#and he reckons cash is exchanging hands

[rowanthestrange]

yo look at her that’s an actual house

[naoyoki]

content warning : afab!reader , nsfw , needles and blood (we're tattooing choso) , car sex , cowgirl , nipple play , doggy style . wrote this while watching 'can i solve pll season 2 before the reveal?' on yt lmao ... hope yall like this! pinned

marking ink on choso was always a pleasure from your end. this man has been nothing but nice and respectful towards you. a true and fit gentleman, a cutie even. although this peculiar trait was forged due to his shyness you reckoned, truthfully it didn't matter much really.

but todays appointment was far beyond whatever you had expected it to finish as.

choso desired a face tat, a straight rectangular line running across his nose. it was not only your first time doing such art on someone, it was his first and apparently only face tattoo he would ever get.

this was not only special, but extremely nerve wrecking for you both. it was your first time coming inches close to a clients face, especially one as handsome as choso.

goodness, you were in a daze as you straddled him, he was too large, you could not get as close as you wished to get the perfect angles and to not mess up, even when the stencil guided your every stroke. his thick, rough hands rested on your hips, securing your position over him and keeping you stable.

however, his touch kept your thumping heart far from stable. you could feel it up your throat peeking around, ready to rattle you out. your cunt was no different.

'is he hard or is he just this big while limp?'

and fuck, did you really wanted to find out. particularly wishing it was the latter. with such thought in mind your pussy marveled by the imaginative construct, continuously clenching onto nothing but the fabric of your underwear. as if calling your clients cock.

and it was hard, so unbelievably hard to keep up the façade. the buzzing of the pen and the constant gulping sounds choso made was the only thing that could be heard in the shop as the last ones for the day.

the intense white light of the lamp above gave you the access to see each and every tweak and tear coming from choso's face. but that did not distract you from the carnal needs.

and to your unknown dismay choso was well aware of your predicament. you were sitting on him. how could he not feel your pulsating and aching cunt over him? the pain of the piercing needles kept him at bay; strong and resilient.

he had booked so late in the evening because he wanted to ask you out but, sweet lord did he hit the jackpot with this one. his crush on him, dueling her unresistable desires. all because of him.

"done, you can open your eyes, cho." you finished wiping up the ink and blood that built up on the last needle stroke with a sterilized wipe, "here."

you handed him a paper towel, "i don't want tears in my chair." choso chuckled, moving his left hand to grab on to your waist— causing you to freeze under his touch, the other one catching the paper towel and collecting his tears.

"you gonna wrap it up." he gestured, while holding on to the crunched up paper towel as he sat straight looking you right in the eyes.

you divert your gaze from his, with the unsaid excuse to set a little special tape the wraps around the fresh ink. but he knew better.

with the art work done you lead the man towards the counter at the back of the shop, the cash exchange was swift. just as his confession.

in the middle of his short sentence of confession you had the initiative to lock your lips on his quite gently, "you could take me home and stay over..."

although you did not reach that far, "oh god, choso, fuck!"

you were absolutely right with your predictions a few minutes prior. he was huge, long and thick with veins decorating the whole length. your pussy leaked, your slick and precum sticking on his lap as you bounced on his dick at the backseat of your car.

the car shook with each plunging thrust you provoked. choso's grip on your ass did not falter, assisting you with his crazy force to bury his cock to reach deep inside you. but that was until his focus shifted towards your tits. meddleing around your shirt, choso, with one hand began to play with your right nipple.

"shit cho!" you jolted, weakening by his teasing touch and closing your walls tighter on him, "so f'king good. keep touching me like that."

"is it that good?" he pushed himself into you without warning and with no care, "c'mon baby, scream how good am i."

he wanted to keep you, he wanted to blow your mind, choso desired to keep his mark on you, for as long as you could remember him. and if using you as he pleased, then that will do. your puffed up clit brushed against his pelvis and his mushroom tip relished into kissing your cervix and the soft g spot tissue. you had begun to gulp on your gasps, he was splitting you open as he pleased, and calling out on it made you further aroused.

"you're so good, f-fuck, you-you're so much better than i coul-d ever imagine~!" you clutched onto his shoulder blades while you immersed yourself yourself to match his pistoning, astounding yourself as the rush of your release came so easy and quick.

you did not know if he finished alongside you, choso moaned deliciously while you jerk around his lenght. so you accounted his jizz dripped from your hole onto the leather seats. but choso had other ideas.

the buzz of your delectable orgasm was subduing when you found yourself on all fours and ass up.

"oh, no sweetheart. we're not finished yet." he whispered, wrapping his ringed hand gently around your throat as he teased your folds with his still hard-on.

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Author: pomegranate seed

Group: B

Prompts: Theft, rose, “how long?!” Pillowfort. Turn the tables.

-

Priceless

Mr Gold peered across the cramped floor of his shop with a crooked smirk on his face. Lacey French was in the process of pocketing a piece of jewelry that had been dangling from the rack–a necklace with a locket pendant, featuring an enamel face emblazoned with a deep red rose.

The same color red as the lipstick she was always wearing, he reckoned. 

The necklace was a piece of decent quality–but it lacked the sort of provenance that might render it worthy of a spot in the glass case he was standing behind. In truth, he ought to have melted the thing down for scrap. Jewelry simply didn't move in a pawn shop–plenty of sellers, rarely any buyers. But he'd found it a charming thing, and hung it up front in the hope that someone might be willing to part with some of their hard-earned cash in exchange for it. 

Evidently not. 

Lacey was making a display of pretending to admire a few of the other pieces on the rack–costume jewelry mostly. Picking them up, turning them this way and that in the dim, incandescent light, and humming before putting them back. 

Mr Gold cleared his throat. “Miss French.”

She froze for a beat, seemed to catch herself, then looked up at him with a friendly smile. “Yeah? Mr Gold?”

He scoffed. That smile didn't suit her. After all, Lacey French didn't have a friendly bone in her body.

“Will you be paying for that?” He asked.

She furrowed her brows and pouted her lips, feigning innocence as she looked around the shop. “Uh… paying for what?”

He supposed he had to admire her effort. “It's a lovely little thing, isn't it?” He said, grabbing his cane and hitching out from around the counter. “Late nineteenth century. Timeless motif, the rose. Gold plated. There's some imperfections in the wiring of the cloisonné–but that only adds to its charm, I think.”

She swallowed, knowing she'd been caught, but not prepared to admit it just yet. 

He held out his hand with his palm up. “Miss French.”

She glanced desperately around the shop again as if looking for her escape, but there was none. With a resigned sigh, she reached into her bag and dug out the necklace. “How long have you been watching me?” She grumbled as she dropped it into his palm–the delicate gold chain falling in a soft cascade around the pendant.

The corner of Mr Gold's mouth curved into a smile. “Why–since the moment you walked in, dearie,” he said, closing his fist around the necklace and dropping it into his jacket pocket. 

She folded her arms tightly across her chest and shifted on her feet–those deep red lips set in a defiant, pillowy pout. “You know, you really shouldn't admit shit like that,” she snorted. “Makes you sound like a bit of a creep.”

He swept his eyes over her, his grin widening. Storybrook was a dreadfully provincial little town–and Lacey French was one of its few treasures. Behind that vulgar mask of hers, was a woman who was as bold and clever as she was stubborn. 

“...So says the thief,” he said. 

“I didn't do anything,” she said, without an ounce of shame. “Maybe it fell in.”

“Leapt off of the rack and straight into that knockoff bag of yours?” he scoffed, tossing a pointed glance at the cracked and peeling finish on the edges he'd spotted from a mile away.

Her nostrils flared at that, and he felt a small trill of satisfaction course through him.

“...Better a bartender with a knockoff bag than a fucking landlord,” she snorted.

Mr Gold gave a light chuckle of amusement. A decisive blow, but an expected one. “You know, it was a pity to hear about what happened to our good friend Leroy Herzberg last month,” he sighed, looking down at his hand where it rested on the handle of his cane and flexing his fingers as if to check his nails for cleanliness. “As I understand it, he was on his way home from the Rabbit Hole. Had a few too many to drink.”

At this he looked back up, tossing his hair out of his face and waiting to see what retort she'd make next. But she only clenched her jaw tightly, her eyes hard as stones.

“...Last I heard he was well on his way to a full recovery though,” he added. “I'm sure that must come as a great relief to you.”

Lacey drew a deep, steadying breath. “You really are a fucking asshole, you know that?”

He chuckled and bobbed his head, reaching back into his jacket pocket and pulling out the necklace. He tossed it gently in his palm, letting the chain unfurl and slip through his fingers. “It's not a terribly valuable piece,” he said, smiling down at the pendant cradled in his palm. “At least not to me. But the woman who sold it to me seemed quite attached to it.”

He staggered back over towards the counter, only to pause halfway and turn around. “You know, it's funny–” he said, “you seem her spitting image.”

He spun on his heels and continued to the counter, setting the necklace down and beginning to unlock the case. Perhaps it deserved a place inside after all. 

“Fine,” Lacey said. “How much do you want for it?”

Mr Gold paused, his lips curling into a grin. “What's your best offer?”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm not stupid, Gold. How much did you pay for it?”

He wet his lips like a dog awaiting a meal. “...A price that your mother found fair enough, I can assure you.”

Lacey huffed and stormed up to the counter. “Cut the shit and name a price, asshole.”

Mr Gold's heart thumped pleasantly in his chest. Colette French had been a lovely woman of many charms–but her wayward daughter possessed a far rarer kind of beauty. 

“Something you learn in my line of work, Miss French–” he began, “is that the value of goods changes over time. What was considered junk a decade ago might be highly-sought treasure now…” he mused. “Supply and demand and all that,” he finished with a shrug. “I'm sure you understand.”

Lacey rolled her eyes. “So then what is the value of it now?”

He picked the necklace back up and pretended to study it anew for a moment. In truth, he'd expect it to go for no more than forty dollars on the market. But to Lacey French, it was worth far more than that. 

He ambled back around the counter and gestured for her to turn around. “If I may?”

She narrowed her eyes at him skeptically, but indulged him nonetheless.

And what an indulgence it was, as he strung the thing around her neck. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and her chest rose and fell shakily with each anxious breath. His own fingers trembled too, as he fastened the small clasp.

“There we are,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear.

She spun around quickly, her cheeks colored by a blush that hadn't been there before–and my, was she beautiful. Exquisite. Blue eyes, fair skin. Red lips, red rose.

And thorns. Lacey French had thorns.

Mr Gold reached for a hand mirror that he kept on the counter for such occasions as this, and handed it to her.

She shot him another wary look as she accepted it, turning her back to him again as if she needed a bit of privacy.

“...I'd say it's quite priceless,” he said once enough time had passed. “Wouldn't you? Miss French?”

-

[isabelaleigh]

i. out of character

it’s me, hi.

ii. the basics

name : isabela leigh

gender & pronouns : cis female & she/her

age & date of birth :  38, xx/xx/xx

category :  other, sex worker

faceclaim :  gemma chan

iii. spill the tea

rise to fame :  

TLDR;  girl  is  raised  by  unstable  mother  who  kills  boorish  father.  mother  is  incarcerated  when  girl  is  16  leaving  girl  to  fend  for  herself  in  a  series  of  difficult  and  damaging  temporary  homes.  girl  turns  18  and  starts  turning  tricks,  makes  friends,  finds  home  among  the  unloved.  then  girl  is  20  and  meets  man  who  gives  her  money,  clothes,  a  home  in  exchange  for  her  love.  man  gives  it  up  3  years  later  but  keeps  sending  her  money.  when  girl  starts  turning  tricks  again  this  time  she  has  connections,  her  name  is  whispered  between  men  and  women  over  champagne  at  charity  auctions,  and  suddenly  she’s  a  quiet  force  to  be  reckoned  with.  paid  well  by  the  few  clients  she  takes  on,  consistent  and  desperate  enough  to  facilitate  her  bridge  into  expeditious  wealth.  if  not  in the  1%,  she’s  brushing  hands  and  ears  and  whatever  else  with  it.

sixteen  is  a  dead  father,  a  mother  in  prison,  and  foster  homes  that  foster  hunger,  selfishness,  desperation,  brutality.  she’s  lucky  to  have  made  it  out  alive.

she’s  on  the  teetering  edge  of  20  when  the  switch  flips  from  flat  broke  to  rolling  in  it.  it’s  his  money,  sure,  but  what’s  the  difference  when  it’s  laying  in  the  flat  of  her  palm?  he’d  slipped  it  into  her  hand  while  she  was  still  drowsy  with  sleep,  kissed  her  forehead,  and  reminded  her  not  to  pick  up  the  telephone.  she  does  anyway,  holding  the  receiver  between  her  ear  and  her  shoulder,  and  thinks  she  can  hear  him  smiling  on  the  other  end.  she  falls  in  love  and  he  falls  somewhere  nearby,  and  she  thinks  she  can  make  up  the  difference.  even  accepts  the  apartment  and  the  grocery  money  and  the  flowers  he  sends  twice  a  week  despite  that  impatient,  lead-footed  knowing  that  she’ll  only  hold  him  once  a  month.  and  after  a  year,  once  a  month  gives  way  to  on  occasion  and  then,  eventually,  one  last  heart-leaping  glance  over  the  threshold.  taking  her  to  bed  with  a  rock  in  his  chest  and  a  feather  in  hers,  only  telling  her  afterward,  after  the  strawberries  and  coffee  on  the  terrace.  he  won’t  be  coming  back.  he’s  met  someone.  the  company  is  moving  its  headquarters  to  europe.  his  mother  is  sick.  he  needs  to  find  someone  he  can  have  a  serious  relationship  with.  he  isn’t  attracted  to  her  anymore.  he  never  loved  her.  she  tells  herself  she  doesn’t  remember  the  excuse.  but  the  bad  stuff  is  easier  to  believe.  you  ever  notice  that?

24  is  another  dead,  this  time  in  her  own  bed,  this  time  her  “sister.”  the  cops  questioned  her  for  48  hours  before  letting  her  go.  she  called  her  real  estate  agent  the  day  she  was  released  and  had  the  house  sold  and  closed  on  in  under  three  days.  that’s  the  la  housing  market  for  you.

29  is  pulling  her  champane-colored  porshe  into  her  garage  on  a  treelined  hill,  collecting  her  vogue  france  from  the  doorstep,  and  miles  davis  or  basie  spilling  like  bittersweet  brandy  from  the  overhead  speakers.  it’s  getting  checks  in  the  mail,  sometimes  cash,  always  nameless  but  with  the  same  apologetic  mongrel  scent.

choices : please give some ideas of choices or conflicts you could potentially see for your character in the future. this is to help give an idea of the kind of arc you envision for your character, and could also be utilized if a member is ever stuck with ideas on what to propose. be as vague or in-depth as you’d like.

iv. tie it together

this aspect of the app is not mandatory and is completely optional.

event ideas & connections : talk about some events you’d like to see for the characters of the group! this is also an opportunity to expand on possible connection ideas to other characters. again, this will make posting your intro so much easier…

extra: all the extra little nuggets can be placed here. playlists, pinterest, headcanons, etc.

[hardskz]

forever after: masterlist

once upon a time still exists in this age, albeit in unconventional ways. alternatively, stray kids in fairy tales that were revamped and modernized to the point where it’s sometimes near impossible to decipher which tale the story was derived from. 

genre: university au, romance, drama, humor, porn with plot/smut

a/n: i like fairy tales, i like stray kids, and i like smut, so why not combine all three into one? there is no update schedule and the fics are only very loosely inspired by the fairy tales, so it can be that the story goes completely off track from the original. descriptions might be altered when i reckon i’m straying away from the initial outline. the series does not have to be read in order as they’re all independent from one another! 

one song glory ➵ bang chan

frankly speaking, nobody knows what the fuss about bang chan from the music production department is; all they do know is that you shouldn’t get yourself involved with him. that proves to be an impossible task when you are assigned to collaborate on a project with him. it’s only a matter of time until you figure out what lies beneath the ugly rumors spread about him on campus and his exaggerated eboy style that is way too flashy even for idol stage performances. 

alternatively, another beauty and the beast story. 

coming soon

damned if i do ya, damned if i don’t ➵ lee minho

you’re not blind; minho is hot. but you know better than anyone else that minho is the textbook definition of a real life troll (because really, which physics major is genuinely convinced that the earth is flat?). despite his antics, he manages to get laid four times a week and even after having slept with what feels like half of the university, he still whines that he hasn’t tried out his favorite kink yet, though he doesn’t spill the specifics. you wouldn’t be a best friend if you didn’t try to find out his #1 kink to annoy him. however, things quickly escalate into something none of you ever considered, but aren’t opposed to either. 

alternatively, another peter pan story. 

coming soon

cherry pop ➵ seo changbin

while your boyfriend looks the part of the stereotypical bad boy in every teen romcom — yes, he even got the sleeve tattoo down and goes to bars in the shadiest neighborhoods — he’s actually a science geek who is too whipped for you and refuses to take you anywhere that could put you in danger. done with his babying, you decide to act more recklessly, leaving changbin to clean up your mess which includes astronomical hangovers and severe side effects from a science experiment gone wrong. 

alternatively, another little red riding hood story.

coming soon

heaven in hiding ➵ hwang hyunjin

you think it was just your lucky day when you drunkenly made out with a guy at the frat party your friend forced you to come. jeongin insists that day should be celebrated because 1) you made out with a (very attractive) stranger for the first time and thus, broke out of your comfort zone, and 2) you can’t stop thinking about said stranger. you think that was the first and last time seeing him, but when you meet again on a different occasion, you’re convinced that it’s a sign from the universe. luckily, he thinks so too.

alternatively, another cinderella story.

coming soon

between heaven and disaster ➵ han jisung

call it sad but you were desperate, fed up with being the goody shoes, and prayed for any salvation that would help you become well, less goody shoes. looks like your prayers were heard because that salvation comes in the form of han jisung, the infamous frat boy that has been sentenced to mandatory community service at the soup kitchen you volunteer at. the deal is simple and jisung is as brash as they say; a hands-on introduction to the world of kinks in exchange for a favor he can cash in without limitations. the only condition: no feelings, otherwise the agreement is off. well, fuck.

alternatively, another rumpelstiltskin story. 

coming soon

lucked out with the devil ➵ lee felix

the story usually goes like this: new swimmers are recruited to the swim team. that means abs galore and a win for the team managers who can indulge in the eye candy. and because everyone has a different type, it’s natural that you’re drawn to a certain swimmer. the story isn’t any different for you (the team manager) and your subject in question felix (the new addition), except that he seems familiar to you. no, you’re not in the same major, so how— wait a second, why does his voice sound eerily similar to that one camboy your roommate gets off to?

alternatively, another little mermaid story. 

coming soon

sugar, you’re going down ➵ kim seungmin

honest to god, everyone is confused about your strange love-hate relationship with seungmin. maybe it’s because you’re both photography majors, maybe due to your different financial backgrounds — after all, rumor has it that you can’t stand him because he’s one of the best of the year despite running on a scholarship unlike you. it’s a strange love-hate relationship indeed, but it’s quickly rotting into a purely hate one when you have to work on an assignment together and can’t agree on anything. at least, that’s what you assume. in reality, it’s way more complicated than that.

alternatively, another frog prince story. 

coming soon 

[isitgintimeyet]

Just A Friend

Just another Sunday and just another chapter. Thanks to all of you who read, like, reblog, comment. i appreciate it more than you know.

thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

previous

AO3

Chapter 4: From Park to Parlay

There’s something rather special about this time of year with the transition from spring to summer when everything is still so fresh and green. The long, light evenings make me feel like I’ve been given an extra couple of hours in my day.

