#The Paisley Lounge

[ericpoptone]

The Legend of the Clandestine Order of Illuminated Gentlepersons

Proof, if needed, that the internet isn’t all bad. Two months ago, on the LosAngeles subreddit, user suprunkn0wn asked, “What’s that one spot in L.A. that you missed where it used to be? The new Amoeba is cool, but the most typical L.A. shit is the fact it’s under apartments and that will always piss me off. I will always miss the OG location, miss seeing it on the corner.“ I’m not sure what’s…

[tmarshconnors]

My yearly Spotify insights.

[thehappywun]

And here's the Whitney's Playland set from Little Hill Lounge last night...one new song called "Scene" (name partially obscured from setlist) was new to me, but they played much of their new album.

Nice seeing Inna, George, and band again, last time was back in February.

A couple of sound gremlins were lurking around and they did seem to sully Sketch Of Dino but for the most part this was a blissful listen.

[ilovesbd]

[fredwkong]

Genie: Marcus’s Wishes

Click here to see the genie’s first master.

Marcus wasn’t your average jockboy. In school, he had been the class queer, marked for bullying because of his femme interests and gay voice. Worse, because he was one of the only Black kids. At university, he’d caught the iron bug and gotten huge, but kept the femininity, too. Nowadays, even with his powerful bod and handsome face, he still got dirty looks for his paisley shirts, peppy attitude, and swishy walk.

It was somewhere around 3 AM, and Marcus was feeling well and truly used. He hadn’t been topped like Mr. Peters had topped him in… he didn’t know how long. The Daddy dom’s husband, Lars, had told Marcus that the couple never double dipped on a guy, which sucked, but Marcus had more than enough wank material from this night alone to get him through.

Lars, still naked, followed the half-dressed Marcus to the living room. Mr. Peters was lounging on the balcony upstairs, smoking. Lars was giving Marcus the instructions for getting to the main street in his thick German accent. The other boys had left a few hours ago to catch the last busses home.

Something caught Marcus’s eye in the dimly lit room. A glint of light off of brass, an old, traditional lamp sitting next to Mr. Peters’ humidor. “What’s that?” Marcus asked.

Lars looked at the lamp like he’d never seen it before. “Some object of Daddy’s,” he grunted. “You like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” Marcus was living in his own place for the first time, and he was starting to decorate. He drifted over and lifted up the lamp. He could base a whole room off of its aesthetics.

“Take it.” Lars waved away Marcus’s half-made protestation. “If Daddy thought it was important he would tell me,” said the German model. “It clashes with our decor.” He moved closer, and growled in Marcus’s ear, “You deserve a present for being such a good slut.”

An hour later, Marcus crashed into bed, not bothering to undress or unpack his bag, leaving the lamp in his gym duffel.

The next morning, he woke up late and made a protein shake for breakfast. As he chugged it, he pulled the lamp out of his bag. Held it up against different spaces in his apartment. It would clash with the Britney poster in the bedroom. Ditto for the Barbie display in his office. He settled on the entryway. He could get a pedestal for it and make an Arabian nook or something.

There was some kind of stain on the side of the lamp. Grabbing a hanky, Marcus started to rub it, but was interrupted as the lamp slid from his grasp and released a cloud of rainbow smoke. When it cleared, a burly Arabian man in a thong and a slutty stringer tank stood in Marcus’s apartment.

“Hey cutie,” said the genie. “Make me some wishes and I’ll get you hot.”

Marcus’s eyes caught on the genie’s ample bulge, and then he processed what he was being offered. In the second before he made his first wish, all he could think was masculinity. There was a corner near his apartment where Hispanic men gathered to shoot the shit in their jeans and tank tops. Their manliness was effortless, totally unstudied, what Marcus had dreamed of being in his childhood.

“I wish I was more manly, like a Latino guy.”

“Got it,” said the genie, with a snap of his fingers. “One Latino meatlover, coming right up.”

Marcus found himself surrounded by a cloud of orange smoke. It smelled like sweat and spices, and Marcus found himself inhaling it deeply. The scent blazed a trail through his mind, and Marcus started to think in Spanish rather than English. His university education vanished, replaced by the foundation of his own landscaping company at 18, and all the hard, manual labour involved in maintaining and building yards for rich, lazy white people.

At the same time, the smoke pumped up Marcus’s big Black muscles further, and lightened them to a sun-kissed tan. His hair straightened and retracted partway into his scalp, leaving him with a simple, masculine haircut. His dick and balls expanded, and the extra testosterone threw his already ripe armpits into overdrive, filling the room with the smell of his sweat. Finally, the last of the smoke thickened into threadbare white briefs, tight jeans, and a tighter tank top, an outfit fit for the masc Latino guy Marcus was becoming.

The genie snapped his fingers once again, and Marcus’s apartment became Marco’s house, a one storey bachelor pad full of thrifted furniture, hand-me-downs, and Marco’s curated selection of Tom of Finland prints hung on the walls.

Marco looked around with satisfaction, his big, callused hands on his hips. “Buen, cabron,” he told the genie in his deep, firm voice. “I need to go work now.”

“See you tomorrow, hermoso,” said the genie, vanishing back into the lamp that sat on Marco’s living room dildo shelf.

During the day, Marco drove his pickup truck to the office, maintained the lawns for some clients, and handled everything it took to run his own business. He hadn’t done great at school—too busy working so his mami could rest—but once he’d founded the business he’d discovered a knack for accounting, so he sat in his air conditioned office to do paperwork while his college boy employees worked through the heat of the afternoon.

Well, he finished the work in an hour and spent another two sniffing his spicy pits while he tugged his thick cock.

After work, Marco drove home, checked his immaculate front and back yards for anything that needed maintenance, and fired up the barbecue. He didn’t realise he had cooked for four until he sat down at the table with a mountain of meat and no one to feed.

The next morning, Marco summoned the genie bright and early with his second wish. “I wish I had some amigos to share the evenings with.”

“Aww, you could have just asked,” the genie cooed, and blew Marco a kiss as he vanished, sending a heart-shaped orange smoke ring to hit Marco in the face with the scent of musk and spice. When nothing seemed to change, Marco shrugged and loaded up his truck for work.

At the first client’s house, Marco dealt with the usual white housewife cooing over his big muscles and blue-collar masculinity with a roll of his eyes. But then the woman’s son, a lean twunk home for the summer, stumbled down the stairs for coffee. He glanced at Marco, who was setting up the lawnmower, and saw a flash of orange light as his nostrils filled with the scent of the Latino’s musk, and his mouth with the flavour of unwashed Latin cock.

As Marco packed his truck back up, the twunk stepped shyly up next to him. At first, he asked the usual questions about Marco’s gym routine, but then Marco raised his arms, showing his hairy pits and releasing a cloud of fresh, sweaty musk, and the white boy seemed to swallow his tongue. He handed Marco a paper with his number on it and fled.

It was the same with every client that day. At some point while he worked at each house, a cute young white boy would walk up and hand Marco his number. Some were little femme twinks, others buff jocks, and a couple were cute hairy cubs. All were shy, pretty, and lived in the rich neighbourhoods Marco worked in. While he was in the office that afternoon, Marco was so busy talking to all his new boys that he fell behind on the accounting.

That evening, Marco’s house was full of the voices of hot young guys. They filled the dining table, the couches, and the patio Marco had built with his own hands. Marco barbecued to his heart’s content and wandered among the boys with his own plate. As he greeted each new boy, Marco instinctively pulled them in for a firm kiss and grope, then said “Hola, mi chiquita.”

As the night went on, the boys got rowdier and hornier. The rich, potent smell of Marco’s musk and the genie’s magic filled the rapidly heating space, and Marco found himself on his bed in a happy pile of rich white boys desperate to sniff and lick him all over. Just at the stroke of midnight, the genie heard Marco, facefucking a little twink while some jocks and cubs worshipped him, mutter, “I wish I could see myself fuck this little gringo.”

A blast of magic suffused every corner of the house with musky orange smoke. When it cleared, Marco’s bed was surrounded by film cameras, taking different angles as he shoved his thick Latin dick into the white twink’s throat. In the spare room, two of the nerdier boys sat naked at monitors and called shots for the stream. Each room had a camera setup, including a hidden corner on the patio and a secluded bower in the garden.

Once he was done with the twink and a sweaty musk worship session with a couple of jock boys, Marco got dressed for bed in a pair of stained white briefs and turned to camera one. “That’s all for tonight, gringos,” he told his viewers in an playfully thick Spanish accent. “Come back tomorrow once I’m done working hard on your lawns.” He fondled his pouch, and the stream cut.

As Marco stood by the door, kissing his boys goodbye, one young lad caught sight of a weird lamp sitting next to Papi Marco’s dildo collection.

Idea with inspiration from a chatbot of my own creation.

Click here to see the genie’s next master.

Click here to see all the genie’s adventures.

[oldsidelinghill]

Oh i forgot about Tumblr! Hello!

Earlier this year I released an album with my friend Josh (of The Blasting Company) called "Those Wild Days". You might say the genre is "adult contemporary" with maybe a little bit of "dark lounge".

It's on Tidal and Spotify... and here on Bandcamp:

We also made a series of images to go along with the individual songs. The dolls were created by Erin Paisley, with sets & photography by Victoria Cloyes (and myself).

[wildlife4life]

Seven (+) Sentence Sunday

Tagged by the super lovely @prosperdemeter2 @gayedmundodiaz @lemonzestywrites @rainbow-nerdss @devirnis @cal-daisies-and-briars @buddierights @disasterbuckdiaz @exhuastedpigeon @dangerpronebuddie @daffi-990 @tizniz @try-set-me-on-fire and @rogerzsteven Thank so much! Go check out all their snippets and works!

Well would ya'll look at that... I'm actually participating in a tag day with an actual wip and not a coda. Whoa. And even better... Its an NFL Buck snippet! WOOOOO! Want to see more NFL Buck? Please check it all out here!

"So." Karen begins, pulling Hen's attention from the book she's been trying to read for the past week. She quirks an eyebrow at her wife, "So?" "So my boss's son's, partner broke their leg Tuesday after tripping over their 15 year old terrier." Karen explains and Hen can't help but look back towards where Paisley is lounging on the arm chair (Hen's favorite seat that she has lost to that sassy fur ball) with worry. Her wife chuckles reading Hen's internal concern, "Babe, Paisley is as pure bred as they come. We'll be lucky if she makes it to 10." "That pure bred survived an earthquake and a collapsed building. I wouldn't put it past her to make it way past 10 out of spite alone.” Hen remarks, turning back to Karen. Karen rolls her eyes, but gets back on topic, "Anyway. Harris, that's the partner, got their hands on some passes to that super exclusive gay club, The Green Carnation for this Friday." "You mean the place that runs a background check rivaling the FBI, makes every patron sign NDA's, and will blacklist a person from every gay bar from here to Vegas if they break said NDA? The place that is rumored to host not only out celebrities, but also the deeply closeted, tilt the world on it's axis if they ever came out, big names? That gay club?" Hen questions, her excitement starting to rise. Her very sexy and somehow very connected wife smirks, "The very one. And poor Harris just can't fathom trying to hop around on one leg and not drink thanks to their newly acquired pain meds. So they had their partner-" "Your boss's son." Hen remembers, leaning towards Karen, who instinctually gets closer as well. "Karson, with a K, starts to asks around his dads work because you know, we're literal rocket scientist working on very classified information." "Who better to invite to a secret club than those who work on secret projects." "Exactly." Karen's smirk becomes wicked (and very sinful), "And wouldn't you know, the only non-straight and married person around is yours truly." Hen honest to go squeals, loud and bubbling with elation, "You got us passes to The Green Carnation?!" "With a pre-paid drink package. All we have to do is agree to the background check and sign the NDA." Karen replies with a broad grin. Hen can no longer hold herself back and practically tackles her wife with a teeth clattering kiss. Karen, as always, catches her and kisses back 110%. ("So, my 48 off falls on the weekend." Eddie states and he takes notice of Buck's sly grin forming, his boyfriend most likely on the same train of thought, "And since it's still your bye week..." "You want to dance the night away with other secret gays." Evan finishes. Eddie smirks, "And get a private room blow job." The quarterback's smile is almost feral like, "I'll make the reservation." And Eddie watches Buck tap on the contact Florists with the green clover next to it. The phone rings twice before a deep voice comes through the speaker, "State your member id." "Buckley, 201-09-18." "Diaz, 201-09-19." A quick moment of silence, then, "What can The Green Carnation do for you today Mr. Buckley and Mr. Diaz?")

Hmm... Is a certain run in going to happen???? We'll see!!! Hope you all enjoyed!

Tagging (no pressure): @hippolotamus @theotherbuckley @watchyourbuck @perfectlysunny02 @aroeddiediaz @loserdiaz @diazsdimples @jesuisici33 @fortheloveofbuddie @evanbegins @buck-coded @glorious-spoon @thekristen999 @spotsandsocks @sunshinediaz @lover-of-mine @hoodie-buck @elvensorceress @gayedmundodiaz @giddyupbuck @goforkinard @bekkachaos @thewolvesof1998 @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @eddiiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @doublecheekeddiaz @transboybuckley @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @thebloomingheather @bigfootsmom

[rainbowbarnacle]

I was kind a late bloomer when it comes to liking clothes, but I've learned to love dolling up! And it took me forever.

I didn't want much to do with clothes at all growing up because I wasn't really allowed to go see what I liked, and so I just kind of lived in jeans and t-shirts because that's what was comfortable. When I did try and see what I liked, mom would pull out the excuses.

"You can't wear that top, it's not your color." (Note: she never told me what my colors ever were, just what they weren't.) "You can't wear those colors, you'll look like a clown." (OH NO NOT THAT) "You can't wear that tank, it shows your arm flab." (?!?!?!) "I know you like that dress but why would someone like you wear it? You don't go out." (I WANNA WEAR IT SITTING A LOUNGE CHAIR READING A BOOK, MOTHER.)

It wounded me. Just. Holy crap. She told me these things as though it was some obvious, awful rule that I just didn't get. To hear her talk, you'd think that everyone else was already aware of my fashion sins and whispering about them, and (worst of all!!) it embarrassed her so much.

The alternatives to my choices were sooo depressing too. Khaki capris. Piles of denim, especially these weirdly stretchy uncomfortable bell bottoms that always got soaked in rain puddles? Cardigans. Nothing joyful.

(This is not to say that bell bottoms and cardigans and capris can't have their uses, and I am not questioning or judging anybody who likes these things, it was just miserable being shoved into them like a doll because This is What People Wear According to Mom.)

I was taught I should HATE plaid and paisley and polka dots, and to this day I have to shove an instinctive feeling of shame away when I look at my closet, because guess what, it turns out I have a looot of paisley AND I LOOK NICE IN IT. 8)

And just. Oh man. If I could tell tiny!Aud about how I get to match (or contrast) different colors with the blue dye in my hair? Or how I have a closet full of long skirts and headscarves and pretty shirts? Or the joy of finding jewelry that POPS? I bet she would be so happy. I never imagined myself looking like me when I was little, I always imagined myself looking sort of like mom.

Anyway, the whole point of all this blathering is that it took me an absurdly long time to figure out that clothes were FUN because the only person who should be making those kinds of decisions about them is meee. Once I figured that out, it was like a whole new world opened up.

