#being in someone’s home with a glass of wine having meaningless but warm conversation >>>>>>

[champagnemoon]

Something about being at an intimate dinner party at dusk with warm lighting makes me feel like an actual adult in an early 2000s romantic comedy

[calumance]

Love is electrifying - C.H.

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, a sprinkling of cussing.

Word Count: 3k

Summary: First dates are terrifying, and they’re especially terrifying when you don’t even know who you’re going on a date with, but sometimes blind dates can end up being the best dates.

A/N: HELLO! This was originally a request that was sent to me, however I got incredibly carried away and ended up making a oneshot out of it. You can find the original request here. Also I apologize that it took me so long to get this posted. PHEW I hope this is worth the wait, I’m excited to share this with you!! Feedback and requests are always welcomed!!! (Want to be added to my tag list? Let me know!)

Masterlist

        The clock was ticking closer to the time your date was supposed to be picking you up. As you stood in front of the mirror, assessing the outfit you chose, you started to question why you ever agreed to go in a date with someone you’d never met before. Maybe it was for the thrill, the adrenaline rush, or maybe it was because Sierra literally begged you to give him a chance. You rolled your eyes and shook your head remembering that day.

        Sierra had been your best friend since middle school, it wasn’t until after high school the two of you split. She stayed in your hometown for college while you went north to New York for college. Even though you didn’t see each other every day, you made a point to talk to each other. Whether it was a good morning text, or a text ranting about the irritating professor you or she encountered. The distance between the two of you grew as her musical career started to take off, and so did your more nine-to-five career.

        It wasn’t until you received a transfer notice that you mustered up the guts to call Sierra. She squealed when she heard you were moving to Los Angeles, and babbled about how much she missed you and couldn’t wait to have sleep overs again. You had laughed and your stomach filled with excitement as you realized that even though the friendship was distant, nothing actually changed. When you landed in Los Angeles, she was the first one to greet you, her arms open wide and a smile spread across her face. When you wrapped your arms around her, you knew you were home.

        It took about a week for her to start bugging you about your love life. You were out getting lunch on a Saturday afternoon, her hair tied up in cute space buns, sunglasses covering her eyes. The way she dressed for a Saturday lunch made you look like you were dressed to be featured on the ‘People of Walmart’ website. Sierra dropped her fork to her plate and looked at you over the top of her sunglasses, “So you’re telling me that you haven’t dated anyone since high school?” The look on her face said there was no way she would ever believe you.

        You shrugged and stabbed mindlessly at the food on your plate, “I mean, there was a couple of meaningless things in college, but nothing serious.” When you looked up at Sierra, she had leaned back in her chair and pushed her sunglasses back up to the top of her nose. The wheels in her mind were turning and your furrowed your eyebrows. “What?” You asked feeling as if there was a storm brewing in her mind.

        She snapped her head back towards you as a mischievous grin spread across her lips. You reared back, terrified of what she was about to say. Before saying anything, she leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table and licked her lips. She wiggles in her chair as the same grin came back to her face, “What if I set you up on a blind date?” Your heart raced in your chest and you kicked your lips and stared at her like a deer in the headlights. “I have this friend, I think he’d be perfect for you.”

        Friend? Her friends were almost all A and B list celebrities, who in the hell did she want to set you up with? You shook your head and laughed a sarcastic laugh, “No, Sierra. There’s no way that I am worthy enough to date any of your friends.” The blood rising in your face finally reached the top of your ears as you looked around seeing if there was anyone around that you didn’t want to hear your next thought, “I mean you’re dating Luke Hemmings for fucks sake.” She shrugged and gave you a look that proved she didn’t see this as anything other than normal. Not wanting to explain how someone like you dating someone of her status was weird, you just sighed. “Will you at least tell me who it is.” She grinned in satisfaction and responded by raising her eyebrows and sticking a fork full of food in her mouth.

        It’s five minutes until your date is supposed to pick you up and Sierra has yet to tell you who she set you up with. The nervousness running through your veins starting to buzz the more the clock ticks. You had tried to call Sierra multiple times, but she never answered. Two days ago when you asked her how he was going to know your address she simply responded with “I know where you live.” Her voicemail answered again as your hands trembled, the nerves finally taking over the thrill of the unknown. You cursed at your phone just as the doorbell rang.

        The sound made your skin crawl, and your stomach jump into your throat. Slowly, you dropped your phone into your bag and made your way to the door. Your fingers pressed to the door as you stood on your toes and tried to peek out the peep hole. The peep hole was dirty and smudged so all you could see was the blurry outline of a person standing on the other side. Your fingers wrapped around the door knob as you took a deep breath and tried to calm your heart. The door creaked as you opened it, your eyes finally landing on the man on the other side. Immediately you recognized him, “Oh, fuck,” slipping off your tongue. Calum let out a soft laugh and looked down at his feet. If he said anything to you, the sound was muffled by the intense beating in your chest. You closed your eyes and placed your hand on your forehead, “That wasn’t supposed to come out of my head, I’m sorry.”

        Calum laughed again and raised his eyebrows, lifting his head slightly to look at you. “It’s good, haven’t gotten that reaction in a long time.” He lifted his head fully and tucked his hands into his pockets. His hair was combed back and to the side, giving him a slight pompadour style. His normal curls that you’ve seen in pictures being tamed by the gel. A black leather jacket was pulled over white button up which was loosely hanging over his black jeans. The outfit was topped off with a pair of old black high top converse. You snickered at the half effort he put into his outfit, but somehow he still looked more put together than you. “I made us reservations at a restaurant not too far from here, are you ready?” His brown eyes looked at you with a shimmer, a shimmer that told you that he was safe, safer than most blind dates. With a nod, you reach for the door handle and stepped out and shut the door behind you.

        The car ride was quiet, only glances were stolen. The butterflies in your stomach unable to calm down, making you feel more than nauseous. As you looked over at him, he looked at you, your eyes connecting. The heat in your cheeks caused you to turn away and touch your face to see if you’re were physically hot. Beside you, Calum cleared his throat and loosened his grip in the steering wheel. “You look very nice, by the way.” He said, causing you to turn your attention back to him.

        Again your cheeks felt hot as he smiled at you. Your stomach did a flip as you ducked your head and swallowed the lump that was quickly forming in your throat. “Thank you, you too,” was all you were able to choke out. Your eyes widened as you looked out the window, embarrassed that that was the only thing you could get out. Calum let out a soft chuckle, but didn’t say anything else.

        As Calum pulled into the parking spot, you started to grab your bag and take off your seat belt. “Stay right there.” Calum said, a soft smile spread across his lips. Your eyebrows furrowed as you released the seat belt and watched Calum jog around the front of the car to the passenger side. He popped the door open and held out his hand. Reluctantly you placed your hands in his, immediately a bolt of lightning running from your fingertips to your shoulder. He helped you out of the car then shut the door behind you. As soon as he let go of your hand, you looked at it and flexed your fingers. As he walked away from you, shooting you a quick smile and shoving his hands in his pockets, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too.

        Calum opened the door and stood off to the side, allowing you to walk into the restaurant first. A soft ‘thank you’ fell from your lips before you stepped to the side and let Calum be the first to walk up to the hostess. She welcomed him with a warm smile, and he returned it before giving his last name. You continued to stand behind him, your arms awkwardly crossed in an attempt to hide in nervousness. As the hostess left the stand, Calum turned towards you and held out his hand. Afraid of what his touch would feel like, you hesitated. As you placed your hand in his, you flinched, but it didn’t stop to lightning from shooting through your whole body again. A sigh escaped your chest as the tingling dissolved and Calum pulled you to the table.

        Even though the waiter had just finished dropping off your glass of wine, the sound of Calum slapping the menu down on the table made you jump. He chuckled and apologized for scaring you, “Sierra has told me a lot about you.” He said as he folded his hands together. As he leaned forward placing his arms on the top of the table, he wiggled in his seat, readjusting his position.

        The smile sitting on his lips lit some sort of fire in your stomach. A fire that you haven’t felt in a long time, a fire that caused you to hastily reach forward for your glass of wine and wash the majority of the liquid down, hoping to give you some sort of liquid courage. You raised your eyebrows and made a face that was caused by the bitterness of the liquid in your glass, “That’s funny because up until the point I opened the door I had no idea who she set me up with.” You gulped, but you weren’t sure if it was because of the lump that was forming again, or if it was from the dryness the wine left. The glass made a quiet thump as you set it on the clothed table, “What exactly did she tell you?” You asked while using your pointer finger, middle finger and thumb to twist the stem, spinning the glass on the table.

        Calum cleared his throat as your gaze met his. From under the table you could tell that his leg was bouncing in nervousness. You tried your best to relax since it was obvious your nerves were wearing off on him. “She told me you two grew up together, and she also told me that you were one of the sweetest, polite, shy, beautiful people she’s ever met.” He grinned and the nerves in your body start to buzz again, but you composed yourself and swallowed everything down.

        A question sat in the back of your mind, a question that you weren’t sure was appropriate to ask someone you met only an hour ago, “was she right?” It slipped out, and almost immediately you regretted it. You could feel the bile sitting in your throat; you shook your head and looked down at the glass that you were still nervously turning between your fingers.

        A sly grin stretched across Calum’s lips as he sat back and copied your actions by turning his glass while it sat on the table. He glanced up at you and you felt your stomach jump into your throat. He slowly started to nod, “So far.” He said while dropping his gaze back to his glass. The butterflies filled your stomach and your cheeks flushed a bright red. You lowered your head to hide the flirtatious smile that was slowly starting to stretch across your face.

        As dinner played on, your nerves started to relax. There was nothing really to be nervous about, from what you could tell Calum was just as normal as you were, aside from the whole rockstar thing. He didn’t act like a rockstar, when you had asked him why he didn’t go out and party like most rock stars, his smile faded and he shook his head, “those days are in the past, the old me, you could say,” he said as a smirk pulled at his lips as he referenced his own song. A chuckle rumbled in your chest as you lowered you head and nodded in understanding.

        The car ride back to your place was less quiet than the one on the way to dinner. This time it was full of laughter and ‘get to know you’ questions. When Calum pulled up in front of your house, you swallowed. The night had gone so well that you didn’t want it to be over, you wanted this feeling to last forever. You ducked your head as you looked at your hands and fiddled with the strap of your bag. The thought of inviting him in crossed your mind, but you knew if he came in then it would lead to more, breaking your rule of no sex on the first date. It wasn’t because you think he would push for it, but more because you weren’t sure if you could control yourself. There was just something about him; he was sweet and polite, but at the same time of the most attractive humans you’d ever laid your eyes on. Calum cleared his throat jolting you out of your thoughts. “I had a really good time tonight.” He said sheepishly with a nod.

        Your heart raced as you nodded in agreement, “I had a really good time tonight, too.” Your hands trembled in your lap as you thought about the possibility of him kissing you. Instead of looking at Calum, you directed your attention back to your house. As you reached for the door handle, you felt as if everything were in slow motion. Your palms felt sweaty as you turned to Calum to bid him goodnight and saw the look in his eyes telling you how badly he wanted to kiss you. But there was something in your gut telling you to leave, so you popped the door handle and ran towards your front door, without saying another word to him.

        Once you were on the other side of the door, you let out a breath and pressed your back to the door. The chill of the door against your skin causing shivers to run up and down your spine. The feeling of wanting to burst into tears suddenly overcame you as you fumbled for your phone in a desperate attempt to call Sierra. When she answered, you broke, the tears started to fall, even though you really had no reason to cry. “Why didn’t you tell me you were setting me up with Calum? If I had known I never would have agreed,” you cried, “He deserves more than me, I made a fool of myself going out with someone as elite as him.” Your chest heaved, no matter how normal he acted and how normal everything felt, the fact of the matter was he wasn’t normal at all.

        For a moment Sierra was at a loss for words, giving you time to calm down. “Elite? What are you even talking about, darling, he’s as normal as you and I. So he has a successful music career, that does not change who he is, and it definitely shouldn’t change how you see him. When you were with him, did you feel like you were with someone famous, or did you feel like you were the only people in the world?” You thought about dinner and how you felt, really you hadn’t noticed the other people in the room. Once your nerves started to relax the only other person who made an appearance in your vision was the waiter. Before you could answer, Sierra continued to babble about how crazy you sounded, but what actually caught your attention was the sound of a light knock on your front door.

        The tears immediately stopped as your eyebrows furrowed. Without saying another word to your best friend, you ended the call then slowly made your way to the door. As badly as you wanted to peek out the peep hole to see who it was, there was a feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you that you already knew who it was. Your fingers delicately wrapped around the doorknob as you twisted it to open the door. Calum had his hand on the back of his neck, and the other dug deep into his pocket. Although your eyes were locked, neither of you said anything, but somehow you knew you were thinking the same thing. “I don’t want the night to be over,” Calum breathed out before lifting his hands to either side of your face and hastily pressed his lips against yours. The same bolt of lightning jolted through your body, this time much stronger, causing you to inhale a sharp breath. At first you hesitated to kiss him back, but when the reality of how badly you didn’t want the night to end either, you balled the material of his t-shirt in your fists and pressed against him. As his lips moved against yours, you couldn’t help but think that breaking your personal rule this one time won’t be such a bad thing.

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

Tag list: @mantlereid​ @notinthesameguey​ @viiirg0​ @wheniminouterspace​ @thinkofmehlgh​ @another-lonely-heart​ @limer-encia​ @itsmytimetoodream​ @babyoria​ @treatallwithkindness​

[undead-notunreasonable]

Happy Draco-O-Ween || Part 19 of 31 ||

"Please, you must tell me more about these airplanes you saw, I'm completely fascinated by them!" Vlad tepes called out to Dracula from his seat. A gentle snipping sound could be heard within the room, filling the silence with its slashing sounds. A hand came to the base of Vlads skull, forcing his head downward. Another snip.

Count Dracula walked toward the mirror in his living room, carrying a cup of blood as he watched his former lover having his 500 year old locks being cut off by a professional stylist. While he admired it at the time, it was much better that he adhered to the modern age of fashion & haircuts. His face were warm with admiration as he gazed at the man before him, enjoying the way he looked with his new transformation. The cut were showing of the angular jaw that Draculas fingers had once traced in the dark privacy of a bedroom. "Later, I'm sure we don't want to bore our employee with something as trivial as modern technology." He gave a half laugh, coming across as sincere.

But the hair dresser, a slim thing in torn acid wash jeans, a band tee, ginger bowl cut, and a nose ring, merely flashed a weak smile at his clients, focusing more on the task at hand. Truth was, he wasn't really ever listening to any of his clients, they were just meaningless conversations to pass the time to make customers feel more comfortable rather than sit in an awkward silence for 20 minutes to an hour. That's not to say that he wouldn't listen at all. Sometimes he would hone in on someone's conversation due to there being juicy gossip or a scandalous affair. Most of his clients were rich folks, they always had something to spread, be it money, words, or legs. This client though nothing really major, just a rich man helping a friend back on their feet. He wanted a haircut that was distinguished but young. A simple short back & sides, with a little more on the top to play with. Both vampires saw their revolting rotting corpses within the mirror, saw how old their bodies really were. That didn't matter to them right now, they could see each other just how they were when they were alive.

The hairdresser couldn't see that though, he just saw two middle aged men who seemed to have a few feelings lingering between them. He wondered if they knew that or whether it was some weird older generation thing where they still saw it as shameful thing to feel. "Head up please." He commanded, beginning to add the final touches of product to give the longer areas more of a waves texture.

Vlad looked up into the mirror, still the same rotting corpse but with a shiny new hairstyle and a humans fingers wobbling it about in shape. Humans clearly made more effort with their appearance these days. "What do you think?" His eyes met Dracula's within the mirror.

