#henry standing bear imagine

[tincankam]

He's so happy. I love that for him!

[quanticowrites]

Night Terror (Henry Standing Bear x Reader)

•• This isn't very long, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! For my Henry Anon! 😘 ••

Waking up in a cold sweat was nothing new to you. Frankly, it was rare that you didn’t. That first intake of air after waking up always seemed the hardest. Your lungs refused to cooperate and only allowed you to take short and shallow breaths. Tears found themselves at the edge of your eyes as you helplessly stared up at the ceiling. You couldn’t call out to Henry, but you knew he was right there, next to you. It wasn’t long into your panic attack that you heard Henry sigh before rolling over in bed to face you.

“Easy.” He said, voice rough from being his first words in hours. “Breathe with me.” He took in a deep breath and you tried your best to follow him, but your breathing just wouldn’t slow down. His shoulders relaxed. “Do not force yourself.” He took another breath. “Try again.” This time was more successful. He smiled and reached out a hand, wiping away the few tears that had managed to fall down your face. “Good.” It was an intense ten minutes as you and Henry breathed in sync. You finally turned to face him fully, searching for his hands under the covers. He rubbed his thumb across your knuckles, and you sighed.

“Thanks, Henry.” He smiled, eyes blinking sleepily.

“Are you alright?” You nodded.

“No more than usual after one of those.” You chuckled, but Henry didn’t seem to find it funny.

“I mean it, (Y/n). That one lasted longer than usual.” You shrugged.

“I feel fine now.” He gave you a look that said he didn’t quite believe you before pulling you towards him. You let him snake his arm underneath you before wrapping the other around you. This close you could feel Henry’s breath on your face. It was making your face hotter than the panic attack.

“You are not a very good liar.”

“What do you want me to tell you, Henry? I feel like shit and I’m hot as hell?”

“It’s a start.” You laid your head down by his chest and he traced a heart on your back. “I know you know you can tell me these things.”

“Yeah, I know Henry. I just figured you could care less at 4 am.”

“Do not think I do not care, (y/n).” He bent down and kissed the top of your head. “I care about you more than life itself.”

“What movie did you pull that line from?” He paused.

“It was a book.” You laughed. “Go back to sleep. I will keep the monsters at bay.” You smiled. You knew he would, if they ever came physically. Unfortunately, Henry still couldn't do anything about the ones in your head. But he helped you deal with them the best he could.

“Henry.”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, (y/n). Now, go back to sleep.”

“I'll try.”

“That is all I can ask.” You felt Henry’s heartbeat as your head lay against his chest. You found the pulse reassuring. Henry would always be there for you when you needed it. That gold band on your finger reminded you of that every day. He reminded you of that every night.

Tag list:

@stanathanxoox , @nikkiwierden , @malindacath , @havlindzk , @countrygal17a , @memyselfandmaddox , @octobersmog , @mizzezm , @diaryofafan17 , @emmitheacefangirl , @a-sad-excuse-of-everything , @marennnx

[woso-dreamzzz]

Bug's Halloween

Leah Williamson x Child!Reader

Summary: The tenth of my Halloween-centric fics

"Sorry, Bug," Leah says, switching off her phone," But Bear's having an early night. She's already asleep."

You pout as you stand on the stairs. "But you said Bear could come with!"

"I know, Bug," Leah says, tying the laces of your boots," But you know Bear can't help it when she falls asleep."

"Auntie Keira said they have to go to doctor's soon."

"That's right, to look at Bear's sleep. So we have to make adjustments sometimes. I know you wanted to go trick or treating with Bear but Auntie Lucy is keeping Bear in tonight. She doesn't have the energy to go out so it's just going to be us."

"But it's Halloween! I dressed up just for her!"

Leah breaths out some soft laughter. "I thought you dressed up for Mummy."

"Her too."