And that goes the same for you. Go wear that Thing you like with joy. Embrace your favorite colors and patterns. Wear a biker jacket, wear a mini skirt with those long socks you like, wear that one shirt that is Incredibly Gender. WEAR ALL THREE AT ONCE.

Wear what's YOU because it's YOU.

<3

[kelcemenow]

Out There.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1343

Warnings Strong language and mentions of smoking weed.

I got a request from my Queen! Thank you for sending this in @killatravtramp and I really hope you like it! "Hi! I have a request for you! Would you be willing to write a fic where Travis meets the reader’s family for the first time, and she’s embarrassed because they’re kind of weird and out there? Thank you so much!!"

"Wait, wait, wait." You held your hand out and placed it on Travis' thigh, stopping hi from opening the car door, "Just...before we go in. I just want to remind you of what I said."

Travis rolled his eyes and smiled at you.

"No, I'm being serious. My family are...out there."

"I know, you've already said."

You closed your eyes and held Travis' hand tight, "Yeah but, they're really out there."

Travis breathed a laugh, "It's all going to be fine! Y/N, I love you and all of the strange things that come with you."

You smiled and took a deep breath before stepping out of the car, staring up at the log-style cabin in front of you. Your eyes flickered over the vast vegetable patches that ran along the left side of the structure and the tall piles of logs to your right. Chickens were dotted around the grassy area at the front of the cabin and large bulb string lights hung lazily around the porch. It was looking a lot more run down than your last visit, but you knew you parents wouldn't have noticed.

Travis stretched his arms over his head, "Wow, this is something!"

You sucked at your teeth, "Yep."

He looked at you with a smile, "Will you relax? I'm an open-minded guy. And hey, one night here...I might end up changing my lifestyle."

"Don't you dare." You glared at your boyfriend as you grabbed your overnight bag from the back of the car.

Twigs and leaves crunched beneath your feet until you arrived at the bottom of the wooden steps up to the front door. You could hear faint music coming from the house that grew louder in volume the closer you got. You turned to face Travis and quickly raised your eyebrows as you opened the door, stepping into the bright and cluttered cabin.

Travis followed you as you tried to locate the source of the music, assuming it must be where your parents were. You breathed in the familiar smell of patchouli and noticed the large new handmade tapestry hanging proudly on the wall. You turned a corner and found yourself in the lounge, a small and cosy space filled with luscious green plants and woven blankets. Wind chimes hung in the windows and clanged in the gentle breeze.

"I think the music is coming from outside?" Travis said and he pointed his thumb towards the back porch.

You peered out towards the windows, slowly making your way to the open door that was lined with strings of multicoloured wooden beads. Sure enough, you spotted your Father in an open white linen shirt and matching trousers playing the harp for your Mother who was clad in a tie-dye tank and billowy paisley pants, her eyes closed and body squatted down into the malasana yoga pose.

You cleared your throat and your Dad's face grew into a bright smile as your Mother rose from her position and ran over to you.

"Hi Mom!"

"Oh, my baby!" She grabbed at your face and covered your cheeks with kisses. "It's so good to see you."

Your Dad carefully placed the harp against the railing and walked calmly towards you, holding out his hands to yours. "My girl!" He looked over to Travis, "And her man."

Travis lowered his head and held out his hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Your Dad snorted a laugh and waved Travis' hand away, "Hey, you can call me Dad." Pulling him into a hug.

"No Dad, that's weird."

Your Mom let go of your face and began picking at the air around you, "Oh darling, your aura is so polluted. This is what happens when you live in the city."

You rolled your eyes, "Why don't we sit down for some tea?"

"That's a wonderful idea! Come, let us show you what we've done."

You followed your Mom, with Travis and your Dad closely behind you, meandering through the rooms until you reached the dining room. Your eyebrows lowered when you looked to see that the dining table and chairs had disappeared. Instead, small cushions and mat were in their place. You watched as your Dad moved to one of the cushions and sat cross-legged, looking up at you with an excited expression.

"You...don't like sitting at a table anymore?" You asked slowly.

"Mmmm, we just think that this way we are closer to the earth, and besides, all of that furniture just made the room look really cramped."

You nodded, "Cool, shall I get the tea started?"

"Oh, your Mom and I traded some eggs for a handful of organic rose and chamomile tea from the neighbours."

"You don't have neighbours Dad, you have people who live in a trailer in the woods half a mile away." You said as you headed to the kitchen, Travis quickly following you.

As soon as you were out of sight, you rested your head against the kitchen cabinet, closing your eyes and breathing deeply.

"It's not that bad, baby."

You laughed as you opened the cabinet door and pulled out the wooden bowl full of teabags, "You won't be saying that in moment when you try to catch up with your emails or check your Instagram notifications."

Travis raised an eyebrow and wrapped his arms around your waist, "Baby, I think some time away from technology will be good for us, you know, reconnect with nature and really find ourselves."

You turned in his arms to face him, "Oh my God, they've gotten to you already. Did they brainwash you when I wasn't looking?"

"Oh, ha ha."

"I'm sorry, it's just most boyfriends have been freaked out by my parents and...how they are. And then it seems they disappear very quickly afterwards." You shook your head a little.

"Hey, I'm not just anyone, okay? I love you, which means I love your family and whatever comes with it."

He pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead and you smiled, returning to the wood-fired stove to boil some water. Travis helped you by grabbing some enamel mugs that you assumed your Mom had painted the flowers on. Once the kettle had boiled, you carefully poured the hot water into the cups, with Travis placing a teabag in each one.

You both carried them into the dining room, settling down on a cushion each and handing out the tea around the circle.

"So Travis, what is it you do?" Your Dad asked.

"Uh, I'm a professional football player in the NFL, sir....sorry, Dad."

You leaned towards Travis, "You don't have to call him that."

"That sounds like it's awfully violent?" Your Mom said after blowing at the steam coming from her tea.

"It can be, I do come away with bumps and bruises occasionally."

You shuffled yourself closer to Travis, placing a hand on his arm, "He's very good, Dad. He's one of the best tight ends in the league."

Your Dad pressed his lips together, "I see, well that's very good Travis."

"A tight end with a good tight end, right Y/N?" You Mom giggled.

"Mom! Oh my God!"

Travis almost spat out his tea and you looked at your Father, who was currently doubled over laughing and clutching at his stomach.

"It's not funny!"

Your Mom uncrossed her legs and sat up on her ankles, "Oh, lighten up Y/N."

Your Dad leaned over to your Mom and whispered loud enough for you to hear, "I think she needs to get on our level, if you know what I mean?"

Your Mom nodded as you switched your gaze between her, your Dad and Travis, "What?"

"You want some smoke?" Your Dad held his hand out with a perfectly rolled joint in his palm.

Your eyes widened and you could hear Travis chuckle next to you, "What is happening here?"

"Oh your Dad and I have started growing our own, it's become one of our better ideas."

Travis let out a loud laugh, "Oh, shit, man. I think I'm beginning to like it here!"

______________________________________________________________

I really enjoyed this request! And I hope you enjoy it because I did no work today! Instead I just looked at reference photos for how I imagined the house to look...and honestly, I want to live there! I've got more requests coming up, just give me a shout if you want to be added to the Taglist!

Taglist @rd14 @dandelionwrites8 @keiva1000 @fantasywritersstuff @caelipartem @anacarangel @she-lives-in-her-dreams @kkrenae @kristencochefski1125 @countrygirl120983 @charmed2000 @nouis-bum @cixrosie @delicateearthquakellama @wordsaresimple-imnot @amylouwho9 @queenisa17 @talicat713 @luvvtrent @purecinnamonextract @savaneafricaine @caelipartem @beyxgrande @caitdaniels @ezgirl1108 @vir-tual @lightsoutstyles @macey234 @s294749w @kelcemesoftly @calirindo @livinginmyfantasies @bernelflo @secretmywritingfictionlawyer @killatravtramp @there-goes-thefighter @unicornblueberry @calirindo @tjkelce87 @kristinamae093 @kmc1989 @ajbird18

[abbys-wifey]

i’m not everyone else

request linked here

pairing: max fox x female reader

warnings: illusion of SH

a/n: happy halloween 🎃

27th of January

“Hi Sam.” I smile, waving at the older woman who peeks her head around the corner of the kitchen. “Oh hi honey, Max is just upstairs, she hasn’t been down in a bit so good luck with that.” Sam chuckles before heading back to check on her noodles.