Count Dracula walked across to the other, perching himself on the edge of a table so that he came face to face with him. Longer fingers stretched out to hold the man's chin, all eyes on him. "I see someone as beautiful as the day I met him." His eyes turned gooey as he leaned toward him, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Oh, they are lovers, thats cute thought the hairdresser. It was nice to see an older generation of gay couples, being free to be who they are. Though he half wished the man would really give criticism on the cut but he supposed kind words to a lover meant he'd done a good job.

"Let me just check the back for you." He whispered down to Vlad, rising to his feet once more to join the hair dresser at the back of the seat. "Here, hold this." He instructed for the slim man to take his now empty cup. The red haired man held the cup against his stomach, letting his client observe his work. Draculas fingers lightly tugged at the small few strands that rest on Vlads neck. He gave a little nod in recognition, then reached for the scissors that rest on hairdressers table. He snipped off the tiniest of strands, and stood straight, meeting the hairdressers gaze in the mirror. "There. My apologies, I'm ever the perfectionist." He shared a wide smile, slapping him on the shoulder, and tightened his grip so the other couldn't move. He looked a little panicked at that. "That'll be all, thank you." Scissors swung open, hanging by a single finger until another held them straight out, and blade met throat. Dracula didn't let the human fall, instead, he made him stand up & watch himself bleed to death, his blood, his life pouring seemlessely into the cup Dracula made him hold, even as it overflowed onto the floor.

(Note: if you're going to a killer, always have wood floorboards with a varnish on the top. Much easier to clean up.)

Vlad sat there, elbow resting on the arm of the chair, fingers pressed into his cheeks and a look that was completely unphased by the horrific sight before him. Dracula took the cup from the dead man's hand and finally let him sink to the floor. Vlad turned in his seat to look at the dead body "It's a shame you killed him. I quite enjoyed the silence of the man. Humans love the sound of their voices these days, that sometimes I wish I had the gift of being Deaf." He twisted in his seat to look down at the victim, letting out an unsympathetic sigh "He really did do a good job on the hair do."

Dracula wasn't even bothered by Vlads nonchalent address of the ever growing cold corpse of their hairdresser. Instead, he rest against the wall next to the mirror, one hand bloody from murder, the other holding out the now overfull cup of here "Here, drink this." He ordered as he stared out ahead of him, lost in thought. "Did you bring me back to life? After my torture and death? Was it you who created me?" It was a question he hadn't dared to ask himself in a very long time. He looked almost distraught with it.

Vlad took a long swig of his freshly drawn drink, smacked his lips as if he were trying to decipher what kind of wine he'd been handed before replying in a most assured voice. "No. I did not create you. The vampire that made me, I begged for you to join me too."

"What?" Draculas voice wavered in shock at the news, he'd begged for this to happen?

Vlads hands raised with palms up, a sign of mercy for his silence so he could explain "We were losing the war, my most trusted advisor and the love of my life had been kidnapped by the Turkish. I didn't know what my next step would be. You don't know this but I used to plot and vent my anger in a cavern in the deepest woods of Wallachia. One day, that day, the cavern spoke back. It told me to lose but that I would win everything a thousand times over, that I could ruin those who set out to ruin us and come out with even a scratch. I was desperate to get you back to me. I didn't know what I was signing up for exactly but I asked whatever was in that cavern to find you, to make you the same as myself. I couldn't be without you. You deserved that justice too." Another long swig.

"It was your decision? You decided to break my heart into shatters when I hear they have decapitated Vlad III & placed his head on a spike? You decided I should come back and let me go home to my Mother only to kill her with a need I did not understand, to go and find my wife with my child, fighting everyday this vile hunger until I just couldn't bare it & I slaughter her?! I was going to be a father and you stole that from me!" Dracula snarled at the other, funny how ones image of someone can change so swiftly.

"It wasn't your child." Vlad snapped back, tone deathly serious.

Dracula shivered as though someone had walked over his non existent grave.

"She always fell for stable boys it seemed. I'm sorry to tell you this after so long but clearly she always found something appealing about a roll in the hay. Don't bark at me." Vlad raised his finger like a man commanding a disobedient dog. "You're a smart man, Omor. Think about it. Think how long you and I were gone at war, barely a few weeks home & you could feel the small curvature of life within her as she announced she was with child?"

Dracula looked almost defeated. So many years he'd spent quietly tormenting himself for killing both wife and unborn child just to satiate his unyielding hunger. Now, he knows that his wife was never his to begin with, not even his own flesh and blood. "Why did you say nothing?"

Vlad held out the cup of blood, Dracula looked like he needed it "For selfish reasons entirely. We were winning the war at that point, you were on form with all your plans of action, I couldn't risk my advisor losing that, I couldn't risk upsetting you."

"Would you have told me? Even if we had won the war?"

Vlad looked intensely at his lover, pausing a moment before replying "A little while after the celebrations. But I would have hoped she would be honest with you, I'm not a messenger."

"You're a warlord." Dracula huffed his laugh, quoting something he'd said centuries ago.

"Could you have still loved her despite her affair? Despite the child not being yours?" Vlad took a sip from the glass, seeing that Dracula didn't partake himself.

"Of course. I would be butchered the man who slept with her but I loved her entirely. I would've loved that child as my own. People didn't need to know." Dracula looked less like the terrifying creature the world had come to know but more solemn and vulnerable with the news, so heartbroken.

Vlad hated seeing someone to strong, crumble. He threw himself out of his seat, placing their shared cup of blood onto a table, and cradled the man he adored in his arms. "I'm sorry you had to hear the news but remember, this was centuries ago. We have a future to work at together now. It's you and I." He cradled the vampires face in his hands for a moment longer before sharing a deep kiss, trying to repair the small shatters of Count Draculas heart.

Do remember, the corpse of a dead hairdresser lies on the floor during their embrace. These are not loving creatures.

[bewareofchris]

#2 awkward dinner with the ex and kids for Bill and Alec?

Pg-13 | Alec Hardy/Bill Masters | Broadchurch/Masters of Sex | Anatomical terms?  Children.

Alec comforted himself with the fact that he had survived worse.  He reminded himself (as he had been reminding himself) that there were far more scary things in this world than standing on the front stoop of Bill’s ex-wife’s house waiting for the door to open.  He had been chanting a list of things that were easily qualified as ‘worse than this’ since he’d agreed to go.  The chanting got louder as the echo of the doorbell came to an end.  

“Keep breathing,” Bill said.

“I am breathing,” Alec snapped back.

“She’s really very nice.  Nicer than I am.”

Nice enough that she’d put up with Bill’s affair for a few years.  Nice enough that she’d invited and welcomed said affair in her home on holidays for all those years.  Nice enough that she had agreed to invite Alec to a holiday dinner a month before Christmas because Bill wasn’t going to be on this continent at Christmas.  (No, they were doing this again in a month.  Except Alec knew what to expect from his ex-wife and his child.  And there was only one child to worry about.  And she was older than Bill’s children.)

The door opened to a beautiful woman with perfect blonde hair, dressed like she was auditioning for a photoshoot in a magazine from the 1950s.  Her smile was as perfectly pressed as the unused apron tied around her waist.  She wasted a few seconds looking at Alec from the top of his unimpressive head to the slight dustiness of his best shoes.  Then she looked at Bill like she would have preferred to murder him and said, (oh so civilly), “he is a man,” like there had ever been any doubt.

“Libby,” Bill said.  He was still grasping a bottle of wine like it was going to save him.

“Excuse me, where are my manners,” she said.  The door opened wider as she stepped back to give them space to enter.  “Please come in.” 

The door swung shut behind them, and it sounded like Libby said, “this will be very interesting,” under her breath.  

There were two very nicely dressed little boys standing in the far doorway.  They had collared shirts and nice trousers.  They stood unmoving, and unblinking, staring at Alec like a pair of well-dressed skeletons.  

“Daddy!” The little girl was wearing a dress with a frilly bottom and lace-topped socks.  She launched herself at Bill with something that approximated genuine enthusiasm.

“Johnny, please take your father and his guest’s coats.  You can lay them on your bed for now.”

Johnny was the older skeleton.  He said nothing as he extended his hand, and Alec nearly apologized for handing his coat over.  Once the boy had both weighting him down, he spared Alec a particularly gloomy and unwelcoming frown, and said, “I didn’t think English people had Thanksgiving.”

“I’m Scottish,” Alec said.

“Do Scottish people have Thanksgiving?” 

“Uh, no.”

Johnny’s frown pulled down even farther.  He didn’t bother to say that the distinction was meaningless without new information.  Instead, he turned and walked away and his smaller skeleton brother followed him.

“Jenny,” Bill was gasping as he tried to pull his daughter’s arms off his legs. 

“Dinner will be ready in ten,” Libby said from the doorway.  “You’re welcome to wait in here until it is.”  Then she turned to leave, and without being called, the little girl detached from Bill’s leg and followed after.

“She hates me,” Alec whispered.

“No,” Bill countered.  He dusted his pants leg off, and ran a hand down his shirtfront.  “She hates me.  You’re an innocent victim.”

Alec might have said something further but the smaller of the two sons had come back.  He was standing three feet from Alec, head cocked to the side, just staring at him.  It was awkward enough to still be standing by the door, and more awkward to be doing it under such close supervision.  He was working his way up to greeting the little boy.  (Howard, if he remembered right.)  Certainly he could have said something about he was aware of the child’s existence, and indicate he was spoken of fondly.  He might have managed to do so, if not for how the boy opened his mouth first.

“So do you help my dad with his sex research?”

“Howie,” Bill admonished.

“Virginia helped him with his sex research.  She helped him all the time.”  Clearly the boy had overheard some colorful stories.  “Johnny said that dad was expanding his research to include ‘alternative sexual activities’.”  

The child even lifted his fingers to do air-quotes as he said the words with great emphasis.  Alec couldn’t have summoned a reply to the statement if he’d been given a lifetime’s worth of preparation.  The best he managed on short notice was look at Bill for some help.

“Howie,” Bill repeated, “that’s not appropriate conversation.”

“Do you have a vagina?” Howard asked.  

Alec was very sure that no further harm could be done if he simply turned and walked out the door.  It seemed that it might even improve his future relationship with Bill’s extended family if he never visited them again.  

Across the room, looking very smug, stood Johnny with his arms across his chest.  

Bill crouched down by his youngest son with a hand on his shoulder and another motioning in the air between them.  The tone of his voice was the patience of an impartial teacher, and that meant they could very well be here indefinitely.  He said, “Howard, that’s an inappropriate question to ask someone when you’ve first met them in a social setting.”

Thank God Bill Masters was here to make that distinction.  There might be settings where asking a man if he had a vagina was acceptable.  

Johnny was as merciless as his mother, because he invited himself into the conversation.  “I guess he just doesn’t understand why you’re dating a man now, dad.  I didn’t think I could explain it to him.  He’s only a kid.”

“Is he really a man?” Howard whispered at his father, “does he really have a penis?”

“Excuse me,” Alec said.  He stepped around the two little boys looking at their father with spite and pleading.  He invited himself through the open doorway, through the dining room and into the delicious smelling kitchen.  

Jenny was sitting on a stool by the counter, watching cartoons on a tablet propped up by an empty bowl.  Libby was staring at a pot of slow-warming gravy on the stove with one arm across her stomach and the other idly stirring.  She looked over her shoulder when he came in.  

Her smile was softer here, “I’m sorry about Johnny.  He’s been egging Howie on all week.  I tried to tell him to quit it, but Johnny said that their dad always told them there’s no shame in being curious about your own body and there’s no question about sex too embarrassing to ask.”  

Libby stepped away from the gravy long enough to pluck a wine glass off a shelf by the stove and set it on the island between them.  She filled it from a half-empty bottle on the counter by the stove and pushed it toward him.  “Still,” she said, “I guess they’ve got a right to ask.”

Alec didn’t touch the wine, he lingered on the thought that running was still a viable option.  He didn’t even know what he was going to say before he was already speaking.  “I think Bill deserves to answer their questions.  Probably, he deserves a lot more than that.”

Libby’s smile quirked at the edge.  “I could write a novel about the things that Bill Masters’ deserves.  You,” she said as she raised her own wine glass in a toast, “wouldn’t be in it.”

Alec pulled his wine glass across the counter top.  He cleared his throat, “thank you for inviting me.”

“I hope he’s better for you than he was for me,” Libby said (with great sincerity).  “And if you can keep getting him to show up to see his children, I think we’ll get along fine.”

It wasn’t a great start; but it was a start.  Alec took a drink of his wine, and hoped for the best.

[emospritelet]

Key to the Cell - chapter 7

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [AO3 link]

Once she had made the decision that no matter the consequences she most certainly would not be marrying Gaston, Belle felt calmer. The approach of the wedding day was a concern, but she told herself firmly that all her research showed that the Dark One could be relied upon never to break a deal. Still, she wished she could talk to him beforehand, to make sure he was definitely going to get her away in time. She wondered what he was planning. If she was entirely honest with herself, she also found him fascinating, and wanted to talk with him some more, especially now that she had finished the book that Jefferson had given her. It had perhaps left her with more questions than answers, and she imagined only he could satisfy her curiosity. Perhaps he would be willing to talk to her again once their deal was over.

Gaston himself had dealt with their disagreement in the only way he seemed to know, which was to sulk until she couldn’t bear it any longer. He still hadn’t apologised, and sat glowering in silence, stabbing at his food and not looking at her, and so she broke the heavy, brooding atmosphere at the breakfast table by initiating conversation. Maurice gave her an encouraging smile when she asked him about his favourite topic - himself - and Belle felt herself cringe as she pretended to be interested in the hunt he had planned for the day after the ball. He grunted responses at her at first, but gradually opened up as it gave him an opportunity to boast about his skills in the field, and the wager he had made with some of his fellow knights. Peace made, Belle could return to her breakfast as he regaled Maurice with tall tales.

She excused herself as soon as it was polite to do so, returning to her room to continue reading the books on magical prisons and light magic. The Dark One’s insistence on a price being paid in return for magic made sense now that she had read more on the theory; she could see why he needed to ask a price in each case. Still, there was nothing that explained why he had only asked her name in exchange for what he had promised, and she wondered how each price was calculated. Was it based on what the Dark One wanted, or what those he dealt with could afford to give? She wasn’t sure either option made any sense in their case.

The day was over all too quickly, and Belle managed to sit through a tedious dinner and watch her father and Gaston get progressively drunker and louder. It only made her more certain of her decision. She just had to get through the next week or so, and the masquerade ball the following evening. Belle was dreading the ball, not least because she would have to pretend to be happy about the impending marriage. Still, perhaps she could spend most of the evening dancing, and avoid too much conversation.

Belle slept poorly, her dreams dark and threatening, and she wanted to stay in bed the moment the maid woke her, so she proclaimed herself to be suffering from a headache again. It had the effect not only of ensuring she could eat her breakfast in bed, but that she would be left alone for much of the day, and she spent the time reading her books. She was no closer to figuring out the Dark One’s true name, but she was at least far more knowledgeable about magical prisons and fairies’ use of light magic. It was surprising to find that much of what the Dark One had told her about his own magic held true for the fairies; perhaps he was right, and intent was meaningless so long as the balance was maintained.

By the time the sun was beginning to set, she decided she could not put off her preparations for the ball any longer. Laying her book aside with a sigh, she rang the bell for Marilee, and got out of bed to wash and dress. It took two hours for her to be made ready, for her hair to be dressed and studded with tiny jewels and her body to be powdered and perfumed and layered up with silk. The gown she had chosen to wear was a muted gold colour, intricate beading on the bodice. It left her shoulders bare, hugging her torso, her breasts pushed high. Belle wriggled her feet in her heeled slippers. At least those were fairly comfortable.

The last addition to her outfit was the mask, an elaborate jewelled piece in gold and red, hiding the upper half of her face. She had thought the idea of a masquerade to be a strange choice, but in some ways she was relieved; she would not have the chore of standing and greeting all the guests, after all. Music was floating up from below, and she took a deep breath as she stared at her reflection. I can do this. I can play a part for tonight, at least. Only ten more days and I shall be free.

Belle glanced to the side of the dresser, where the card issued to all those attending the ball lay, thick cream paper edged with gilt, Gaston’s family crest at the top and the hour that the ball would start beneath. On the back were the rules of engagement, which she knew by heart. No revealing one’s name unless someone guessed it correctly, and then only to that person. Talking and dancing with a large number of guests was expected, as were questions about their life and passions, in an attempt to guess their identity. Changing one’s voice was optional but added to the mystery of who lay behind the mask. On the stroke of midnight, masks would be removed, and the guests’ identities revealed.

A thin line had been drawn beneath the time of the ball, awaiting the false name that all guests would choose. Belle hesitated before dipping her pen in some ink and writing Taliah. She remembered the name from a favourite story she had read as a child, about a girl who decided she would never marry, and had run away from home when her father insisted on arranging a match. Taliah had disguised herself as a boy and had travelled to the city to become a scholar at the university, and then a teacher. Her adventures along the way had made for exciting reading, and eight-year-old Belle had announced that she wanted to be just like Taliah. Her father was unimpressed, and one day the book had disappeared from its spot on the shelf, never to be seen again.

Belle dusted the card with fine sand to dry the ink and took a final glance in the mirror. Ready as ever I’ll be, she thought. She made her way down the wide marble staircase, one gloved hand sliding over cool stone. The sounds of music and laughter rippled over her, and she took a deep breath as she swept along the corridor to the ballroom. It was already filled with ladies and gentlemen in bright silks and velvets, masks adorned with feathers and sparkling with jewels. Belle handed her card to one of the footmen, who announced her name loudly as she entered. The guests turned to look over the new arrival, and Belle moved swiftly to the long tables holding bowls of punch and glasses of wine and brandy.

She wanted to avoid conversation until she was more sure of the identities of some of the guests, and so she took a glass of punch and sipped at it, eyes flitting across the ballroom. She could see Gaston, easily recognisable by his size, and his bellowing laugh. He was deep in conversation with a woman who she suspected was one of Lady Tremaine’s daughters, but she wasn’t sure. Gaston leaned in to whisper something that made her squeal and slap his arm playfully, and Belle rolled her eyes. Flirting was expected at these occasions, of course, but she wasn’t in the mood for it.

Her father was nearby, talking to a man by whose voice and bearing she thought was King George. A young man stood by his side, a mask in blue and gold hiding most of his face, whom she suspected would be Prince James. His attention appeared to be on a dark-haired woman in a white dress and mask edged in silver and topped with white feathers, talking and laughing with another young woman. Belle sipped at her punch, smiling as two ladies in pink and green dresses which clashed spectacularly hurried past, arm-in-arm and giggling. The two clearly knew one another, and the blonde hair of one of them made Belle suspect Lady Ella was enjoying her first formal ball since becoming engaged to Prince Thomas. The music changed, and the guests hurried to put down their glasses in preparation to begin the dancing. Belle sighed as she glanced around for a partner. Time to do my duty.

“My Lady?”

Belle turned at the sound of a man’s voice, eyes narrowing curiously. The man who had greeted her was short, not much taller than she, and thin, with tight-fitting breeches in soft black leather beneath a gold brocade waistcoat and cream silk shirt, a close-fitting coat in blood-red velvet over the top. His hair was worn longer than was fashionable, brushing the collar of his coat, streaks of silver in amongst the brown. Something tugged at her mind, a flash of memory, and she found her curiosity grow. The man bowed, arms spreading outwards, and he gazed up at her with deep brown eyes behind his red and gold mask.

“May I have this dance?” he asked.

There was an accent there, a slight burr to his voice, and she felt that tickle of memory again. Setting down her glass of punch, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the floor as the music started up. His hand was warm at her waist, and he began turning her through the dance, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. She realised that the colours of his outfit matched her own perfectly, as though it had been planned that way, though she couldn’t see how. There was a flash of colour at his wrist, a bracelet clumsily woven from coloured threads, its rough presence somewhat incongruous against the cream silk cuff of his shirt, and she wondered whether it was a clue to his identity. Belle studied his face, noting the fine lines around his mouth which, along with the silver streaks in his hair, indicated he was in his middle years. She mentally discounted a number of noblemen she knew.

“I believe we’re supposed to guess each other’s name,” she said, and he smiled.

“Oh, for my part that’s easy enough,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Lady Belle.”

His eyes were fixed on hers, dark and intense, and she felt her own widen as she recognised something in them. Something she remembered from a darkened room and a deal made for her freedom.

“You!” she whispered. “It’s you!”

“That is not guessing my name,” he said, with a touch of severity, the snide tone she remembered returning to his voice. “That is merely stating a fact.”

Belle giggled a little, feeling his hand tighten on hers as he turned her around.

“Well, as I haven’t been given your name, sir, you have me at a disadvantage,” she said. “You didn’t look this way when we met. Changing your entire face is against the spirit of the masquerade, you know.”

“This is merely a glamour,” he said, in a dry tone. “I suspect my true appearance would cause something of a panic.”

“Not to me,” she said. “How did you get here? I don’t recall sending an invitation to the Dark Castle.”

He gave a wry smile.

“I was called on by a desperate soul, of course,” he said.

“At Gaston’s ball?” she said, amused.  “I know I’ve been dreading the occasion, but it’s not something that requires magical assistance to escape.”

He grumbled, casting what seemed to be a critical eye over the dancers.

“Well, not something that any of your guests would care about, I suspect,” he said. “A poor peasant woman, robbed of the last few coins she had to feed her children.  Desperate indeed.”

“That’s terrible!” said Belle, upset.  “Were you able to help her?”

“Of course,” he said lightly.  “She asked for little. A roof over her head, enough food to keep her and her children alive through the winter.  All three are, as we speak, in a small cottage on the edge of town, no doubt with full bellies for the first time in months.”

“Good.”

“Along with an admonition to keep her coins out of sight in the future,” he added.  “It’s not wise to show gold in some parts of the town. Not the parts she was living in, anyway.  Little wonder she was robbed.”

Belle stopped suddenly, causing a nearby couple to side-step swiftly to avoid a collision. A dreadful thought came to her as she eyed the woven bracelet at his wrist.

“Gerta,” she said slowly.  “Her name was Gerta.”

“You know her, my Lady?”  He sounded surprised.

“I - I gave her the money,” admitted Belle.  “She was begging in the town two days ago, I - I only wanted to help!”

“And so you did,” he said soothingly, pulling her into the dance again.  “She’s well. She and her children. The boy no longer limps.”

Belle caught at her lip, emotion welling up within her.

“That - that was very kind of you.”

“Don’t say that!” he snapped. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

Belle giggled.

“Yes, I’m sure providing charity for widows and orphans will simply destroy it.”

“She asked for the Dark One’s help,” he said defensively. “I never break a deal.”

“And what did you ask in return?”

The Dark One leaned in, lips almost brushing her ear, sending a shiver through her body.

“All that they had in the world,” he hissed malevolently.

“Well, I happen to know they had nothing,” said Belle, unfazed.

He straightened up, smiled a little ruefully, and nodded to the bracelet of coloured threads at his wrist.

“Really?” said Belle, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Her daughter’s homemade bracelet?”

“As you said, they had nothing else,” he said carelessly.  “Besides, I have no need of gold.”

“Hmm.” Belle eyed him. “I think you’re not as dark as you want people to believe.”

He grinned, baring his teeth as he pulled her tighter against him.

“Maybe I’m darker.”

“If that were true, you’d have left them to starve,” she said, trying to ignore the way her heart thumped at the press of his body. “You certainly didn’t have to fix the boy’s limp. That wasn’t part of your deal.”

“If I hadn’t, he would only have been a burden on his mother,” he said, sounding affronted. “What would have been the point of me saving them if they just die more slowly? I don't have time to run around the kingdom saving waifs and strays every five minutes.”

“Hmm,” said Belle, lips pursing. “And here you told me you were evil.”

He pulled her a little closer, leaning in so that his lips brushed her ear.

“Oh, I am, dearie,” he whispered, making her shiver. “There are different kinds of darkness in this world. I could make that odious lump you’re promised to peel off his skin and dance until he dropped. I could turn the wine to poison and wipe out this entire ballroom. But oppression, exploitation and neglect: those are the weapons of your kind, not mine.”

Belle frowned, hand tightening on his shoulder a little, but after a moment she nodded reluctantly.

“I suppose in all too many cases that’s true,” she admitted. “But why would the Dark One care?”

He was silent for a moment, turning her around with a sudden whisk of his arm, making her cling on a little tighter.

“Magic is all about balance, whatever your intentions for the use of that magic might be,” he said eventually. “Give and take. If I didn’t try to keep that balance what sort of sorcerer would I be? Besides, no parent should have to choose between feeding their children or healing them.”

His eyes left hers for a moment, his gaze far away, and Belle wondered what he was thinking. She suspected that his final line, delivered in a flippant tone, represented his true feelings on the subject, but she doubted he would open up further.

“You were never a noble, were you?” she said. “You seem to have nothing but contempt for my kind.”

“Well, don’t feel too bad, I generally feel contempt for most people.”

Belle shot him a flat look.

“I wish I knew your name,” she said. “It seems wrong to simply call you ‘Dark One’.”

“That’s what I am,” he said, in a dry tone.

“You weren’t always,” she said. “I’ve read that the Dark One’s powers are passed from person to person. So you must have been an ordinary man once.”

His mouth had opened a little, his eyes widening behind the mask.

“You - read about me?” He sounded astonished, and Belle lifted one shoulder and let it drop, a tiny shrug.

“Of course. I never met a mystery I didn’t want to solve.”

He whirled her around, almost lifting her off her feet, and Belle was breathless when he pulled her close again, his warmth seeping into her.

“And what have you discovered, my Lady?” her asked, his voice a low rumble that made her belly clench.

“That the Dark One’s power is transferred by ritual,” she said excitedly. “Magic harnessed by the power of a mystical dagger.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek.

“A dark ritual?” he said quietly. “That’s one way to describe it, I suppose.”

“Am I right about the dagger?” she asked, and he eyed her soberly.

“All Dark Ones possess the dagger,” he confirmed. “Its use is - essential - in the creation of the next Dark One.”

“Where is it?”

His mouth twisted.

“I cannot say.”

Belle frowned.

“You can’t— do you mean you don’t know where it is, or that your curse won’t allow you to tell me?”

“I know where it is,” he said, but did not elaborate. Belle clicked her tongue in exasperation, anger at the Blue Fairy making her breath quicken.

“So you can’t tell me,” she said, almost to herself. “Right.”

They followed the whirling steps of the dance, easily side-stepping another couple, and Belle glanced up at him again.

“Were you a sorcerer?” she asked. “Before, I mean? The book said all Dark Ones were powerful sorcerers.”

He was silent for a moment, stepping back on one foot to whirl her around again, and Belle clung to his shoulder, breathing hard.

“The curse seeks out desperation,” he said finally. “The despair I felt was certainly powerful, but I had no magic of my own. Not magic as you would understand it, that is.”

"I don't understand."

"Magic is fulled by emotion," he said. "Rage, fury, and hate. Fear. Love. There is power in emotion. Controlling it is the tricky part."

"Does that mean anyone can learn to use it?" she asked, and he pursed his lips.

"Given time and training, perhaps," he said. "Some have a natural affinity, of course, but anyone can learn the basics of potion-making. Casting spells is more difficult."

Belle chewed her lip, thinking hard, her hand held tight in his as they swept across the floor.

“I read about fairy magic, too,” she said. “About light magic in general, and the balance that has to be maintained.”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “All magic comes with a price.”

“So who decides on that price?” she asked, and he sucked his teeth.

“How much is needed depends on the magic required,” he said. “How that price is paid is up to the wielder.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said slowly. “So in that case, is dark magic really any different from light? Is the source different, or is it merely the wielder that makes it dark or light?”

He was smiling slightly, his eyes gleaming behind the mask.

“You have an inquiring mind, my Lady,” he said. “You would have made an excellent apprentice.”

“Is that an offer?” she teased, and his smile grew.

“I have no desire to hide you away with me in the Dark Castle.”

“Couldn’t be any worse than becoming Gaston’s wife,” she said flatly. “D’you know the Blue Fairy tried to convince me that I should marry him for his own good? That saving him should be my life’s work?”

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” he said. “The Chief Gnat and her swarm tend towards more traditional views. Nothing can upset the way things should be, in their eyes.”

“I’m sure they can’t all be like that.”

“Perhaps not as far as you’re concerned,” he said. “Their opinion of me is fairly - consistent.”

“I’m more than capable of forming my own opinion, thank you.”

“Oh, I should never try to contradict that.”

He turned them again, moving further away from the other dancers, and out onto the stone balcony, where he slowed to a stop. Belle held onto him for a moment, catching her breath, her fingers clutching at the soft velvet of his coat. The night was pleasantly cold after the heat and crush of the ballroom, and she turned her face up to the stars with a sigh. He released her, stepping back, and Belle turned to face him, smoothing the skirt of her dress, the flush in her cheeks not all due to the heat.

“How long can you stay?” she asked.

“I must leave soon,” he admitted. “I can already feel the magic tugging at me, wanting to pull me back in.”

Belle stepped forward, laying a hand on his arm, and he glanced down at it, as though surprised at her touch.

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “It’s not right that you’re trapped. I wish I could help.”

“Thank you.”

The music from the ballroom rose to a crescendo and stopped, allowing for applause from the dancers before starting up again in another lively tune. Belle watched the Dark One stride slowly back and forth across the balcony, hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed a little, as though he was thinking. She could feel curiosity burning inside her, the need to know more about him almost unbearable.

“Why did you ask nothing from me but my name?” she asked, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers.

“Do you wish to give more?”

“Answering one question with another isn’t a real answer.”

He chuckled, glancing away from her, and there was silence.  She waited, unwilling to be the first to break it.

“I can see the future, you know,” he said at last.  “It makes for interesting viewing at times, especially when dealing with people. I can always turn it to my advantage if I so choose, while still giving them what they ask for.”

“And what did you see when I called on you?”

He turned his head to face her, dark eyes fixed on hers.

“Nothing,” he said simply.  “Nothing at all.”

“Is that unusual?”

“It’s never happened before,” he admitted.  “I was - curious.”

Belle took a step closer, until she could hear his breath and smell the scent of him in the air. Until she could almost feel the heat from him.

“What do you think it means?” she asked.

The Dark One held her gaze, and she could feel her heart thudding hard in her chest, her skin tingling with excitement. He lifted a hand, and for a moment she thought he was going to touch her, fingers dancing in the air. But then he stepped back on one foot, pressing his fingertips together.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’d like to find out.”

“So would I.”

Another pause, a moment when their eyes met and the air between them seemed to thicken and crackle and hum, as though something momentous would happen. Belle waited for it, almost breathless, but the Dark One dropped his gaze, reaching for her hand and bending over it. The press of his lips made a tingle run through her.

“Until we meet again, my Lady,” he said quietly, and disappeared in a plume of red smoke.

Belle started, looking around to see if anyone had noticed, but the guests were too absorbed in the dancing and each other to pay attention. She smoothed the skirt of her dress with restless hands, trying to calm herself. Gaston lurched over, brandy glass in hand and the smell of drink already floating around him.

"Belle?" he said. "It - is Belle, yes?"

She nodded wordlessly, and he took a slurp of his drink, bouncing on his toes.

"Who were you dancing with?" he asked.

"I didn't guess his name," she said, and he grunted, throwing back the rest of the brandy and setting down the glass.

"Short, skinny excuse for a man, from what I could see," he said. "Come and dance with me."

"I'm really rather hot and would prefer—”

"Come and dance with me," he ordered, and grasped her hand, tugging her towards the floor. Belle glowered at his back as he pulled her along.

Ten more days. Ten more days and I shall be free.