You're wearing your special Nobbs Arsenal shirt and shorts today. You'd known you wanted to dress as a footballer for Halloween for ages and ages, you just didn't know which one.

Your first thought was Thierry Henry but Leah's old Henry shirt from when she was little didn't fit you properly so you couldn't wear it. Your next thought was Sarina but you couldn't find an outfit for when she was a player.

That's when Leah reminded you that your old Nobbs kit still fit you and you decided to go out as Mummy instead.

You were meant to be going out with Bear. Last year, Bear and her mummies dressed as the three bears from Goldilocks and you're pretty sure Bear was going to remain baby bear for this year too but now she's sleeping and you know better than to wake Bear when she's sleeping.

You're sad that she can't come with but that means you can work doubly hard to get enough sweeties for the both of you.

"You ready?" Leah asks and you nod, jumping down the last two steps.

"Ready!"

"Right, up against the wall please. I want to send a picture to Mummy."

You pose for a few pictures before you grab your ghost bucket and nearly bolt down the street.

Leah grabs your hand first though, keeping you close to her side before you can get too far away.

"Let's go!" You whine when Leah starts walking slowly.

"We've got plenty of time, Bug. We can take it slow."

You huff but stop pulling, letting Leah dictate the pace and which houses to go to.

"Remember," She says, straightening out your jersey and handing you your bucket," Smile. Nice and big. They'll think you're cute."

"But I am cute. Mummy calls me cute all the time."

Leah laughs, giving you a little push. "Go on."

The couple at the door coo and fawn over you as you give them your biggest and best smile.

"Can I take one for my friend? She's sick and couldn't come out today."

"Oh, you go right ahead, sweetheart."

You frown at that. "I'm not sweetheart. I'm Bug."

The couple coo again as you take Bear's share and you run back to Leah to show her your haul.

"You can't keep telling people Bear is sick," She says as you both walk to the next house.

"But she is," You say," Auntie Lucy and Auntie Keira are taking her to the doctor's. You don't go to the doctor's if you're not stick. Mummy had to take me when I had my sore throat. I was sick then."

"Doctors do more than just sick people," Leah complains," They look after hurt people and-"

"Bear's hurt?! Like when she fell and hurt her arm?!"

"Bear's not hurt," Leah says," But sleeping as much as her is worrying for Keira and Lucy. They just want to make sure that there's nothing in Bear's body that isn't working properly. That's why they're taking her to the doctor."

You guess that kind of makes sense.

Doctor trips are kind of scary in a weird way. Not a Halloween-scary way but just in a generic scary way. Like the scary kind of feeling you got when you saw Leah tear her ACL.

You imagine a trip to the doctor will be doubly scary for Bear so you make sure to take a bigger handful of sweets for her at every house.

"When can we see Bear next?" You ask as Leah unlocks the door," Because I've got sweeties for her. I want her to have them before her doctor's meeting. Sweeties always makes things better."

Leah smiles softly at you, hand running over your head as you look up at her.

"You're a good friend, Bug. I'm sure Bear would love some sweets before her appointment."

You nod. "Good because I collected a lot for her."

"Alright, Bug," Leah says," That's enough excitement for tonight. Let's get you ready for bed."

"And Halloween movies in your bed? Mum, you promised."

Leah sighs. "Fine, yes, but then you have to promise to go to sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow."

You grin. "Promise!"

[dreamingamongthestars]

This is such a hard post for me to make. I know Liam Payne was clearly guilty of many awful things, none of which should ever be excused.

When i was a little girl who grew up with 1D (offline and unaware of what was going on behind the scenes with management) and listened to their music, watched their videos, and read about them constantly, Liam was my favourite. I was as in love with him as any innocent naive little girl could be. I wrote stories about us falling in love, stared at pictures of his face. I still have a tshirt of him in my drawer, my 1D poster on my wall, and a bracelet with his name. I made a cringe ass poster to bring to one of their concerts saying "Liam let me kiss you". I lost interest after the breakup and I never knew why the reason behind it, the abuse going on behind the scenes, or Liam's behaviour, until much later when I would see posts about them. By then, I was already put off by his new songs and the things he would say. I knew that he must have been suffering with a lot of mental health issues and drug abuse. It wasn't an excuse, but I also pitied him, and I hoped he would find peace.

Later on, just last week, I was especially disgusted and disappointed when I heard about what he did to Maya Henry. I was content knowing that I've moved on from being his fan, now aware of what he's done. But then I felt so so awful for Maya and angry at him. I hoped that Maya would get justice and find peace herself.

But I can't help but think of his poor son, Bear, and his mother, and even his current girlfriend. I imagine young me would be in shock and grief if I found out. To die like this, intoxicated and clearly not mentally healthy, is such a tragic thing to happen. To see what he has turned into was so very sad. I don't want to speculate if it was suicide, or if he did it on purpose in response to Maya's accusations. Above all, I stand with her. But to watch the culmination of charming young talent, industry exploitation, bad behavior, and such an unfortunate end to someone I loved as a child without truly knowing anything about him has elicited emotions I can't quite name. Pity? Grief? Perhaps towards him, or not towards him now but the person he was, his child, his mother, his family, possibly even his bandmates, who were with him during such difficult times, and the people who grew up loving him?

Certainly I feel this for poor Maya, who will surely be relentlessly abused, harassed, and accused of causing this, which above all she must be protected from.

I pray that they all find peace in this awful situation. I hope there was a time when Liam was happy and healthy, when he wasn't treating others as badly as suspected. I hope Simon Cowell and all those responsible for the exploitation of these boys will be brought to justice.

To all who grew up loving him like I once did: it's okay to feel sad, and to grieve for someone we may have loved - even parasocially - at one point of our lives, just as we felt disappointed and disgusted finding out what he did to Maya. We will condem his wrongdoings and support Maya thoroughly amid this, and move on together.

But I also can't ignore what the media did to this man. To TMZ for getting pictures of his body, probably being how his loved ones found out about his dealth. Nobody deserves that, Liam could never deserve this loss of dignity.

We need to simultaneously advocate for justice for Maya, and against TMZ, the media, and management for what they did to Liam. This is unacceptable.

I still can't help reliving the memory of almost crying, reading about the little boy who would regularly get treatment at the hospital for his kidney complications. Treasure your childhood, hold on to your memories, but always keep a conscious mind and strong sense of justice. I'm sorry it had to end like this

[macbooth]

full of childish whimsy in a hostile fashion tonight so here’s every shakespeare clown i can think of and whether or not i think i’d beat them in a fight

(i do not mean fools i mean clowns. they do not need to be the secret genius of the play. if they are stupid in every way shape or form i am including them here)

Puck (A Midsummer Night’s Dream) No chance. Bro’s got that magic and ALSO has a big strong scary fairy king as his bear, like, do not separate them. If I even tried throwing hands at this cunt I’d get torn to shreds and used as glitter dude, I’d be over. 0/10

Nick Bottom (A Midsummer Night’s Dream) I could but I’d feel bad. I also think he’d put up a really solid fight. Like this is out of donkey form, bro was a physical worker. Like I reckon I could win a fight with some of the tradies I’ve seen but I don’t think it’d be easy. Also he’s just really dumb so I would feel a little bad. Donkey form though, I’m running away. Scary as shit. I am afraid of horses though. 6.5/10

Touchstone (As You Like It) Absolutely I could beat the shit out of this man. I hate him so much. Full of hostility towards this fucker. His clothes aren’t even subtle I could find this bitch in the forest no time and hunt him down and rip him to shreds, fuckin court jester doesn’t even have the roughness of the country on his side. 9/10 (-1 point cause he definitely fights dirty but I just hate him so much I’d win)

Jaques (As You Like It) First off he’s absolutely a clown. Second off I’ve played him before so my word is gospel. Third off bro has no fucking chance against me. He’s a podcast bro who thinks I don’t know that Tame Impala is one dude. I’d ask him why we can’t print more money and he would explode instantly and it would be the funniest thing he did with his life. 10/10

Audrey & Corin (As You Like It) I’m lumping these two together cause in the show I did they were one character (and I also played them). I wouldn’t even want to fight these two. And even if I wanted to Audrey would absolutely be able to beat the shit out of me and I would thank her. Our setting was in semi-modern country Australia, that girl would have a shotgun. 2/10

Autolycus (Winter’s Tale) Just like Jaques to me. He might be a little bit harder because he’d change costume and I’d get confused because I have no object permanence but other than that what has he got. Bitterness? Resentment? Bitch so did I when I was 15 grow up experience love. 8/10

Falstaff (Henry IV parts 1 & 2, Merry Wives of Windsor) I don’t actually know about this one but he is very punchable. I feel like he’d let me punch him and I think one punch would be enough for me. I think that would satisfy my urge to punch him. He may be a knight but let’s be honest he’s shit at it so I stand by this. 4/10 (just cause I don’t really give a shit)

The Dromios (Comedy of Errors) I absolutely could beat them in a fight but I would feel So Bad. You see how they’re literally already treated in the play, I wanna give them a break. That being said they’re both kinda dicks but they’re going through it already so I’d wanna give them a breather. I would win though, even if they both were attacking at once. 7/10

Launcelot Gobbo (Merchant of Venice) He’s such a prick but I would be laughing too hard at his name to fight him. Bro’s name is Gobbo. Bro’s name is basically Gobby. Imagine being named Blowjob. I would lose my mind. I would laugh so so hard I would collapse. My heart would fail. Biggest L name out there bro. Launcelot Gobbo oh my god. 3/10

Launce (Two Gentlemen of Verona)  Nah man he has an attack dog. I don’t care what breed of dog Crab is in a production I fully believe he would kill for Launce, that’s just their dynamic. I understand them better than anyone else (I have a dog). Also he’s already working for Proteus, is that not punishment enough? 4/10

Speed (Two Gentlemen of Verona) I mean I definitely could fight him. I don’t imagine he’s got much fighting experience. But once again, he has to deal with Valentine which does feel like it would be cruel to inflict more onto him. Like Valentine’s not as bad as Proteus but fuck is he stupid. Also if I accidentally flubbed a punch Speed could absolutely tear me a new asshole with his words and I would sob and cry and literally never recover. 4/10

The Porter (Macbeth) Fuck no. Bro definitely has a knife on him at all times. I can’t explain why I think this I just do. He works night shift, he definitely doesn’t get paid enough for his dog shit job, he would absolutely try to stab me just to spice up his evening without me starting a fight. 1/10

Trinculo (Tempest) Yes. Sorry, you’re Russell Brand? L. I could kick your ass. And he’s like drunk for half the show, and almost fucked a fish. I doubt his judgement is good enough to say the alphabet backwards let alone dodge a punch. He couldn’t even get Caliban to kick my ass (who definitely could by the way) cause Caliban fucking hates him. Bro, failwife to Stephano should pay more. But it doesn’t. 8.5/10

Dogberry (Much Ado About Nothing) Without Verges? Yes. With Verges? No way. Those two are a power couple in the dumbest possible way. He would absolutely try to get me arrested though but I simply would not go to prison. What’s he gonna do? Send me to prison? I’m already not going. 7/10

Mercutio (Romeo and Juliet) No chance. Unless Romeo fucked up so bad like he did in the actual play, I would have no chance against this dude. I wouldn’t even want to even if I could. I’m a Benvolio stan first and foremost and a person second you think I’d wanna fight his bestie? Only exception is if it was an actual fight club and not just a pure fight out of hatred. I feel like Mercutio could give Brad Pitt Fight Club Realness, outfits included.  I would still lose though. 2.5/10

Don Adriano De Armado (Love’s Labour’s Lost) I reckon I could wreck this dude’s shit. You know that gif where the fuckin dude is doing all these cool sword moves and then he just gets shot? You know the one. I forgot where it’s from but you know the one. That would be this fight. Armado would bust out his flair, his razzle dazzle, his pizzaz, and I would just deck him I think. That’s the power you need in this world, I think. Power of fist to face. Peace and love. <3 8/10

Costard (Love’s Labour’s Lost) I do not think Costard would realise he was being fought even as he was actively getting hit in the face. I know how to say honorificabilitudinitatibus, he doesn’t even have that against me. Bro couldn’t even confuse me with that, I learnt that, like an adult. Anyway yeah I’d kick his ass. 9/10

Holofernes & Sir Nathaniel (Love’s Labour’s Lost) This is the same man to me. I would destroy them both. Fuckin nerds. Flowery ass language nerds. I support gay rights and gay wrongs but the only reason I couldn’t fight those two gay muppets who heckle is cause they’re too far away (in a theatre booth), these two gay muppets who heckle are right in front of me. I’d kick their tweed cladded asses. 10/10

Jaquenetta (Love’s Labour’s Lost) She is just like Audrey to me. I could never bring myself to hurt her. Also she’s pregnant and I feel like it’s fucked up to hit a pregnant woman just for fun. Also she could absolutely wreck my shit. Please wreck my shit Jaquenetta. 0.5/10

Moth (Love’s Labour’s Lost) This little fucker should be an INSTANT knock out but I just know this fucker bites. He’s a shit talking 8 year old? Oh he plays wolves on the playground, I just know it. He plays wolves and he’s definitely been suspended for it, I just know it in my heart. Sure, I could kick him, but he would grab hold of my foot and try to rip it off. We would shake hands and agree to part ways, having met our match. He, who plays wolves, and me, who played fairies, leave the fight with our heads high and respect in our hearts. I am kidding of course but I do think we would tie. 5/10

Lear’s Fool (King Lear) There’s already so much fighting going on, I don’t even think they’d notice if I just started kicking this dude. Not only could I fight him and win, I think I’d get away with it too. I’d win not only physically but socially too. What’s he gonna do? Tell his boss? Bro he’s preoccupied with his whole kingdom crumbling, grow up. 9/10

Lavatch (All’s Well That Ends Well) This is more meta but my hatred of this play would fuel me here. I would fight literally anyone in this play if given the chance, not a joke. I would get in the ring with literally anyone from this play, but honestly, out of them all I weirdly respect Lavatch the most, maybe because he at least knows that he’s a cunt, unlike literally everyone else who Just Suck. I do think he’s probably scrappy though, so I wouldn’t leave unscathed. I also think if he got the upper hand he would be so so awful about it, so I’d really have to fight. 6/10

Sir Toby Belch & Sir Andrew Aguecheek (Twelfth Night)  Andrew is canonically bad at fighting, and honestly I do not believe Toby would be any better. Love both of these guys but if I had to fight them both at once I think I would be able to just move out of the way and they’d bonk each other on the head like a cartoon. They’re just silly guys. 9/10

Maria (Twelfth Night) Every woman clown could beat my ass. Audrey, Jaquenetta, Maria, they are all so special to me and would all also fucking destroy me. Maria especially cause I just know she is full of hate. You don’t hatch a plan like the Malvolio plan unless there’s something deeply worrying about you. She’s a Scorpio to me. <3 I do love her, she’d demolish me. 0/10

Feste (Twelfth Night) Would actually kill me. -5/10

I know I’ve definitely missed some but uhhh don’t expect me to remember every clown even if I’m neurodivergent about these plays please. <3

[aftonroboticss]

Im horribly biased and my new hc is henry being taller than william, its silly and i love the idea of henry being like a big bear that looks scary but is nice and soft on the inside and then theres william who looks like an evil stickbug in comparison

and i still imagine them both being pretty tall, like it would not be a big difference. you wouldn't notice unless they stand side by side

imagine getting to meet the owners of the local family restaurant and ud expect to see like, a family guy and his beautiful wife but no

its the two most serious and intimidating looking men you've ever seen in your life who have a toxic homoerotic type of relationship o going on

except one of them is a gentle giant and the other is at the verge of insanity

[harry-sussex]

It is unbelievably bizarre to do a faux royal tour to a Commonwealth country 4 years after leaving the royal family while all this time claiming that you were not interested in participating in the institution. You live, breathe, and die by the notion that you want to never be associated with the institution again while simultaneously replicating the work you would have been doing regardless - where you would have had 100000x the resources, publicity, reach, and impact at your disposal if you hadn’t left. People don’t care what you’re doing anymore because you gave up your relevance and ability to draw attention to your causes globally the second you walked out the door. Imagine how impactful that tour would have been if you were still royals, with The Princess of Wales on indefinite critical medical leave and the King just returning. You couldn’t procure a hundredth of that impact now, no matter how hard you tried. Your causes deserve the world’s attention but you can’t grant them that benefit anymore, plain and simple. I’m sure you have wonderful intentions and hope to have the largest impact possible but the reality is that you won’t because you threw that away. I hope it’s a success but this is so unrealistic at nobody’s fault but your own. It’s in or out, you can’t do it halfway - and you should have learned that the second you were told that there is no middle ground more than 4 years ago. If you miss it, fine, but that’s your cross to bear. It’s so clear that you still think about coming home and going back in time sometimes. There used to be an open door for you to come home, Henry Charles, but it’s all but closed and you have nobody to blame but yourself. It didn’t have to be this way - you made it this way. Nobody - not even my Harry - could convince me otherwise. Never should’ve left and I will stand by that until the day I die. Breaks my heart into pieces whenever I think about it - I hate it so much. It never had to be this way - it’s ruined forever and you have only yourselves to blame.

[myemuisemo]

What Was the Fair Lady's Game? (a brief Hound of the Baskervilles post-action fic)

This is for @penig who suggested in response to my last Baskervilles post that Beryl and Laura should go into business together. I was bored in a meeting and had an idea of how it would happen.

The chill fog of the moor crept into Beryl Baskerville’s heart, wrapped itself like cotton around its chambers, and dwelt there, casting gloom over the simplest activities.

Standing on the edge of Grimpen Mire, beside kindly Dr. Watson and the genuine Sherlock Holmes, she had laughed at the prospect of her husband consigning himself to a muddy grave through his own hubris. When the visitors had undone her bonds and pulled away the towels that stifled her breath, the night of the great disaster, she had felt as if she might float away without them. 

Now, the weight of widowhood pressed her into her cold, empty bed. She missed Rodger—or Jack, as she’d come to call him. If she thought of his sneering eyes, or his hand striking a blow against her skin, or the shrinking humiliation of allowing Henry Baskerville to court her, she could push aside that sentiment for an hour, or even a day.

It was the memory of Jack smiling when he courted her under the sweet flowers of her home country, of Jack promising fortune and happiness in England, that hollowed her soul. All these years, as her husband’s perfidy had revealed itself, she had lived with the hope that someday, he would be wealthy, he would be satisfied, he would be honest. Now Jack would never better himself. His body would rot in the mire while his soul burned in hell… and she would starve in England.

She forced herself to choke down food, to take her daily walk, to breathe air thick with dirt and despair, to read the correspondence with Jack’s solicitor. Dr. Mortimer, Dr. Watson, and Sherlock Holmes had put their heads together with the local constabulary to see that Jack was declared dead, so everything he had was now hers.

If she rented a room somewhere, if she lived frugally, it might be enough. She, who had been Maria Magdalena Garcia Montealegre, the belle of Cartago and San José, must look forward to a life of re-sewing her dresses inside out to get another use of the fabric!

The one thing she would not do is put on mourning for the man who had abused her. She would not forgo future security to buy widow’s weeds. Nobody here in Devon knew her to be a widow anyway. They knew her only as the sister of the man who’d murdered Sir Charles Baskerville, beloved of the village and the countryside.

Every afternoon, in the little morning room that some prior tenant had papered in cheerful pink flowers, she sat at the escritoire, took pen in hand, and tried to write to some relative who might take pity on her. Her family in Costa Rica had approved the match on the condition that Jack become a citizen and enter the family business. His promises had been lies. Her choice had been a disgrace. Even if her mother were soft-hearted, her grandfather might not be. Could she bear to read a letter telling her that she could never go home?

The solicitor had also given her the addresses of family in London, all connections of a maternal cousin who’d brought an Englishwoman home as his second wife. Watching weak sunshine right the fog as her tea grew cold next to a blank sheet of paper, Beryl could almost laugh at imagining how that letter would go.

Dear Distant Cousin I’ve Never Met,

You don’t know me, but we are related through my mother and your uncle-in-law, the deposed President of Costa Rica. He is long gone to California, but I am stuck here in England. The small matter of my English husband having stolen, embezzled, and committed murder has left me in straitened circumstances. However, there is some hope that my social disgrace has spread no further than Devon. 

I am fluent in Spanish and English. I can sew, play pianoforte, and dance moderately well. My math is passable and my manners, excellent. If offered a position as a companion or governess, I promise to be modest and discreet, as well as to educate your daughters on the foolishness of following a man without fully knowing his character.

Yours humbly.

It was no use, and she knew it. Yet every day, she trod the grim path of her routine, never letting her steps stray from safety. One or two steps into the deceptive sweet green grasses, and she would die the way the wild ponies did, only in grateful silence. Yet, she did not.

On the seventeenth day of pacing the prison that a failed marriage had penned her in, the ancient butler announced: “A person is at the door to see you, miss.”

Curiosity poked at her weariness. Even a farmer coming to complain that his sheep had done something stupid on her land would be a diversion, for a moment. “Send them in.”

He returned, a long moment later, not with the expected stumpy man in overalls, hat in hand, but with a woman. The stranger was neatly dressed in a sensible brown suit, with a spray of matching feathers in her hat. Beneath the hat were tidy golden-brown curls, large golden-brown eyes, a straight nose sprinkled with freckles, and an expression so somber that Beryl knew this could be only one person. 

“Laura Lyons.”

“The same. I do not mean to intrude on your grief—”

“And yet here you are, to gawk at the widow of the man you sought to wed.” Had good manners not forbade her from slapping this interloper, Beryl might have risen from her chair and done it. As the banked flame of her anger flared, she felt herself come to life with it.

“I’m here to see if I can be of help.”

“Your help would have been to refuse the advances of my husband.”

“He called you his sister. Can you imagine how it would go if, every time a man introduced a woman as his sister, we all assumed she must be his wife? It would be nothing but scandal.” Laura Lyons paused, tugging at her gloves. “I know more than I’d like to about scandal. It’s a tedious way to live.”

“You think so?” Beryl’s fingers itched to throw the ink well. The splatter of dark liquid would mark that immaculate suit to match its wearer’s soul.

“I know so.” This time, Laura Lyons’ irritatingly confident voice was interrupted by the reappearance of the aged retainer, laboring under a tray with a fresh teapot and a plate of depressing little biscuits.

The routine of pouring tea, redolent of jasmine and gun powder—a better tea than Beryl had been offered since that terrible day of reckoning—cast a strange glamor of respectability over this encounter with a woman she must surely hate. Amidst the niceties of offering milk and sugar, Laura Lyons seated herself in an arm chair, as comfortable as a cat on a cushion.

Abruptly, