but her eyes and legs were too sore. She wiped over and over at her thighs with her hands that were now shaking, trying to swallow around the warm scratch in her throat. Emmeline peered around the room for her clothes, but she couldn’t see her Brian Atwood pumps or sparkly clutch anywhere. Her vintage Versace cocktail dress that she remembered feeling like a supermodel in was nowhere to be seen. There was nothing in the room that felt familiar to, so Emmeline crawled onto her knees and peered outside the huge window the bed she was in was sat up against. She recognized that a few blocks away was Central Park, confirming for her that she was in a penthouse somewhere in Greenwich.

Creaking, a door near pushed open, and out of reflex Emmeline pulled at the covers by her ankles and covered herself. She looked like a frightened mouse, scared of being hunted, at the small woman who peeked in. She was dressed in a boring grey maid uniform and had the Versace dress folded in her hands. She carried it in and brought it to the edge of the bed, putting it down so she could reach into the front pocket of her uniform and offer Emme a Tylenol.

“Always helps.” Quietly, she assured Emmeline with a thick accent coating the two words. In response, Emme shook her head defiantly. She wasn’t about to take anything from someone she didn’t know. She wanted to scream, but she didn’t say a word. Emmeline just clutched the cover over her and pushed the tip of her gel nails into her skin beneath it. She hoped this was just a horrible dream that she could wake herself up from. “You threw up. I cleaned your dress.” The maid pat the folded garment and then put the small white pill on top of it. “Mr. Garry had to go to a meeting. He said someone would call you about the commercial. He said he liked you very much.” She reported with her hands clutched in front of her, just saying the words she had been told to when she started her shift.

Emmeline used the words as helpful clues to fill in the holes from the night before. Mr. Garry was an agent for a parent company that owned different liquor brands, cosmetic houses, and even a few ski lodges in Europe. Emmeline’s agency had told her to talk to him at the event. They had made it clear that he had interest in her. He felt like a young face like hers could rejuvenate a 200 year old handbag brand. She was already known for her beautiful nails, now he wanted them clutching onto different leather satchels and holding vintage luggage. Emmeline remembered posing for pictures with him and trying to hold her own with one of his company’s whiskey brands, but that was where the memories stopped.

She dragged her sleepy eyes from her silhouette under the sheets and saw the maid was still watching her, waiting for her to move. Emmeline draped herself in the black bed sheet, grabbed the dress with haste, and moved into the master suite washroom. She heard the pill hit the floor, but she didn’t pay any attention.

Her body ached as she peed. She felt broken inside as she reached down and saw blood on the toilet paper. This was the kind of situation her mother desperately talked to her about from the time she was a freshman in high school, but she always just shrugged the warning away. She knew that it could happen, but she never actually thought it would to her or any of her friends.

Many times before, people had described her as foolish, but this was the first time she felt it herself. She refused to look at herself in the mirror above the sink. Emmeline kept her eyes tightly clutched as she cried and slipped herself into her designer dress from the night before. She didn’t feel like she deserved to be in something so beautiful, not in the morning and not at all. She gasped for air as she spotted her shoes by the shower and her clutch, open with its contents beside it. Emmeline dropped to her knees onto the discarded sheet and right away grabbed her phone. She wanted to see missed calls from Eddie, but there was no signs of him trying to reach her. She had missed comments on her Instagram and a text from a model friend asking if she had left the event with Ted Garry, but that was all.

Emmeline was at a loss. She didn’t know whether to run from the apartment building as fast as her worn out feet could carry her or if she should call someone. Putting down her phone, Emmeline went through her collection of items on the cold bathroom tiles. Mints, Marlboro Red, lighter, Sydney ID, portable charger, VISA card, and sixteen dollars and twenty cents.