[brooklynislandgirl]

A Walk In The Woods || Accepting

@corinnebaileyrp​

fae 🌠 - what’s a fact about yourself that you don’t know how to explain? //  lavender 💜 - what’s your favorite smell?

It’s that perfect temperature that is neither too hot nor too cold, the last dying days of Spring before the City turns into a microwave oven always on high. The three of them are up on the rooftop, which really is a joint labour of love between the siblings. Beth had picked out and arranged the furniture and the potted plants to give it a park like feeling under the awning, Riley’s part was in setting up the grilling and cooking station and the hot tub for the residents to use. Even the new kid on the first floor ~Darcy, Beth supplies his name~ because the elevator comes straight up. Currently there’s steaks cooking after being butchered and marinated by hand. portobello mushroom burgers for Beth. Corn and baked potatoes cooking too. A chilled bottle of wine which Beth has had glass of already, and beer on ice. Whatever Cory wants. And desert and coffee will be served back in the apartment.

For now though its nice to just lounge around. Cory sitting across from him and Beth curled up at his side, arm dangling off her shoulders as she makes a home in the shelter of his embrace, the flat of her hand resting on his abs, feet tucked up under the pillow on the opposite end of the rattan couch. He lifts his cigarette and takes a deep drag of it as he rolls the question around in his mind. He makes sure the exhale is scattered the other way by the breeze, so it doesn’t get in anyone’s face. A moment later the siblings glance at one another, him down and her up. There is something heavy in that look, an entire unspoken conversation within a single set of looks. Something that seems more like divine communication than anything else, before they turn back to Cory as one entity.

Beth is the one that speaks first, quiet and measured, all dark wines and those moments just before sunset suspended in eternity.  “Sepia. Not da ink, but like.. plumeria an’ sandalwood. Hint of sea-spray. Warm woods an’ oriental florals mix togeddah. Smells like wha’ ya t’ink dose old-timey brownish red photos oughta smell like. Smells like memories an’ da kine ya know is dere but jus’ no can put ya finger on. Makes ya t’ink about autumn an’ sweaters. Hot cuppa tea an’ some kine fresh out of da oven. Good book, curled up under one blanket, rain fallin’ against da window.  Wha’evah dat smell is, dat one is my favourite.” She reaches up and weaves her fingers with her brother’s and waits for him to answer their friend in his own time.  His thumb traces patterns across the back of her palm. “I’ve never had a doubt since day one that I like girls. Women. Love them. Everything about them. How soft they are, the way they smell,” both siblings laugh at that, “the way they dress. I love their curves and the way they taste. I think women are our highest ideal, our best selves, and deserving of our respect. I’ve been married once, as you know. I’ve raised Beth to the best of my ability. Most of my friends, oddly enough, are also women. I absolutely love them. I’ve never been into other guys, not in the same way. It doesn’t bother me, the ones that think I’m hot or whatever. I have some friends I can flirt shamelessly with because it’s fun and because it’s meaningless. And I will be the first guy to beat the fuck out of someone for their homophobic bullshit. It doesn’t matter to me who you’re in love with as long as you’re not a douche-bag, ya know? “But. There is one guy, a good friend, maybe my best friend, that kind of does it for me. I fantasise sometimes. I will drop just about everything for him, all he has to do is call. We never fall out of touch, and I love the kid like nobody’s business. I dunno how to explain it, and I don’t feel like I have to explain it. Weirdly enough though...he’s the only one. Guy, I mean.” Beth swallows hard, half lifts herself up off her brother. “In Panda’s defense, I mean...he really is one amazing guy.” Maybe Andy isn’t the only Riley that’s noticed him.

[peakyblinders1919]

The Answer Pt. 10

“So, where are we going tonight?” Maggie inquired as she stood in front of the mirror playing with her perfectly styled hair as if it could be any more perfect.

“The Marquis of Lorne.” Elouise answered without second thought, making Maggie stop and stare at her friend skeptically.

“Come again? I thought you hated that place.”

“Eh, I do but there’s bound to be some guy there who’s willing to fuck me.”

“Oh, like there aren’t enough of those at The Garrison.”

Elouise remained quiet. Of course there were, but she was avoiding the garrison for a reason. Recently her life was driven by her need to avoid. She was avoiding Michael, because after that little kiss on the cheek she didn’t know what she was feeling, or what he was feeling for that matter, and she’d rather pretend he didn’t exist than awkwardly address the problem, if there were one. She was avoiding Tommy too, their last real conversation the one in his office where he attacked her character before telling her she was crazy. And Polly, well of course she was avoiding her because one look and the woman would know something was wrong with Elouise; maybe even that she was in love. Hence the Garrison was off limits and the Marquis of Lorne was the next best pub around to find a lad looking for just one, meaningless night together.

She had been successful in avoiding them for almost a week, literally only coming in to collect her pay for the hours she barely worked.

“Thanks Gray,” she said as he handed her her wages. It was odd to see the country boy sitting behind a desk, but there was no question he was good with the numbers. “You going out tonight.”

“No.” He said bluntly, continually looking back at the numbers to avoid her eyes. Apparently he had felt awkward since that night.

“Alright. Have fun at home with Mummy.” Elouise teased, a smile thrown his way as she headed out, passing Isaiah on the way.

“Good luck trying to get him out tonight.”

As the girls got ready, the static of jazz music filling the room as they danced around trying on dresses, Elouise had no idea that Isaia had been successful in his endeavors to use the Peaky name to get him a drink.

With Maggie in a grey beaded dress and Elouise in a slimming midnight black one, the girls headed out for another forgettable night of drinking.

Upon entering the pub, Elouise remembered exactly why she didn’t normally prefer it over the Garrison. It was busy, the pub overflowing with secretaries from the BSA factory all trying to find themselves a man among the slim pickings. The service wasn’t as great as the Garrison, which is to be expected when you don’t have close familial ties to the owners and workers. And it wasn’t to say the name Shelby didn’t have an impact here, as with any other pub around Birmingham, but when you technically didn’t carry the name and weren’t a man to be recognized as a part of the gang, well you were treated like every other lonely, confused woman at the bar.

“The bartender almost refused to give me whiskey. Claimed it’s a man’s drink.” Maggie only giggled as she so delicately sipped ok her wine like a lady was supposed to.

“And that’s why we go to the Garrison.”

“Why do you want to be there so bad?” Elouise asked. Maggie’s shrugged.

“I feel vulnerable here.” She said matter-of-factly. “You know,” maggie began to clarify, “I just feel like anyone could walk in here and try to rob the place or something. No one would dare do that at the Garrison.”

“We’ll be fine.” Elouise assured her. “Especially if we distract ourselves,” she said, bringing her friends attention to some young men in the corner sipping on their drinks with wandering eyes. They headed to the corner to do just that, narrowly missing Isaiah and Michael as they sauntered in and up to the bar, as if it was the Garrison and they owned the place.

But they most certainly didn’t as someone decided to pick a fight with Isaiah.

Elouise was hitting it off with, was it Albert or Alfred…, either way she was leaning into his touch in the dark corner, about to kiss him when a fight broke out near the bar. She pulled away quickly, looking over to Maggie to make sure everything was ok, but Maggie’s lips were pursed in a “I-told-you-so” manner. It was just a regular old bar fight, many broke out at the Garrison, it was nothing to be concerned about until she heard the faint insult being thrown at the boy involved only to realize it was Isaiah.

“Shit.” Elouise said when she realized he wasn’t alone either, but had somehow managed to bring country boy along. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.” Elouise told the guy, walking into the fight.

“Wait, don’t go over there.”

“I know them, I’ll be fine.”

She pushed her way through the small crowd that had formed to witness the fight, but the men were just a little too strong for her to break through, standing on her heels to see what was happening.

It was a blur of limbs being wildly thrown at each other, fists connecting with jaws, blood spilling onto the floor. It was hard to determine who the blood was coming from, some spilling from Michael and Isaiah’s knuckles as they broke the skin as they punched with such force, the other men having small cuts on their lip or eyebrow adorned with red. It was getting worse, and Elouise still couldn’t break through, watching the green of Michael’s eyes grow darker and darker.

All Elouise could do was watch, as much as she wanted to help without her knife hidden under her dress she knew she didn’t stand a real chance against any of them. Isaiah was a fighter, but Michael, well she didn’t know he had it in him.

“Michael!” She found herself scream as she watched the other guy shove him against the bar, hands around his neck ready to finish it. He was done for, really, until the bartender spoke.

“Paddy. The white kid’s a Peaky Blinder. He’s Polly Shelby’s son.” The bar went silent, the fighting stopped, this Paddy guy taking a step back when he realized that he had sealed his fate. The second Michael was let go, regaining his posture she found herself breathing again. It was the name that saved him tonight, but he’d have to toughen up if he continued to be a part of the Blinders.

“Sir, sir I’m sorry.”

“Get out.” Michael said in a voice that wasn’t his own; it was deep, commanding, full of confidence that originated from the power he felt after everyone in the bar feared him because of his name.

Still not having noticed Elouise among them, Michael and Isaiah turned back around, demanding the drinks they had ordered a while ago and downing it in one go.

“Get me one.” Elouise said, standing behind them with a smirk on her face.

“Lou? What the fuck are you doing here?” Isaiah said. She snuck her way in between them, nodding at the bartender as he finally gave her a real glass of whiskey and she mirrored their actions and drank the amber liquid in one sip.

“I was trying to get a change of scenery, but then you lot showed up and started a fight.”

“Hey, I didn’t start nothing.”

“And you didn’t finish either.” Elouise teased. “You both alright?” She asked, only now looking over at Michael, who although said he was fine had a cut on his lip and some blood on his collar.

“Didn’t know you could fight country boy.”

“Yeah, you held your own Mick.”

He didn’t quite know what to say, looking at El almost in shame that she had witnessed him break like that. “Gonna have to get you cleaned up before you go home, Poll’ll have a heart attack if you knew you were throwing fists.”

“Yeah, we better get back to the Garrison.” Isaiah said, leaving some money on the bar and walking across town.

They were all quite happy to be at the Garrison again, Harry giving them their drinks without having to order, avoiding the crowd by sneaking into the private room where the boys were playing poker.

“Here they are, junior Peaky boys. And Lou.” Arthur added as she trailed in behind them.

“Well jeez, thanks for the introduction.” Elouise rolled her eyes as she sat down next to John, quickly sipping her drink and looking at his cards.

“Arthur, we had to stand our ground and we did.”

“The Marquis of Lorne, eh?” Arthur said. Elouise remained silent, watching the Shelby’s stand up unanimously, snickering to herself when she saw Finn try to as well. She knew exactly what they were doing. They were doing what they had to, defending their name around here. She tried distracting herself with the cards on the table.

“Don’t nick any of my chips Finn.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t.” She answered, John giving her a wink before they both closed the door.

“Where are they going?” Michael was worried, Elouise could hear it in his voice. She looked up for a moment, sharing a look with Isaiah across the table.

“The Marquis of Lorne. Shame. It was a nice pub.”

“What do you mean? What’re they going to do?” Michael asked, the other boys remaining quiet as Finn took a sip of his dark mild and Isaiah ran his hands over his cracked knuckles. Elouise didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news either, but the second she met Michael’s green eyes across the table, she knew she owed him that.

“Burn it down. They’ve got an image to keep. You don’t mess with the Blinders.” She watched the other boy’s posture. They knew she was right, but they weren’t really happy with it either. “Come on,” Elouise said, standing up suddenly. “Let’s get you cleaned before you go home.”

Michael finished his drink quickly before nodding, figuring it was a good idea as he followed Elouise to the bathroom upstairs.

“Sit.” She said as she locked the door and walked over to the sink, grabbing the towel off the hook and setting it in warm water. It was a surprise she knew what to do. She had made fun of Ada herself when she took her nursing course, claiming it was a waste of time, but that didn’t mean Elouise didn’t learn a thing or two about basic first-aid.

“Does it hurt?” She asked over her shoulder while ringing out the towel.

“Does what hurt?”

“Your lip. Its busted up pretty good.”

“Oh,” he chuckled. “I didn’t even notice,” he said, running his finger along it. “But it doesn’t really hurt.”

“Well that’s good,” Elouise commented, walking over with the towel and a bottle of liquor. “This’ll probably sting,” she warned before pouring some on his cuts. Michael only winced lightly, but once the alcohol was poured over it, Elouise kneeling so she was eye to eyes with him, lightly dragging the wet cloth across the cut, cleaning up the dried blood as best she could.

The closeness she shared with him made her heart beat like crazy, which was something she definitely wasn’t used to. She tried to keep herself calm, turning to take a swig from the bottle herself to calm her nerves.

“You uh...you did good. Could be worse.” She commented, inches away from him as she continued cleaning his cuts.

“I didn’t know I was capable of that.”

“Must have more Shelby in your blood than you thought.”

“Uh...sorry you had to see that.” He confessed after a long silence that had been filled with prolonged eye contact as Elouise's movements slowed.

“It’s ok.” She said, moving to clean the cut on his forehead now. “I’ve seen much worse.”

“Yeah well...I...that wasn’t me.”

“Hey, you’ve seen me at my worse.” Elouise pointed out. “The auction. And you helped me and well, this was a side of you that you didn’t even know you had, a side you probably didn’t want people to see, but it’s fine. Your gonna be cleaned up enough to at least keep Polly in the dark for a little while…”

“Thank you.” He said, his voice quiet as he struggled with himself right now, trying to figure out exactly who he was.

“It’s the least I could do.” Elouise finally smiled as she met his eyes, pulling the cloth from him to look him over. She hadn’t realized just how beautiful he was. His eyes, his nose, the hint of freckles dotting across it, his smile. She looked into his eyes, inches away from him, and before she knew it she was moving closer until her lips were against his.

[queerinette]

the one that i’m waiting on

Hey @electragoob, I was assigned you for the @mlsecretsanta exchange. Hope you’re feeling Love Square Angst and Fluff as we meet 2018 head-on!

Also on AO3

Stinging air dug needles deep in Marinette’s face, her nose and ears a bright, angry red. In her hands she swung three gift bags, which hit the side of her thigh lightly in a repeated motion. The cheers and bellows of fellow Parisians filled the street as she walked to Alya’s house, heart beating wildly in her chest from anticipation.

It had been so long since she’d seen Adrien.

He’d gone away for two months on a “mandatory, required vacation,” as his father had put it, but really, she knew it was an attempt to undermine their relationship. His disapproving glare had made it clear that he was out to destroy what Marinette and Adrien had. It hadn’t been bad at first, when Marinette had gone on and on about becoming a famous fashion designer.

And then she’d changed her tune, wanted to pursue fashion as a hobby instead of a full-time career, and whatever microscopic warmth Gabriel Agreste had shown towards her had disappeared.

She didn’t care anyway. What love could the man who’d locked his son away have for her, anyway?

Despite not caring about Gabriel Agreste and his many, many, many issues with Marinette’s general existence, she was forced to suck it up and deal with it. The emotionless, abusive man hadn’t taken the hint when Adrien had refused to dump her, and he’d taken to giving Adrien stupid, meaningless tasks to keep him away.

His latest, a two month vacation where Adrien was allowed minimal communication, was the most taxing, and Marinette was too exhausted to deal with his bullshit, passive-aggressive ridiculousness. Weren’t adults supposed to express their opinion and then deal with rejections of their ideas healthily?

She did her best to shake the thoughts out of her head; there would be no room for negativity tonight, only happiness and love as she spent Christmas Eve with her four best friends in the whole wide world. After all, not only were Alya, Nino, and Adrien going to be there, but even Chloé had managed to be in Paris to spend the holiday with them.

She conjured images of happy things, like baked goods, her father’s hugs, the taste of peppermint, and the soothing pitter-patter of rain on her childhood bedroom’s window the rest of they way, preparing herself mentally to greet her friends with a smile.