I frown slightly at Sam’s statement.

Max hasn’t been down in a bit.

Heading up the stairs I walk into Maxs room to find her back facing me as she sits on her bed, shoulders shaking lightly. “Hey Max.” I whisper trying not to startle the curly haired girl. “Oh shit. Um. Hi. I didn’t think you were coming over till later, I just-“ She turns around and wipes her rushes to wipe eyes, sniffing slightly as she avoids my gaze.

“Are you ok?” Her eyes are blotchy and red leaving me with the assumption she was just crying.

“Yeah I’m fine just allergies.” She puts on a smile and moves closer to me on her bed. “Mm.” I hum in reply not fully believing the girl beside me. “You can talk to me if your not ok.” I whisper sending her a small smile in hopes to comfort her.

“Yeah, yeah I know. But I’m fine, I’m always fine.” She replies allowing her gaze to drift towards her window.

Not knowing what to say I simply hum in agreement, ignoring that achy feeling in my heart at allowing the person I adore most to keep hurting.

13th of February

“Pass me the bong.” Paisley groans splaying herself out over Max’s bed as the three of us lounge around Maxs room. “One second I haven’t finished my cone, damn woman.” I reply, quickly placing my mouth over the opening. Paisley groans and buries her face into the covers.

“Max you doing alright?” I ask the girl who sits on the floor leaning against the side of her bed. Max looks up at me and nods, a small smile adorning her face. “Always alright.” She drawls with a shrug of her shoulders before glancing back at the floor.

Passing Paisley the bong I drag myself to the floor beside Max, allowing my head to rest on Maxs shoulder.

“It’s ok to not be ok, you know that right?” I whisper quiet enough so that Paisley can’t hear it over the bubbling of the bong. Max frowns and I can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she thinks of an response.

“I already said I’m alright.” She almost snaps causing my eyes to widen before Max moves up onto the bed letting my head fall from her shoulder.

“Ok.” I whisper to no one but myself as I slowly come to a realisation.

Max Fox is not alright.

19th of February

Max hasn’t talked to me since the last time I was at her house which was almost a week ago.

No messages, no calls, not even a tik tok sent my way.

Her ghosting confirmed my suspicions completely. She wasn’t ok.

Grabbing my phone off my bed I click Maxs contact, my thumbs dancing over the keyboard as I try to scramble together the right words to say.

Hey Maxie, I miss you. Wanna hang out soon?

About an hour drags on by as I wait for a beep from my phone.

Giving up in waiting I grab my phone and go to send a second message when I see that my message has the word read underneath it.

“Oh.” I sigh realising the one person I love most is ignoring me.

Swiping out of the app I click on instagram not expecting to see Max had posted.

A selfie of her in her bedroom lights up my feed and I automatically smile admiring her dimples and finding joy in seeing her grin. Only after gazing at her for at least five minutes (not stalkerish at all) do I see the blade in the background of her picture sitting innocently on her bedside table.

Worry washes through me. I know what the blade means, I’ve been there. Turning off my phone I pocket it and grab my car keys heading to my car determined to be there for her whether she wants me to be or not.

19th of February

Knocking on the Fox’s front door, my mind wanders to whether or not Max will be angry when I inevitably barge into her room.

“Hi Y/N, I wasn’t expecting you.” Sam smiles opening the door wider and ushering me inside. “I think Max is just upstairs.” She gestures to the stairs and I nod my thanks heading up with my heart beating 1000 times a second.

I stand outside her bedroom door for a second, debating just walking away when the door swings open and Maxs wide eyed face stares at me.

“What are you doing here?” She sighs walking backwards as I walk forwards into the room. “I didn’t reply for a reason.” Her voice is cold, distant as she sits on the edge of her bed eyes following my movements.

“Max. I care about you and I am here for you for whatever your going throu-” I begin only to be cut off as Max stands up. “No. Don’t even finish that sentence.” Tears well in her eyes as she shakes her head furiously. “Max.” I trail off unsure of how to confront her as she scrunches up her face trying to ward off her tears.

“Please. Just leave. Go home.” She whispers pointing to the bedroom door. Standing up I head towards the door. “No.” I pause in my actions turning on my heel and marching back to her side.

“No, I’m not leaving you alone like everyone else does. I’m not everybody else Max. I’m someone who wants to help you. Who will sit and listen to you for hours if that’s what you need. Who will be a shoulder to cry on. I need you to be ok Max.” I almost shout at her, my hands gesturing incoherently around the room as I try to convey my point.

Max’s jaw clenches and unclenches as if trying to decide whether to say something or not. “You would do that for me?” She finally manages to squeeze out.

Her words break my heart. Sitting next to her on the mattress, our thighs touching I grab her hand softly admiring the pale skin. “I would do anything for you Max, do you not get that yet?” I crack a smile and tilt my head innocently trying to get Max to look at me.

Max’s shoulders heave slightly before the dam breaks and tears come flooding down her cheeks. “It’s ok, let it out.” I pull her into my body, her hands scrunching up my hoodie as she clings to me tightly as if afraid I was going to disappear.

“I’m here.” I whisper pressing my lips to her head, hands running through her curls.

“I’m here.”

[rocknrollbabydollblog]

★☆THE ESSENTIAL ROCK N ROLL STYLE GUIDE (PART 1)★☆

Second-hand, thrift and vintage stores are your best friend - especially the aisle that no one can find and the corners that no one is bothered to rummage. First priority is to choose a rock muse style icon. Pattie Boyd’s cut-crease makeup, perfect pout and psychedelic mini skirts, Marianne Faithfull’s thick bangs and love for velvet and snake-skin, Pamela Des Barres’ wild locks and clown makeup, Anita Pallenberg’s chunky belts, hot pants and huge sun hats, Bebe Buell’s 70s cover girl waves and backless halters, Linda Keith’s fur hats, Ginger Gilmour’s golden ringlets and lace bell-bottom sleeve tops, Mary Austin’s skinny scarves and bohemian prints, May Pang’s octagonal sunglasses and straight jet black hair, Linda McCartney’s classy midi skirts, Lori Maddox and Sable Starr’s spandex shorts, wedgie platforms and crazy hair, Charlotte Martin’s baggier effortless Parisian style, Alice Ormsby Gore’s bohemian layering and flowy midi skirts, Jenny Boyd’s medieval-esque dresses and peasant-style, Iggy Rose’s eye crystals and makeup, and of course Miss Priscilla Presley’s perfect feline Egyptian cat-eye, black hair and ivory complexion. Groupie rock muse style ranges from where you’re going to who you’re seeing. If you’re offering your boyfriend arm candy at his Album Launch, you’re not going to be wearing the same pair of hot pants and lace-up boots that you did at his last concert. And if you’re lounging around in the studio at 12am, you’re not going to be wearing that glam paisley dress you wore backstage on tour. Groupie style is all about knowing what to wear and where to wear it. Gigs and concerts will call for a more flamboyant, and ‘out-there’ look. Style staples for concerts and gigs include hot pants, knee-high boots, snake-skin, fur coats and of course afghan coats, chunky jewelry, face gems and body glitter, halter tops and mini skirts and dresses. This is very similar to festival style if your rockstar boyfriend is playing there - however, more flowy and bohemian styles are more welcome and especially face gems and body glitter. Sun hats, lace-up gladiator boots and sandals, and peasant maxi dresses and blouses. 