My flat has a balcony. It’s small—just enough space for a bistro table, two chairs and a few pots of herbs—but I love it. I come home from work and sit out there, sometimes with a cup of coffee, sometimes with something a bit stronger. Of course this is weather dependent — I am in Scotland, after all.

But sometimes, like tonight, sitting on my balcony isn’t enough. I want to be outside in all that fresh air and sunshine. Plus, one of my neighbours has acquired a new hobby, apparently. It’s either learning the violin or strangling cats. Although it sounds more like the latter, I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt and say it’s the former. I have finally managed to identify the piece she’s having a crack at. It’s from ‘Frozen’ — ‘Let It Go’ and I really wish she would.

Besides, if I wander into the park, there’s a certain ice cream kiosk that might still be open. My mouth waters at the thought of their cherry bakewell ice cream. So, I grab a cardigan, keys and a bit of cash, and head out.

As I stroll through the park, I’m thankful that I brought my cardigan. The sun is still warm, but there’s a distinct chill in the shade. Not enough of a chill to put me off an ice cream, though.

The kiosk is just on the verge of closing for the day, but he spies me doing that stupid little pretend run that’s actually no faster than walking and waits. I smile gratefully as I hand over the money in exchange for a double cone. Turning away, I can hear the shutters closing.

There’s a bench nearby, overlooking the pond and still in the sun… unoccupied. I sit down ready to enjoy my ice cream in peace. After the cacophony of a violin bow being scraped painfully across strings, this is sheer bliss — only the sound of a few argumentative ducks and the occasional playful dog. No-one to disturb me, no-one to—

At first, all I can hear are two voices, coming from the path behind me. Nothing above a murmur — one low pitched, the other higher. I can’t make out what they’re saying. Not that I would want to.  The higher voice, a female, is definitely getting louder now. She’s not happy by the sound of it. The other, clearly male, keeps to a calm murmur.

“Are ye telling me I’m imagining things, then?”

I can’t hear the response, but it’s obviously not to her liking.

“I ken she works fer ye.  But she has her eye on ye. I’m no’ stupid. D’ye think I’m a mug?”

The voice sounds a bit familiar but I can’t place it anywhere. Perhaps we go to the same coffee shops or bars or—

“That’s it, James Fraser. I’m going, I mean it... Ye ken where tae find me… this is me, going… bye… I said bye.  Fine, dinna answer me, then.”

The annoyance in her voice registers in my brain. I know why she sounds so familiar— it’s little Miss James-Fraser-isn’t-here-don’t-call-again-ever. Which means that, at any moment, one or other of them might be rounding this corner and think that I was eavesdropping.

Quickly I get to my feet ready to walk away —slap bang straight into Samsonite-owning Jamie Fraser. I take a step back. The first thing I notice is he’s not wearing a white dress shirt this time. He’s far more casually dressed in a plain white t-shirt… a plain white t-shirt now adorned with a large splodge of pink ice cream right in the middle of his chest.

“Oh, gosh, I’m — I’m so sorry,” I stammer apologetically as I fumble in my pockets for a paper serviette or tissue.

He looks up. The vexed expression on his face gives way to one of amusement.

“Claire Beauchamp,” he announces. “I didna recognise ye without yer suitcase.”

“I am sorry,” I continue to apologise as I pass him a somewhat crumpled but clean tissue.

He makes no attempt to leave, but settles himself on the bench and starts to dab ineffectually at the pink stain.

“Was it good?” He nods at the battered cone I am still holding.

“Oh yes, the best. I’d buy you one as compensation but they’re closed now.”

“It’s fine. If I feel the need I can always suck on ma shirt.” He looks down at the stain, glaringly obvious against the pristine white of his t-shirt. “Sae, how are ye doing?”

I perch on the bench next to him. Apparently we’re having a conversation.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I answer politely. “And how are you?”

“Me, I’m no’ sae bad,”  He looks annoyed, then shakes his head and gives a little half smile. “Look, I’m sorry if any of that… er…weel, if ye heard any of that.”

Do I lie? Pretend that I heard nothing? I’m not a very good liar. Geillis always says that I have a glass face, you can see every emotion clearly etched on it and I think she’s right. So I choose to answer noncommittally.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s jes’...” he pauses for a moment, considering his choice of words. “Jes’ … tricky.”

He seems lost in thought. Maybe I need to remind him that his wife-partner-girlfriend-housekeeper has just stormed off and will clearly be awaiting some sort of reaction from him.

“Shouldn’t you be… ?” I gesture towards the path in the direction she must have taken.

“Nah, I’m no’ going after her… no’ this time.” He adds the last bit under his breath.

“Oh, ok.”

“That's what she wants, ye ken. The attention, me chasing after her, making promises…” his voice tails off as he realises what he’s doing.

He looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I shouldna be blathering like this tae ye. I dinna ken why.”

I do. Sometimes it’s easier to vent, to get things off your chest, to a stranger rather than family or friends. You can pretty much say what you like, confident that it’s not going to come back and bite you, or spread like chinese whispers around your peer group.

“No need to apologise. It can be easier explaining things to strangers, sometimes.”

He smiles. “Ah, but, I dinna think we’re strangers. After all, I’m well acquainted with yer holiday… er...shall we say, accessories.”

If his intention was to make me blush, he’s succeeded. I feel myself redden. “It was a hen party. I had to get into the spirit.”

“So ye say.” He raises an eyebrow as if to question my explanation.  “Och, dinna mind me, I’m jes’ teasing.”

I screw my face up in mock disgust and he chuckles.

“My mam told me never tae pull faces else ye’ll be stuck like that if the wind changes.”

I assume a serious expression.

“That’s much better, Miss Beauchamp,” his face becomes serious too. “But, aye, I get what ye’re saying— about talking tae people ye dinna ken. Ye’ve no horse in this race, as it were. Everyone else that I ken seems tae have an opinion.”

I’m suddenly conscious that the remains of my cone are still in my hand, now totally melted. Noticing my awkward fidgeting, he returns the crumpled tissue to me. I wipe my hands and deposit all the debris in the bin by the bench. He settles back, obviously keen to continue our conversation.

“Sae, are ye up fer giving me yer opinion then about ma situation?”

I’ve never thought of myself as an agony aunt, but I’m curious to know more about him. It’s reassuring to know other people have complications in their love lives too.

“I don’t know enough to give you my opinion, but feel free to unload, if you want to.”

He leans forward, his large hands resting on his denim clad knees and sighs. He has very nice hands with neatly shaped nails, no ragged cuticles or bitten nails. There’s a smattering of reddish hairs on the back. I always notice a man’s hands. Frank had very smooth, elegant hands with long, slim fingers. Jamie’s are much broader than Frank’s, which fits with his whole Viking throwback vibe. I force myself away from his hands and focus on what he's telling me.

“Ye see, ye get tae an age where all yer friends are in couples and having bairns. And ye feel that’s what ye should do, have a proper ‘relationship’.”

I inhale sharply at the way he says the word, so similar to my own thoughts. He glances at me, and continues.

“Ah, ye ken what I mean. And sae ye go along wi’ it when ye friends introduce ye tae a lass. And ye date… and it’s nice, but there’s always that feeling that they want something more, that they want the whole ‘relationship’ thing. They want more than ye can give. And that leads tae disappointment and arguments. They push, trying tae force ye to commit.”

He sits back and looks at me. “Mebbe it’s…och, i dinna ken. Jes’ ignore me. I’m a stupid dolt.”

“No, I don’t mind at all. Honestly.”

“I mean, Laoghaire is a nice enough lass, but it seems the more she pushes, the more I back away. It makes her more suspicious. If I dinna want her, then she reckons I must be after another. What do ye think?”

Do I tell him about her answering his phone? I mean, it seems like he’s coming to a conclusion all by himself. I decide not to volunteer any more information. And I know I said I wouldn’t give an opinion, but I just can’t help it. This is all too familiar to me.

“It is difficult but, ask yourself, is this fair to Laoghaire, or fair to you? Will this keep happening? I mean, I don’t know her, but will she be satisfied with what you are prepared to give? I think you already know your answer. And I think you know what you must do.”

He sighs again. “Aye, I do. But it’s no’ a pleasant thing, is it?”

I shake my head. The image of Frank’s devastation is still fresh in my mind. “It never is.”

The bench is now in shade, and it’s cooled down a lot. I shiver and wrap my cardigan tightly around me. Time to head home, I think.

“Aye, ye’re right. Time tae go.”

I’m not sure if he’s talking about the evening chill, or what he needs to do about the whole Laoghaire situation.

We both stand up at the same time. He extends his hand, and I take it in mine, which is more than a bit grubby and sticky, with the odd bit of tissue still stuck to it.

“Thank ye for listening, Claire, and fer yer opinion. It’s been a big help tae me. I dinna ken what it is but I feel I can talk tae ye. And I promise, next time, it’s yer turn. Ye can vent like ye want tae me and I’ll do the listening.”

“Will there be a next time?”

He smiles. “Oh aye, I’m sure there will be.”

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression, radio version - Ep 40, July 2016 - Time cover showing pregnant rape victim, Hiranabe's bad luck, Brexit.

Kaoru starts by saying that at the time this episode is broadcast, Dir will just have finished thier live at Shinkiba Studio Coast. At the time of recording, the live has obviously yet to take place, but Joe assures Kaoru he will be there. Kaoru then says that an extra last minute date has been added to the tour at Zepp Tokyo on the 4th of July. It really is last minute because it was announced only a few ours ago on the 2nd of July.

Kaoru then states that although they have played it at lives, today will be the first public broadcast of the studio version of the new single, Utafumi. He then comments on how they have only been able to play one record per show recently, due to getting to carried away with the conversation. They don't yet know who will join them for the second half of the show, but they hope its Tasai.

Kaoru's first topic is about the controversial March 21st cover of Time International magazine, which featured a nude, pregnant photo of a 17 year old South-Sudanese woman named Ayak who had been raped and made pregnant by soldiers during the country's civil war. She also contracted HIV as a result of being raped. Despite this, she is eagerly awaiting the birth of her child. Kaoru mentions how this is similar to a previous cover of Time, which showed a girl whose nose had been cut off by the Taliban. Kaoru says he feels that war and rape are the same thing in his mind, they are both forms of attack on people. He wonders what the South-Sudanese woman thinks about being on the cover, but he feels no desire to criticize the image. Joe says the image will have been published with the consent of the woman, and she will probably have wanted to send out a message with it. He thinks people who criticize the image might feel sorry for the woman. Kaoru states that feeling sorry for her is out of the question, by which he means that the image isn't intended for that purpose. It's purpose is to show the reality of what is actually happening. He then says that he does not know a lot about it, but the woman has been made into an outlet of this war, and by seening her photo, he gets a sense of how she feels. Joe changes the subject slightly by bringing up the recent hate-speech control bill in Japan, which had been the focus of a lot of debate. The bill included no provision of penalities, which led some to question what is the point of a law with no penalities for breaking it. On the other hand, some people think the bill is important because it shows the state publicly condemning hate speech. Joe says he interviewed one of the people behind the bill, who said that the most important thing to consider is what the people who have been victims of hate speech think about it. Of course, non-hate speech victims also have thier opinion, but we must not forget the opinions of those who have actually been affected by hate speech. Joe relates this back to the topic by saying that the most important thing to consider about this Time cover is the message the woman herself is trying to communicate. In this respect Kaoru thinks that  trying to criticize the image is pretty odd.

Next, they start the Tokyo Sports corner, and lo and behold, its Hiranabe who will join them today. Kaoru tells Hiranabe that for the last few episodes they had been hoping he wouldn't appear this week, because if he gets too carried away talking, they won't have time to play the new single at the end of the show. Kaoru then says its been while since they've seen him, and Hiranabe says he hasn't wanted to appear in public over the last few weeks. Why? When lining up - hungover - to get a public admission ticket to view the first trail of disgraced baseball player Kiyohara Kazuhiro, he had been snapped up close by the paparazzi without noticing, and his face had subsequently appeared in the newspaper. The journalist who took the photo thought Hiranabe looked kinda familiar, and thought he might get a scoop if Hiranabe turned out to be Kiyohara's drug dealer or something. Hiranabe was too embarrassed to show his face in public for a while after this. He now knows what it feels like to be on the recieving end of the paparazzi.

Next he tells a story about getting mugged by a Chinese woman with big boobs in Ginza 8/7 chome. According to him there are a lot of Chinese pimps there, and he warns listeners to be careful of this area. Joe says he doesn't think thats true. Hiranabe knew the woman was trying to scam him as soon as he saw her, so when she called out to him to go for a drink, he declined. She then embraced him, pushing her boobs up against him for 5 seconds. He broke loose and went home, where he realised that the ¥20,000 that had been in his pocket had gone. The woman had snatched it in the 4 or 5 seconds that he was momentarily excited by her. Joe says that was an expensive 5 seconds. Kaoru says to Hiranabe, 'I bet you liked it really', to which Hiranabe admits that he did. But he laments that he is sick of bad things happening to him, and reminds everyone again not to go to Ginza 8 chome. He adds that the woman was cute though. Kaoru and Joe comment on how Hiranabe's ramblings have nothing to do with the Freedom of Expression. Kaoru reckons this will come back up as one of the stories of the year if they do another live special in at the end of the year.

Very swiftly, Hiranabe begins his actual news topic, which is that the UK has declared to leave the EU. This prompts him to say that Europe has many big breasted blondes, but he apologises and says they probably wouldn't steal ¥20,000 from him though. Getting back on topic, he says a lot of people he knows have lost money on the stock exchange since the announcement was made. He comments on how the UK's decision to leave the EU was actually a very close call between leave or remain. Joe mentions the murder of a British pro-remain politician (Jo Cox) which happened shortly before the result, and which made Joe think that UK would probably end up leaning more towards remain. It was a shocking result. Hiranabe wonders what will happen if the UK have stated thier intention to leave, but secretly want to remain. He also asks what will happen if Scotland and N.Ireland declare to seperate from the UK to remain in Europe. The UK would lose its a lot of its manufacturing power, according to him, as London is only a financial centre, not a manufacturing centre. (*No mention of the rest of England and Wales here*). For this reason he thinks the UK secretly wants to remain. Joe comments on the possible economic ripple effects it could have on Japan. The yen was already high at this point, and Joe says further recession in Japan might occur as a result. Its pretty terrible to imagine that the British could have voted to leave the EU without really meaning it, but at the same time have caused financial choas around the world. Hiranabe mentions that the UK itself may suffer economically if they leave the EU, in which case a big breasted British blonde would probably get ¥200,000 from him if she ever tried the same trick as described earlier. (laughs from the others). He'd let her hold onto him for longer. Joe tells him not to put so much cash in his pockets.

Kaoru realises the conversation has gone too far again, and questions whether there'll be enough time to play the new single. There is a light flashing at him to play the record now, but Joe jokes its a warning lamp from the director that Hiranabe is about to get killed. Just as Kaoru is about to play the record, Kami jumps in to sympathise with Hiranabe's paparazzi incident from earlier. Kaoru manages to play the record just in time.

After the record finishes, Kaoru says that he had intended to do a more dramatic, impressive introduction to the single, instead of being like, 'Quick, I gotta play the record, Ok, here it is!'. Hiranabe tells him to explain the song properly now, but Kaoru grumpily says there's no time left, he has to close the show, and this is what happens when Hiranabe comes on the show. Kaoru also thinks that Kami butted in right at the last moment on purpose. He finishes with a quick plug of his tour and says its been an interesting day.

Songs - Dir en grey/Amber, Utafumi.

[comic-book-jawns]

An Old Friend

Dani was ringing up the order when Jamie walked out of the back room, eyed the customer and froze. The woman, too, had looked over instinctively at the sound of the door closing and then frozen herself. Dani, busy working on the order form, wouldn’t have even noticed the exchange, if the woman hadn’t spoken.

Woman: Oh... ma god.

Dani looked up first at her, noticing she’d turned several shades whiter, then over at Jamie, who looked as if she’d been punched in the stomach. While Dani had noticed the woman’s British accent — not exactly like Jamie’s, but not posh, either — she hadn’t thought anything of it. It’s not like Jamie knew everyone in England. But this one, evidently, she did, and rather well by the looks of it.