Disappointment filled her when Alya opened the door instead of Adrien, but she quickly moved past it, hugging Alya and hurrying inside. They chatted as Marinette took off her coat, Alya joking about Marinette’s buns being the bakery’s next attraction, before Alya squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek, promising better conversation later. Marinette grinned and placed her gifts under Alya’s Christmas tree, smile widening as she heard Nino on the phone. A cursory glance let her know Adrien wasn’t here, and she quenched her remaining nerves with wine, her glass clinking with Nino’s. A pleasant warm buzz settled in her stomach.

She felt her heart crack slightly when Chloé arrived along fifteen minutes later and they had dinner. It wasn’t that bad, seeing as she’d missed hanging out with the four of them. But a huge part of her had been excited to see Adrien again, and that part was currently kicking around on the floor, sobbing.

She was sure she was hiding it well, but judging by the long looks the other three shared, she wasn’t doing a good job.

“Hey Alya, this goose tastes delicious,” Marinette offered, and Alya rolled her eyes with a smirk.

“I know it is, Nino made it.”

“You shouldn’t brag,” Chloé teased. “Only the chef gets bragging rights.”

Alya shot the blonde a dirty look,, mouth twisted in a scowl. Nino rolled his eyes in Marinette’s direction, his thumb pointing subtly out the window. Marinette snickered and played with her food, watching Alya and Chloé argue about how bragging rights work.

It was a good reminder to the good old days, when they were all superheroes and dead set on protecting their city. Alya and Chloé would never admit it out of some weird, petty feud, but they arguing they’d done as heroes and continued to do to this day had made them closer.

It made Marinette happy, knowing that her team was still as close without the miraculouses. That was proof that the bond they had with each other was special.

Nino chose to intervene in their argument and shut it down, and Marinette gave up after that, watching the others talk as she slowly ate. Her eyes darted towards the door repeatedly, and her plate was still mostly full long after the others were done. Alya sighed at the sight of it and shook her head, her expression exasperated as Nino took it away.

“You should get home.”

Marinette shook her head stubbornly. “Negative. We decided to have dinner a few hours early so we could greet Christmas with liquor. I’m not ruining that.”

Alya and Chloé shared a long, annoyed look before Chloé stood up, faced Marinette, and gestured towards the door. “You’re leaving, Dupain-Cheng. You look tired, miserable, and I’m going to walk with you anyway. And before you try to refuse, it’s because Nath and Sabrina live close to your place, and I want to go see them.”

Marinette sighed, standing as if it was a great burden to her. Chloé sent her a quiet smile, filling Marinette’s heart to the brim with gratitude. They left Alya and Nino’s warm apartment to brave the cold, dark streets of Paris, hands tucked deep into their pockets and shoulder hunched. Outside Marinette;s residence, Chloé broke their silence.

“You didn’t eat much.”

“Not much of an appetite,” Marinette shrugged, and Chloé watched her for a minute before smiling.

“Merry Christmas, Marinette.”

She left with a hug, and the lingering feeling as if Marinette was missing something important. The sly glances at dinner, the smirks, and Adrien’s unexpected surprise built up hope inside her as she navigated inside, her hands flipping all the light switches. The lack of life in her living room, kitchen, and hall squashed her hopes, and Marinette decided going to bed was the best choice.

Not like she had something, or someone, to be awake for.

A candle greeted her in her bedroom and as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she recognized the silhouette in her bed as Adrien. Her arms froze by her sight, drinking in what she could see of his smile and the glare of the candlelight in his right eye. Her heartbeat sped up, a marathon paralyzing her.

She’d known she’d missed him, but she hadn’t realized she’d missed him this much.

“Hi,” Adrien said as the silence stretched, and Marinette found herself unparalyzed, her legs catching up to her heart and running.

“This reminds me of our first date,” Marinette remarked, legs tangled with Adrien’s as she popped another chocolate covered strawberry into her mouth. It was well past two at night, but all thoughts of fatigue and left her long ago. She’d planned to get hammered tonight, and there was no reason not to do it.

“Ah, yes,” Adrien replied his hands tracing patterns on Marinette’s legs. Sometimes they’d start tickling, and then she’d have to shank him until he stopped. She’d missed it.

“I’m positive that was the best food I’ve ever eaten.”

He seemed to find amusement in that as he stared at her, watching her eyebrows ruffle. “You’ve never tasted anything better than McDonald’s food bought at 3 in the morning? Clearly my wealth has failed you.”

Once she realized they weren’t thinking about the same outing, it took Marinette a minute to remember which date he was talking about. It had been after a long patrol, and when Adrien had noticed Marinette sluggish movements, he’d convinced her to stay. They’d bought fast food and sat on the Eiffel Tower, Marinette talking his ears off with tales of how much she’d hated fashion school. Adrien’s tail had wrapped comfortingly around her waist, his leather ears twitching at every word she spoke.

His advice that night had eventually led to her reevaluating what she’d really wanted to do.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Marinette interrupted, her legs immediately bumping Adrien’s hip in response to his patronizing tone. “That was not our first date. I’m talking about when we went to Guy Savoy.”

He blinked at her, a few times, unable to comprehend her words. “That was a good date,” he responded after a pause too long to be normal had passed. “But it wasn’t our first.”

“Yes it was,” Marinette insisted, abandoning her beloved snack to argue her point. “It was our first official outing. That was the beginning of our relationship.”

“Fair,” Adrien agreed. “But I distinctly remember us kissing after patrol that night. We ate food, we danced, and we kissed. How does that not make it the first date?”

“Because. Even if we did kiss, we didn’t know exactly how the other person felt. Our dinner at Guy Savoy was right after we revealed our identities and our feelings.”

“It was so awkward, though. We barely looked at each other, and our conversation fell flat.”

“Yeah,” Marinette nodded. “But you know what? I’d rather have an awkward date knowing that you liked me instead of a casual dinner where I second-guessed everything I said to you.”

Adrien kissed her then, his hold on her gentle. Her heart ached at the missed contact, eyes shining as he pulled back with a grin. “I love you, you know that?”

Marinette closed her eyes, followed the flickering of the candle light behind her eyelids and smiled. “I know.”

After two months of distance, her heart felt full again.

[takemeawaytocamelot]

Speed Dating

@outlanderedandoverhere come up with this wonderful prompt and I just loved it. I’d have posted this yesterday but I was working with my manager and had no access to the computer. Hope you guys like it!

The five Scotsmen walked into the large room like action movie stars. In the lead was James Fraser, looking big and ferocious as he surveyed the layout. Beautiful women mingled and sipped their glasses of wine.

“Dinna look so sour,” Murtagh Fitzgibbons said, clapping James on the shoulder. “Ye’ll scare the ladies off before we even sit down.”

James glared over at the scruffy man.

“I dinna want to be here. I can find my own dates.”

“Aye,” said Rupert. “But ye dinna.”

“And would ye no’ rather have a nice, warm woman to fill yer hands wi’?” Angus asked, waggling his eyebrows. “All soft and curvy and-”

James tuned him out, taking a deep breath and preparing for a night of meaningless chatter with desperate women. He laughed to himself. His mother would have smacked him on the head for thinking something like that. Come to think of it, his sister would have too.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said a very sweet woman with dark skin and short hair. Her cobalt gown hugged her fit body as if it had been tailored to do just that. “Are you registered for this evening’s dates?”

“Aye,” James said. “We are.”

“Excellent! If you’ll follow me over here, we’ll get you signed in and set up with your score cards.”

Ten minutes later, each of the men had nametag stickers on their chests, though Angus was forced to write a second one. “Angus Mhor, Master of Seduction” was not an accepted title.

“But it’s true!” he argued, earning a glare from his four companions.

While the last few men and women were registered, Jamie leaned against the bar. Willie took a spot beside him, his face gone pale.

“Are ye alright, lad?”

Young Willie offered a tight smile and nodded.

“I’m no’ verra good at talking wi’ women, ken?”

Jamie smiled and patted his shoulder.

“That’s why these wee dates dinna take verra long. Five minutes or so. Surely ye canna make a fool of yourself in five minutes.”

Willie’s eyes rolled.

“Ye didna see when I tried to ask out Holly,” he bemoaned.

“Attention,” came a strong, smooth voice over a mic system. “If the ladies could all take their seats. The ladies will sit in the booths and the men will take the seats on the outside of the circle. Hopefully you all mingled a little beforehand because your first date is your choice. Each date is five minutes,” the man said, holding up a brass bell. “When the bell rings, the man moves to the next chair on his right. Each of you has a score card, which you’ll have time to fill out in the minute between each date. Any questions?”

“Aye,” said a woman James couldn’t see. “What if we find someone we want to see again?”

The man in charge of the event smiled.

“Then you indicate on the side of your card. You have a spot to list out three names of who you’d like to see again and, if your name is on their card too, you’ll get a notification from us.”

He answered a few more questions while James scanned the room. His eyes landed on a plump blonde woman, who looked a little downcast and he immediately took the seat. When she looked up, her eyes went wide with shock.

“Alright gentlemen, find your seats please. Excellent. Your five minutes begins… Now!”

James smiled at the woman across from him.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m James.”

“P-Penelope,” she said, her rounded cheeks turning deep red.

“That’s a lovely name. Tell me about yourself.”

She was a sweet girl, but almost afraid of her own shadow. Penelope needed a sweet, quiet man who would love nothing more than to spend the day cuddling with her and reading books. That wasn’t his life.

The bell dinged and the announcer reminded the men to move to their right. James sat down across from a woman with shocking red hair and eyes so green he wondered if they were contacts.

“I’m Geillis,” she said, offering a slender hand.

“James.”

“What do ye do for a living, James? Ye’ve got awfully calloused hands.”

He shrugged, pulling his hand back.

“Farming mostly,” he said. “What about you?”

This one didn’t suit him either. She was too interested in him and what he did, revealing almost nothing about herself. He didn’t even bother writing down her name or giving her a score.

Rupert and Angus loved women. They dated constantly and almost always had women sneaking out of their rooms early in the morning. Murtagh dated here and there, but found it difficult to allow a woman in after Ellen, James’ mother. Murtagh had been in love with her for years, but she’d turned him down and married Brian. Willie was still young and needed more experience being around women, so he’d been brought along.

But James had never been one to date - or sleep - around. Dating, for him, had a purpose and he would not waste his time on frivolity. If he was to be with a woman, it would be a woman he could see himself marrying.

The bell rang again and he moved to the next seat. A lovely young woman beamed at him, her mouse brown hair done up in a fancy knot.

“Hello,” she said in French. “I am Annalise.”

“James,” he said, also in French. “A pleasure to meet you.”

The woman was thrilled to speak her native tongue with him, though he had to ask her to slow down. He was fluent in French, but not when she spoke it so quickly. She was a kind girl, and highly intelligent. James wrote down her name and gave her a decent score, deciding he could see himself with her in an unknown future. Perhaps.

The bell rang again and James got up to move over to the next one. He glanced over and watched Willie sit down, the boy’s mouth hanging wide open. The boy was entranced by the lovely Frenchwoman. With a smile, he crossed out Annalise’s name on his own card and focused on the woman in front of him.

It took every bit of self control he had to keep from groaning. Of course she’d be here. Glancing around, he caught Murtagh’s eye and glared. Murtagh looked at the girl and winced. At least he hadn’t known.

“Hello,” came her quiet voice. “It’s good to see ye, Jamie.”

“Dinna call me that. We went on one date and I asked ye to call me James.”

“But Murtagh and the others all call ye Jamie.”

He glared hard at Laogahire, ignoring the sad look in her eyes.

“Aye, but they are my friends and my family. You,” he pointed hard at her. “Are neither.”

“I told ye I was sorry!”

“Sorry doesna fix a damned thing and ye ken it well. So save yer breath for someone who might believe ye.”

Her mouth snapped shut and Jamie looked pointedly away from her, ignoring her for the duration of their time together. It was true they’d only gone out once, but she’d been infatuated for a long time. Had he known that beforehand, he’d never have taken her out. She’d had far too much to drink at dinner and he’d offered to drive her home. But when she’d started throwing up in her flat, he stayed to be sure she was alright.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that he’d heard what she’d said about that night. She’d told her father, an old fashioned Catholic man, that she’d gotten pregnant and she knew exactly who it belonged to. That had been the longest month of Jamie’s life, waiting to prove to everyone that he hadn’t taken advantage of the drunken girl. When it came out that she’d lied, her father apologized and moved away. Jamie hadn’t seen her in several years, for which he’d been thankful.

Finally the bell dinged again and he moved to the next seat, feeling Laogahire’s eyes on him the whole way. Sitting, he smiled pleasantly at the woman across from him, growing tired with the games he had to play. This wasn’t the way he liked to do things. Suzette, also a Frenchwoman, was very sweet and proud of her house cleaning business. But Jamie caught the way Murtagh kept watching her, so he simply enjoyed their conversation.

Moving almost mechanically, Jamie sat down in the next seat and sighed. He’d stopped paying attention to whatever woman was coming up, wishing he had more whisky to give him strength. But when he looked up to meet the gaze of the woman waiting, the whole world stopped.

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

I’d been watching him almost since he’d walked in the room. He carried such a presence with him that most of the other women had looked to him too. When his first ‘date’ choice had been the woman every other man had ignored, I decided to respect him a little.

I watched him between dates, observing how he interacted with everyone. His reaction to one of the women surprised me as he completely ignored her after a brief exchange. He must have known her before.

When it finally came my turn, I took a sip of my brandy and waited. Beautiful blue eyes met mine and he froze.

“Good evening,” I said softly. “I’m Claire Beauchamp.”

He muttered something in Gaelic before shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot how to speak English for a moment.”

“Is that right?”

“Aye. I dinna mean to waste what little time we have together. What is it ye do?”

Asking about me before showing himself off was a good sign.

“I’m a nursing instructor.”

“That’s quite impressive. How long have ye done that?”

“A few years now. It’s a demanding job, but I love it. What about you? What is it you do?”

He smirked and his fingers fluttered on the tabletop. Nervous tick?

“I run a stable where we teach riding and a little jumping. We have a few in competitions around the country.”

“That’s incredible! Do you have horses in the competitions? Or just the riders who board their horses with you?”

The man, James according to his nametag, shrugged.

“A bit of both. We dinna have too many horses that belong to the stable, but I own a few. No’ all of them are for competing, ken? Some I keep back for breeding. Weel… No’ Donas.”

Curious, I leaned forward.

“Why not Donas?”

“Weel, ye see,” he leaned forward too, his eyes glittering with mischief. “He’s a demon-spawn.”

I burst out laughing suddenly at his unexpected answer. He laughed too and it lit up his whole face. There was an intelligence in his eyes, hiding a sharp mind and quick wit.

“Demon-spawn. I didn’t know horses could be demon possessed.”

James shook his head, the thick red curls bouncing jovially.

“No, no. He’s no’ possessed. He’s a spawn of the Devil himself, ken?”

“So you’re telling me Satan sometimes consorts with mares?”

He nearly choked on the whisky in his glass and I grinned. I had a sharp wit too.

“Perhaps someday I’ll ask him, Sassenach,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes as he finished his coughing fit.

The bell rang and he didn’t move. I smiled at him and tried to covertly write down a score and put his name on my list. I felt his eyes on me as I did and I kept my hand over my card. Scribbling hastily, I wrote my mobile number on a napkin and tore it off.

“Will ye no’ let me see?”

I gaped at him in false shock.

“Of course not! Now go to the next young lady before you get yelled at!”

“I’ll show ye mine!”

“GO!”

Finally, he stood and took my hand abruptly. After giving the back of my hand a soft kiss, he smiled. I turned my hand over in his, pressing the torn napkin into his palm.

“Until next time, Sassenach.”

“And who says there’s a next time?”

I gave him a coy wink before turning to the man in front of me.

“Sir, if you could please find your seat.”

I bit back my giggle as James bowed to the nice woman who escorted him away. He was the highest score on my card and the only name on my list of potentials. But I didn’t need him knowing that.

-----------

James was the first one to hand his score card in, restlessly tapping his fingers on his thigh. Claire Beauchamp… She’d been flirty and easy to be with, quick on her feet, and had a solid career. She wasn’t the type of woman who needed a man, but someone who wanted a companion, someone to live a life with.

“If ever there was a woman,” he mumbled to himself in Gaelic, waiting at the bar for his companions.

“One catch yer eye, lad?” Murtagh asked.

James nodded, staring down at his phone. She’d given him her phone number, meaning he didn’t even have to wait. He’d punched it in and was about to call it when his godfather had come over.

“You?” James asked.

Murtagh grinned.

“Aye, I think I have. Dinna ken if she put me down too, but I’m hopeful. Have ye got a phone call to make?”

“Aye,” James said, pressing the button to call her.

Murtagh clapped him on the back and left him to his business.

“Claire Beauchamp?” came her sweet voice on the other end of the phone.

“Hello, Sassenach. Was a brave thing, slipping me yer number.”

He could hear the smile in her voice.

“Well hello there, James. Isn’t there a rule about calling after a date?”

“I dinna ken. If ye didna want me to call…”

The rest of his group finally joined him and they started heading out.

“Actually I’m glad you did. Five minutes isn’t a very long time.”

“But that was some impressive flirting for such a short time,” he said, ignoring the looks he got from his companions.

She had a laugh that was as pure and soft as a harp.

“Thank you. You weren’t so bad yourself. So… Was there a reason you called me?”

“Weel, I was hoping to see ye again. I’d like to talk wi’ you more, get to know ye a bit.”

“You can definitely see me again.”

His heart skipped and thudded in anticipation.

“When are ye free? There’s a great little cafe no’ far from my flat I’d love to take ye to.”

“How about now?” she said.

Her voice came from the phone at his ear, but it also came from behind him. Spinning around, he spotted her as she pushed away from the wall she’d been leaning against.

“Weel I must say,” he smiled at her. “I didna expect this.”

The men he’d come with had stopped walking and he knew they were staring at him.

“Good to know I can keep you on your toes. So how about it, James? Are you free right now?”

“Aye!” Angus yelped. “Aye he is! Verra free!”

“Shut yer mouth,” Murtagh barked.

James felt his ears turn red.

“They’re right. I’ve no other plans tonight.”

“Would you like…” she trailed off, glancing at the eager men behind him.

Turning around, he glared at them.

“Go. Home,” he commanded in Gaelic.

“Are ye gonna…” Rupert made a suggestive motion with his hips. “Ken?”

“Go away!” James hissed. “It isna your business.”

Murtagh, after a stern look at Claire, gathered up the lads and shooed them away. Finally, he was really and truly alone with her.

“Are you related to all of them?” she asked, a laugh hiding in the corners of her mouth.

“Rupert. A distant cousin. And Murtagh is my godfather.”

“Quite an interesting family.”

James rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Aye. Ye should see them at clan gatherings.”

They both fell silent and neither was sure what to say.

“Would you like to come over to my flat?” she asked.

“I, ah… Weel I did say I wanted to see ye again, it’s only…”

His fingers tapped on his thigh nervously.

“Look,” she said gently. “I'm not the kind of woman who hops from one man's bed to another. I'm not here for a quick hook up. I'd like to talk with you more and my flat is close.”

James nodded.

“Aye. I'd like to get to know ye more as well. Lead the way then, my lady.”

Offering his arm, she smiled and accepted it.

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

I wasn’t really sure why I’d invited him back to my flat. True, I did want to spend more time with him, get to know him. I wasn’t sure if I’d wanted him to accept my invitation or not, but when he did, I was glad.

My flat wasn’t far from the pub that had hosted the speed dating event. We walked quietly, my arm through his. Usually silence bothered me and I had to fill it with something. Sometimes music, sometimes conversation, anything other than silence. But here, with James, I didn’t mind it.

“So, James,” I said, deciding my tolerance only went so far. “Do you go to dating events like that very often?”

“No,” he said, looking down at his boots as we walked. “Dating… It must have a purpose. I willna give my time to a woman who doesna have the potential to be more.”

“Have you dated many women, then?”

James let out a sigh that told me he’d been pestered about this for years.

“No’ many. Laogahire, one of the lassies who was attending tonight, was one I dated. I went out a time or two before her, but hadna found the right one. Yet.”

My eyes met his for a brief moment and his expression was impossible to read. I turned us down the street and used my key to open the door to my flat. He waited patiently and offered his arm again as we climbed the stairs and I let him into my home. It was small and his large presence seemed to make it look even smaller.

“You’ve a lovely home,” he said gently, taking in my plumb walls and tiny couches.

“Thank you. It isn’t much, but I’m saving up to get a nicer flat.”

“Ye made it yours, though,” he said, nodding to the art on my walls. “It doesna matter the size, it’s your home.”

I chuckled, hanging my keys on the hooks beside the door.

“Admit it. This is the smallest flat you’ve ever seen.”

His smile was bright and genuine as he left his shoes beside the door.

“Aye, at least the lounge is.”

I giggled.

“You think this is small, you should see my bedroom.”

My mouth snapped shut with an audible clack and his ruddy brows lifted in surprise.

“Perhaps sometime I shall,” he said carefully.

“I’m so sorry. I had a little brandy tonight and I’m afraid my mouth has run away with me. Please, sit. Can I get you anything?”

He eased himself onto my love seat and shook his head.

“Just some good conversation would do.”

I had two options when I moved to the lounge area. I could sit beside him or in the large chair that was my preferred spot. Absently I wondered if he’d chosen his seat on purpose, leaving me with the option to sit with him or not.

I sat beside him and, as I did so, one corner of his mouth quirked.

“So,” he said easily, leaning back and stretching like a cat. “What is it ye wanted to talk about, Sassenach? Ye’ve already asked about my love life, or lack of one.”

“Tell me about your family.”

He’d had a small entourage during the speed dating event and he’d said he wasn’t related to all of them. But I was curious about him and his life. A surprised and happy laugh erupted from deep in his chest and he threw his head back.

“How many generations back?” He finally asked, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Your parents will do,” I answered sourly.

“Weel… My father kent he loved my mother when first he saw her. The scandal of it is that she was dating someone else at the time.”

I settled in and listened to him tell his story. It was amazing, the way he talked. I felt as if he chose each word and used it to paint a vivid picture for me.

To be fair, I shared my family history with him as well, telling the few stories I had of my parents. More of my stories involved my uncle, who’d raised me.

“You go by James, then?” I asked over my shoulder as I made us coffee.

“Eh. Most times, aye. Unless I’m around people I like.”

I half turned and grinned at him.

“So… Am I to call you James? Or Jamie?”

“Oh lass,” he said in a soft purr. “Ye can call me anything ye like.”

A flutter of heat moved through me at his tone of voice and I suppressed a shudder. It had been a long, long time since a man had made me feel like that.

“Perhaps,” I said, bringing both mugs of coffee back with me. “I’ll call you Jamie on good days and James when I’m cross with you.”

“I think I can live wi’ that.”

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

Jamie took the coffee she offered and smiled. She pulled her legs up beneath her and settled into her seat beside him.

“How did you get started at a stable?” she asked.

“I visited it as a lad, ken? Always loved watchin’ the way the horses moved, how graceful their bodies were, the relationship between horse and rider. I got a job at a stable as soon as I was old enough. I worked my way up. When Alec, the man that started the stable, decided he wanted to retire, he gave it to me.”

“Gave it?” she asked, eyes growing wide in shock.

He took a long drink before answering.

“Aye. We’d become close in the time I was there and he kent I had an eye for the horses. He helped me for a bit before giving it to me completely. Made sure I kent how to run a business, keep my staff happy and paid.”

“So you run the stable now? That’s quite impressive.”

“No, actually. I’m full owner. Alec signed it all over to me when he retired. I… I dinna like to flaunt it. No’ many people ken that I own the whole thing. Most think Alec still owns over half.”

One girl he’d dated had found out he owned one of the best stables in Scotland and had ‘fallen’ for him. What she’d really fallen for was the money he had stored away and his stables prestige.

“I’ve never actually ridden a horse, you know.”

“Is that so?”

She hid a shy smile behind her coffee mug and nodded.

“They’ve always been a little intimidating to me.”

“I should have ye out to the stables then! Oh I’ve a lovely mare I think ye’d like. We put beginners on her. She’s verra sweet.”

“She’s not very… big, is she?”

“Och no. She’s nearly the size of a pony, but she’s a sturdy lass. I’ll make sure to take care of ye.”

Jamie stretched and put his empty mug down, casting a thoughtless glance at his watch.

“Christ, I didna ken how late it was. I’m sorry for keepin’ ye up, Sassenach. I should go.”

He got to his feet, stretching again and nearly touching the ceiling.

“You could stay here,” Claire said, standing with him.

Stay? Meeting her gaze, he watched her thoughts ghost over her face.

“I just mean that it’s late and I’m not sure how far from here you live.”

“It’s a bit of a drive, I admit.”

“Then stay. I haven’t got much room around here, but it’s safer than driving home at… Damn! Almost four in the morning.”

Stifling a yawn, he nodded.

“I appreciate that,” he said. “If ye have an extra pillow, I’ll stay out here on the floor.”

Her eyes rolled as she took their mugs to the sink.

“Don’t be absurd. This floor isn’t very comfortable.”

He hesitated, watching her carefully.

“I… I dinna want you to get the wrong idea, lass. I like ye verra much, but I…”

“It’s just a bed to sleep in. I’ve got a body pillow in my wardrobe if you’d like a barrier.”

Jamie snorted.

“I should think I’d have a wee bit more self control than to require a body pillow.”

“I promise I won’t make any advances on your virtue. Though… If we’re to sleep together, I think I’d like to know your name.”

Following her into the bedroom, he grinned.

“I suppose that depends if you’re cross wi’ me or not.”

“I know that name. But I don’t know your last name.”

Taking her hand, as he had at the speed dating event, he kissed it and bowed low over it.

“It’s Fraser. James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.”

“That’s quite a mouth full, Mister Fraser. I’m Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”

“Pleasure to meet ye.”

Continue to Part 2

[smutbangtan]

Blind date gone wrong - Suga Smut

Word Count: 3,632

Summary: You have a blind date and you’re not too sure if you’re into this guy. 

Genre: Smut

You: You are a foreigner in Korea and have been working with a company for over 3 years. All conversation is in Korean. Unless specified.

Scene: You are dressed in a deep red tank top, tight blue jeans with red heels. The jewellery is basic but gold. You decided to go for a red theme tonight and wore red lipstick. You are at a restaurant, nothing fancy but enough to make you want to dress up. The cuisine is Italian, not Korean.

It's been months since I've been on a date or even had a lay. I couldn't believe that my friend convinced me with this stupid blind date. Why the hell did I agree to this? I was already frustrated that this guy I was running late. My friend told me that he's extremely hard working but really kind. She told me she's known him through a friend and he has been single for a while. She thought of me and decided to set us up. I wonder if he was reluctant as I was. But here I am, waiting for this guy.

I sighed to myself and looked down at my phone. I tried to think of what to do while waiting. I wasn't nervous to be honest. I was now over it. I wanted the night to be over already. I scrolled through social media for a few minutes, then asked for another glass of wine from the waiter.

Suddenly a random guy came into view and sat on the table with a sigh, as though he was relieved to be sitting down. The waiter noticed the sudden guest and asked for his drink choice. He said bluntly "Whiskey.." The waiter nodded and left me with this stranger.

I stared at him in confusion then looked around, hoping he had the wrong table. Sure he had the wrong table. The guy was dressed in casual clothes as though he was just going for a walk. He wore jeans and a zip up black hoodie. His shirt was showing underneath which was also black with some random brand printed at the front. His hair was light blue with bits of white showing through.

You have got to be kidding me I thought to myself. I looked around once again then leaned and said quietly

"Excuse me I think you have the wrong table"

He lifted brow at me, which was the only facial expression he showed. He also leaned forward and said.

"You're Y/N right?" He said bluntly. His voice was deep with a slight raspiness to it.

I nodded slowly, now realising he's my date. He leaned back on his chair casually and smoothed his hands down his chest while looking around as though searching for something.

"Good, Im hungry what is there to eat?" He said.

I sat there with my mouth slightly opened in shock horror. This guy is extremely rude, let alone didn't put in any effort into his attire for this blind date. This guy is a joke! I am going to KILL my friend when I see her again.

The waiter returned with our drinks and placed them with slight bow.

"Would you like to order your food now?" He asked kindly.

My date asked suddenly "what's the most common dish here?"

The waiter nodded and responded as though talking from a script. He must've said this many times. "The most common dish is the pumpkin ravioli with truffle sauce"

The guy clicked his finger and pointed at the waiter with satisfaction.

"I'll have that. I'm starving.."

The waiter turned his gaze to me and asked "And you maam?"

I looked back at guy then the waiter, hoping someone would save me. Luckily I've been here before so I knew the menu.

"I'll have the chicken dish" I said, even though my appetite is now gone. The waiter nodded and walked away, leaving me behind with this guy. I stared at him, as he look around. He seemed to be impressed with the place. He must only eat at Korean restaurants I thought to myself. I will definitely eat my food quickly so I can get away from him.

"So..." He leaned back casually into his chair and reached for his drink. "You haven't even asked my name" he said then took a sip of his whiskey

"From what I was told, I believe it's Suga?" I said in a slight cocky manner. I took my wine glass with two fingers and took a quick gulp. I didn't care what would happen at this point there was no point to impress him or be polite, I wasn't interested. I don't care what he thinks of me. There was no way in hell I would want to see this guy again anyway.

He nodded in response then took a another sip of his drink. He rolled the liquid around in the glass then spoke while looking at me with those small eyes of his.

"Your Korean is quite good.." He said. I quirked a brow at him, now feeling more annoyed

"For a foreigner?" I snapped back. The one thing that annoyed me the most was locals commenting all the time on how good my Korean was. Apparently I sounded like a local. But to hear it over and over again for 3 years is frustrating. He grinned at my response exposing his teeth and gums , he could tell that I was annoyed. His grin caught me off guard and then noticed his appealing face. There was something about him that made him seem so strange but mysterious. When he smiled it brightened up his face.Thinking of this allowed me to relax a little in my seat. I took another sip of my wine.

The food finally arrived and the waiter gently placed our meals in front of us. We ate in silence. I guess we both felt this date was going nowhere, so there was no point in meaningless chatter. He leaned in a little into the table then reached over to my face.

"You have a little sauce on your face" He said with his deep voice as he used a thumb to wipe away from the corner of my mouth. I blinked, being caught off guard. He moved his hand away, but I swear I just saw him lick the sauce off his thumb or was I imagining it. My heart quickened at the sight of this.

"Um thanks.." I said quietly. My face started to burn. He winked at me then resumed finishing his meal as though nothing happened. I stared at him while he ate. I had to calm my heart rate down. I quickly reached for my wine glass and picked it up, only to realise that it was empty. I bit my lower lip to hide my frustration then lifted my glass to our waiter who was in the distance. He saw this and nodded, heading to get more liquor. Sugar's phone rang suddenly and he plucked it out of his pocket to check the screen. He swiped it with his pale thumb and answered with a grunt to the person on the phone. This man doesn't have any manners at all I thought to myself. He suddenly stood up and left the table, resuming the conversation on the phone. I picked up my fork again and played a little with my food, while thinking about the little thing he did with his thumb. Did he really lick it off? I thought.

Moments later, my wine glass was getting filled slowly next to me. I could feel the waiter was a little too close my side. All of a sudden I could hear Suga's voice right next to my ear. It was him who was refilling my glass. He must've insisted from the waiter.

"I see you like red wine. I believe this one is from some place in Italy, stored at certain temperature underground" I could feel his hot breath over my skin, sending shivers down my spine. I sat there for a moment then looked back at him as he placed the bottle down and moved back onto the table. My eyes followed. Remembering that feeling of him so close to me, and that warm breath that blanketed my skin made me a little excited between my legs.

Who the hell is this guy!!? My heart started to beat fast again, wanting to control this I reached for my glass and took a long swig of my wine first before thanking him.

The night was coming to an end. We did end up having a little conversation about what we do etc, however he seemed to be more interested about me since I was a foreigner. The blind date ended and we went our separate ways at the front of the restaurant. I wasn't sure what I felt about tonight. He seemed to be rude, but also charming in his own way. He didn't make sense. I had no intentions of seeing him again, although there was something there that made me want to know him more. But I let that urge go.

I walked past the restaurant an headed to the nearest convenience store, I wanted to grab some small items before heading home. I was still thinking about him an how he did his little gestures. After walking out of the store I turned left and walked in the same direction as Suga did earlier. I was about to walk past a small alleyway but then saw Suga leaning against the wall, facing my direction and was on the phone and it looked like he was in a serious conversation. It must've been about work. His small dark eyes met mine and I noticed his conversation stopped as I was about to walk past.

Our eyes met. I slowed down my pace and halted, feeling I needed to greet him again since we were together earlier.

"Hey.." I said a little softly I had a feeling he may not respond so I was about to walk again but he hung up his phone placed it in his hoodie and stepped closer to me.

"Hey again." He grinned. There it was again! That smile that rarely appears, but when it does my heart quickens. There's something about him.

"I was really nervous earlier, so If I came across rude you know why" He smirked as he scratched the back of his head. Well that's an interesting way to apologize I thought. He didn't actually say the word 'sorry'. I was curious, so I had to ask even though my stomach was getting filled with butterflies from thinking about it.

"Did you really lick the sauce, after you wiped my mouth" I asked quickly. I looked away briefly, then back at him trying to get rid of the awkwardness. It wasn't like I was going to meet him again so I needed to ask.

"Yeah.. I did" He answered as though it was nothing but he then realised how I responded. He grinned and stepped closer again. "Why did you like that?" His eyes were now on my lips. My eyes widened a little at his answer then I looked to the side, feeling like I was stared down. He was so confident. His presence made me so nervous, but I wanted more and I didn't know why.

"I..well..I just.. wanted to know, that's all" I looked back at his pale face. His beady eyes moving back and forth slowly, looking over my neck then back to my face. The sight of him admiring my body made me breath heavily. He made me feel sexy.

"I never kissed a foreigner before" He said quietly before pressing his soft lips on mine. I pouted my lips to his and accepted the kiss. My eyes closed briefly then opened again when he pulled back broke the kiss. His pale hands were already cupping the sides of my face. We stared at each other for another 2 seconds then suddenly meshed our mouths together in a deep heated kiss. His lips parted wider and felt his smooth tongue slip into my mouth. My arms reached up and wrapped it around his neck, drawing his body closer to mine.

He took a few steps forward with our lips still attached which caused me to walk backwards till my back hit the brick wall behind me. Our breathing started to become more heavier while we lustfully kissed. Suga broke the kiss suddenly as I let our a gasp of air. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes feeling his mouth over my skin. His head moved to the side of my neck and rested his soft lips there, planting open mouthed kissed with little licks here and there, leaving wet trails. His hands moved from my face, smoothing both over the sides of my body till one arm wrapped my waist and the other hand planted over the flat my stomach. I ran my fingers through his light blue hair till I gripped it lightly. This made him hiss against my neck, feeling the light tug.

There was no going back now. I felt this need inside me which I hadn't felt for such a long time. He sparked this desire in me. I needed all of him now.

"Suga.." I whispered

His hand smoothed its way down from my stomach into the front of my jeans. His hands were cold at first but instantly warmed up. He cupped my sex for a moment and pulled his head back to watch me closely when he slid his middle finger upwards through my folds. He wanted to see my reaction. I parted my mouth and gasped from his brief touch over my clit.

"You're so wet already..." His whispered into my ear with a smirk then leaned back to look at my face again. He bit his lower lip while watching my facial expressions, admiring his handy work. I writhed at the feeling of his finger, slowly moving back and forth through my folds but not actually entering me. He was a tease. His finger lightly circled my clit which made me moan and squirm under his touch. I clutched onto his hair even tighter from the sudden spark of pleasure coursing through my body. His hand stopped and he pulled away from me, leaving me standing there and panting. I fluttered my eyes open and looked at him with confusion and need.

"It's about you tonight.." He said with his raspy voice. With both of his pale hands he reached out to my jeans and unbuttoned it. He lowered himself and pulled my jeans down along with my panties, exposing my wet sex to the night air.

"Oh my god.." I gasped. I didn't know what to do, my hands clawed the brick wall behind me but I kept still. I needed more of him and I needed him right now. He pulled my jeans right off from me, throwing them metres away. He skilfully left my red heels on my feet. Suga's eyes looked up at me and grinned, exposing is teeth and gums. Seeing my reaction made him excited. He quickly reached over to his hoodie and unzipped it then pulled his shirt along with it up and over his body, throwing both to the side. His chest was pale but toned. His muscles were defined from the street lights nearby. His dark eyes scanned up over my legs to my sex then placed his hands over my thighs, massaging them up and down. Without hesitation he gripped under one of my thighs and lifted it, resting it over his shoulder for easy access. I instantly knew what was coming next. I reached down and held onto his hair with a fisted hand, my other hand rested on his wide shoulder, clawing into his pale skin. I bit my lower lip hard in anticipation.

Suga planted wet kisses in my lifted inner thigh then went straight into my hot sex. He rolled his tongue, feeling his way through my wet folders. He licked up my wet juice then circled over my clit slowly. Sharp waves of pleasure rolled down my spine. I moaned out load, not caring if the world could hear me right now. Sugar's grip of my thighs tightened when he heard me then reached up, cupping my breast over my top. I wanted his hands over all my skin when realising my top was still on. I let go on him briefly and reached to my silk top and pulled it off along with my bra. Suga lifted his head and saw this. He tongue stopped slowly then he snaked his way up towards my face again, tracing his hands with his movement, smoothing over every curve of my body. He face stopped at one of my breasts briefly to plant an open mouthed kiss over my nipple then reached up and kissed my mouth once again. My hands came up and held both sides of his face, kissing him deeply. I pulled back and said breathlessly.

"Fuck me right now..." I leaned in and licked his grinning mouth. This is what he wanted. It is what I wanted.

Suga reached between our bodies and quickly started unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants. I reached in an helped him as our foreheads touched, breathing heavily and wanting each other so lustfully. His pants pooled around his ankles. He grabbed my thighs and I quickly held his shoulders as he lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held onto him tightly. With one sudden thrust he entered me smoothly. We both moaned from the feeling of each other's sex. I could feel his member fill me in, widening my walls. He didn't move but savoured on the feeling for a few moments. His moved his mouth and rested it at the side of my neck, nipping it. He then started to thrust into me, his movement were sharp and deep. My back rubbed against the brick wall as I bounced.

"Y/N, you feel so good." He moaned into my skin.

Suga's thrusts become harder and deeper. Our mouths met and we kissed and moaned. I bobbed up and down on his member. His hands were on my ass to hold me up, using the wall as support while he moved his hips. Each deep thrust was hitting the right spot inside me, causing waves of pleasure down my legs and making them weak.

Two naked bodies wrapped around each other, having hot wild sex in a dark alley way. This wasn't what I had in mind.

His thrusts slowly came to a halt and he lowered me onto the ground to stand. My knees were weak at first but I managed.

"Turn around.." He said quite assertively. I didn't hesitate and did what I was told. I faced the brick wall and placed both of my hands on it. He grabbed both sides of my waist moved it closer his hips. Without hesitation, he tapped the inner part of my part of my ankles with his feet, motioning me to widened my legs further. My whole upper body was pressed against the wall, whilst my lower half was sticking out and in eager for him to continue in me. Suga bucked his knees a little then thrusted into me once again. This time the angle was perfect and more pleasurable. I gasped out and onto the the brick wall in front of me. He continued, rolling his hips and pushing in his member further. He kept one hand on my hip and the other reached out and cupped my exposed breast from behind. Suga's grunts came louder and deeper as he moved behind me. I could feel my climax arriving.

"Im..about to come.." I gasped out.

He squeezed my breast hard then suddenly grabbed my hips tightly and let out a moan as he came inside me, he thrusted aggressively a few times. I climaxed at the same time and let out a breathless moan against the brick wall next to my face. We both stood there panting for a few seconds before he turned my around and kissed me passionately again. My body was limp and knees were weak from the intense pleasure. Our lips locked, and we explored each other's mouths again.

Suga suddenly pulled away and stepped back. He licked his lower lip and admired my naked body in the dimly lit alley way with his dark eyes. I stood there, still trying to catch my breath. My chest was glistening with sweat and so was he. He reached down and pulled up his jeans and buckled his pants. Without any word, he walked over and picked up his clothes and mine also. He tossed over my top and I quickly put it on. I also caught my jeans and slipped them on, zipping it up as quickly as possible. It was a miracle that no one saw us.

Once I was dressed, I looked around on the ground for my bag. My bag was held out for me to grab. I silently took it from Suga's pale hand. We both stared at each other for a moment in the dark. I opened my mouth about to say something but he took a step back, and then another. Suga lifted his hand and wiped his lips with his thumb lustfully with a grin. He suddenly turned around and walked out of the alley way into the main street. He turned left and walked away.

I was left standing there in the dark, not believing what just happened

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do u know any fics where Sherlock is jealous?

NONNNNYYYYYY YES. 

I love Jealous Sherlock so much. I know I’m missing a tonne of them here, but these are the ones I could quickly find or remember being Jealous!Sherlock! I’m also adding Possessive Sherlock here as well, because I LOVE LOVE LOVE “his / My John” SO SO MUCH and literally I fave every fic that has it in there. GUH. 

JEALOUS SHERLOCK

Unimpressed by 221b_hound (M, 3106 w.) – Sherlock has no intention of attending the Met's New Year's Eve party. The start of a new year is all but meaningless to him. But he ends up there anyway, having odd conversations, and John does not find Sherlock's jealousy the slightest bit cute. And then there is dancing. Part 10 of Unkissed

Unforgiven by 221b_hound (M, 4721 w.) – Sherlock's latest case is for his ex boyfriend, the brilliant and handsome Professor Victor Trevor. John is not too happy about that. But things aren't what they seem, an old friend of John's is involved in the case, and John has a few surprises up his sleeve. Also - a proposal! Part 16 of Unkissed

Mine (He Says While Still Being Smol) by beejohnlocked (E, 1,319 w.) – A suspect flirts with John. Sherlock gets a bit jealous. Okay, a LOT jealous.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w.) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they've made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

For you, there's only me by shock_blanket (E, 19,557 w.) – Sherlock realizes he has fallen in love with John, but believes he is unlovable. Cue lots of pining and jealousy on Sherlock's part, followed by our favorite cuddly marksman making it all better. Because for Sherlock, there's only John.

Matters of National Security by mistyzeo (E, 8,465 w.) – John starts dating a male client of Sherlock's, and Sherlock can't figure out why he's so incensed about it.

Velvet by headlessjess (G, 1,155 w.) – It's the day, the wedding day - John and Mary, getting married. And then there's Sherlock, in pain and in love, without knowing how to deal with it.

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w.) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He's charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

Five Times John Noticed But Didn't Really by ScandalousMinds (T, 6,383 w.) – 5 times John (thought) he noticed something peculiar about his and Sherlock's relationship but really missed the obvious.

The Kissing Disease by cottonballz_of_death (E, 30,856 w.) – John brings home a boyfriend, shocking Sherlock, who long ago gave up hope that his straight flatmate would ever take a romantic interest in him. In a bid to reconnect with John, he tries to infect himself with a "harmless" virus. Neither of them is prepared for the emotional fallout that results.

Surety by hudders (G, 2,477w.) – "Sherlock is pissed because it seems that four pints of larger, two shots of tequila and a glass of wine has resulted in Lestrade becoming a little bit too friendly with everyone. And by everyone, Sherlock really means John."

Butterfly, Pinned Under Glass by billiethepoet (E, 4,648 w.) – It started as a desire to keep John safe and whole, and ended up as just desire.

Correspondence by Cleo2010 (T, 8031 w.) – Sherlock’s been spirited away on a case for Mycroft. Part of the deal was that he and John could communicate via letter until the case was completed. Maybe the cliche is true, absence does make the heart grow fonder. Or perhaps something is growing on the feet in the fridge. Read their letters month by month. Written after series one.

Presence by LostGirl (M, 8625 w.) – Sherlock has recently noticed a shift in his own perceptions, but he can’t quite figure out when it started.

Obsession, Appassionato by shinychimera, Yeomanrand (E, 4,249 w.) – John is late, and he hasn't called, and Sherlock works himself into a state. Part 1 of Love and Ysaye (FAVE!!)

Interlude by sussexbound (SamanthaLenore) (G, 2,837w.) – “Are you actually doing anything?” Sherlock scowls. “What?” “Are you busy? Because if not, I could use your help peeling potatoes.” “I’m not eating what you’re making. Why should I peel the potatoes?” John just shakes his head. “Because it might be a polite and thoughtful thing to do for the person who loves you. Just a tip.”Oh…Part 8 of The Homecoming

Understanding by sussexbound (SamanthaLenore) (T, 4,556 w.) – John’s face stretches into a smile that fades again, just as quickly. “It just comes like that, sometimes—all of a sudden. You don’t expect it.” He murmurs against Sherlock’s skin. “What does?” “Grief.” Part 9 of The Homecoming

Sibling Rivalry Or Fighting Over John Watson by Jessa7 (T, 8K+ w., Romance and Humour, FFNet) – Mycroft is just as much of a genius as Sherlock is. He keeps randomly kidnapping John for chats, and the locations get better. Cue Sherlock's younger sibling complex rearing up and jealousy ensues.

Come Home by hudders-and-hiddles (E, 3,763 w. | more pining than jealous but close enough) – When John leaves for a medical conference, Sherlock tries to entice him back home.

The Semantics of Crop Circle Formation: a case study by Sherlock Holmes [unpublished] by canolacrush (M, 41,710 | Cockblocking Sherlock) – "Look at these photographs," I said, gesturing to the wall of crop circles. "What do you observe?""Crop circles," John replied."Obvious. What else?""Are...are those intestines surrounding them?""Yes. The majority are bovine and ovine in origin. The farmers who have acquired these crop circles in their fields have also had a tenth of their livestock murdered and arranged thus.""Why?" John said, presumably in a rhetorical fashion.I detest rhetorical questions. "That is what I must find out, John."

Down with this Ship by FrostedFlame (PinkOrchid) (M, 10,862 w.) – Sherlock drags John undercover to a gay bar - for a case, of course - looking forward to seeing John flustered by their surroundings (since you know, he's NOT GAY). John decides that he has hidden both his orientation and his feelings for his daft flatmate for far too long. He is done hiding, time to be honest with his bloody best friend in the world. He just hopes it won't change anything between them. And then it does.

That Partitioning of the Things of Youth by wearitcounts (Sher_locked_up) (E | 35,353 w.) - Victor Trevor is in town, and nobody’s happy. [[I really like this one. Jealous John AND Sherlock and lots of Angst]].

Paparazzi by SilentAuror (E, 10,543 w.) – John moves back into 221B Baker Street after his marriage falls apart and the paparazzi won't leave him and Sherlock alone about the status of their supposed relationship. Sherlock, of course, never denies it, until one day he does...

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror (E, 14,835w) – Sherlock doesn't even know why he resents John's dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don't let that scare you off!) (FAVE!) 