Stay tuned for part 2 where I will be discussing style staples for album launches and recording sessions.

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Yoooo

Not sure how this goes but how about prompts #22 or #29 for levihan? Whichever inspires you more/first xD

Yoooo Koala Bear! Smut Scribbles 22: “Show me how much you need me.”

Now or Never (Part 1) (NSFW) Characters: Levi x Hange; Levi x Petra (mentioned: Mike, Nanaba, Oluo, Gunther, Eld) Word Count: 2178 words

New Year’s Eve. The city streets were swarming with visitors returning from the local shrine, heads bowed against the cold, night air. Beneath a black sky pin pricked with stars, apartment windows offered their own warm glow; a brief exhibition of the different lives within. 

And in his bedroom, Levi Ackerman was rudely awoken by a foot colliding with his face.

“Ah, fuck!” 

He sat upright, stifled by the stench of sweat and stale beer. It pressed in on him like a wall of heat. Gunther, who was lying upside down beside him, sprawled over onto his stomach and groaned into the mattress.

“Not sharing a bed with these guys again…” Levi decided ruefully, climbing out and standing on the carpeted floor. As soon as he had moved, Gunther swung over onto his back and stretched out his limbs like a starfish. Supposing that that was the end of the struggle, Levi stepped gingerly over Oluo and Eld who lay crumpled beneath a mismatch of covers. 

Bending down to unplug his phone, Levi tapped on the screen to see no missed notifications. He hadn’t been expecting a follow up response after Petra’s brief but sincere ‘Have a great night! Can’t wait to hear all about it! See you next year :)’  And yet, he could not help but feel a sense of something… lacking. It had been a recent revelation, their progression from acquaintances to dating. Petra was a junior at the organisation where Levi worked, and best friend to the three sleeping bodies which were currently slumped in various corners of his bedroom. Whilst she had taken a trip with her family to celebrate the new year, Levi had been coerced into putting up an assortment of work and university friends after a long night of drinking. That was the thanks he got for being the only adult responsible enough to rent an apartment within walking distance of a major station.

Levi shuffled out into his hallway, towards the long through room which encompassed a lounge, diner and kitchen. Here the shutters were partially-closed to the city’s luminescence, leaving a little light to dilute the darkness. At the end of the room, the countertop was covered with beer bottles, half-drunk cups and crusted plates. Levi’s sofa was swaddled in a brown, paisley blanket; Hange’s arm protruding from beneath. Nestled in the space between the sofa’s back and Levi’s bookshelves, Mike and Nanaba were sharing a single futon. She was pulled tightly to Mike’s chest, her pinkened face half-hidden in his shirt.

Awake now, despite his aching temple and bleary eyes, Levi looked towards his kitchen with grim determination. There was nothing else for it, especially since his entire array of bedclothes had been donated to his friends. 

At the sink, he carefully pulled the tap on, angling it so that the spray did not hit anything noisy or metallic. Yet, someone was stirring at the sound of water. Levi turned to see Hange disentangling themself from the blanket.

“Go back to sleep…” Levi approached, keeping his voice low so as not to awake anyone else. “I got woken up, so-” At this, he gestured towards the cluttered kitchen as though this provided a comfort which sleeping no longer could.

“What, did the mess give you a nightmare?” Hange was sitting up, rubbing beneath their glasses. “Can I help?”

“No…” Levi looked doubtfully at the washing up brush he was holding. “I’m just killing time.”

“Levi, it’s-” Hange pulled out their own phone from where it had slid beneath the sofa. “-four in the morning. You can’t wash up all night. Just sleep here.” To demonstrate, they pulled back the cover. Levi hesitated, regarding the space on the sofa beside them warily. 

Under other circumstances, sharing a sofa with a friend in order to catch up on some much needed sleep would not have been anything momentous. However, there was nothing normal about the circumstances between Levi and Hange. The pair of them shared a long, muddied history which began with Levi losing Hange’s number on the second day of university. Reuniting the following day had led to five years of friendship, only recently culminating in one heated episode. Three months had passed since that moment, and yet the memory of it was as fresh in Levi’s mind as though it had occurred yesterday. Unsurprising, given the amount of replays he had devoted to it. However brief, however trivial their encounter had seemed at the time, it was made worse by the fact that neither had spoken a word about it since. 

Hange was beginning to rise from the sofa cushion, forcing Levi to put out his hands. Both whispered at once, each insisting that the other take the couch.

“Come on, let’s just sleep here,” Hange sighed finally. “It won’t be weird…” 

Levi suffered a swooping sensation, like the sudden shock of missing a stair. It was the first time they had come close to acknowledging those reckless actions which had accidentally dented the Platonic exterior of their relationship.

“...we need to sleep. I’ll face away from you so you don’t get blasted by my bad breath!”

Levi looked hopelessly over at the washing up. His mouth felt parched and a steady pulse was throbbing behind his eyes. With a curt nod, he quickly lay down and dragged the blanket over him, as though the speed of the action would make it less controversial. The couch creaked in protest as Hange rolled over. Their body was squeezed as close to the sofa’s back as possible, affording Levi room to lie behind them. 

Resting his head on the very edge of their shared pillow, Levi waited. It struck him all at once; he would never be able to sleep like this. His mind was alight like a livewire; his skin prickled. Readying himself, he half-expected Hange to speak again or turn to him without warning. Levi pressed his hands between his knees, his rigid body angled away from them. He had never felt so awake in his life. Only now it was too late to change his mind. What reason could he give for getting up? Levi could not afford to have Hange realise the extent of his awkwardness for fear it would further fracture their friendship.

Where he lay, Levi could not help but catch faint strains of coconut from Hange’s hair. It was that dry shampoo they stuffed it with whenever they resorted to survival mode; something sickly sweet but oddly comforting and familiar. Levi drew each shallow breath through clenched teeth. Beside him, Hange's chest rose and fell rhythmically whilst the air in his own lungs scorched him. It was too hot; too confined beneath this single blanket with the scent and the heat of them enveloping him. He kept his hands pressed in tightly, as though to accidentally brush against them would burn his skin. Agonising, unending torture. It pained Levi to recall how often he had swept an arm over his own cool, unwrinkled sheets, lamenting the shape of their absence; longing to have Hange lying this close to him. All those sleepless nights he wished for exactly this and now- No. Not here. He couldn’t give into those thoughts here. Those were fading memories, overwritten by the present. Now, there was Petra. 

Turning his thoughts firmly to Petra, Levi felt himself begin to relax. Meanwhile, Hange was breathing deeply, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. Fatigue lay heavily upon Levi’s body and, as his face sank into the crumpled pillow, his eyes closed. 

It was a low grunt which caused Levi to jerk awake. In the immense effort of casting off what felt like several hours of deep sleep, he tried to orientate himself. Coarse strands of hair were tickling his cheeks. He was curled on his side, pressed against something. The cotton of the pillow was gone. Levi inhaled the scent of coconut, his face nestled in the warmth of Hange’s neck. Horrified, he quickly withdrew to the very edge of the couch. The abruptness of his movements should have awoken them, and yet they lay perfectly still. Levi tensed. He could have sworn he heard a breathy chuckle and then… there was silence. For a moment, he envied them. Hange swept in and out of his life with all the passion and violence of a storm, arriving with a crash and leaving with nothing more than a whisper. What he wouldn’t give to live and love so freely…

Positioning himself with care, Levi’s head was perched at the end of the pillow; legs hung precariously over the edge of the sofa cushions. If exhaustion had not crept over him once more, inviting and unannounced, he would have given up any attempts at sleep. But Levi could no more contemplate braving the cold air outside the blanket more than he could stepping onto the cool, wooden floorboards. He gripped his hands under the pillow, and once again surrendered to rest.  

Beneath his palms, the heat of their cheeks burned. Levi was cupping Hange’s face in his hands as his lips pressed theirs. Each kiss was dizzying; addictive. As he leaned into them, he felt Hange respond with increased pressure as they savoured each brush of his lips. They sank backwards, causing the makeshift bed to groan under the weight of them both. Levi was drawn out between Hange’s legs, his tongue gliding across the back of their teeth. Beneath him, Hange gasped, open-mouthed as their back arched off the thin mattress. The press of their body sent hot whips of pleasure lashing through him. Levi’s eyes rolled back as they fluttered closed. If this is how good they felt on his cock whilst fully clothed… Levi’s hips pistoned forward against them. So fucking good. His teeth grazed and pulled at their lower lip. Breathlessly, he withdrew to gaze down into Petra’s flushed, smiling face.

This time Levi awoke groggily. The thick, oppressive layer of sleep coating his mind was even more difficult to shake off than before. Outlined by a slither of street light filtering through the shutters, Levi could make out the sofa’s back and Hange’s sleeping form in front of him. His body was moulded to theirs; arms aching as he clung to their waist. Their weight rested against him, back held flush to his chest. And, still worse, he was hard. Shamefully, unbearably hard. With a sigh, Hange shifted against him. As though on instinct Levi’s body responded, hips rolling into them, sending another wave of whitehot electricity coursing through him. His eyes closed in agony; mouth filled with saliva. Levi was lost in the heat of them; wanted nothing more than to keep up that same rhythm; relish that delicious, blistering friction as it intensified… Levi moaned into their neck, loud enough to drown out Hange’s quiet gasps.

“Shit-” The cold realisation of what he was doing suddenly dawned upon him. Levi struggled to sit up. With a fluid movement, Hange turned over and caught his wrist in their hand.

“Shh!” they hissed, “Mike and Nanaba.”

Levi froze, hardly daring to draw breath. “Shit. Shit.  I…”

Half-lowering himself, Levi’s limbs stiffened. His head barely grazed the pillow. Hange’s face was so close to his own that he could feel the heat lifting from their cheeks. Levi clutched the underside of the sofa arm to prevent himself from falling. 

“It’s okay,” Hange mouthed, hardly audible. “I’m not going to kiss you.”

“You’re not?”

“You sound disappointed, Levi.” He could hear quiet breath whistling down their nose. Up close their eyes appeared large and dark in the gloom. Desperately, Levi sought for a safe response amongst dozens of dangerous options, but came up empty-handed. He was seized with a need to clear his throat.

“Are you?” Hange added. 

Levi’s mouth was almost too dry to speak.

“Can’t-”

“What?” Their breath was on his mouth. Their familiarity, their smell, their warmth was clouding him; pulling him under. Less than an inch stood between them; it would be too easy to close the gap. Levi knew that if he shifted only slightly, Hange would melt into him. The thought alone was enough to harden him more. It took every fibre of his resolve to remain still.

But Hange didn’t move any closer.

“Levi, we can sleep here and never talk about this again.”

Levi could hardly speak, hardly breathe as they drew towards him.

“Or… you could show me how much you need me.”

One last, star-filled night. This night. The pair of them crowded close, noses almost touching beneath an old, threadbare blanket. Here, where they were hidden from other’s eyes. This would be his only chance. It was never to be repeated again. But, it was impossible; staggering in its enormity. Either he leaned in and claimed everything he had been longing for, for five long years. Or he remained where he was; refrained from crossing a boundary that would sully two relationships held so dear to him. The course of his future lay in his decision.

And decide he did.

Part 2: Now or Never (SFW)

[slippinmickeys]

Prompt: ballet slippers, chocolate pudding in a can, Wyoming

The house, when they walked in, was like nothing she’d ever seen before—striped wallpaper on the ceiling, paisley carpet on the floor, a circus worth of color on every surface. It was like a Carlton Varney fever dream; like a brothel with aspirations. Mulder actually paused in the doorway and leaned back out to double check the address number on the side of the house.

“Wow,” Scully said, daintily setting down her suitcase a few feet inside the door. She wanted to make a joke, but Mulder looked appalled.

“We can go home,” he said quickly. “We don’t have to stay.”

His tone was such that she suspected he might be on the verge of having a panic attack.

“I was promised a weekend away,” she said calmly, reaching past him to close the door. She took his own suitcase from his hand and set it down next to hers.

“Anyway,” she went on, “it’s just a place to…sleep.”

With that his attention returned to her and she thought she saw his cheek tic, threatening to smile. Giving him an arched eyebrow and a squeeze of the hand, she turned away from him to explore the flat, curiosity overtaking every other impulse.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “The reviews were great.”

Scully sauntered over to the corner where there was a small kitchenette; bright green cabinets, a hot pink coffee maker. She opened up a cupboard. The inside was lined with contact paper featuring a cornucopia of citrus, upon which sat a single can of chocolate pudding. Scully didn’t recognize the brand.

“Quaint and cozy?” she asked, turning back to him.

“Whimsical and fun,” he said sheepishly.

She had to resist the urge to laugh.

Mulder finally spurred himself into action, reaching up into the nearest lamp and giving it a few futile clicks. When it failed to produce light, he began hunting along the wall for a light switch. When he finally found one, he flicked it, and it was then that Scully’s gaze was pulled upward.

Hanging from the ceiling fan was a pair of soft pink ballet slippers, tied to the blades by their satin ribbons. As the fan began to move, roused into motion by Mulder flipping the switch, the slippers began to turn, toes out, spinning gracefully in a perpetual arabesque.

Scully smiled. “Cute.”

“I’m afraid one’s going to come flying off and kick me in the face,” Mulder said, eyes still dubiously skyward. “And I already feel weirdly beat up.”

Scully ignored him and casually continued her tour of the flat, passing by a rather tame painted landscape of rocky mountainous outcrops, the script underneath reading Jackson Hole, Wyoming. However, as she continued to walk past it, the picture gradually changed in a holographic effect, revealing, when she got to the other side of it, a painting of a woman lounging provocatively spread eagled, her fleshy breasts exactly mirroring the Tetons of the landscape. Scully paused to squint at the cursive label, which now read simply Wyoming Jackson’s Hole.

She couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

“What?” Mulder called from across the room.

“You’re going to like the art,” she told him, approaching the only other doorway in the place, which had to lead to the small apartment’s en suite.

She pulled up short. The bedroom was just as outlandishly decorated as the rest of the flat, but the room’s main draw was an absolutely palatial four poster bed, curtained on all sides by bright red velvet with fringe, pulled back just enough to reveal a monolith of a mirror tucked into the canopy.

Mulder came up to stand beside her, huffing out a long whistle.

“This in the reviews?” she asked him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“The term ‘whimsical’ was doing a lot of heavy lifting,” he said. “But no one mentioned the bed was a mirrored grotto.”

Scully felt for him—he’d been excitedly planning this for weeks. He’d promised to take her out of town for a quiet romantic getaway. She would not let him sink into a funk over something as trivial as heinous decor. She ducked out from under his heavy arm and took him by the hand, pulling him into the room.

“Do a little heavy lifting yourself,” she said suggestively, “and we can field test the term ‘fun.’”

He finally cracked a smile and followed her into the room.

[sunkeeperxiv]

FFXIV Write 02 - Horizon

Timeframe/Spoilers: Stormblood, the journey to Kugane.

(780 words) It's a long voyage to the far east, and Daca'li has a habit of stepping out for some night air.

Daca’li suppressed a yawn as he hauled himself up the ladder separating the ship’s sleeping quarters from the lower decks. The soft soles of his lounge boots were thin enough that he could feel the woodgrain on the rungs, but they at least kept him quiet as he climbed. None of the pirates aboard the ship would have taken nicely to being woken in the middle of the night because one of their passengers felt like a late-night stroll.