As Dani watched, Jamie’s face contorted with anger — no, not anger, rage. Dani was already rushing over as Jamie’s right hand curled into a fist. She reached her just as she heard the glass door open and close. The woman was gone.

Jamie was breathing so heavily Dani could feel it against her face. She gently took Jamie’s hand and tried to open it but was met with resistance.

Dani: Jamie...

Jamie’s hand started trembling. Dani massaged it.

Dani: Please let me -

Jamie looked down, shaking her head.

Dani: Jamie...

She’d seen Jamie upset before, but never like this.

Jamie: Please go home. I - I don’t want to scare you.

With her other hand, Dani gently tilted up Jamie’s chin.

Dani: Hey.

Jamie reluctantly looked her in the eye.

Dani: You could never scare me.

She leaned forward until her forehead touched Jamie’s, which was beaded with sweat. After a few moments, she felt Jamie’s breathing start to slow; and a few moments after that, she felt Jamie’s hand unfurl in hers. Dani pulled back just enough to examine it.

Blood from finger nail marks seeped between Jamie’s fingers onto Dani’s palm. Dani could’ve cried, but she knew that wasn’t what Jamie needed right now.

Dani: I’ll... go get the first aid kit.

She didn’t want to let go of Jamie, but she didn’t want to move her, either — not yet, anyway. She was back behind the counter in a matter of seconds, rummaging through the cabinets below.

Jamie: Dani...

It was barely a whisper. And then her vision went black.

***

Jamie: Erin was my first real friend.

They were back at the apartment, sitting on the couch. Dani had known Jamie would talk when she was ready.

After getting her patched up and taking her home, though, Dani had insisted she rest. Jamie had tried to assure her that she was fine, though she actually felt even worse than before, knowing she’d scared Dani, after all, when she’d collapsed. But then she’d realized she needed to sleep for Dani’s sake as much as hers, so she’d laid her head on Dani’s lap and drifted off.

Now, a few hours later, she was sat up, still in Dani’s lap, telling a story she’d never told anyone.

Jamie: I met her pretty soon after I moved to London. And it was like meeting... maself. We were born the same week. She was a few days older, had lived in London her whole life. But under... similar circumstances.

Jamie took a shaky breath. Dani continued rubbing her back.

Jamie: We never, uh... I mean, she had a boyfriend. Right cunt he was. And she knew it, too... but she’d just take it. No what matter what I said, she never...

Jamie cleared her throat.

Jamie: I don’t know if... I didn’t even really understand why I was so... attached to her... But whatever she knew or didn’t know, she took care a me... We took care of each other, I guess.

Jamie laughed.

Jamie: Not that we knew what we were doin’. We spent most of our time gettin’ pissed. Her boyfriend was older and a bartender, so...

Jamie looked down and started picking at the bandage on her hand. But Dani took her hand and gently pulled it away, massaging it.

Jamie: I, uh, I eventually got a job at a grocery store. But, you know, when I’d first arrived, it was rough, and Erin... she taught me, you know, how to... how to look out for maself. And I’m not sayin’ it was right, but -

Dani: Jamie.

Jamie slowly turned to her. It was the first time she was looking at Dani since she’d started talking.

Dani: You were just a kid.

Jamie: You wouldn’a done it.

Dani: You don’t know that. I don’t know that.

Jamie looked down again.

Dani: And, in any case, if you hadn’t learned to take care of yourself, we never would have met.

Jamie finally smiled.

Jamie: After I got my job, I went straight — well, not... ya know what I mean.

Dani laughed, and Jamie’s smile brightened but then faded.

Jamie: I still squatted in places. I still drank. But I stopped... But then, a couple years later, Erin had a... request.

Dani squeezed Jamie’s hand, feeling her tense up.

Jamie: She needed help with a job, a big one, way bigger than anything we’d ever pulled. At first, I said no. We’d been drifting apart, anyway... But she said she really needed the money. Wouldn’t say why, but she looked... scared, in a way I’d never seen her.

Jamie stared into space, as if she right back there, in that moment. Then, she looked down and swallowed.

Jamie: So... the day a ma 18th birthday — er, night of it, rather... we broke into the jewelry store. Well, she did. She’d promised I could just be the lookout, not that that wasn’t -

Dani squeezed her hand again. Jamie nodded.

Jamie: So, a few minutes went by, she was almost done.

Jamie shuddered.

Jamie: And then it all went wrong.

She cleared her throat.

Jamie: The owner, this old bloke, came barging outta the back, shoutin’ that the police were on their way. And Erin, she had the cash. She had enough time. She shoulda just run. I told ’er to, begged ’er to follow me. But... she panicked... and punched him. And he fell back into a glass case.

Dani gasped, despite herself.

Jamie: Yeah... Erin looked back at me, almost said somethin’.

Jamie cleared throat.

Jamie: But then she ran out the back... and I never saw her again... until...

Jamie was struggling to keep her voice steady.

Dani: Oh, honey...

Dani pulled her closer until Jamie’s head was resting against her shoulder, then kissed Jamie’s forehead. Jamie didn’t speak for a bit, breathing in and out to stop herself from crying. Once she’d sufficiently calmed herself, she pressed on.

Jamie: I went to check on the owner, Mr. Thomas, just... automatically. It was almost outta body, didn’t feel real. I heard maself sayin’ “I’m sorry” over and over, saw maself lookin’’im over. He was... he was barely conscious and bleedin’, but not... I’d seen worse. But it was bad.

By the time I got my wits about me, I could already hear the sirens, see the lights. They walked in and found me crouched over him, his blood on ma hands, with bills that had fallen outta Erin’s bag strewn about.

Jamie laughed darkly.

Jamie: Couldn’t blame them for jumpin’ to conclusions, really... But Mr. Thomas, I don’t know what possessed him, but he got them to drop the assault charge, even tried to get them to charge me as minor for the robbery. He had connections, I guess.

I was charged as an adult in the end but only got two years. They agreed to be lenient if I plead guilty, which I’d planned to do anyway, but two years was more than lenient. So, I reckon that must’a been his doin’, too.

Jamie sat up again so she could look Dani again.

Jamie: He came to visit me once in prison.

She smiled.

Jamie: Only person who ever did.

She looked away again.

Jamie: I tried to visit him when I got out, went back to the shop.

She swallowed.

Jamie: Turned out he’d died, a month after I’d seen ’im... car accident.

Silent tears were now falling down Dani’s face.

Dani: Jamie, I’m so sorry.

Jamie looked back at her, smiling sadly.

Jamie: The worst part is I’d gone there to confront ’im. I’d spent so much time inside resentin’’im for never visitin’ again. I’d wanted one person, just one...

Jamie’s voice broke.

Jamie: To explain to me... why I’d never been worth...

Jamie was starting to sob now, finally.

Jamie: And, turned out... he was the only one hadn’t -

She’d buried her face in Dani’s chest before she could finished the thought.

***

Dani saw her first. Looked up just in time to see her reach for the door. But Dani beat her to it, stepped outside and closed it softly behind her.

Dani: You need to leave.

It took all Dani had not to shout the words. Erin took a deep breath.

Erin: Please, I jus’ -

Dani: No.

Erin: I jus’ wanna explain!

Dani: Bit late for that.

She spit the words. Normally, she would never have dreamed of being so hostile, to anyone. But, she never would have dreamed of being so angry at someone, either, until now. Erin sighed, seeming to have finally taken the hint.

But just then, Jamie walked out. Dani immediately turned around to face her, not eager for a repeat of yesterday.

Dani: She’s leaving, I promise.

Jamie: S’all right.

Before Dani could react, Jamie had walked around her. Dani whipped around, bracing for the worst. But Jamie walked right past Erin, didn’t even acknowledge her. She walked a few more paces before turning toward a boy sitting on the bench outside their shop. Dani had been so preoccupied she hadn’t even noticed him.

Jamie: You skate?

The boy looked up from his Gameboy, startled. Jamie nodded to the skateboard propped against the bench.

Boy: Oh... yeah.

He had an American accent. Jamie smiled.

Jamie: Let’s see it then.

She gestured to the sidewalk ahead of them. The boy smiled shyly and stood up, shoving his Gameboy in the pocket of his cargo shorts. He looked about 12 and was already the same height as Jamie. He looked back at his mom, who nodded, then grabbed his skateboard and started walking down the sidewalk with Jamie. Something she said made him laugh.

Dani stepped forward to stand alongside Erin, who was several inches taller than her. Erin had a hand clapped over her mouth. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She tried to compose herself upon noticing Dani.

Erin: She should hate me... I would hate me.

For a moment, Dani didn’t say anything.

Dani: Good thing she’s not you.

Erin nodded. Jamie and her son had reached the end of the block now. He put the board down and pushed off. Weaving from the side to side, he did an olley, then slowed to a stop about ten feet from them. Jamie, who’d been jogging behind him, reached him as he kicked the board up to himself.

Jamie: Nice job, mate!

He smiled at the praise, even when wider when she followed it up with a high five.

Jamie: I think... your olley could use some work, though.

Jamie was smirking now. The boy laughed and handed her his board. She dropped it to the ground and pushed off in a matter seconds and much harder than he had. She zipped down the sidewalk and did an olley. Dani knew nothing about skateboarding, and she was rather biased, but it looked perfect to her. Just before reaching the end of the block, Jamie did another olley for good measure, then a wheelie and spun around to face them.

The boy, slack-jawed, turned to his mom.

Boy: She is so cool!

Erin and Dani smiled. Jamie was coming up on them now. She slowed, kicked the board up, caught it mid-air before her feet touched the ground, then handed it back to the boy, who still hadn’t closed his mouth.

Boy: You have to teach me how to do that, all of that!

Jamie cleared her throat.

Erin: I’m sure she’s a busy woman. We’ll let you carry on.

Erin walked over to her son, putting an arm around his shoulder to get him moving. But he stayed planted where he was, eyes still locked on Jamie. Erin leaned down to whisper in his ear.

Erin: Jamie, c’mon.

Jamie froze just as she had the day before, then looked over at Dani. But evidently, Dani hadn’t heard. Little Jamie finally turned away and started moving.

Jamie: Wait.

Jamie turned to face them.

Jamie: He can... you and Jamie can, ya know... from time to time.

Little Jamie’s grin could’ve split his face. He looked just like his father, yet nothing like him. Erin looked shell-shocked, then like she wanted to say something; and this time, she found the words.

Erin: Thank you.

Jamie nodded curtly, then headed toward Dani. Erin and Little Jamie resumed their walk in the opposite direction. He stole one last look at his namesake, then faced forward.

Little Jamie: Told you she was cool.

Jamie smiled briefly to herself as she walked into Dani’s waiting arms.

Dani: You’re amazing, you know that?

She felt Jamie laugh into her shoulder. Dani tried for smile herself, but she felt a familiar knot tightening in the pit of her stomach. For a few minutes, they stood in silence.

Jamie: It’s not the same.

Dani had been so lost it thought, she almost jumped.

Dani: What?

Jamie: You’re not the same as her.

Dani still hadn’t gotten completely used to Jamie being able to read her mind, even though she could read Jamie’s just as readily. Dani was suddenly blinking back tears.

Dani: But -

Jamie: No, “but.”

Jamie pulled back, so she could look at her. She cupped Dani’s face, brushing away tears with her thumbs.

Jamie: You did the right thing, and I will never resent ya for it.

Dani shook her head sadly.

Jamie: You are the bravest person I’ve ever met, Poppins, the best person I’ve ever met... And you are... and will always be the only person who has ever loved me, loved me completely.

Dani looked down, her lips trembling.

Jamie: You make me happier than I have ever been, and I wouldn’t trade this time with ya for anything. I wouldn’a made any other choice.

Dani, softly crying now, looked back up. Jamie pulled her close once more, kissed the side of her head, then cradled the back of her head.

Jamie: And I will always love you completely. Always.

[itsthemoofacewriting]

A postcard home

This is for the Tumblr event the wonderful @zonamievents organised, today’s prompts are postcard and hot cocoa. I picked the former.

Summary: Nami thinks she’s so smart and cunning, but she can’t pull the wool over her own sisters’ eyes. Rating: K.

This can also be found on AO3 and FFN.

I’ve never written a no dialogue story before and I wanted to try it.

Enjoy.

Snow had finally settled over Cocoyasi village. It was late this year and everyone in the village had wondered if this would be the first year that they wouldn’t have any before Christmas. It was a big topic for weeks and Nojiko was slightly relieved when it did arrive so everyone would stop talking about it. Although, it certainly did highlight a change for the better. Gone were the times of discussing Nami or hiding from Arlong and his crew when they rampaged or banding together when someone was short on money.

It was a lovely, mundane difference.

The only issue with the arrival of snow, other than villagers now moaning about how hazardous the snow was, was that it was a tough season for Bell-mère’s mikan orchard. Don’t get her wrong, it looked beautiful, snow settled on top of the trees and hints of orange poking through the white, but it meant smaller than usual mikan’s.

Nojiko’s brought out of those thoughts when she heard the crunching of shoes against snow and it’s the mailman looking slightly out of puff. It wasn’t really a quick trip to her house from the village and the snow only made it harder. But she doesn’t dwell on that, because seeing him meant that it could only be one thing being delivered and it had her skipping towards the door to meet him there.

The door’s shutting quickly after his first knock and it’s probably a bit rude, he had clearly wanted to chat, but they can do that anytime, she wanted to look at this as soon as possible. Her fingers are itching.

It had been a while since she’d heard from Nami.

The envelopes open and she’s greeted by the picture of a large Christmas tree, decorated to the nines, on the front of the postcard. It’s a generic picture but it’s normally whatever Nami can get hold of but Nojiko’s still slightly impressed she managed to predict when it’d get here and find one to match that. Their postcards could take anywhere from a month to six to get to the other.

Flipping it over, she scanned the message:

       Everything’s good. Nothing new.

Nami’s messages were always short and to the point. It was hardly like Nami could go into great detail. Firstly, where would she find the time? And secondly, information was brief so nothing could be traced should the postcard be intercepted. And that was fine, it was enough just to know her sister was okay. Also, it meant if information was brief Nami would send photos along in an envelope with the postcard and she loved those.

And low and behold, there they were behind the postcard.

They were hardly ever works of art, but they were always fun and just from those still images Nojiko knew Nami was having the time of her life. Like she deserved to. Also, it was nice to see her sister, even if it wasn’t in person.

But the photo she’s currently looking at is a stark contrast to her sister’s words on the postcard. It’s a group shot of the crew and its chaos, some looking at the camera like good models, others laughing or bickering or extra limbs were sticking out of them, but that’s not what caught her attention.

It’s the man standing next to Nami.

Roronoa Zoro.

She remembered his stern expressions well from back then, always ready for the worst and, she reckoned, hoping for it at times if the blood thirsty gleam in his eyes she’d seen briefly was any indication. But she’d seen first-hand how all of that would melt away after victory or when he was offered alcohol and would laugh at the antics of his crew. A brute with a soft heart, it seemed.

To an average person, with no knowledge of the people in the photo, it would look like nothing, but call it a sister’s intuition… and, okay fine, the trashy gossip magazines she’s been buying to keep tabs on her sister between postcards, it’s certainly not an accurate description of Nami’s words ‘nothing new.’

They’re stood close together in the chaos, much closer than what one would deem friendly (Maybe she’s being over critical, sue her), neither facing the camera as they looked to be arguing. Nami’s finger is pointing at his chest and their faces are close as they exchange words, Usopp’s next to them looking exasperated. So nothing new apparently.

She’d seen the way those two were around each other before they’d left the village and she’d quietly hoped there would be some development. She had to play it cool with Nami though, show too much interest and she’d never find out without a face-to-face conversation. But with how brief their postcards are, she’s left analysing photos and trashy magazines with blurry photos of the two of them together. One time, it looked like they had been kissing off in the distance, but the quality was so poor most people didn’t believe it. But Nojiko could spot her sister anywhere.

Was it too much to ask for photographers to focus their damn snail before taking photos?

Nevertheless it was enough for Nojiko. Flicking through the rest of the photos she was disappointed that there was no more of the two together. Nami was such a tease, dangling a carrot in front of her just out of reach. But she couldn’t be too disappointed when she came across the photo of Nami with her mikan trees… and if she squinted, was there a splash of green hair she saw hidden in the trees?

Nojiko wasn’t born yesterday, Nami’s definitely playing with her. She’d spent her childhood growing up with Nami, she knew her sister like the back of her hand. But it still amused her that Nami tried to trick her, make her work for the information. It’s so like her.

A real witch, you might be tempted to say.

Quite fitting really. A brute and a witch, both too soft for their own good at times.  

In the quiet of her little home, she went back to the first of the photos and was still as she gazed down at the photo, almost like she was trying to soak it all in. Her gaze occasionally taking in the rest of the crew, but ultimately it stayed on Nami. Taking in her long orange hair playing in the wind, eyebrows furrowed and mouth open like she’s in the middle of a lecture. Despite the expression, there’s no weight to Nami’s expression, like there used to be back then. It made Nojiko happy. That was what she’d always wanted for her, wanted her to be where she belonged- at sea, even if it split them apart.

And it seemed Zoro had a part to play in that now, even if it wasn’t one hundred percent confirmed (To Nojiko it was but try telling that to the other villagers).

With one last long look at her sister, Nojiko was opening the envelope again to slip in the postcard and photos, ready to venture down to the village to show the others. However, as she did, the items were met with resistance and when she peered in, she’d missed something else.

Another photo.

With the new photo in hand, Nojiko’s serene smile curled into something much sharper. A mixture of glee and smugness that screamed ‘I knew it!’. It was probably for the best Nami wasn’t here, because that look alone would have her back up, like a cornered cat.

There was less of the crew is this photo, only the five that had been at Arlong park and it looked like they’d finally got their act together. All of them looking at the camera, Luffy’s arms stretched around to bring them all in and even with less of them, it still managed to be just as busy.

But that’s not what caught her eye, no. It’s the arm that’s wrapped around Nami’s waist and a Nami’s head resting on a shoulder. An arm that belonged to Zoro and Nami’s head on his shoulder. Both of them are smiling at the camera, leaning into one another and Nojiko doesn’t have to read between the lines this time to have her confirmation that they are indeed together.

She doesn’t stop to stare at it like the others because she’s too giddy and excited to stand still.

With a skip in her step, she’s shoving the photos and postcard into the envelope and slipping on her coat as she made her way towards the door. All the while thinking about how she wanted to play this with Genzo, so she could get the best possible reaction from him. He’d be horrified no matter what, but she really wanted to milk it. She had to get her kicks somehow.

And, she had some money to collect from some villagers. She was Nami’s sister after all, she’s always down for some easy cash- she just has no idea why they bet against her.

.

.

.

Two months later

It’s warm, the sun’s high and they’re making good progress towards the next island. For the time being, it’s something that doesn’t require her attention and she’s just about to walk across the deck to join Robin for some sunbathing when she heard the familiar cry of the News Coo.

Looking into the sky, it circled a few times before starting its descent and Nami was walking over to meet the bird at the railing.

Unlike the normal newspaper she bought weekly, it was a sealed envelope and Nami was quickly paying off the bird, barely taking notice of the price increase, so she could quickly open her letter. There was only one person this could be from.

The postcard was simple, just a picture of an orange cat, but based on the photos that slipped out of the envelope, it’d been sent around Christmas. Nojiko and Genzo were in one of the photo’s surrounded by snow.

She looked at it for a moment longer, thinking about where she would frame the photo before turning her attention to the letter. Nami had thought it was hilarious when she’d sent her postcard off to Nojiko, just leaving enough crumbs for her to figure it out so when she flipped the card to read the message, she gave a short, sharp laugh.

Nojiko had figured it out alright.

       Nice try. Since when did you take an interest in plant life?

-------------------

By plant life, am I referring to Zoro’s nickname Marimo? Yes, yes, I am.

I love the thought of Nami and Nojiko sending little postcards and photos to one another.

As always, please forgive any errors (especially as I rushed this to post on time).

Thanks for reading.

[monsoonblooms12]

Detectives By Chance: Chapter 4- Seeking and Chasing

A/N: Hi, how is everyone doing💫💛? I finally completed the 4th chapter, phew. I am really sorry for the delay, It has been some time ( a month to be precise). But I hope that you enjoy reading this💛. Thank you for all the love that you have given the earlier chapters and I love you all very much 💛

Thank you so very much @ohramsey��� for everything. I love you x infinite and I will miss you so much😭🤍❤

Series Summary: It was supposed to be a usual weekend for the four. Coffee, fun, friends and love. But an unexpected case changed their lives in a way they had never imagined. A mystery - a murder - many secrets… Will Ethan, Pooja, Alexandra and Mark, be able to survive? Or will the circumstances twist and break their lives forever?

Pairing: Ethan × f!MC (Dr. Pooja Sharma)

Disclaimer: PB owns most of the characters. I only own the OCs and my MC.

Word count: 2.3K 

Triggers: Mentions of blood, murder

For Ethan and Pooja, a mutual day off was once in a blue moon thing. So whenever they had one, they would put the world out of their mind and remain engrossed in each other.

And now, after getting a cherished day off for the first time in at least one and a half months, they were sitting here scrutinizing the clues they had assembled from the crime scene.

They sat down on the couch, opened their laptops and kept auxiliary notebooks with them to note any admissible details they could find. Ethan took the three pieces of paper and stationed them down on the coffee table.

The first one was the third bloody note that Pooja had received.

It said: "Ahh, here you are. I knew, I knew you would come. You bastards are as obstinate as I am. But don't worry, I like it. So, did you like my pretty little portrayal that I had made for you? All this is just a sprinkle of my intuitive plan. The real game hasn't even begun yet. Just wait and be on your guard for my twisties and turnsies."

"Hasn't this person done enough? What the freaking hell does he want?" Pooja said, on the brink of tears. She was literally done with this pathetic game of blood.

Ethan hugged her tightly. "Calm down, Love. It hurts me to see you like this. We will find out everything. We will find this person, and we will make them compensate for their sins. I promise." 

"Ethan, I love you so much. Please be with me ad infinitum." Pooja planted a featherlight kiss on Ethan's cheek. 

"I will, Baby, I will, I love you too," Ethan assured her, while tenderly wiping off her tears. 

"And... you don't have to use fancy terms to tell me to love you forever."

At this, Pooja let out a tee-hee.

After she had calmed down, they looked at the second piece of paper. It was a drug store receipt.

"Propofol?"

"If this is a receipt left-back by the murderer, then why Propofol, did they feel remorseful for Davis? " Pooja scoffed. 

"Remorseful? I sure as hell that's not the case." 

Pooja's question lingered in Ethan's mind. Why would, he thought, the murder make the patient unconscious? So that he doesn't shout?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Poke Poke. Pooja poked at his side, bringing him back to reality.

 "A penny for your thoughts?"

" Just thinking about propofol."

" And what does the mind of the world-class diagnostician say about that?"

" As for now, it says nothing essential."

"But?"

"there is a what if."

"And that is?"

" What if the criminal is right in our plain sight?"

" So, as I understand, you are suggesting that the murder is someone-"

"From the hospital. It would be the easiest for a staff member to do everything, isn't it?"

" Hmmm. Although it is a stab in the dark, it is a pretty commendable reasoning. Good job Mr Mitter."

"Mr what?"

"You don't know Mr. Mitter??!! You need to catch up on your detective knowledge, Ramsey. We need to go on a mystery novel-reading spree, ASAP!"

"Don't you think that's just irrelevant to what we are discussing?"

"Excuse You! How the hell are mysteries irrelevant in a discussion of mysteries?" 

Pooja made a phoney, angry face that made Ethan laugh.

" Okay, so number one you are looking ridiculous with that face and number two maybe, I agree with you, just a little."

"WAIT"

"Did you just... give in and agree with me? The Ethan freaking Ramsey accepted his defeat?"

"How is this def-"

"I will write about this day in golden letters in my autobiography."

"Autobiography?" Ethan was chuckling like an idiot.

"Hey, what do you think? I can't write an autobiography or what?"

"No, no, of course, you can! But I really wanna know if you are going to write about your escapades with Jenner or the sleep-talks you do all night. Or maybe about the variety of chocolate you like."

"ETHAN!"

"Okay Okay, I will stop. Let's look at the third bit of paper." 

The third paper was a visiting card. Or something that looked like visiting card held together with a lot of tape. The name on it was too faded for them to interpret. However, they could make out the address and the designation which, surprisingly, was Dr.

All the lingers of laughter and joy from the previous exchange dispersed and seriousness took its place.

"So, this person is a doctor. Very Peculiar!" Pooja remarked.

"What about all this is not uncommon, Poo? Even if they are a doctor, why target you and Alex? How does this person even know you both?" Ethan said, a tinge of anger lingering in his tone.

Pooja absently fiddled with the card while suddenly something caught her eye. In tiny handwriting, the letters D.I.B.S.15. She presented it to Ethan.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

"It looks like some cryptic message to me. Maybe the murderer wrote it absently on this card. We need to infer its meaning. It can be crucial."

"Hmm. Seems, like we have a lot of investigation to do. But at first, let's note down the enigmas we need to find the answers of."

They grabbed a notebook and wrote down all the lingering inquiries and matters about which they were going to seek.

Who is Mr Davis? Why was he targeted?

Why did no one from his acquaintances never come to question about him?

Why did the murderer target Pooja and Alex? How does he know them?

How was the murder perpetrated?

The addresses

MedMinder Drug Store

D.I.B.S.15

"Ethan?"

"Hmm?"

"Should we call the medical store? They might have vital information about the person who bought their stuff."

"Sure they will, reckoning that the person who bought the stuff is the same as the one who murdered Mr Davis."

"Or, you know, we can go there. Like check out both the addresses personally? So many facts are not present on the 'net. We may find something worthwhile for the case or maybe, even find the mastermind?"

"I was contemplating the same thing. But I wanted to take Mark and Alex with us. After all, four brains are more dependable than two." Pooja snickered a little. 

"Sure. I will shoot them both a text to meet us up after their shifts get over." 

But there was no need to do that. When Pooja unplugged her phone from the charger, she saw their texts. Both of them had taken an off early and were en route to Ethan's penthouse.

After fifteen minutes, Mark and Alex arrived. Ethan and Pooja filled them up with everything they had come across.

Then they told them about their plan of visiting the two addresses. 

"That would be incredible. But before that, you both should know the autopsy results." Mark said. 

"The Autopsy result came?" Pooja asked. 

"Yup, this morning. And guess what?"

"The cause of death is not the throat slit. It is Acute Cyanide Poisoning. The throat was slit afterwards." Alex informed them.

"What the hell?" Pooja remarked, wide-eyed.

"All this is so seriously messed up, isn't it?"

"The person has a medical history. They would know the dosage. Also, looking at the kind of criminal he is, it would not have been too difficult for him to arrange the cyanide." Ethan stated. 

"But Why Mr. Davis? I don't understand" Alex queried curiously. 

"Let's get going. I am sure we will get at least some of our answers from these two addresses." 

The four grabbed their coats, took the three clues, packed their tab and set off. The first address on Lyon Avenue was not far from Ethan and Pooja's place. 

They arrived there in ten minutes and spent another five minutes in searching the store.

The drug store was not very busy, dimly illuminated and smelt fusty. 

The man at the counter didn't even notice them coming until, 

"Ahm" 

Ethan cleared his throat. 

The man almost jumped out of his seat. Regaining his composure, he said, "How, ahem, How may I help you?" 

"We need some information. Can you remember who was the person who bought these from you?" Pooja said, handing him the receipt. 

"I am sorry, but information of our customers is confidential. We can not reveal it to anyone except security personals or family member."

Uh Oh. Now what? Nothing a sprinkle of drama can't resolve. 

"Um, Actually the person who bought these from you was most probably my brother. And he is missing for the last three days. So we are searching for information which can lead up to him." Mark said.

Either The shopkeeper was disinterested in their explanation or whatever he said about confidentiality was a lie because he didn't question Mark. He just eyed him sceptically and revealed,

"It was four days ago. I don't remember quite well, but I can give you some information. It was a man of medium height, wearing a high collared black jacket. He wore sleek black sunglasses and a mask. He did not speak anything but handed me the list of items he needed.

He made his payment in cash. When I asked if he was a medical professional, he showed me his visiting card. The card seemed pretty old and unkempt, but the designation Dr. was visible. So I didn't think much and gave him his things. That's all I can recollect."

"Was the visiting card that he showed similar to this?" Ethan asked, presenting the visiting card they had.

"Let me see."

"Yup, the font does seem similar." 

"Seems like this might be our man. Thank you very much for the information." Mark said before they started to exit the shop.

"Wait a sec." The man at the counter beckoned them.

They turned back.

"What is it?"

"I just remembered something. The man, he gave me an extra 20 bucks. When I informed him that he had given me extra cash, he gestured me to keep it. Also, when he was handing over the money, he folded up the left sleeve of his shirt, and there were numerous cut marks on it." The man at the counter told them.

The instant they heard about the cuts, they got the confirmation of their lingering suspicions.

This man was the murderer, and he was the one who was sending them the bloody notes.

The four thanked the man, and as a gesture of gratitude handed him some bucks. Then they left the shop and set off for their next destination.

Once seated back in the car, Pooja said, "So now we know that we are following the right person. Maybe the second address will tell us more."

"Mark, How did you deduce the murderer to be a man?" Alex asked.

"Just took a wild speculation. And because I have,"

Mark stopped.

"had a brother, that came out spontaneously." Mark's voice held traces of pain and brought out the confrontation among his thoughts.

But he quickly regained composure and said, "But thank god the guess was right. If not, we would be in a hell of a mess."

Mark laughed a bit, but his laughter sounded somewhat void.

For the rest of the journey, there was no conversation. A deafening muteness fell in the car, but no one tried to rip through it.

The journey to the second address took 20 minutes.

But they were a bit taken aback from the situation of the place.

It was a cryptic, morose part of the city, and it was awkward for a doctor to set up their practice here. In the entire street, darkness lurked. Flickers of light were visible in some of the houses.

Ethan, Pooja and Alex started to walk down the street slowly to locate the private clinic, but Mark stayed behind.

It was as if distasteful remembrances came to him, inundating him, due to the sight in front of him.

There was a glimmer of identification of the area in his eyes.

After walking a few steps, Alex realized that Mark was not with them.

At first, she began to panic, but when she turned around and saw Mark standing by the car, sighed in relaxation.

"MARK, MARK" Alex beckoned him.

Alex's voice caused Ethan and Pooja to turned around. They, too, detected Mark and the three started to pace towards the car.

"Mark, what happened?" Alex asked after arriving at the car, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Then she spotted the tears rolling down Mark's face.

Before she could say anything, Mark hugged her and broke into stringent sobs. His entire body was shuddering with every cry.

Ethan and Pooja quickly went beside him, trying to calm him down while Alex held him in her embrace.

"Mark, Honey, what happened? Is something wrong? Are you feeling unwell or something?" Alex asked, panic apparent in her voice.

Sensing her dread, Mark tried to regain his composure. And he succeeded a bit.

Breaking himself from Alex's embrace but holding her hand for strength, he levelled up. The other three looked at him, concern and curiosity both unambiguous on their faces.

"T-T-This place, I k-know this place." Mark began, voice trembling a bit.

"You do?" Pooja asked.

"Y-yup. This place, it endures as the beholder of the pain my family went through. All our sufferings, all our cries started here and ended h-here." Mark said, on the verge of tears.

"Mark, if you don't want to talk about it, it is okay, you don't have to," Ethan said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"N-No, I have to say this. I have to tell you."

Mark took a pause.

"T-T-This place is where m-my c-childhood home is."

The grief that we hide from the world, that we bury deep in our soul, when it comes out, it twists knives in a way that rips through all our soul leaving us as shredded as we were when we encountered it.

PS: This case had pulled strings which no one had expected. But will these strings tug the answers with them? This chapter feels like the beginning of the end. What do you think, is Mark's dilemma? What about Pooja's childhood? And what new challenge will the murderer place in front of them?

Every question will be answered and every Mystery will be solved. They might be Detectives by chance but their skills know no bound.

If you enjoyed the story, please like, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going 💕. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a great day ahead.💕💕

[jacquiesims]

Viper Canyon - Chapter Seven

‘Elijah McLain turned over his shoulder to the wagon party members that had followed him to Viper Canyon. 

“We’ll arrive in town soon. No longer than an hour’s ride, I’d say.”’

TW: Violence, Death

October 1852

Elijah McLain turned over his shoulder to the wagon party members that had followed him to Viper Canyon. 

“We’ll arrive in town soon. No longer than an hour’s ride, I’d say.” 

The three passengers that remained exchanged glances of relief. They were exhausted and starving – the journey had not been an easy one like the last. The party had seen illness, death, attacks from the natives, injured animals that Elijah was forced to put down, and worse.

Jacob and Alice Sawyer were siblings from Pennsylvania who had travelled westward with Jacob’s business partner, Harry Dunn. The two men had been barbers back east and Alice helped run the home they all had shared. 

It seemed strange to Elijah that the three of them would come together to Viper Canyon, most men wanting to make a name for only themselves, but stranger things had happened. Most of the bachelors that Elijah escorted came by themselves but it wasn’t unheard for siblings to travel together. 

And yet he was still thankful for the skills the men brought along with them – they’d treated Elijah to a haircut and the occasional shave on the trail, and even he had to admit that the prospect of a proper trim and clean shaven face by a trained hand was appealing. He wondered absentmindedly how long it would take for the men to open their barber shop.

Jacob, Alice, and Harry waved goodbye at Elijah as he forged on home, leaving the party behind at their selected plot of land. 

He would be back to check on them, certainly, but at the moment, he was eager to get home and rest in a proper bed in a clean set of long johns.

Meanwhile…

The Yates Bank had been open on Main Street for two months exactly. 

Mr. Yates, a benevolent man, had made his fortune several times over in foreign trade and decided to move westward with his family in hopes of enriching his coffers in a new economy. He had done just that – many who came across the country needed loans to see their visions of frontier life to fruition, and the Yates Bank had nearly made back its upfront costs of construction in interest already.

John Williams had finally settled into his position as teller at the bank. He’d tried his luck in the mines, but after several weeks with no luck he opted for the safer option of a salaried job under Mr. Yates and his son, who were both fair employers. 

John smiled as a young woman came through the front door. The wind behind her carried in the subtle smell of her perfume and his heart skipped a beat. He was instantly struck by her beauty – he’d never seen her around Viper Canyon before, and he would’ve certainly remembered if he had. 

“Good day, miss,” he said pleasantly. “How can I help you?”

The woman seemed to have not heard him. She looked around the lobby, eyes lingering on the expensive drapes and well-crafted furniture. 

“Madam?” 

She blinked her large brown eyes, finally turning towards John. 

“Lovely waiting area,” she remarked flatly. 

John’s brows knit together. “Yes. It is. Mr. Yates has very fine taste. Can I help you with something, ma’am?”

“Especially fond of the draperies,” she said, taking slow strides toward the teller’s desk. “Do you know who happened to make them?” 

“Er…” John was confused, but he tried his best to oblige the woman. “I believe Mr. Yates had them commissioned from an interior designer in Aridia, miss.” 

She scoffed. 

“Is there anything I can help you with today? We provide loan and investment services, money conversions, and we have some lovely iron safes in the back for sale if you’d like to have one of your very own at home…”

“Well, what about the money?” She asked. “I’m interested in keeping my savings in this bank. They’re much safer here than at my home. Where do you keep it?” 

John was relieved, glad the woman was actually interested in doing business. “Our money is kept on the top floor in an extremely secure vault, miss. Only Mr. Yates, his son, and I know the combination,” He added with pride. 

“Lovely,” she said. “Could I see the vault?”

“Well,” John fidgeted, “We don’t really allow customers on the second floor unless they have a meeting with Mr. Yates, for security reasons, you see.” 

The woman narrowed her eyes. “I have to see the vault before I know if I want to keep my money here.” 

John felt put on the spot. He’d been explicitly trained by Mr. Yates to never let someone up on the second floor unless he was expressly informed that the individual was allowed up there. But if he let the woman go without seeing the vault, then he would almost certainly lose her business. Surely Mr. Yates would praise him if he secured another customer for the bank – by the looks of her frock, she was well-off indeed. 

“I’m sure a little peek won’t hurt,” John said with a smile. “Mr. Yates and Mr. Morris are out for the afternoon, and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. If you would follow me, miss.” 

“Thank you,” the woman said gratefully, following John as he unlocked the door towards the back room.

John stood in front of the vault door. 

“Here it is, ma’am. As you can see, it’s an absolute stronghold of security. No one is getting in here without the combination.” 

The woman looked the door up and down. “There isn’t any security? No one watching the door?” 

John waved his hand dismissively. “There’s no need, really. The vault door is state of the art. Mr. Yates had it brought all the way from New SimCity – and it cost a pretty penny, I might add. I assure you, this door can withstand a blast from dynamite, even!”

“Dynamite, you say?” 

John beamed, turning towards the door and giving it a firm knock. “Yes, the manufacturers assured us – AH!” 

He turned back around to see the woman brandishing a revolving pistol, the barrel pointed squarely in his face. 

“Open it.” 

“Miss! Is this really necessary?” 

She sighed, growing impatient. “Open the damned door.” To make her point even more painfully clear, she pulled back the hammer of the gun with her thumb, resounding a sinister click. 

Cold sweat began to pour down John’s pallid face.

“If you open the vault and let my men take what we like, I’ll spare your life. If you don’t, I’ll have to settle for…” 

The woman swirled the gun around in her hand, making up her mind, before pointing it at the tip of John’s shoe. 

“Making due with a few of your toes.” 

John struggled to speak. “I…miss, please – I can’t…” 

“I said open the door, you idiot!”

At the rage in her voice, John’s trembling hands opened the vault door. Horrible, icy guilt swept over him as the woman stepped inside, never letting the barrel of her gun stray. 

“That’s more like it,” she smiled. “Nobody needs to get hurt. Just do as you’re told.” 

They stood there for a moment, John trembling with fear, until he heard the door downstairs open and heavy feet rush into the waiting area.

“Fantastic work, Rose!” 

John was suddenly in the company of several terrifying looking – yet cheerful – men. They began to fill their bags with all the cash and finery in the vault. The woman watched, hand steady as she kept John at gunpoint. 

“Don’t take it all, boys,” she said. “Leave the people with a little.” 

One of the men piped up. “Can I take the vase? It’d look lovely in the parlor, Rosie.”

“Oh, sure, love. Don’t get too greedy, though.” 

John’s blood moved in his veins like slush as the men carried their bloated bags downstairs, leaving the vault nearly entirely empty. The woman’s eyes never left his pallid face. 

“Jimmy?” She called. 

The smallest of the men – if he could even be called a man, John thought he was more of a boy if anything – strolled over to his mistress. 

“What do you need, Rose?” 

She smirked. “Take care of this one for me, will you? You know how I feel about witnesses.”

“But-but!” John choked. “You said if opened the door!” 

“Don’t be a fool,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “You really believed the word of an outlaw?” 

The boy cracked his knuckles, looking at the cowering teller fiercely in the eyes. John’s gaze drew along the deep, dark scar that marred the boy’s face. 

“What’re you lookin’ at?” He spat. 

John tried to swallow the painful lump in his throat to no avail. “Nothing! I, er…” 

“Ugly scar, ain’t it? Got it from a man…who kind of looked like you.”

“What’re you going to do to me?” John whimpered. 

The boy grinned darkly. “I reckon I’ll strangle you with my bare hands. I like feeling the struggle.” 

“Please!” John cried. “Please, don’t do this!” 

The woman scoffed again. “Do you really want to spend the last moments of your life begging for mercy like a coward? You sad little man.” 

James reached out with both hands, but before he could grab John’s neck, the man threw up his hands in surrender. 

“Please, just shoot me,” he sobbed. “Let me die an easy death, please at least grant me that!”

The woman considered John for a moment. An odd expression crossed her face before she chuckled. 

“A lady never dirties her own hands.” She nodded towards the dark-haired boy. “Jimmy.” 

The boy grabbed John’s taut neck was a terrible force, tackling him to the ground. The teller thrashed horribly against the brick floor, choking for breath. Stars appeared in John’s eyes, he clawed at the boy’s hands for relief but his grip was like steel – blood vessels began to crack open in his eyes as his vision grew black and distorted. 

Rose stood back and watched, sliding her pistol back into her skirts.

John’s body lay limp on the vault floor. 

“Lovely work,” she said to the boy. 

He stared at John’s unmoving corpse on the floor, expression unchanging. 

The woman approached him from behind, resting a gentle hand on the boy’s back. 

“Let’s get back home,” she said quietly. 

The boy nodded and followed her out of the bank to the waiting getaway coach outside.

To Be Continued 

Previous Chapter | Viper Canyon Index | Chapter Eight

(More characters introduced! There are so many...I know the plot seems a bit all over the place but things will all come full circle eventually. Thanks for reading!)

[traumatized-motherfuckers]

Friendship Dissolutions; A Lesson in Asshole Trauma Reactions

So this is normally my school day, but I’m feeling the need to dig into something else this morning. The past events of this weekend, annnnd the past nearly two years. Because, if you  hadn’t heard, relationships are hard and I like to embarrass myself by telling you about all my fuck ups.

You know, romantic relationships are a disaster for yours truly, but I always thought I was pretty good at the friendship thing. Since high school I’ve almost always had robust friendly relationships - both in depth and breadth. With the exception of a few difficult points in my life since 16, my phone has never been quiet, my weekends have only been isolating when I’ve been isolating myself, and I’ve always felt like I had humans on my side who were closer to kin than my actual family.

The thing is, there have been periods when this hasn’t been the case. I want to say that it’s generally when I’m in my worst mental health downfalls, but I don’t think that’s universally true. There have been variable reasons for separating myself from other people, or vice versa. Sometimes getting too busy, sometimes naturally growing apart, sometimes getting too obsessed with a romantic partner.

But, taking a more analytical view, underlying my lost friendship events, trauma has often been one of the influences that corrupted my friendships and left me lonely, even if it doesn’t seem like it at face value. The thing is, the trail of breadcrumbs might go back 20 years or so. I might not have been in a full-blown trauma state at the time, but those early life non-learnings about relationships have left their mark. So, yes, I do believe that CPTSD is the prerequisite for interpersonal disruptions and we’re not alone in that.

Anyways, in this Fucker’s life, for the past almost 2 years I’ve been in one of those friendship lulls. I’ve had casual friends, roommates, work-associates, distant relationships, some of those hey-how’s-it-going-every-two-months relations. But I haven’t had those deep, rich, all-encompassing friendships that used to define my existence. The ones that used to make me feel safe enough to have an existence, at all.

It’s all because I lost my core group of friends, I didn’t understand and couldn’t fix the problem, and I had no idea how to move forward.

And this last time when I lost everyone I loved, it was definitely due to trauma. Acute, historical, and recovering trauma, to be specific. It was a horrible period of my life, I was a human wrecking ball, and I had no emotional control… because, partially thanks to said friends, I never had to develop those skills.

Basically, I’ve been on my own since a whole series of mental health related isolation events and relationships dissolutions that have persisted since - I want to say 2019 - but to be more holistic, the ship started sailing earlier than that. Like, when I was born.

This has all come to mind more than usual because, this weekend? I had a strange rush of humans back into my life. For the first time in a long time, I saw my best, closest, most important old friends, who were closer to siblings…. In our natural habitat, with our normal friendship routines, with hundreds of memories from the past decade flying around the room.

And today… or, realistically, since I tried to go to sleep after seeing them each day this weekend… I have the relationship reckoning to deal with. The emotional and cognitive processing of everything that’s happened. The lost years. The sense of abandonment. The feeling of being cast out of a family. The inkling that everyone was talking about me. The realization that I was acting a fool, and maybe they should be talking about me. The sense that all parties were partially responsible, but I was the one to blame. The voice in my head that has called me a crazy, miserable, unlovable mess the entire time I debated this at 6am and 6pm and 3am for the past several years.

And now, in the aftermath, I have to work through the dynamic cocktail of feelings, the sense of waiting for the other shoe, and the big decision - are these relationships that I feel secure pursuing again?

And I don’t think I’m alone in this one.

So, today I thought it would be good to talk about this. The history of losing my favorite people on the planet, how I perceived it at the time, how I see my own trauma-actions fucking shit up in hindsight, how I’ve forgiven myself for being such a wild one, and… well… my hesitancy to have close friendships with humans who hurt me in the past. The ways I realized that being separate was beneficial to my mental health and life progress. The self-sabotaging enablement patterns that I now recognize, ran deep, in our old group of friends. The fear that being around them again will let my trauma brain run away with me.

Woo - it’s a whole personal relationship reckoning over here. Let’s just do this, so I can get to my school work at some point soon.

History

So let me set up this situation. You need the background details, of which, there are many dramatic twists and turns.

Be me, Spring of 2019. My romantic relationship with my ex in Atlanta - the musical narcissist that I followed to the city - is going terribly. Since we moved things have been rocky, but now our relationship has been pumped full of disappointment, unfair expectations, emotional codependency, resentment, horrific fighting, and abuse of all colors. Every day is a battle. We’re rarely ever “happy” together. We’re closer to enemies than friends. And we live under the same roof - the one his parents bought for him, outright in cash - to make matters even more fun.

Other than him, I’m alone in this city. I work at the brewery, where no one really likes me. I have one friend from work, but little time to interact thanks to the demanding schedule of my ex with his gigs and out-of-state child visitation.

Financially, my savings have been depleted by floating my significant other’s horrible decisions for the past 2 years. We can never get ahead. He never pays me back for anything. I’m basically in his pocket, as far as needing resources to survive.

As you can imagine, and as I’ve described previously, my mental health is in THE SHITTER. Maybe worse than it’s ever been, although this is hard to judge against some of my earlier years in my 20’s. I’m definitely ramped up in an aggressive and defensive trauma state more than ever before, thanks to living with my aggressor every day. I feel like I’m surviving against the will of my partner, who seems to legitimately be doing his best to drive me into an early grave every single time the sun rises. He’s moved into the territory of intentionally triggering me for hours on end, upsetting me to the point of mental breakdowns, and then gaslighting me for “acting so crazy.” Things have become dangerous, I have no one to turn to, and no cash to get myself into a better situation… not that I know what a better situation even looks like.

But one day, I left. Packed my two bags, went to work, wound up at that single sort-of-friend’s house, never went back home.

And that’s when the real nightmare started. I mean, my ex was a terror over time as we lived together, but a narcissist scorned is a narcissist determined to ruin your fucking life. He harassed me daily via text, phone call, FB messenger, email, stalkings… whatever you can think of. When I blocked him on everything, he started trying to leverage our therapists against me until they refused to interact anymore. He wouldn’t let me into his house to get my stuff. He tried to have me arrested for attempting to do so, after he made arrangements with me to move that weekend. He suddenly refused to even acknowledge that he owed me a dime, and found a way to tally up venmo transactions to show that I actually owed him. He took my only support - our dog, who was really my dog - away and wouldn’t let me see him. Later, he reported my car stolen, so I had to purchase a new one without warning.

The list goes on and on. Just, assume every pathetic, cruel, desperate attempt at getting under someone’s skin and reminding them that they had the audacity to leave you. That’s what was going on in my world.

Meanwhile, with those financial and social pressures I mentioned earlier. No close friends in the area, no spare cash, an unstable job where I was on the chopping block for the reason of “the CEO didn’t like my personality,” nowhere to live, no idea where to go next or how to start a whole new life.

Annnnnd this is right about when my closely knit friend group back in Illinois sort of, well, dipped.

My bestest, best, most treasured friend in my lifetime had always been there for me. But now, she wasn’t. We had exchanged a handful of phone calls over the past month in the aftermath of this relationship ending, but she had been pretty detached from it. I wasn’t offended, because she had certainly heard enough of the drama in real time… of course she was tired of hearing about it...  but I was feeling especially alone and incapable of handling everything on my own, so the distance was difficult, nevertheless. Then, one day she told me that I was being too much for her. I had too high of expectations. It had been bothering her for a while. She needed me to understand and give her some space.

And this was the completely avoidable beginning of the end of my friendships. Let’s talk about why.

How I perceived it

So, I’m pretty sure you can guess how I took this challenging message from my best friend. Uh, poorly. I was so shocked that in my darkest hour, my comrade would feel like my problems were out of her paygrade. It felt like a stab to the heart and straight down through the gut. Here I was, completely alone and isolated, reaching back to my most trusted companions for a lifeline to keep my head above water, and… nothing. She didn’t want to reel me back into the boat.

I responded with some shitty messages about how I really wasn’t asking that much from her and I didn’t appreciate being blindsided by her sudden decision to get rid of me. I had only taken up a few phone calls to talk things through based on her schedule. I had visited her one weekend as I went to a job interview nearby. I had asked her to come visit me soon, so I could feel less alone for a few days. I didn’t think it was fair that she was responding this way. I couldn’t believe she would turn her back on me at this particular moment.

And so, the rift developed. We stopped speaking. I started sobbing. I was absolutely beside myself, as if I hadn’t already been. This wasn’t what I wanted, at all, but I also felt like I had no control in it.

.......

Like it? Well I’m too lazy to post the whole thing here. Check t-mfrs.com for the full blog AND the podcast recorded version. Yawelcome. 

www.t-mfrs.com 

(Traumatized Motherfuckers)

[fedeipox]

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 6 (2/3)

Part 1 here: https://fedeipox.tumblr.com/post/640021017292636160/the-way-of-time-rdr2-fanfic-chapter-6-13

Chapter 6 (2/3) - Something acceptable

Words: 3,3k

Javier watched her carefully: her face had acquired an unusual glow and her eyes were sparkling with childish enthusiasm. He wasn’t sure she was understanding how hard and dangerous it was. Planning a robbery was no game, but at the same time her presence there was a great impulse for him, and he couldn’t understand why. 

“Let’s say we get rid of the sheriff, do you think you can hold off the doctor and all the men behind that door?” she asked.

“If I take the doctor as hostage, yes, I reckon killing three or four men won’t be a problem.”

“Killing?”

Their eyes met and it was at that moment that Javier had the certainty that she had no idea of what they were going towards. Did she really think that was some kind of game?

“How do you expect me to hold off all the men inside there without killing them?” he asked.

“I don’t know but please don’t kill them” she complained.

“What if they shoot first?”

“Well… in that case you can… defend yourself, I think. But not the doctor, please. He’s innocent of all of this. I mean, he has an illegal activity, but he’s still a doctor, he helps people.”

“What if he recognizes me and gives my identity to the sheriff?”

She seemed to think deeply about it, then, just like she had received the enlightenment she looked at him and said: “do you really think he’s going to the sheriff and tell him somebody robbed his illegal business?”

He had to admit it made perfect sense. Javier took a deep sigh looking straight at her and her big sweet eyes before he gave in. Yes, the man was a healer, an important figure for the town, that was the only reason why he wasn’t going to kill him. 

“So, for the sheriff, I might have an idea” she said in the end.

...

The plan was established, they all knew what they had to do, now the problem was put it into practice. Emily was proud of her ideas, years and years of thriller movies and crime novels had taught her how to plan a robbery, how to create a diversion, and most of all that you must always have a plan B. 

Even though she kept saying to herself that steal to other criminals wasn’t a real crime, she knew in her heart that it was an excuse, and she couldn’t get out of her head the idea that what they were doing was wrong. But at the same time the thought of a crime, of doing something that shouldn’t be done, excited her like a child at the sight of a playground, and she was both ashamed and afraid of that feeling. Was she turning into a criminal? One of those people who like doing bad things?

She leant her back against the wood of the building, right next to the door of the saloon, and waited patiently for Bill to come.

It was too late now for a rethinking: here goes nothing.

They had chosen Bill for the part of the drunk surly brawler, the perfect man according to Javier. He would put on a fight at the saloon and Emily was the one responsible of calling the attention of the sheriff to said fight, while Javier had to collect the money. 

The second saloon of Valentine wasn’t as big as the Smithfield, but Emily had sweared she wasn’t going to put another foot inside that terrible place. Besides, that one had also fewer customers, but definitely drunker, which was perfect for Bill to start a brawl without making too much an effort. 

He showed up from the end of the street, sitting astride on his huge brown horse that he stopped at the post. He slowly got down and adjusted his pants with an overdramatic attitude before he tied the animal and with a heavy and swinging walk he reached the porch.

“Miss” he said touching the brim of his hat.

Emily nodded to him just like they didn’t know each other. That was part of the plan. He got inside and asked for a whiskey with an unnecessary loud voice. She shook her head deploring the man’s acting skills, but it turned out his fake high tone helped their cause because someone complained about him and after an exchange of insults, Emily heard exactly what she needed: men punching each other.

Without wasting time she ran down the steps of the porch and on the muddy street to reach the sheriff’s office. With every step her boots dipped in the mud and in her mind she blessed whoever had invented the asphalt.

Javier looked at her as she reached the sheriff’s door and walked inside. He was standing right around the corner of the doctor’s building, checking the door for unusual movements or patients. No-one. That day the apothecary had no customers, which was perfect. If everybody had done their part well, and if Bill hadn’t caused any trouble, that job was going to be a success.

“Sheriff, I need your help, there’s a fight at the saloon” said Emily walking inside the poorly lit room.