OBSESSIVE / POSSESSIVE SHERLOCK

Perdition's Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, Treklock, 63,435 w., | mild Possessive Sherlock) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

The Things You Hide *Adult Edition* by verityburns (E, 10,821 w.) – Sherlock and John have been working and living together for nearly a year, each finding the other's friendship to be the one thing they would not risk or want to live without. Until something happens to disturb the status quo…

Let Go by thisisforyou (G, 2,743 w.) – In the end, separating John's things from Sherlock's in the chaos of their sitting room is like pulling a limpet from a wet rock. Especially when the rock is clinging on for dear life, because Sherlock doesn't want to let go. 

In the cherry blossom's shade by Eliane (M, 3,934 w.) – "This isn’t new. Sherlock has already done this – has gone through cities, and dingy hotels, and sleepless nights but it was different before. John wasn’t there before. They’re in this together."

The Marriage Proposal Negotiation by Goddess_of_the_Night (G, 2161 w.) –  Sherlock hasn't ever really done anything the traditional way, so of course it wouldn't bother him to propose to John even though they're not even dating. And the fact that John is already on a date with someone else when he decides to do it? Tedious. Marrying John was the only thing he could do to ensure John was his.

The Light of Day by allonsys_girl (M, 7297 w.) – Rewrite of the end of Sign of Three. John actually notices Sherlock leaving the reception early, and chases after him. Angsty Johnlock. Happy ending, for sure. Part 1 of The Light of Day

Let the Sun Fade Out by nothingislittle (E, 2711 w.) – "He could warm the sun itself, Sherlock thinks, could heat their flat with just his presence, could brighten the room with one dazzling smile or just the sparkling in his eyes. Everything hurts when John looks this beautiful, but it’s a dulcet, aching pain, one that consumes Sherlock from the inside, that sends soft pangs through his abdomen and lodges a lump solidly in his throat. John glows, he glitters, he’s light itself, Sherlock thinks, and doesn’t even bother to scold himself for exaggerating, because he’s not, he’s not, John is everything, he’s beautiful and he shines, he’s everything."

On a Sunday Morning by SD_Ryan for jimmytiberius (G, 3136 w.) – Sherlock has a little problem. He can't stop obsessing about John Watson.

His by I'm Nova (T, 1K+ w., Humour & H/C) – Sherlock doesn't share what he's fond of. (FAVE!!)

Foresight by niffler09 (K, 2K+w) – It's raining and neither John nor Sherlock have an umbrella so they huddle under Sherlock's coat. And then Mycroft walks past and makes smartass remarks. (FAVE!!)

Possessive by Fang323 (T, 850w. H/c & Friendship) – His John did not belong. Not here. Not in this blasted hospital. It simply was not logical.

As I’ve said in the past, all my rec lists are of fics I’ve read, so I’m sure I’m missing a tonne more that are probably on my MFL list, but please feel free to add your own recs! 

[driftwork]

life in the west...(3) -  see it as aberrant and broken, you see it as the normal course of events....

There are two Pauls, one european and one american, one died the other will. Let's begin with the american one... We were sitting a bookshop cafe, holding a few hours over lunch to speak, to renew our acquaintance. We talked about everything, meetings, friends, politics, science. [He said for me, the things that interest are socialism, nationalism and integralism all of which allow for a collective subject and a morality that goes beyond utilitarianism.] We were always skirting around the edges of the discussion that was the ontological difference, the crisis of being that would always separate us, and yet not... He said I know - you and I disagree. I think anything can become political; you think everything already is. I see it as aberrant and broken, you see it as the normal course of events.... Dialectics, he said, it’s all dialectics and fuzzy logic to you.  In that phrase “I see it as aberrant and broken, you see it as the normal course of events.... “  The ontological chasm is revealed. For he believes that it is possible to imagine a society that isn’t broken, whereas for me deep in the fuzzy sets I think rather that no matter what the society is like, being will always remain unbearable[...broken... ] In a sense the difference is  delineated/exemplified by the fact that these two almost old men, one in his sixth decade, the other in his seventh decade became rather surprisingly friends.  Shortly after we met, we immediately and continuously began to study everything, all the rather strange and fantastical details amongst which we found ourselves, a peculiar ontological gesture to understand why why why. From every knot in the wooden floor of the cafe,  every blemish in the polished concrete floor, the hiss of the Essence of the espresso machine, to the rhizomic grass growing in the crevices of the walled courtyard to the rear of the cafe, the tree growing in the corner, to the last slither on the stairs, scuff marks, mud, the Saharan sand in the air and steadily coating the vehicles. This was all a neo(now almost)secret  preparation for the continuation of the friendship. The bizarre decadence of the hospital club sipping vodka late at night over burgers. (Who could imagine me there?) The insanity of friendship. Beyond this the detailed examination of the others desired objects means little, the surprising curves and angles of the body, the folds and warm limits emerging from the laughter.  It must be so unless the opposite is true and we'd rather be sitting drinking margaritas and whiskey sours than returning to  rooms on opposing sides of the city and suburbs. When he arrived in the city he had put a small, crackling record player between the desk and the door, he turns the room into what passes for a home for a denizen of the liquid  modern, A place he can curl up in his private space and breathe more easily; on evenings when he took men home, on evenings spent in front of the machine, (which changed into expensive digital equipment later) and in front of the machine with a growing circle of friends, whose conversation gave his depressed soul hope, sometimes when laughter filled the now bigger space he wondered what it was like to be a father. A grey parrot living in a large cage, did he ever let it out to fly around the room or local sky ? paul, paul, paul  it cried. The parrot outlived him and remained long after he left.

And then the European one... The woman across the room whose elegance speaks of casual wealth, is standing by the bar talking to the owner - he looks like an interested man. A course or two of small dishes arrive as we watch them go outside to stand beneath the arbor and dream of smoking cigarettes together in the half-light, she laughs smoke and he smiles as if happy.  We were amongst the last people to leave, we often were in those days. They were still together sitting on stools eating the additional food he'd ordered. It was raining outside.  Everything begins with the anomaly of our latest meeting in Brussels.Soho, [ah Brussels] which leads to an investigation of practice and place, theory being possible across the divergence that had appeared, we ate bowls of pasta and light beer or wine. It was a fine spring day and we had come across a serious break in the network of our worlds, which happens even though  it is becoming extraordinarily overcrowded with humans and their things (and what isn't their things?). Although nobody ever actually says anything, we wonder if we are the only ones who have noticed, but wonder in our joint madness if we dare say anything of this.  How did that multiplicity of lines become political ? (does he speak of this in france and belguim?)  We look across the square between the greyness of the bark of the London Plane trees,  with drinks in our hands. (PL is drinking grappa whilst I sip shots of vodka, we are old friends, originally meeting in small political groups, three or four decades ago. Both gradually coming to exist in the dialectic of fuzziness.) And yet we recognize that it is meaningless for no one ever goes in amongst the trees, it is a conspiracy that cannot be broken. There is no way out. Between us there is an  insufficient breakage of place and practice.  We agree to stop the writing project, the ontology is cancelled, closed, papers end up in drawers, electronic files and diagrams vanish, the project ends. We are still trying to speak though its increasingly difficult. People move in, establish themselves and remain in stasis, not only unable to leave the place but actively prevented from doing so whether it is the desire to appear in the limelight,  the economy of enslavement or a gay parade which runs a thread of conspiracy through the streets, still there and concealed behind their self-importance like a broken desire.  [...]  Occasionally as we walk through a square with a dozen multi-centenarian trees we notice something else, a sudden stillness of place, a recess where we notice that the trees are waiting for us to vanish. (The buildings crumble into ruins, the now empty courtyard transformed by the growth of trees...) We walk down a side street to another Portugese bar to have a few final drinks. Through the window of the bar I can see a block of luxury flats entered through a metal gateway set in a tall archway, which masks the perfect crime of their existence. All we need do is accept the invitation and we will live entirely on the surface and avoid the mystery of the break which would allow us to know what is happening. Either that or  we will become part of the scenery, like the denizens of the luxury flats entering and leaving through the gates, we will become the story, perhaps even the final solution. And yet in the conspiracy of secrets that is us, we arrive back at the break which leads to an interrogation of place and practices.

These discoveries  are a becoming part of the physical world and perhaps as we walk uphill later  passing through the fallen leaves and thistles, the sound of owls and foxes around us, we'll become different.  Whatever, we are unable to separate the two, even our friends find it difficult, even impossible to separate their images of the difference between the american Paul and I. For them dialectics and fuzzy logic are the same as aberration and broken, and we have no idea how to explain the difference as they continue to work so hard at destroying the planet. This is hidden from them in the bracelets and the clothes they wear, which are always fashionable and thus spectacular. We love their earrings, their muscles and pens hanging from the edges of their finary, their silk shirts iridescent in the... Becoming does not begin from an act as banal as removing one's clothes, its a constant, an endless movement from detail to detail, from an Italian restaurant to a Spanish bar in Soho,  from a transitional jacket to a warm leather coat,  from the swish of a stocking to the warmth of a thigh, to the sound of a heavy page being turned, despite this the connection remains, connecting across the plane of being, constructing a networked world together for a few moments... (Tomorrow he will be flying to Australia via Tokyo or Hong Kong, to vanish into finitude.  [...] Did he speak of this to others before he died on the edges of the pacific? Did his mother and family fly in from the americas ?). In those full moments when the mind isn't taken up by fear and worry, but instead just covered with pleasures, when only the drinks in the Spanish bar of interest, when only the challenge of the ontological differences is of interest,  when there are no obligations but the semiotic exchanges between friends, then we will return to the unanswerable questions, there is a room behind you that is roped off, the lights dimmed. Later you arrive home, switch on the light and the question remains there waiting. She is a a a asleep upstairs.  

[ I am reasonably certain I will never go to Lisbon, the only aspect of Portugal that will come into my life now are humans who have migrated here for economic reasons, which is the only reason anyone moves anywhere]

In Brussels with PL leaning against a richly lacquered bar in the empty University Club. All the students and lecturers absent, vanished during this long holiday weekend.  The bartender is there so that someone is in front of you as you drink. Not a therapist, or someone who can be said to care even at an abstract level nor even as an idiot might appear to. They looks at us with smiling indifference, intercepting our gaze across the bar so that we cannot scan the bottles for something strange and interesting to drink. But whilst she or he pours wine and other drinks into our glasses, PL and I talk with her/him about things, the locality, what's interesting and so on, for they speak perfect english, and we speak imperfect english. She/he has no name, no identity at all, when she says her name all we here is the 'saaaaan'. Only the fact that she is other, that we cannot grasp what the difference is and neither can we understand what the idea of it should be, which means we cannot separate her from the role she is playing, and this enables us to live with who we are.... which is why, from something related to vanity, we spent an evening in the University Club drinking with bartender rather than the people who had been expecting us, at a meeting which was raided. When we were alone we reminisced about driving people across borders,  deep into western europe when we were young. Writing almost meaningless notes into the small tablet, we allow ourselves to appear out of the emptiness of the bar - out of something, making nothing - like the bartender dreaming of becoming something else. In the early evening ending up in his house. The house is full of things. Heaped surfaces,  busy walls,  window sills with things balanced on them, a plant on his office window, overloaded bookshelves that are dust traps, in the secondary library plastic crates filled with books. Only these are inventoried. Most things are related to the work we have carried out over the decades, the four or five decades of our adult lives. There are books that I/he often pauses to reflect on as he exists in the various rooms of the house,  these books link the very different activities of our lives.  The piles of unread books, unlistened to music have grown in the pandemic. The lack of others in the house over the past three months has been the strangest thing of all, he says. Instead the communication technologies so beloved of the spectacle have turned into essential items of everyday life.

It was all the american Pauls fault […]  In the evening we sit in one of the booths its the cocktail hour and is one of the quiet times in the bar. Yet as we sit in the alcove beneath the hanging tapestry, at one of the movable tables designed to let the more common overweight drinkers to slide out of the alcove - or even to enable tapas or drinks to be passed around and shared, we realize suddenly that their are others are close by on adjacent tables, couples who find themselves suddenly embedded in our life stories, as we are in theirs, all part of the same chaotic uncertain universe, as are all our  singular destinies. Whilst the young couple to the right are at the beginning of things, a certain carefulness in the way they speak... [-Jasa, han var det. Men i somras holl forbibindelsen pa att ga isar. - Ja. Falk fick veta att Hedlund brukade besome Ulla och da  blev han tw .... Men det ordnade sig sa smaningnom. - Vad anser a a.  Nn.    ni om er vaninnas forsvinnande ? - Jag kan inte forklara t.qwnnqnwwjj.   new yyy The - Hedlund kanner ni ju          W.   A.  W.   W.  ....- Har ni nagr fotograpier av Yytt Lundgren och Hedlund ?] In the Hospital club we talk of the work that is to be done.  Let us draw up a list, an inventory of exceptional places that will not reveal their qualities so much as interrogate them, forcing them to speak. We hope that as words slowly emerge the places lives will be recognized and acknowledged, the end of networks being drawn out by our post geo-philosophical moment, no longer binary connections between geo-local nodes on the network but instead entanglement.  As we walk down the narrow street that parallels the main road we find our ideal refuge, where we can stop panicking like a lost city dweller with a broken semiosis system and relax.  Then we set off again, sitting like a nomad sipping coffee with slices of sausage keeping our eyes open as we look for details, it is only as we sit that we realize that we are getting somewhere, eventually standing and walking, our footsteps echoing on the pavementssss... A last coffee and we part, he heading off to a hotel and a flight, W in a cab towards Tottenham and I walking to the north wondering at how difficult it was to speak, one foot  going in front of the other.  I couldn't get drunk that night I often wondered why. I drink a margarita whilst he drinks a whiskey sour, an espresso perhaps. He explains that "I'm going to Moscow for a conference on digital governance in September, flying in from a stopover in Singapore." A strange goodbye. Did anything explain why he became increasingly right wing over the last few years  of his life ? It was never clear why things being aberrant and broken caused that rightward shift. We couldn't go to the funeral, the funeral rites passed us by as most do. The London memorial service was avoided, music, drinks and memories best avoided. It would have been as Michaux described it like being a  body stretched out on "a sea of clouds".  The cacophony of noises that were our shared space rumble on, buses changing gear, diesel engines (courtesy of Max) revving up,  horns shrieking, police and ambulance sirens, planes growling, the overpowering sound of church bells ringing... the furnace heating up. All that is left is the dust of memories.  Where did the ashes go? What happened to the cat ?

He reached the  point on the hill where he can turn right or continue up the gentle slope, he takes the longer route towards home. He continues and takes out 'The Hegel Variations' from his jacket pocket which he had  been reading in the cafe,  and starts to read a few pages as his feet touch the road, listening to bird song between words. The occasional crunch of loose gravel that spills out of the driveways [...] walking along the pavement on the lane he passes the Nigerian Woman who is walking two Dachhunds, "nice weather no coats on the dogs again", he says interrupting the sentences on language.  (He will see her again as he turns right into the house). He walks on musing about how the understanding of a Left and Right Hegel proposed here is philosophically applicable to most decent philosophers. The first of the gardeners looks at him as he passes. He reties his left lace on the bench. More gardeners, the machines they use grumble in the sunshine. One gardener is blowing beech leaves and mast husks out of the garden onto the road. A Red Kite circles over the Close, looking for food, perhaps, he cannot tell. A section of pavement is being re-tarmacked  in front of number 8. He walks around the close anti-clockwise circumnavigating the woods, reading again, thinking of Darwin and Hegel... The european Paul is sitting in the garden, his left foot encased in a dark blue plastic cast. Tea?  he asks in a long convoluted sentence. Sipping tea and eating fruit cake they/we talk of crises. The ontological difference is small - for us its "Dialectics, it’s all dialectics and fuzzy logic.  In that phrase “We see it as aberrant and broken and also we see it as the normal course of events..."  Their histories are close... differences can sometimes be circumvented / all narrative is annihilated.  Living in a pandemic makes him feel nostalgic for these moments.”

[In memory of PS who died in January 2020]