He lifted the trapdoor at the top of the ladder, snaked through, and closed it again as quietly as he could, pointing an ear toward the figure sitting at one of the benches as he did. The quartermaster Paisley was awake late, a lantern beside her on the table as she fussed with papers, pen and abacus.

“Good evenin’,” he said, not wanting to startle her. The crew’s response to being startled would be to stab him first, and most likely second and third as well. Asking questions probably wouldn’t come into it at all.

She jerked her head up at his voice, her hands flying to her musket and her lantern, although for a mercy she didn’t draw the musket. She’d learned his voice at this point, he supposed. “Up and about again, Mister Liath?” she asked, lifting the lantern only a little, likely enough for her to see his silhouette.

“Aye, ‘Master Paisley,” he responded, looking just barely away from both her and the lantern. She’d admitted a week back that seeing his eyes shine in the darkness gave her the shivers. “Just need to see the stars for a spell.”

Paisley nodded and placed the lantern back on the table, turning it so the light shone on her papers. “If you’re goin’ to make a habit of this, you could consider takin’ a spot on the night watch. The crew would appreciate it. Ain’t many enjoy bein’ up all hours of the night.”

Daca’li considered it a moment. It was true enough that he didn’t much enjoy just waiting for the ship to arrive in Kugane. He spent most of his days studying Doman letters with Alphinaud and Alisae or sparring with Lyse, but day after day of the same had begun to drag. Doing something to help aboard the ship would be a change of pace. It might even be a relief.

“I’ll think about it,” he told her, although he’d already all but decided to do it. She nodded brusquely and returned to her paperwork as he made his way up the stairs to the main deck.

Even after weeks at sea, the sea breeze retained a uniquely refreshing quality. Despite the late hour, the wind was warm, and the ever-present ocean tang was sharp and soothing. He made his way over to the railing and leaned up against it, resting his chin on the wood. The moon was at half her light, and even with his keen eyes he could just barely make out the horizon, the line where the stars stopped and the water waves began.

He looked behind the boat and saw only water; ahead of them was likewise barren. They’d been sailing for two weeks now and had several weeks left before they’d arrive in Kugane. They hadn’t been moving slowly, either. Carvallain had informed him several days ago they were making very good time. The expanse of ocean they had to cross was simply vast.

A sort of clarity came over him, remembering that remark. He thought, for a moment, about all the ocean they had surely already crossed, and then about all the ocean they had yet to cross. The full length of Aldenard and Ilsabard put together. He spent so much time jumping from aetheryte to aetheryte, chasing crises, that Eorzea had shrunk into a collection of cities and towns and battles to fight. Now, though, standing on the deck, watching the same endless horizon that he’d been surrounded by for days…

A shiver crossed his skin despite the balmy breeze. There was so much of it. Once in his life the Shroud had been the biggest thing he could imagine. From the Shroud to Eorzea, and now this… his breath caught in his throat. The more he saw of the world the more it seemed to grow.

Daca’li adjusted his posture so that he was leaning more comfortably against the railing and settled in for a spell, watching the ocean waves. He resolved to ask Paisley later about taking some of those watch shifts, and the other members of the crew what they knew about Kugane and Doma. He’d just become a great deal more eager for their arrival.

[gracegrove]

Idyllic

tw warnings childhood trauma, child abuse, implied child abuse, implied child sexual abuse, blackmail

_________

He was struggling, a half-cocked grin under wiry and unkempt hairs as plain-clothed officers moved his father out the front door. "Billy? You do exactly as they say boy, you hear me?!" he barked, startling the moping child back to reality. A woman moved into the space, her brown paisley dress shifting as she squatted to his eye level.

"Billy?"

The boy looked up through watery eyes, the rhythmic beams of red and blue lighting up his face from the police cruiser parked outside. The woman stretched out her hand to wipe at his cheek, and Billy flinched, his face already bruised and yellowing around the edges from days prior.

"Honey I'm so sorry. We're gonna make this right." She put a hand gently on his shoulder. "We're gonna get you out of here," she promised.

Lounging, head tilted back against the concrete, Neil whistled a long flat tune. He was waiting on the detective to pull his ass out of bed. He continued piping out wistful ditties until a man approached his cell an hour later.

"Name's Detective Kasey, stand away from the bars. Remember that anything you say can be held against you in a court of law..." he droned wearily as he fumbled with a ring of keys.

Neil stood brushing off his wranglers and approaching, as the cell door swung wide and the detective entered. Neil held out his wrists to be cuffed but paused with a visible wrinkle in his nose. "Wait. Kasey? Duke Kasey, from Fresno High Class of '64?"

Neil leaned into the man's space, their eyes locking as the detective looked up at him suspiciously from bushy brows. "Who wants to know?" he inquired.

Pulling his cuffed wrists back, Neil gestured to himself proudly, "Neil. Hargrove. Remember me you sonnuva bitch?"

The detective nodded a fond smile. "Well, you bastard you're in a pickle now. Let's talk."

Coming to the interview room, the men both pulled up a chair, Det. Kasey opened the file sitting on the table. "Let's see what you've gotten yourself into this time heh?" Reclining, he flipped through the file, page by page, the soft expression falling from his face.

Neil sat opposite picking his nail beds clean. "How much's this gonna cost me? Community service? A fine?"

The detective didn't answer, lifting a page over and wincing as he finally reached the section with photographic evidence. "Jesus H. Christ!" he cursed. "This is bad Neil. Real bad. This ain't no pickle."

Neil frowned, resting his arms on the table. "I can't discipline my kid?" He stated calmly.

Kasey pulled a pen from his breast pocket and reached for the tape recorder. Clicking the record button, he stated the date, time, participants, and purpose of the interview.

"Neil Hargrove, are you aware of your rights?" Kasey asked.

"I am," he replied.

"And as previously stated do you hereby waive your right to an attorney?"

"I do. I got nothing to hide." Neil shrugged.

Kasey cleared his throat. "It's alleged that you have been harming your son, William, physically. On multiple occasions. What do you have to say to that?"

Neil looked around the bare room with an air of boredom, "The boy's hard to manage. Gets into trouble an awful lot. School. Home. Fights with neighbor kids." Neil slouched out in his chair, "What am I supposed to do? Someone's gotta raise that boy, teach him right. How to be respectful. Ever since his mother left, he's been an absolute pain in the ass."

"Is that an admission?" Kasey probed, scratching out notes onto a legal pad.

"An admission of being a parent who's trying their damndest? Sure." Neil reasoned. "You would understand..."

Kasey raised an eyebrow, "I don't think I follow."

Neil gave the man a baleful smile, "Your old man really was quite the guy."

Kasey bruskly paused the recording. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Neil leaned in across the table, canines glinting in the low light. "Easy Duke, we're just talking. We're old friends after all, right?"

Kasey scoffed, he and Neil had hardly been what you'd call "friends."

"All I want is this over with," Neil continued, "I need to be home. My boy needs me. And you're gonna help me do that." Neil sniffed.

Kasey closed the casefile, "And why would I help you?"

Neil looked at the other man in mock innocence, "Because I know."

"I know it wasn't an accident."

Kasey's face paled, "And just what would make you think that?"

His voice was dry and wary, as he licked his lips, nervously padding his breast pocket for a carton of cigarettes. Lighting it, he took a deep drag.

"My old man had a bad habit of mixing booze and cigarettes. The whole house went up."

Neil leaned over the table, snatching the cigarette with a cuffed hand and smirking. "He also had a habit of keeping you around when Mommy was outta town..." Neil chuckled darkly.

"You sonnuva bitch" Kasey snarled, fingers curling into fists. "I don't have to listen to another word of this shit!" He pushed his chair gruffly away from the table, coming around and grabbing Neil roughly by the collar.

"Up! Your ass is going back where it belongs!" Kasey growled.

Gingerly holding the cigarette with his bound hands, Neil casually blew out, "I'm sure your Chief would be interested to hear about all the 'quality time' you spent with Daddy. All the -" He took another drag. "love you two shared. The hammer you buried with his blood -"

Kasey's grip slipped on him, dropping him askew in his seat. Leaving Neil to reseat himself.

Kasey loosened his tie, a visible sweat covering his face and dampening his shirt. "Wha-what hammer?"

Neil laughed, "Oh come on Dukey boy! The one I saw you bury beneath the dogwood by your toolshed. The one I dug up..."

Kasey swallowed on thinning air. "You ha-?" Neil nodded. "Yeah. I do." Kasey came back around and slumped into his seat, the chair groaning across the linoleum floor.

Moments passed in slience, marked by the monotonous ticking of the clock in the room. "So, here's what we're gonna do Duke." Neil stated resolutely as he ashed his cig on the table top. "You're gonna make this go away. And then I in my gratitude to you, will leave and never return. How's that sound?"

The detective nodded his head numbly. "That's a boy."

_______

"I don't know what more we can do Marsha," the man said from his seat at the kitchen table.

Marsha was putting the finishing touches on dinner as they spoke.

"Henry, we have to keep trying," she said gently.

"Marsha," Henry pushed, "How much is there even left to try? He's fighting at school again. He's angry about everything. He never lets us help him. How can we help Billy when he's like this?"

He was exasperated, rubbing a hand over his forehead, his wife giving him a supportive pat on the back.

The foster parents that Billy had been living with over these past few months were reaching their wit's end. They tried their best, welcoming him with open arms. They were very kind, but when Billy rebuffed them and avoided them they were hurt and confused.

Just then a little boy ran in the kitchen door crying. "Ma! Ma!" Marsha pulled him into to her side, thumbing at his tear-wet face. "What's wrong Sam?" "B-Billy..." he blubbered out before tumbling into tears again.

Henry shot Marsha a look. Marsha sighed, ushering the boy to sit at the kitchen table, as she went out the kitchen door to find Billy.

"Billy!? Billy?!?!" Marsha called as she entered the yard. "Come here please, we have to talk." Looking around she spotted him hiding behind the large trunk of the oak tree.

"Billy...." she sighed in disappointment as she approached. "What did you do to Sam?"

"Go away!" Billy yelled, tucking himself further behind the tree.

"I'm not going away Billy we have to talk." Marsha pushed.

"No!" Billy yelled, running from behind the tree to find a new place to hide.

Marsha reached out, grabbing Billy and wrapping him up in her arms. "Stop running Billy. You're in big trouble!"

"NO! NO! NO! NO! LET GO! LET GO!" Billy screamed. He began kicking violently, throwing his head back and hitting Marsha in the chest.

"Billy stop!" Marsha groaned, tightening her grip.

"Noooooo!" Billy bellowed, flailing and fighting even harder. Digging his heel harshly into her shin, Marsha yelped and let go, Billy running free.

He fled from the yard and was out of sight. Throwing open the kitchen door Henry looked at Marsha, "You wanna go after him?" Marsha shook her head vigorously, catching her breath. "No."

The doorbell rang. The couple composed themselves and came to the door. "Can we help you?"

The man smiled, "Good afternoon, I'm Neil Hargrove. I'm here to get my son."

[bunbeeplays]

The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 145 - New Year, New Problems, Part 2

The only thing Paisley needed help with upstairs was having an argument. Hard to do that alone.

Paisley: Why would you treat me like I'm stupid in front of all your friends?

Juan: I wouldn't really call those two friends.

Paisley: Well you still shouldn't talk to me like that!

Juan: Talk to you like what? I really didn't think you'd get it!

Paisley: I'm a GENIUS, Juan, I think I'd get the gist of your corporate hoopla. What advantage do you get from making your own wife look stupid?

Paisley: I worked hard to throw this party together and it really hurt my feelings that you would brush me off like that. I'm trying really hard to make things work but it just feels like you're annoyed by me.

Juan: My job is stressful, mi amor. I'm sorry if you took offense-

Paisley: No! That is NOT an apology!

Whoa, since when does Paisley yell at him? This is new.

Paisley: I know you get stressed and I cut you a lot of slack, but you were rude down there. I changed my entire life when I married you, the least you could do is be nice to me!

Juan: Oh, you thought it was really nice when I bought your parents that loft, didn't you? You didn't even ask but I did it!

Is he really going to hold that over her head right now?

Juan: And it was really nice when I bought you all that Joliebean CC!

Paisley: No! You don't get to throw money in my face and then be as mean as you want to me. That's not love, it's manipulation!

My girl Paisley has HAD it!

Paisley: You might have been able to take advantage of me before but not anymore!

Paisley: You are DONE treating me like a child. I might be younger than you, but I'm still an adult, and I can make my own decisions. To start, I'm NOT becoming a singer so YOU can make money off of me. You pressured me into it, but not anymore.

Paisley: I'm going to college, and I'm getting my medical degree, even if it means I have to go back to waitressing at the Stargazer Lounge to fund it. I love you and your kids, but I don't like what you've become. You're not my father, or my boss, you're my husband. Act like it!

Juan: I… Didn't know you felt that way.

Paisley: That's because you never ask what I want or how I feel about things, and I've had it! I've tried so hard to make this marriage work, but I need you to put in some effort too. Money can't solve everything.

It can't?

Juan dwells on this. Paisley has really made an effort to bond with his children. Even Trent's warmed up to her.

Having his wife working a waitressing job would be a bad look. He supposes he can throw her a bone.

Juan: Ay. I understand. I support your decision to go to school.

Juan: And, this is not me throwing money at a problem, but I will cover the tuition. Consider it an investment.

Paisley can't believe it, she stood up to Juan and he actually listened! She's going to finally accomplish her dream of going to college!

While all that's going down, Ophelia is really feeling accomplished. Being recognized for her hard work is amazing, but passing on those skills for a new generation of musicians is really something.

Ophelia has officially completed the Musical Genuis aspiration!

It's a party, so it can't be all work. Ophelia and Trent decide to call it for the evening and catch up.

Trent: Things between me and Paisley have been pretty good. She comes off ditzy but she's actually really smart. My grades have improved a lot since she started tutoring me.

Ophelia: I'm glad to hear things have been better between you two.

Trent: Yeah. I guess I thought she was just using my dad, but she's actually pretty cool… The twins love her too, it's nice for them to have another girl around. They were just infants when Mom left.

Trent: With how busy Dad is, it was always me, Claudia and Marina, and I love them to bits, but having someone else to help with the girls really takes the pressure off, y'know?

Poor kid, having to take on a parental role. He does seem like he has less weight on his shoulders.

Time for nectar and gossip! Ophelia could hear shouting but didn't know what it was about, so Paisley spills the beans.

Ophelia: Good for you, standing up for yourself!

While she doesn't think this marriage is the best, she admires Paisley for trying so hard to make it work.

It's time for the New Years Countdown. Sha shooby!

Happy New Years! Lots of hugs for everyone!

Ophelia hugs Jaden and goes over to hug her daughter but she has a big question to ask.

Gemma: Mom, Claudia said we can come to her family's ranch house during spring break to meet her horse! Can we, please?

She did promise Gemma she'd get to ride a horse when she's old enough. This seems like a good opportunity, plus it's nice she's making better friends with the Esposito girls.

Ophelia: Of course, muffin. That sounds like a lot of fun.

Gemma: Thank you, thank you!

Gemma leans in to whisper to her mom.

Gemma: Don't tell Daddy, but you're totally my favorite!

Ophelia: You don't need to have a favorite, honey. Daddy and I both love and support you.

That's what she says, but internally she's feeling very smug. Take THAT, Xander!