There, there were two men dressed more or less in the same way and she had no idea who of them was the sheriff, so after she said the words she moved her eyes from one to the other hoping they wouldn’t notice her ignorance about sheriffs.

“Again? This town is a nightmare” said the man seated behind the desk, “which one?”

“Keane’s” Emily answered readily.

“George, go check it” he ordered to the other man.

Emily needed two seconds to understand what was happening: the sheriff was sending the deputy, that way he didn’t have to lift his ass from the chair, which was exactly what she wanted him to do.

“No” she exclaimed making both of them look at her.

“They have guns, sheriff, and they seem determined to use them. I think it’s better if you go check personally” she lied.

He brought a hand to his face to rub his eyes and took a deep breath before standing up.

“Okay, let’s go.”

As soon as she walked out, followed by the two men, Javier turned the corner of the building, gave a look around making sure no-one was watching him and raised his bandana on his face. With that and the large hat he hoped not to be identified by the doctor.

“Don’t do anything stupid, friend. I just want to take a look at the room on the back” he said raising his handgun to the doctor’s chest. 

“Sir, please, you don’t want to get involved with them, I-I promise you.”

“Let me choose who I want to get involved with. Now open the door.”

“Okay… okay.”

Emily turned her head for a second and glanced at the apothecary wondering how Javier was doing. In her heart she hoped he wouldn’t hurt anyone. Her friend, her kind Mexican friend, who kills someone in cold blood. The idea was extremely troubling for her.

“How many men are we talking about, Miss?” asked the deputy.

“Erm, two or three. They seemed quite dangerous.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of them.”

“No doubt.”

Javier followed the doctor until they reached the heavy iron door. He laid his back on the wall right next to it and with his gun still pointed at the man’s chest he made a brief nod of his head. The doctor knocked.

“Hey, i-it’s me. I-I’ve brought you fellers some food and whiskey” he said.

Javier heard the little window opening and flattened even more against the wall not to be seen.

“Yeah, it’s only the doc” said someone from the other side and then the sound of steel against steel made him understand it was his moment.

He grabbed the man from behind, pointing the gun to his head and pushed him inside the room among the confused expressions of four people.

When they reached the saloon, Emily let the sheriff and the deputy walk inside and deal with Bill and the other two drunkards, while she stopped on the porch waiting to see Javier in the distance telling her he was done.

“Hey, stop! Stop it right now! What are you doing?” she heard the sheriff shouting.

“This little piece of shit here was insulting me, I just came for a drink!” replied Bill. 

“You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, you big asshole!”

Another struggle started just in time when Emily heard a series of shots, one after the other, in the distance, and she imagined them coming from the doctor’s office. She moved her eyes from the men inside the saloon to the road, but thanks to the noise they were making, the sheriff and his deputy hadn’t heard the gunfire. She couldn’t tell the same about the people out in the street, who started looking around them suspiciously. 

Without wasting any more time, conscious that someone had heard the noise of his gun, Javier let the doctor go and started collecting all the money from the table at the centre of the room. Then, he looked inside the safety boxes, the crates, under the mattress, all under the shocked look of the doctor who hadn’t moved from where Javier had left him.

“You won’t say a thing, right?” he asked menacingly.

“Oh, n-no sir. Y-you’ve liberated me. T-they were awful, they were forcing me to do this.”

“Good, happy to help.”

After he took the last wad of cash, he walked to the back door, opened it and went outside.

“Okay, now go, and I don’t want to see your ugly faces ever again, is that clear! Or next time I’ll lock you all up for the rest of your pathetic lives!” said the sheriff kicking the three men out of the door.

Emily gave a last look down the road where Javier was waving at her before she turned around to smile at the sheriff and the deputy.

“Thank you, I was scared to death they could have killed each other” she said.

“Nothing to be scared about, Miss. These things always end with a couple of bruises and a broken nose, nothing more. Anyway, you better stay away from saloons, they’re not a place for a lady” replied the sheriff walking away.

Emily reached Bill, next to his horse, and whispered “done” before she walked down the road again to reach Javier who had left his horse behind the church. When she saw him in the distance, waiting for her with a cigarette between his lips, she couldn’t restrain her enthusiasm anymore and ran in his direction jumping around and radiating excitement.

“So, how much? How much?” she asked with a jiggling laugh.

“Shh quiet. I don’t know, I didn’t count them. Come on, let’s head back to camp.”

“How’s the doctor?”

“Still alive, but I can’t say the same about the four assholes in the room” he replied taking her form her waist and making her sit on the back of Boaz. 

“Were they armed?” she asked with a little less enthusiasm.

“Yes, and they were forcing the doctor to run the illegal poker game. He was the victim of all of that” he answered mounting up.

...

Unexpectedly, her reaction to those people death wasn’t as terrible as she imagined it to be, but she still couldn’t believe Javier had done it: the man right in front of her, to whose waist she was grabbing not to fall from the horse, had just killed four people. She was both intrigued and scared by him at that moment: what if he was one of those who enjoyed violence?

“How does it feel? When you kill someone?” she asked.

Javier didn’t answer immediately, he thought a little about it first. How did he feel when he killed a man? He felt nothing. He was aware that there were some people in the world who liked killing, who felt powerful by doing it, and other people who felt awful, but for him it was just a matter of survival. If the man who was facing him was a threat for his life, he had to kill him. Only once he had allowed his emotions to take over and he had paid the bitter price for that.

“It’s not the act of killing itself that makes you feel something, but the reason why you’re doing it” he explained.

“There is no valid reason for killing someone” she stated.

“Oh no, every reason is good for killing someone, you just have to decide if that reason is good enough for you.”

“If you put it that way, everyone could kill anybody in the world.”

“And isn’t it exactly what happens?”

“I disagree. What you do is acting like God, you have no right to do that.”

“But if I hadn’t killed those men, now we wouldn’t have the money to buy supplies for the camp.”

Emily huffed. It was impossible to argue with him, it was a tricky matter and he was both wrong and right, but what he had said made her think about something else.

“What about Dutch on that ferry? What good reason did he have to kill that girl?”

“He… we were up against the wall, our lives were in danger.”

“And killing a girl solved everything?”

“No y-you… you wasn’t there, you can’t understand.”

“Whatever you say won’t change my mind. Killing is wrong. Always.” Javier couldn’t understand: she kept saying that killing was wrong, but he had just killed four people to put some food in her belly, how could that be wrong?

When they reached camp they found Bill dismounting his horse. They parted the money in three exact parts and Emily found out she had gained twenty-five dollars and forty-five cents. Finally she had her own money and with it a part of her freedom, but to gain that freedom she had had to sentence to death someone else. 

Javier had said they weren’t good people, that they were coercing the doctor to give them the room for their affairs and obliging him to keep his mouth shut, and this, added to the fact that they needed that money for the supplies, made her feel a little less sorry for their death. Maybe what they had done wasn’t good, but at least acceptable. 

“Remember to put some in the box” said Javier before he walked away and he didn’t had to repeat it twice. 

Emily walked to Dutch’s tent where she found Miss O’Shea writing something on a paper. 

“Hi Molly” she said and walked all around the tent to reach the barrel with the box.

“Hi, how are you?” Molly asked politely.

“Actually, I’m pretty good. Look at this!” she exclaimed showing her the money.

“We’ve robbed an illegal poker game.”

“Good, so now we can make this place better.”

“What do you mean? Make it better?”

“Yes, we use the money in the box for supplies and camp improvements. Look” she said standing up and reaching her side.

“If you go to this page, you can see what everybody thinks it should be done to make this dump a little more livable. And here you have to write your name and what you are leaving in the box.”

Emily was amazed from how they had thought about everything. On the page of the improvements there were all kind of requests: from chickens, which surely belonged to Pearson, to pelts and covers to make the sleeping spots more comfortable, and there even was a joker named Mac who had written “a castle”, and right after another one named Davey - one of those who had died in the mountains, Emily remembered that - who had written “a brain for my brother”.

Emily laughed at those puns and then wrote her name on the donation page leaving on the box the spare five dollars and forty-five cents she had.

“Alright, thank you, Molly. Sorry if I interrupted you. What were you writing by the way?”

“Oh, nothing, just a stupid poem” she replied.

“A poem? Can I read it?”

“It’s not finished.”

“I don’t mind. Can I?”

...

Molly nodded and let Emily inside her tent, making her sign to sit on the cot by her side before she handed her the poem. She looked at her shyly as the girl ran her eyes on the piece of paper and when she ended her heart gave a slight jump.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“It’s great. Is this how it happened? With Dutch?”

“How do you know that’s Dutch?” she inquired.

“It’s obvious. So you came here, met him and fell in love with him, but now you feel like you gave him all you could give, and this makes you empty somehow, and this emptiness makes you feel worthless too.”

Molly kept looking at her with her mouth half open: how could she understand all of that from the poem? 

“How… how can you…”

“Can I tell you something? Don’t beat yourself up. Your worth doesn’t lie with him, your worth doesn’t lie with anyone but yourself.”

How? How could that girl so young, so innocent, so naive read inside her mind? 

“You don’t… you don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re young, you’re just a child.”

“Yes, you’re probably right. But I’ve seen too many women in love with men who don’t deserve them not to recognize one.”

“You know nothing! He loves me and I love him! Go, get out of here!”

She stood up and looked at Emily with her eyes on fire. She had centered the problem and now Molly felt vulnerable, and this weakness made her angry. 

“Yes, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that” she said in a hurry and stood up in turn.

“But if you… if you want to talk, about anything, I’m here, okay?”

Molly didn’t answer, she kept looking at Emily with that furrowed brow that hid all her insecurities, and in the end Emily walked out of her tent and away from her.

[dailytomlinson]

“I probably shouldn’t be talking about this but f*** it,” he tells me now. “My point is, I clearly wasn’t in the best frame of mind, you know? And the situation definitely got out of hand and people were goading me. It wasn’t my finest hour but it was a difficult time. I was already on edge and, in that headspace, it got the better of me.”

By “that headspace”, Tomlinson means that he was grieving. The airport incident took place a few months after his mother Johannah’s death from leukaemia at 43. (In March last year, his 18-year-old sister, Félicité, died from an accidental overdose. Quite reasonably, I’ve been asked not to bring this up.) Tomlinson, who is now 28, says his experiences of grief in the public eye have been “really tough. There have been mixed emotions. I’ve hated the fact that everyone’s talking about it, but that’s the way it is. I didn’t like the idea of people feeling sorry for me. But I’ve also felt the support from fans and people reaching out on social media or whatever… and I do feel I’ve got this ability to see the glass as half full. Because what else am I going to f***ing do?”

I meet Tomlinson in an upstairs room of a pub in a residential corner of London’s Notting Hill. He is dressed in jeans, a red tracksuit top and trainers. The only visible evidence of his previous life in One Direction, the biggest boyband in pop history, is his hair, which is artfully swept sideways as if he’s standing in a wind tunnel. An old hand at winning over interviewers, he greets me with a hug before sitting down, leaning back and putting his feet up.

Tomlinson is on the promotional trail for his debut album, Walls, which has been four years on the making. It includes “Two of Us”, a ballad which lays bare Tomlinson’s loss (“You’ll never know how much I miss you/ The day that they took you, I wish it was me instead”). In a change of mood, it also contains the Britpop-flavoured “Kill My Mind”, a throwback to his mid-teens and the indie night he’d go to with his friends in his native Doncaster.

Tomlinson grew up listening to Oasis and Arctic Monkeys, though right now he can’t get enough of Catfish and the Bottlemen: “I like anything with big guitars and a big chorus.” He reckons “Kill My Mind” will struggle to get on the radio but he doesn’t care since, musically, “I’ve often been swimming against the tide.”

He puts the album’s long gestation down to creative insecurity. “A good two years [was spent] treading water and trying to work out exactly what my sound was, and what I was capable of.” Clearly, One Direction, who sold 50 million albums, are a tough act to follow, though Tomlinson has also had to contend with his former colleagues putting out solo work before him (Harry Styles is already on his second LP, while Zayn Malik, Niall Horan and Liam Payne have all released debuts). But he rejects the suggestion that they are all in competition, remarking, “I don’t like to look at it that way.”

I ask if he and his ex-bandmates have a WhatsApp group. They don’t, he replies, “and we should, but we’ve never got around to it”. But he says they are frequently in touch, which must be something people ask a lot since, entirely unbidden, he gives me a breakdown of their recent activities. Let the record show that he spoke to Liam two days ago; he and Niall exchanged texts a fortnight ago; and Harry sent him a congratulatory message when he released his last single. There is no mention of Zayn.

Tomlinson says the face he presents to the public and journalists these days is fully unfiltered, a change from his One Direction days when he had to be careful not to cause inadvertent upset within the band or with fans. “No one was saying ‘Don’t do that’, but there was the [pressure] of being role models. So it took a second to understand that [as a solo artist] I could get away with completely being myself, even though I can sometimes be a bit of a dickhead.”

In fact, there are two Tomlinsons that emerge throughout our chat. There’s boyband Louis, full of sweet but bland blather about self-expression, his gratitude to fans, and the luck that he’s enjoyed as an artist. But another version of him frequently comes through who is funny, sweary and thoughtful about his decade in the limelight.

Tomlinson has had four years to digest his time in One Direction which I note, from the outside, looked a bit like being held hostage. But even with the fan fervour, the police escorts and the nonstop media glare, he says he wouldn’t change anything. “We were always in control of our destiny,” he explains. “We rose to fame pretty quick and, because of that, we had some power and some say within the record label and with management.” The sheer pace and drama of their day-to-day existence was, he says, “like a drug. It’s that feeling of heightened emotion and every day being manically busy, and the hysteria. Although you might complain about it, none of us said, ‘No we don’t wanna do that.’ We were just in it. We were f***ing loving it.”

Still, he says, the initial 18 months were hard as he struggled to see his value within the band. “I would wonder, ‘What difference would it make if I was there or if I wasn’t?’ Under the spotlight that was difficult, but that’s what gave me the fire in the belly to get right into it.” It was through songwriting that he found his place and his confidence – he has writing credits on 37 One Direction songs, more than anyone else in the band. “That’s something I’m really f***ing proud of,” he says. “Now I can say I made a difference.”

The end of One Direction was a shock to Tomlinson, even though he knew it was coming. “We’d done such a lot of work in a short space of time so a break was inevitable. But I don’t think I was necessarily ready for how long. We had a band meeting and everyone just said, ‘Maybe we’ll put it on the back burner for a bit,’ and I felt a bit petulant about that at the time. It actually hit me like a ton of bricks.” Now the band are officially on hiatus – “even though that’s a stupid f***ing word”, he says. “Truthfully, none of us truly know [if we’ll reform]. I just know what my gut says and my gut says we will get back together at some point. I think it was too magical for all of us to never do it again.”

The eldest of seven siblings, as a child Tomlinson says he was “well-mannered but a bit of a show-off. I was a lot cockier than I am now. Being in One Direction made me realise I’m not always the coolest kid in the room”.

He wasn’t good academically at school but enjoyed performing and, for a while, toyed with being an actor. Before auditioning on The X Factor, he did a string of jobs at weekends and in school holidays for some extra cash. One summer was spent as a waiter at his beloved football club, Doncaster Rovers. Another yielded a stint at a well-known cinema chain dispensing popcorn. There, he tells me unexpectedly, he was earning “an extra wage”. An extra wage? “As in taking a few quid from the till,” he says with a grin. “It all started because there was a McDonald’s over the road and I wanted money for my lunch.” His trick was to hand customers two boxes of popcorn but only put one through the system and put the money for the second in his pocket. “I didn’t want to short-change the customer,” he explains. “I’d take from the company. I’m a man of the people.”

It was his mum’s idea for him to try out for The X Factor, though it took three attempts to get through to the televised auditions. He says the experience of going on stage in front of the live audience, under the glare of the lights and with four famous judges looking back at him, remains the most terrifying of his life.

We talk for a bit about Tomlinson’s return to The X Factor in 2018 as a judge alongside Simon Cowell plus Robbie Williams and his wife Ayda Field. He asks what I made of the show so I decide to be honest and tell him that I thought the whole thing looked tired and Cowell appeared bored out of his mind. “Well I couldn’t possibly comment on [Cowell],” says Tomlinson, good-naturedly, “though I actually loved it. But yeah, I feel that, as a show, it needs a rest. There’s a place for a show like it and I’ve got my career to thank for it, but we’ve had a lot of it, so let’s just let it rest and make people want it again.”

Life has slowed down since the madness of One Direction but he still can’t find the time to read a book or watch a box set. Where, in his pre-fame days, he struggled to hold down a job, now he’s happiest when he’s busy. Should the singing career stall, he would like to run his own management company. Five years ago, he launched a record label, an imprint on Cowell’s Syco label, but life got in the way and his plans to create a girl band fell at the first hurdle. Originally he had gathered a list of 20 acts that he was keen to sign, and points out that “like, four or five of them are signed [elsewhere] now… I think I have an instinct for these things”.

I ask, rather unfairly, if the solo career of a former boyband member is ultimately a doomed endeavour – for every Robbie Williams, there’s a Howard, Jason and Mark whose careers sink without trace. For a moment Tomlinson looks stumped but then he prevaricates like a pro. “Of course, there are days where I might have unreal expectations and when I have to tell myself to stay grounded,” he says. “But I had a breakthrough moment last year about what success really means and I think I can look at it for what it is now. I have to look at how happy I am and remember that I’m lucky to be doing what I’m doing.”

[ohemgeeitscoley]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (1/5)

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Rey/Ben Solo (Reylo)

Note: Written for the Movie Exchange. This was a blast to participate in, and I’m so excited to share it!

Biggest thank you and love to @andyouweremine​ and @storiesofimagination​ and @notababoonbrandishingastick​ for reading along and cheering me on and pointing out the ways to make the story better. You guys make writing fun and I love you.

Read below or on AO3

This is not where Ben wanted to be in life. When he was a child imagining his future being a 28 year old assistant for a giant dick was not even remotely on the list of possibilities. 

But here he is spending his Friday night standing outside of a building with an annoying bouncer reminding him that the doorway was for members only.

The fucking doorway.

Ben could be a member if he wanted. If he wasn't too stubborn to touch his inheritance. But he wanted to make it in life on his own merits and not because of old money and his family's name.

Nights like tonight make it hard to remember any of it matters.

His mom has been on him more the last few months. He's been Snoke's assistant for two years. The last assistant had only had the job for a year before Snoke got him set up as a VP for a large hedge fund. 

Ben's been wasting his time getting Snoke food and encouraging him through drinking green juice for two years with nothing to show for it.

He knows he should take his mom up on her offer. Hell, he could call his uncle and get a position at his company and really no one would blink. 

But it matters to him. He doesn't want to rely on nepotism and to be in a position he hasn't earned.

He has an MBA. He didn't think it would be this hard.

Ben sighs, shoving one hand into his pant pocket and scrolls through the messages on his phone.

Most are from his mom. Reminding him that he is supposed to go home this weekend for a family dinner. As if he is going to have time for that. There are a few from Poe talking about a new guy he met at the bar and some random items Ben assumes are groceries Poe wants him to pick up whenever he heads home.

It's almost midnight and he's been standing on a sidewalk for 45 minutes. 

His boss finally walks out of the building and he's already harping at Ben about different things and Ben is having a hard time caring and paying attention. Snoke stops next to Ben, adjusting his tie, before running his hands through his slightly turning silver brown hair. 

“Alright,” Snoke says, unscrewing the lid from one of those God awful green juices he keeps buying, “do your thing.”

Ben responds immediately, listing off the first few better tasting foods that come to his mind. Snoke downs the drink and tosses him the bottle, like he has anywhere to throw it away, and heads toward the car that is waiting for them.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Ben asks, opening the door to the car.

“What?” Snoke asks, narrowing his eyes as he glances up from his phone to Ben. “What do you mean tomorrow? You’re going back to the office.”

No, Ben thinks, resisting the urge to grit his teeth. “Right. Of course I am,” he gets out, following Snoke into the car. “Do you want me to order dinner? Since we’re going back to the office?”

Snoke looks at Ben like he’s growing a second head. “I just drank my juice. You just saw me drink my juice.”

Ben did just see him drink his juice. Just like Ben has seen him drink several juices and then act affronted that Ben didn’t order him lunch or dinner twenty minutes later when he realizes he’s still hungry.

The car pulls away from the sidewalk and merges into traffic. It’s going to be a long night.

***

Rey loves her job. Really. She does. Being the assistant for Amilyn Holdo is an honor and a privilege. Amilyn is a force to be reckoned with and there is so much for Rey to learn from her. Not to mention the exposure. Rey is working in one of the best digital media firms in New York. Outside of Amilyn, Rey is surrounded by some of the best writers, editors, and photographers. She’s lucky to have the job. She knows how lucky she is.

However. It is almost midnight on a Friday and she’s been in the office since 6:45 and all she wants to do is go back to her apartment, curl into her bed, and watch a stupid movie and fall asleep. But Amilyn is still in her office on the phone and Rey knows that she can’t leave before Amilyn. It was never a spoken rule, that Rey needs to be the first one to arrive and the last one to leave. But that was because it didn’t need to be said out loud. It was expected.

Rey’s phone buzzes against her desk. Glancing down at the lit up screen, Rey scrunches her nose at the text notification from Kaydel. It’s text number twelve for the night. She was supposed to meet up with Kaydel and Rose for drinks after work. Rey hates that she has been such an absentee friend, but Amilyn had been throwing herself even more into work the last few months and Rey’s social life had all but vanished since then.

Amilyn’s door opens and she throws Rey a fitness watch.

“I need that up to at least 10,000 steps before I leave,” she says, already walking back into her office. “My trainer can’t think that I’m slacking off in between sessions. And order me dinner from that one place.”

Amilyn’s door closes before she’s done talking, her voice muffled. But Rey knows what she says and she knows the place that Amilyn is vaguely referring to because she is a good assistant.

No. She is a great assistant.

Rey opens up the restaurant's website and places Amilyn’s dinner order. Rey’s stomach growls, she isn’t quite sure when she ate last. Amilyn had needed her to take notes during her lunch meeting and Rey didn’t have a chance to eat afterward. Rey glares down at her belly for betraying her and adds dinner for her to the order before sending it out.

Her email pings with the confirmation of her order. The estimated time of arrival is 45 minutes.

45 minutes for two sandwiches at almost midnight seems ridiculous.

Rey calls the restaurant and bickers with them until they concede that the food can be delivered in 30 minutes.

Sliding Amilyn’s watch on her wrist, Rey stands up and stretches her arms before beginning to pace around the office. 

***

"What do you mean you can't take a credit card?" Rey's eyes widen as she starts going through her wallet even though she knows she does not have enough cash to cover the food. She's not sure she has any cash at all. 

Rey is sweaty and gross from trying to get the fitness watch up to 10,000 steps in 30 minutes. Rey had only managed about 4,000 and she feels like her lungs and legs are going to be burning for days. She still had another 3,000 to go.

"We're cash only on deliveries now," the delivery driver answers and he looks like he's contemplating getting ready to take the food and leave.

But Rey needs that food. She can't let her boss down at almost midnight when she said she was going down to the lobby to get her dinner.

"I have… I have Venmo? CashApp? I'll download any app you have actually." Rey offers, pulling out a checkbook. "What about a check?"

The guy rolls his eyes. "You think if we aren't taking cards, we are going to take checks?"

"It's not 1990, so the fact that you guys are refusing to take digital currency led me to believe you were stuck in the past." Rey huffs in annoyance, her brain spiraling trying to come up with another plan.

Rey hears the elevator ding behind her, but she's too distracted by the problem in front of her to pay much attention. 

"I can offer a contract for a small piece of my soul?" Rey jokingly offers. 

"Do you have the $32.50 or not?" He asks, clearly not impressed. 

"Yes, I do have the $32.50," Rey argues, "in any form of currency available to me that is not actually cash in my hand. Which was also nowhere on your website. This seems like a scam. Are you trying to pocket the cash?"

"I don't need this shit," he starts to put the bag away when--

"I have cash," a deep voice says from behind Rey. "I can pay."

Rey turns around quickly and looks at the man walking toward them. 

He's… large. In a fairly tall, very wide kind of way. His face is all sharp angles and his hair is long and dark… and it looks really soft. 

He's vaguely familiar looking. Rey assumes he works in the building too and that she's probably seen him at some point. She's surprised she doesn't remember him though, because he is extremely attractive. 

"You don't have--" Rey starts, before realizing the hot stranger is handing delivery driver money and grabbing the bag and he is stealing her dinner. "Excuse me, that is my dinner. Fuck. That is my boss's dinner."

The delivery driver leaves with a slight flick of his fingers to the other man before walking away.

"I paid for it," the food thief shrugs, "So it's my boss's dinner now."

"No, no, no, no, no," Rey breaths, her mind spinning to come up with a plan as she followed the man toward the elevator. "There's two dinners in there. One for me and one for my boss. I need my boss's dinner. I cannot get fired."

Something near sympathy seems to pass over his face. He pauses, his grip on the bag loosening. 

"And it's about to be my boss's dinner because I cannot get fired."

"Listen," Rey begins, chewing on her bottom lip. "What's your name?"

"Ben," he responds. "And I really need to get back to work."

"So do I, Ben," Rey holds on to the vowel in his name for a few seconds. "But I cannot go back without food. Spare a dinner. Does your boss really need both?"

"What did you get?" Ben asks, but he's already opening the bag before Rey can answer.

He pulls out the first box and hands it to Rey before he grabs the second box and let's the bag fall to the ground. 

Rey opens her box first.  It's Amilyn's steak sandwich with blue cheese crumbles and a lettuce wrap instead of a bun. There's a side of pita chips and hummus.

That means Ben has Rey's pulled pork sandwich, with the caramelized onions and perfectly toasted brioche bun. Not to mention the apple slaw and sweet potato fries. 

Rey's mouth waters and her stomach betrays her and rumbles. Her cheeks redden with embarrassment.  

"This is my boss's," Rey holds up the container in her hand. "Yours gets to enjoy mine."

"It's a pulled pork sandwich," he states as if the sandwich is personally offending him.  

"It's an amazing pulled pork sandwich," Rey shakes her head in disbelief. "Does your boss have something against good food?"

"Good?" Ben looks at the sandwich again. "This is a basic sandwich at best. Pork and onions? Sweet potato fries? I'll be the one getting fired if I bring him this. He is a man of refined taste."

"I can fix this." Rey drops to her knees, setting down the steak sandwich and holding out her hand for the container from Ben.

He looks amused when he hands her the box. Rey ignores it and goes to work.

She pulls the top bun off the pulled pork sandwich, trying not to inhale the delicious scent wafting from the box. She takes a handful of bleu cheese crumbles from the other sandwich and sprinkles them over the sandwich. Then she grabs a fork out of the bag and strategically places about a quarter of the apple slaw on top of the onions.  

She then gathers the rest of the apple slaw and puts them in her boss's container, followed by the sweet potato fries. The hummus and pita chips fit perfectly in the box next to the remastered sandwich. 

"There we go," Rey puts the bun back on top of the sandwich and closes the lid to the boxes. She stands slowly, holding out one box for Ben. "Viola, a culinary masterpiece."

"I don't know about that." He gives the container a quizzical look. "But you owe me at least $22 for this."

"What?" Rey scoffs. "That's more than my sandwich was to begin with and you took most of the toppings."

He shrugs. "I saved your ass. There's a tax for that."

"You're a monster," Rey glares at him. "But fine, deal. I'll bring it to you tomorrow, Ben."

"Perfect,  I'm on the 22nd floor…" he stops, tilting his head. "I don't know your name."

"Rey," she answers, a smug smile overtaking her face. "I'm on the 23rd floor."

He isn't impressed. Or if he is, he hides it well. The arrogance that rolls off of him is off putting. He walks away to the elevator, pressing the up arrow. "I expect you'll be there no later than 7. I have a life."

"Right," Rey snorts, picking up the bag he left behind on the floor. There was a wrapped pickle inside. Score. "Says the assistant getting his boss dinner at midnight. You'll get it when you get it."

Rey hits the button for the other elevator across the hall. She does not want to be in an elevator with him. 

The doors open for both elevators at the same time. Rey walks into hers first, turning around to see him step. 

"You'll be there by 7, or the interest will double," Ben chuckles.

Rey's mouth falls open. "Interest!" She exclaims, but the elevator door is already closing. "You never said anything about interest you ass--"

The door shuts.

"Asshole," Rey finishes in the elevator. "Absolute asshole."

Rey pouts as she takes a bite into the pickle. Interest. What kind of person charges interest on essentially stolen food.

She's still lost in her thoughts when the elevator opens and [boss] steps in.

"I'm going home," she says, pressing the button for the main floor. 

Rey barely has time to get out of the elevator before the door starts to close.

"I'll be in by 7 tomorrow," she adds just before the doors finally close.

Rey closes her eyes. "Here's your $30 sandwich that I just spent 40 minutes to get for you," Rey says to the vacant office. "And maybe tomorrow I'll pitch my idea about the positive effects of team sports for foster children and other disenfranchised  youth."

The majority of the lights are dimmed, leaving the normally colorful and bright walls dark and shadowy. Rey heads toward her desk, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite.

She presses the button on the side of her desk to raise it up so she can stand while she finishes eating. Glancing at the time, Rey groans. 12:17. 

By the time she finishes responding to all of Amilyn''s invites, it'll be 1. After the subway ride to her apartment and some much needed unwind time, Rey will be lucky to get three hours of sleep before she has to be back at the office. 

Her skin practically vibrates at the amount of caffeine she is going to need to order in the morning. And she's going to have to stop by an ATM to pull out cash.

Maybe even a bank. 

Because she is only giving Ben $22. Not a penny more.

***

The article Rey is reading when Kaydel and Rose come stumbling into the apartment has her close to tears. She wipes at her eyes quickly as Kaydel throws herself down onto the chair across from Rey. 

“Rey!” Kaydel shouts holding her arms up in a v above her head. “We missed you. You didn’t even respond to the last few messages I sent.”

“I know.” Rey grimaces. “I couldn’t get out of work. Amilyn had meeting after meeting.”

“It’s okay,” Kaydel smiles brightly at Rey. “I love you anyway.”

The best part of being best friends with Kaydel is that Rey knows without a doubt that Kaydel absolutely means everything she is saying. Kaydel doesn’t mince words. She doesn’t hide from the hard or uncomfortable things. She plows forward until the matter is addressed and resolved. And then she moves on.

“Well hopefully you can join us next time,” Rose offers, sitting on the arm rest of the chair next to Kaydel. “I need someone to try to help me keep up with her.”

Rey laughs, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she shakes her head. “We all know I cannot keep up with her.”

“Please,” Kaydel huffs. “No one can keep up with me. I am an unstoppable machine.”

“You need water,” Rose says, leaning over to kiss Kaydel’s cheek. “I’m going to get you water.”

Kaydel watches Rose as she gets up and walks into the kitchen. Rey hates the tiny bit of jealousy that fills her stomach. Kaydel’s whole face is lit up, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are soft and warm and full of love. 

Rey wants that. 

She just doesn’t have time for that. 

Relationships had never been something Rey was particularly good at. In high school, she wasn’t secure enough at home to have time for dating. Planning on whether or not she could go on a date seemed trivial when she had to worry about whether or not she was going to have to switch foster homes if she didn’t prove her worth or caused any problems.

Then in college, Rey had been so focused on keeping her scholarships and her grades, she just didn’t have time. The fact that she had been assigned to be Kaydel’s roommate had been one of her only saving graces for socialization. 

Now, she has her job. She can’t even make it to drinks with two of her best friends. She eats dinner after midnight. 

Dating just isn’t something that is going to fit in her life any time soon.

“You should go to sleep,” Kaydel points out. The concern in her voice becomes apparent as she continues. “You look exhausted. When are you going in tomorrow?”

“6:30?” Rey debates out loud, tilting her head side-to-side as she thinks. “Maybe 7. I need to stop at an ATM, or maybe an actual bank, and I’ll still need to get Amilyn’s coffee and bagel.”

“Why do you need to go to a bank?” Kaydel asks, curling up her lips. “I can’t even think of the last time I went to a bank.”

“I need $22. Exactly.” Rey answers, shrugging. “It’s a… long story and we definitely do not have time for it tonight.”

“Tomorrow then,” Kaydel demands, her eyes narrow and Rey knows that she means business. “Dinner. Even if it’s a late dinner. You can catch me up.”

Rey nods giving Kaydel a tight smile. “Sounds perfect.”

Kaydel returns Rey’s smile before standing up and walking toward the kitchen. Rey leans her head back against the couch, sighing as she closes her laptop. The list of things Rey knows that Amilyn is going to want her to do tomorrow is daunting. Kaydal may have said that it could be a late dinner, but for Kaydel that was 7, maybe 8, not 11 or 12. 

Maybe Rey will be able to sneak off for a little bit though. Grabbing her phone and laptop, Rey heads toward her bedroom, debating going through Amilyn’s calendar to see if she can move anything around to guarantee her an hour or so around dinner to be free.

That’s when she hears Kaydal scream. 

Rey quickly tosses her phone and laptop on her bed before running toward Kaydel’s room. Flinging the door open, Rey’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest. “What the hell--”

The question dies on Rey’s lips when her brain connects what is happening. Rose is still on one knee and Rey’s not sure she’s ever seen someone look so happy. Until she looks at Kaydel, who is holding her left hand over her heart.

They are getting engaged.

“I said no,” Kaydel blurts, but the smile and happiness in her voice give her away. “I’m just kidding. I said yes. Of course I said yes.”

“You guys are getting married?” Rey asks in a breath. She’s not shocked by the news. Rose and Kaydel have been together for two years and they were both crazy about the other. But it still is forcing Rey to imagine what life is going to be like when Kaydel is Rose’s wife and not her best friend and roommate.

Which is selfish and wrong and Rey knows that, but despite a lot of counseling, Rey is terrified of being left alone again.

She pushes those thoughts to the side. 

Rose and Kaydel are going to get married. Her best friend. She’s going to be happy for them. She is happy for them.

Kaydel walks over to her, holding out the ring. It’s gorgeous and fits Kaydel’s personality perfectly with the medium-sized, princess cut diamond and the white gold color. It’s sharp and fierce.

“I’m so happy for you, Kay,” Rey whispers, pulling her into her arms. “I’m so, so happy for you.”

***

Ben walks into his apartment quietly, careful not to wake Poe up. It's already… fuck it's past two. He undoes his tie before sliding his suit jacket off and beginning to undo his pants to kick them off while he makes his way to the fridge. 

The fridge light is bright in the otherwise dark room. There isn't a lot in the fridge, Ben understands now why Poe was sending him a grocery list worth of texts. 

He grabs a beer, twisting the lid off and tossing the lid in the trash.

"Hey," Poe says, scaring the fuck out of Ben. 

"Shit!" Ben exclaims, slamming the fridge shut. "Jesus, Poe. Make some noise next time."

“I said hey,” Poe laughs. “I don’t know how much more noise you need me to make.”

“What are you even doing up?” Ben grabs two beers from the fridge and walks over to the living room, sitting on the couch across from Poe.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Poe says with a shrug, taking the beer Ben is holding out. “You’re home late.”

“Yeah. Snoke needed me to start on his kid’s science project.”

Poe stares at Ben before shaking his head. “You need to quit your job man.”

“It’s not that bad,” Ben winces at how defensive he sounds. “It’ll be worth it in the end.”

“You’ve been saying that for a while.”

Poe isn’t necessarily wrong. When Ben first took the job with Snoke he imagined that it would only be for six months, maybe a year. 

“Yeah, Ben finally says, nodding in agreement. “I have. The job has its perks though, so I’ll probably stay until something better comes along.”

Poe sighs. “Perks? Like what, working on a twelve year old’s science project until two in the morning?”

“I also made a guy cry for not being able to get a stain out of one of his shirts today,” Ben smiles. “Really helps make me feel good inside.”

“Find a new job,” Poe says, standing up from the chair. “One that doesn’t involve working until 2 am, doing a kid’s homework, and making someone else cry in the same day.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Ben twists his fingers around the bottle in his hand. “We’ll see.”

***

Rey looks down at her phone to check the time. 10:37. She missed dinner with Kaydel and Rose. Not that either of them were surprised when she told them that she hadn’t been able to move enough things around to make it. Rey hates how predictable and unreliable she has become to her friends.

It will eventually be worth it. At least, she hopes that it will be worth it.

She has exactly $22 on her. All in quarters. It might be a little dramatic, but Rey feels justified every time she thinks of the way Ben had mentioned adding interest on to the amount.

Rey sees Ben as soon as she steps off the elevator. He has bright markers covering his desk and a giant poster board in front of him. Logically, she knows that he is probably working on his boss’s kid’s homework, and she is grateful at that moment that Amilyn doesn’t have kids and that those kinds of tasks aren’t even on Rey’s radar.

That doesn’t stop her from teasing him as she walks up to him.

“Making electricity out of lemons?” Rey asks, leaning over the desk a bit to get a look at what he is writing. “How original. I’m sure you’ll get first place with an idea like that.”

Ben turns his head to the slide and glares at her. “You’re late.”

“I was busy.”

“You’ll have to give me a minute to calculate the interest for your… what three hour delay.”

Rey rolls her eyes, reaching into her bag to pull out the bag of coins. Ben stares at the bag for a moment, before looking back at her. Rey smiles, carefully stacking up the quarters until there are twenty two even piles covering his desk.  “$22 exactly. You’ll have to sue me for the interest.”

“Quarters?” Ben looks down at the coins on his desk again. His face is annoyingly void of any outrage or shock, but his voice sounds lower than it had been before. “I should sue you for being a nuisance.”

“You didn’t state any terms as to the payment method beyond cash.” Rey’s smile grows as she watches him begin to slide the coins into a drawer. 

“I suppose I made a mistake not clarifying that by cash I meant dollar bills,” Ben admits. “But I also mentioned interest and you had no problem ignoring that, so I’m sure you’d have ignored that part too.”

“Probably,” Rey agrees. “Consider it your good luck that I didn’t have enough pennies to make it work that way.”

“Oh and I’m supposed to believe you had 88 quarters just lying around your place?” Ben finishes clearing off the quarters from his desk and closes the drawer. 

“No, I only had two dollars worth of quarters that I could find. I went to the bank for the other twenty.”

“Of course you did.” Ben laughs, shaking his head. “Next time I’ll be more specific.

Rey drops the empty bag into the garbage can next to her feet. “What makes you think there’ll be a next time?”

“Just a feeling.” Ben turns around in his chair, opening a cabinet door on the desk that ran along the wall behind him. He pulls out a bottle of alcohol. “Drink?”

“I’m still working.”

“It’s past ten,” Ben points out, setting the bottle on his desk. “Have anything better to do right now anyway?”

Rey doesn’t. She really doesn’t. Amilyn is going to be on this phone call for at least another hour and then she will either go home or start reviewing some of the submissions that have been stacking up in her email.

One drink really wouldn’t hurt. Ben’s smiling at her and it’s a little unfair that someone as annoying and frustrating as he has been is also very attractive at the same time.

“I guess not,” Rey says, sitting down in the chair on the other side of Ben’s desk. “But just one drink.”

***

Ben doesn’t say anything as Rey reaches for the bottle, pouring what he is pretty sure is her third drink into her cup. It’s well after midnight at this point, and neither Snoke or Rey’s boss had called for them or needed anything.

It’s nice, talking to Rey. She’s cute and passionate when she talks about her job. Her face is a little flushed from the alcohol. Ben can’t quite remember the last time he just talked to someone that he wasn’t related to or wasn’t Poe.

“Anyways, that’s what I want to do,” Rey continues, and Ben tries to remember what she had been talking about before he got lost in his own thoughts. “I want to write articles that matter. The ones that people read and are inspired to do something because of it.”

“Have you submitted any articles to your boss?” Ben asks.

“No,” Rey holds onto the vowel for a few seconds and shakes her head. “I haven’t, God, I haven’t actually written anything since I graduated. I never have time. Amilyn’s schedule isn’t very forgiving. When I’m not working, I normally just want to sleep. Or to have a conversation with someone who can’t just tell me what to do and expect me to do it. I don’t even know what it is like to have a social life anymore. I think this is the longest conversation I’ve had in months.”

“Same,” Ben gives her a small smile. “I was just thinking that. My days and nights consist of making Snoke’s life easier and doing what he wants. It doesn’t even feel like my life anymore.”

“I can’t believe I’m about to admit this,” Rey squints her eyes at Ben, as if she’s sizing him up. She takes another drink from her cup. “Sometimes I wish Amilyn had a… fuck, I wish she had a life. A boyfriend? More family events or friend events to attend? But she has been avoiding them for reasons I’m not going to even get into, but God, I just imagine all of the things I could do if she were busy doing things that aren’t work.”

“You could go on a date,” Ben responds, tipping his cup toward her.

“A date,” Rey huffs, shaking her head. “I can’t even think of the last time I went on a date. I can’t even make dinner with my roommate to celebrate her engagement.”

Rey looks down at her cup, watching the liquid move around as she swirled the glass. “Engagement,” Rey repeats, eyes wide. “I have no idea what I’m going to do to be able to make it to all of the events. I don’t think Amilyn is going to care that I have an engagement party to go to if it doesn’t fit into her schedule.”

“Snoke is the same way,” Ben taps a finger on the desk. “I missed my parents 30th anniversary a few months ago. I asked for it off and everything. I was almost out the door when Snoke grabbed me and said he needed an analysis on some new proposal he received and his normal analyst wasn’t answering his phone, and he told me to do it.”

“I get it,” Rey nods. “It sucks, but I get it.”

“You’d think we’d be able to do something about it,” Ben points out, his eyebrows knitting while he thinks. “I have access to basically Snoke’s entire life. I’m assuming it’s the same with you and Amilyn?” He pauses and waits for Rey’s response, she nods and he continues. “So in theory we should be able to coordinate their schedules to give us a break?”

Rey tilts her head to the side as she ponders what Ben is saying. “I mean, you’re right. In theory that would work. But I have to be available for all things scheduled that are work related, and Amilyn doesn’t have much of a personal life these days.”

Rey sits up straighter, her eyes widening slightly, a devious smile pulling at her lips. “Ben. The answer is so obvious.”

“The answer?” Ben asks with a small chuckle. 

“To our problem,” Rey says as if it’s obvious. “We Cyrano them. It’s perfect. We know everything about them. We know their schedules, their favorite foods and restaurants. We know what drives them crazy and irritates them. We can do this. And then when they are with each other… we can be free, Ben.”

“I’m not sure I’m really following you here.”

“We set them up.” Rey rolls her eyes. “It’s the perfect plan.”

“You’re drunk,” Ben points out, nodding his head down to the mostly empty bottle between them. “That would never work.”

“You’re wrong,” Rey says with a pointed nod. “But even if you are right, which you are not, because you are wrong, what’s the harm in trying?”

Ben doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. He finishes his drink, setting his empty glass next to Rey’s. 

“Maybe,” Ben concedes, “What’s your plan exactly? I don’t know that Snoke and Amilyn have ever even met and they’ve worked in the same building for years.”

“Leave it to me,” Rey’s grin is big and wide. “I’ll come up with something.”

“I’m not saying I’m agreeing to do this,” Ben clarifies, watching as Rey stands up and stretches, her shirt pulling up slightly as she raised her arms. 

“I know,” Rey says, grabbing her bag. “But you will. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Rey places her hand on his shoulder and squeezes it gently before she walks past him and then she’s gone. 

Ben opens the drawer that they shoved the change into and he smiles to himself. He’s not quite sure what he’s getting himself into, but he does know that if Rey really does come up with an idea to set their bosses up, which is probably a really terrible idea, he’s not sure he’s going to be able to tell her no. 

***

Rey brings Ben coffee the next morning. She assumes he likes it black with too much sweetener, and when he smiles after his first drink Rey feels a little smug for being able to figure it out. 

“Let’s go for a walk.” Rey says, grabbing his free hand and tugging on it. “I have a plan.”

Ben let’s her pull at his hand and stands up from his desk. “I only have twenty minutes before Snoke’s meeting ends.”

“Perfect.” Rey drops his hand, blushing slightly as she walks in front of him toward the elevator. “Just enough time to get some steps added to Amilyn’s watch and to fill you in on my absolute amazing plan that you are definitely going to be impressed by and will agree to.”

Ben laughs, smiling as he gets into the elevator and stands next to Rey. “We’ll see.”

The sun is bright and the air is already warm when they step outside. Rey has to walk a little bit faster than normal to keep up with Ben’s long strides. 

“So, tell me about this plan that is apparently so wonderful that you’re absolutely sure I’ll agree to it.”

“Okay, so it’s the same plan as last night,” Rey admits, taking a drink of her tea. “But I’ve thought about it more and I know that we can do this.”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Rey. We can’t just magically make our bosses like each other.”

“Sure we can,” Rey argues. “We get them to meet. Then we listen to them and their cues and go from there. That’s the beauty of this, Ben, we will know if things are going a little wrong and can adjust the plan accordingly.”

Ben stops walking and looks down at her. “You really think this will work?”

“I do.”

“How do you propose we get them to meet?” Ben shakes his head as he asks the question and Rey can see the lingering doubt on his face.

“I… I haven’t quite figured that part out yet,” Rey responds, quickly holding her hand up as Ben opens his mouth, she assumes to argue with her. “But I’ve seen a lot of romantic comedies and I can figure this out. Just give me a minute.”

They start walking again, back toward the building. Rey finishes her tea and tosses it into a garbage can. 

“I’ve got it!” Rey exclaims, as they step into the elevator. “We just need to get them in a small space, stuck for a few minutes, so that they have to talk to one another.”

“And how do you think we will pull that off?” 

Rey shakes her head, glaring at him. “Why do I have to figure out all the details?”

“This is your crazy plan,” Ben points out, pressing the button for his floor, and then Rey’s. “I’m not even sure I’m fully on board.”

“You are,” Rey smiles. “So, help with some of the details already. Are there any rooms that lock from the outside? Maybe we can ask maintenance? Do you think they’d think that was weird?”

Ben laughs, tipping his head back against the elevator wall. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “I hate that I have an idea. The elevator. If we can get them both in the elevator, we can get Creepy Threepio to stop it.”

“Creepy Threepio?” Rey asks, scrunching her nose up. “Who is Creepy Threepio?”

“He works in maintenance,” Ben laughs. “He’s, well, he’s a bit creepy. But I think he’d do it. I’ll ask him today and let you know what he says.”

“What did I tell you?” Rey beams at him as the doors to the elevator open. “You’re totally on board.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Ben pinches the bridge of his nose. “But I’m willing to give it a shot.” 

Ben steps out of the elevator while holding his hand out to stop the doors from closing. “Hand me your phone so I can give you my number.”

Rey pulls her phone from her back jean pocket and unlocks it before handing it over to him. She watches as he puts in his number and hands the phone back to her.

“I’ll text you the details later,” he says, dropping his arm and the doors start to close. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”

The doors close and Rey grins sliding her phone back into her jeans. She can’t believe he agreed either.

[greatmuldini]

I trust the path I travel is the right one. I've faith to go along it no matter what happens to me.

On Tuesday, 3 October 1955, the picturesque village of Chesham in Buckinghamshire (at the very end of the Metropolitan Line) transformed itself, for one day, into the fictional Lancashire village of Shawcross, where on another fateful day in the year of our Lord 1775 the out-of-work cottage weaver Seth Makepeace encounters the local landowner's daughter Mary Radcliffe.

It happens to be Mary's 21st birthday, a significant date under any circumstances, but she is as yet unaware of the historical dimension of this one particular moment in time as she attempts to pass in her horse-and-buggy a gang of shabbily-dressed workmen mending the village roads. It is a pivotal moment in every sense – she is lifted from her carriage to be safely deposited on the ground beyond the blockage – because the tall young man with the deep-set eyes and the curiously shambling walk who picks her up and puts her down is none other than her future husband.

Far from love at first sight, though, their initial exchange is fraught with tension (“Don’t dare touch me, you wretch!”), but before long they will come to recognize the mutual gain to be derived from what we would call a classic marriage of convenience: Mary, being of age and of eminent eligibility, needs to escape from an arranged union with a foppish aristocrat; Seth, being poor but clever, needs cash to realize his dream of building a modern factory. Mary, too, has big ideas: about social justice and relief of the poor, neither of which will come to fruition if she bows to her family’s wishes.

It takes the urgency of Mary’s situation for both of them to realize that their ambitions, for better or worse, are inextricably linked. Mary is willing to risk the loss of her inheritance; for Seth the worst case involves jail and deportation. The stakes are high, and so are the opportunities, which both of them can clearly see. A period of joyful optimism ensues; the mill is built, the village prospers, and for four years, progress in Shawcross seems unstoppable.

The year 1779 marks a decisive turning point in the fortunes not only of the Makepeace household but in the lives of many people in the village of Shawcross and beyond. Competition among the Lancashire mills is fierce, and Seth is hard-pressed to introduce ever more efficient means of production. To stay ahead of his rivals, Seth reckons he must either cut wages or turn out a superior product. A solution offers itself in a new device for mass-producing stronger and finer yarns, but the inventor is unwilling to reveal his secret. Seth blames his wife for the failure of the deal, and in a fit of drunken bravado Seth turns criminal and steals what he needs.

That same night, Seth returns to Radcliffe Hall with a troubled conscience, almost ready to confess his crime to the one person he has sworn never to hurt, but Mary’s own distress prevents him from adding to her troubles. It is this moment of supreme vulnerability - and supreme betrayal - that will come back to haunt them both as they must deal with the human dimension, and the human cost, of the historical forces at work. Seth goes on to do what he knows must be done: he copies the mechanism and puts it to work without acknowledging the inventor’s contribution. As long as he can protect Mary from what he knows must be done, his wife remains blissfully unaware and passionately supportive of her husband’s undertakings.

To prove the point, Mary can at last reveal to Seth that she is pregnant, their future happiness assured – when they receive a visit from Mr Sidebottom, inspector of patents, who in his turn reveals to Mary and the entire family that the machines upon which their wealth has been built have in fact been used without license. The revelation comes as a shock not so much for its legal implications as for the catastrophic breach of trust Mary feels has been committed by her husband, and she fears they will not be able to heal the rift between them without major sacrifices. Here, modern audiences may draw different conclusions from the one offered and presumably endorsed by the original authors in the 1950s.

The American War of Independence eventually makes itself felt in a shortage of raw materials that threatens to close down whole industries. The existential threat takes many forms, and in Shawcross angry workers are storming the factories intent on destroying the machines they blame for the loss of their independence, their cotton, and their work. For Seth, too, the emergency is real: if he cannot keep the Mules spinning and the looms weaving, not only will the workers who depend on him lose their jobs, but the Makepeace brand will cease to exist. Having spent vast sums on smuggled cotton, he knows he does not have the capital to start again from scratch: the mill must be saved at all costs. In a mad dash to Liverpool Seth hopes to hopes to catch up with the next ship from the Colonies before his rivals can lay their hands on the precious cargo.

Meanwhile, a heavily pregnant Mary appeals to the enraged villagers to put their faith and their trust in her husband: he will do whatever it takes to find cotton and keep the mill going. Husband and wife are reconciled over the humane treatment of the factory workers, on which they both agree, but they remain divided over what their common interests are, and the lengths to which Seth will go to protect what he considers to be his interests. Ultimately, the mill is saved without loss of life and the rioters are captured, but Mary dies in giving birth to a healthy baby boy. With the future of his son and that of his factory at stake, Seth has no time to grieve. He knows what he must do - what Mary would have wanted him to do: even before he goes to see his new-born son he orders the prisoners released. The rebellion now a thing of the past, it is the value of the former rioters as a reliable workforce on which the Makepeace mill and the Makepeace dynasty will depend.

After the initial marriage of money and talent, followed by the uneasy truce between opportunism and idealism, finally we have, in Seth, the synthesis of capitalism and compassion: the idealized principle of progress. In his uncompromising pursuit of that principle, Seth has an uncanny doppelganger whose fanatical obsession with all or nothing ultimately ends in tragedy. Unlike Pastor Brand, however, Seth is not a tragic figure. He is not reminded of his hubris and of his mortality in one final moment of self-reflection - no space is reserved for such precious introspection. But if Seth and Mary represent “history on a human scale,” the reverse is also true. Seth is being elevated to a larger-than-life principle that transcends the fate of any single human being. And yet it is the very humanity of the flesh-and-blood character that would have made his exploits accessible to millions - courtesy of his real-life doppelganger.

Reviews of the play were favourable and appear to have been born out by the viewing figures. The positive response warranted a repeat twelve months later, and loyal audiences rewarded with an extended version of Seth’s on-screen exploits in book form. Momentous historical events intertwine with the minutiae of mechanized spinning and weaving, but the resulting tapestry of life in turbulent times would be incomplete without the human element of personal triumph and tragedy – which we can experience, albeit vicariously, through the domestic struggles of the fictional protagonists. The Ruthless Destiny is thought to be one of the “lost” productions from the BBC’s early days. We have no record of any surviving copies, and no script to help us compare the televised version with the still widely circulating novel. In it, Seth Makepeace is described in such detail as to suggest his physical appearance, bearing, and behaviour were closely modelled on the actual performance, as indeed seems to be the case for the cover illustration of a ferocious Seth determined to defend his mill, and his future, by any means necessary.