she plugged her bitten lips with a cigarette and crawled to the bathroom door to lock it before curling up by the shower wall and lit it up before going to call her mother. They had been often lately. Emmeline only called her parents to scream at them lately, always dizzy from reeling about their impending divorce. As soon as Grace’s voice mail clicked in, Emmeline listened to her mother’s smooth voice and cried. It was late in the evening back in Australia and her mom was probably already fast asleep. Throwing her head back, Emmeline sobbed. Her skin crinkled against her face as she scrunched it upward and allowed ugly critter sounds  to hail from her gut. Right now, she just wanted her mother. Grace Clifford would know what to do and, if she didn’t, she would pretend to. Through his bellowing cries, Emmeline tried to steady her shaking hands so that she could call her father. He was the night owl. Since she felt too much shame to talk to tell her little brother who thought of her as some kind of heroine, she decided on her Dad. They had once had a strong relationship, the kind where you could tell one another anything under the sun. Between Emme and Michael, there was nothing off the table. She held the phone to her ear and tried to breathe.

“Emme?” On the other end, Michael picked up, sounding like he had just finished yawning. It was nearly midnight where he was as opposed to her early Manhattan morning. Emmeline sucked back a sniffle and gasped for air. “Emme, I’m not doing this if you’re just going to shout at me.” Since she had moved away, they hadn’t had a single civilized conversation. She either screamed at him for 'ruining her life’ or she left sad, drunk rambling messages over text or voice mail. Michael’s days were cloaked in guilt for the sadness he seemed to be causing his daughter, but he had to establish some self-respect. He couldn’t just let her carry on treating him poorly. Again, Emme kept trying to breathe. She could barely speak between the pain between her legs, her arms shaking, and her inability to inhale and exhale smoothly. “If you just want to tell me how much you hate me, I will hang up.” Michael warned her. He didn’t at all know the state his little girl was in on the other side of the world. All he knew is he had promised himself that he would stand up for himself next time they spoke.

“Well, fuck you!” Feeling angry at the world for the situation she was in and completely hurt and rejected by her father, Emmeline screamed into the phone. Her voice went hoarse by the end of it. “You don’t care about me at all!” It was a sentiment she had echoed when the two of them talking about him and Grace splitting up. Michael just assumed that was what she was on about.

“I’m serious, Emmeline. I love you, but I will hang up.” Michael had to stay firm in his oath to himself.

“Good. I hope you never talk to me again!” Her voice cracked, but she tried to howl anyway. Emmeline hung up first before laying down on the floor and sobbing into the bed sheet, the scent of her sweat and someone else taunting her from the expensive threads.

Her mind considered other people she could call. There was her agent, but Emmeline was scared they would  be angry with her. They wanted her to woo Ted Garry, not have sex with him. She doubted they would believe her if she said that he had sex with her while she was unconscious, wondering if he, maybe, had put something in her drink or something. He was a big client worth billions and she was just some up-and-coming model. To FORD models, she was replaceable. Emmeline wanted to call Penelope Hemmings, but Penny was in Paris and there was nothing she could do for her over there. Plus, she knew she would be in class and that they weren’t allowed to have their phones in lessons. Penny had stressed that over text multiple times when Emme bothered her over and over until she answered. She felt completely alone and so she laid on the floor and just cried until the maid knocked on the door, telling her that she could not stay there all the day. The woman told Emmeline that Mr. Garry’s car could take her home or to wherever she needed to go. It was only then that Emme recalled any other part of her life. She was supposed to be going to China the next day. She had to go to the agency and sort out the details of her itinerary. She had to shower, she had to go to the gym, and she had to be Emmeline Clifford, the incredible. Sighing, she sat up again and called Eddie, but it went to voice mail right away. Closing her eyes, Emmeline told herself that she wished she was someone else. She wished to be someone so smart that they would never be lying on the floor of a strangers, lacerations between their thighs, and a stranger’s cum on their legs. She pictured Molly Irwin and decided to risk calling her, the girl she had lost touch with over the last few months. They had never been close despite growing up side by side.  Molly’s interests never aligned with Emme’s. They liked one another, but never had anything in common besides the band their fathers were both in. She scrolled through her contacts and found  her toward the bottom of the ’M’s’ and let the phone ring. She counted four separate rings before Molly’s voice, a strange mix between her father’s accent and mother’s posh tone, chimed.

“Emme?” It was the last person she expected to call her around eleven in the evening. She was sitting on the floor of her boyfriend’s apartment, working on an essay on her laptop, in his rugby jersey, tie-dye socks, and a pair of thick black leggings. “Are you okay?” Even though Michael’s daughter was trying to hide how upset she was, Molly recognized her breath as ragged and raw. “It’s, like, seven thiry in the morning where you are.” Off the top of her head, she guessed correctly.

Finally, Emmeline worked up the courage to speak, something she had never had to do before.

“Molly, I fucked up.” Her voice shook through each word. “Molly, I really fucked up.” She cried. “I’m in this old man’s apartment and everything hurts and…and…I don’t remember….”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Right away, Molly jumped to her feet, mirroring her two parents when anyone was in trouble. They were always the first people to spring into action and fly out the door. “Emmeline, are you somewhere safe right now?”She checked, holding the phone to her ear with both hands. Molly tiptoed to the door of her boyfriend’s bedroom where he was fast asleep and began to shut it to give the conversation the privacy she felt it deserved and required.

“I don’t know!” Emme croaked before crying again, snot and tears chasing one another down her face. “I’m in his bathroom and there’s a car waiting to take my home. Molly, my knuckles are bloody and I have a nail polish shoot soon - “

“Sh!” Molly shushed her, trying to keep the distraught girl focused on what was important as she tried to think on her toes. For someone known for being fiercely intelligent, Molly felt ill-equipped for the situation. “Emme, you need to get out of there first. Stay on the phone with me and leave. Can you do that? Is he there? Is he threatening you?” Molly stalked back to her boyfriend’s door once she was back in the living room. She decided she needed to wake him up and call the police in New York.

“No. He’s not here. It’s just me and his maid, I think.”

“Okay, good, there’s a witness.” Molly found some smidgen of hope in that fact. “Emme, you need to leave. You need to go to your apartment or a friend’s. Where could you go?”

“I don’t know!” Emme wailed. “I don’t know, Molly.”

“Do you want me to call your parents?”

“They don’t care.” It felt true, so Emmeline called it out through her screaming tears.

“I don’t believe that.” Molly softly said while shoving her giant rugby player boyfriend’s shoulder with one hand. It didn’t cause him to so much as stir in his slumber. Flynn could sleep through anything. “Do you want me to call them?”

“No!”

“Okay, Emme,” Sitting on her side of Flynn’s bed, Molly decided that Emmeline needed a plan and that she would be the brain behind it for the beauty. “You are going to go back to your apartment, okay? You are going to lock the door and you are going to eat something. I’m going to call my parents and then I’m going to call you right back, okay? You’re going to be getting in a car or a cab or whatever and I’m going to call you. If I don’t call you in five minutes, you call me, okay?” Molly instructed very clearly before resting her cell phone between her shoulder and ear and giving Flynn another shove, but this time she used both hands. Still, he didn’t budge.

“Okay.” Taking Molly’s orders, Emmeline slowly climbed onto her feet. She gathered her things, filling her hands with her shoes and clutch, and started to go.

“I promise to call in five minutes, but if I don’t - “

“I’ll call you.” Emmeline promised back, catching her breath as she gulped at the air. Once Molly hung up to try and reach her own parents, Emmeline started to leave the bathroom. She caught a glimpse of herself, a dry mess with stains from the night before, in the mirror and dropped her belongings in the mirror. All the anger and hurt that she had been carrying around were reaching their maximum capacity as she tried to navigate herself through this morning’s nightmare. Emmeline shook as she hated the reflection that she had once adored. She let out a primal scream and punched the mirror the bathroom mirror causing shards of glass to spill everywhere as she let out a Tarzan-inspired scream. Emmeline punched at it again and again, screaming until she ran out of breath.. Her hand that was already cut up was sliced, blood dripping down to her wrists and then elbows. She collected her things again and tore right past the maid, leaving her the mess to clean up as she ran free out of the penthouse suite. Emmeline didn’t stop. She jumped into the elevator and then ran through the lobby into the freezing November morning air. It didn’t occur to her how crazy she looked. She stalked right past the man who opened the car door for her and headed East. At the first bench she saw, she stopped to put on her heels and then close her bag. While clutching her phone, she stared at the screen and waited for Molly to call back as she walked to the FlatIron district where she lived. She felt alone and she felt worthless, but waiting for Molly’s call gave her something beyond the tremendous monster inside of her to focus on.

Emmeline decided to hail a cab after she walked slowly down two more blocks, sliding into the first one that she saw. As she told the driver her address, her phone rang. Molly was right on schedule, she had one minute to spare.

“Hey. Are you safe?” First the Irwin girl checked.

“Yes. I’m in a cab.” Sniffling into her shoulder, Emmeline confirmed. She felt good about following the rules which was something she had never tried to do before.

“Good. Okay. My mum is in London with Aunt Keg, so I could only get a hold of my Dad.” Molly sounded as guilty as she felt about that news. She had a hunch that Emmeline would have much preferred Simone in this situation, but Molly knew her Dad could handle this better than she could. She could tell by how upset he instantly became on the phone that he wanted to be there for Emmeline.

“Does he think I’m disgusting?” Worried, Emme began to freak out again, just a second away from sobbing.

“No. Not at all. I don’t think that, he doesn’t think that. I hope you don’t think that because you’re not!” Sounding very stern and sure of herself, Molly almost snapped at her friend. She had spent all her time since she hit eleven supporting causes and right now Emmeline was the most important case she had to fight for. “He wants to know if you want to come to him or if you want him to come to you. Do you feel okay calling him? I can stay on the phone if you want.” The Irwin family were known for their group chats and calls.

“No. I’ll call him.” Somewhat reluctantly, Emme nodded. “I’m really sorry, Molly.” She wasn’t known for her apologies, but right now, Emmeline felt like she owed an apology card to the world.

“Don’t be sorry. Do you want to call me after you talk to him? What can I do?”

“Can I call you after?” She checked, feeling smaller than she was when her Dad carried her everywhere.

“Of course. I’m up and I’m keeping my phone on. You call me as much as you need. I’m just a phone call away.” It was what her Dad had said to her her whole life and it felt bittersweet to hear it from someone else now. Then again, Emmeline worried now that her parents would be deeply ashamed of her. She was already figuring out ways to beg her Uncle Ash not to tell them.

* * * * * *  * * * ** *

He was laying on the couch with both his dogs on his lap, feet up on the coffee table in front of him, and drinking smooth top shelf whiskey in the dark. It was as if it happened to one of his own children. The only thing that stung more than the finishing burn of his drink were the tears that were fogging up his eyes. Ashton had finished his conversation with Emmeline, his pseudo niece, almost twenty minutes ago, but he still felt like he was living in a slanted daze. He had to pour himself a drink after booking her a flight to bring her home. He told her that he would call her agency, he would handle everything, he would talk to her parents. He just wanted her home and in his arms. Right now, to Ashton, nothing else mattered, but getting her home.

Once he felt a second of calmness, he texted his long time friend, Ashley Frangipane. He asked her in short to call him. It wasn’t that he wanted to broadcast Emme’s pain, but he wanted her to have someone she could trust in New York and he knew Ashley was out there working with new artists. He also knew that she knew a thing or two about handling dark matter like what Emmeline was currently living in. It took up all of ten seconds for Ashton. It wasn’t enough time to prepare him to make a phone call that he was terrified to make. He had to remind himself that he had done this before. He had been the one to pull Calum aside backstage and tell him that Skye had miscarried for the fourth time, he was the one to tell Luke that an old ex-girlfriend had posted pictures of his penis on the internet, and he was the one to tell Simone when her Dad had a heart attack almost eleven years ago. Ashton didn’t know why, but this felt harder. He finished his drink and then made the call, holding the phone a safe distance from his ear.

“Hey Mike? I need to talk to you about Emmy…” He cleared his throat and sucked back his tears. He didn’t know what to expect.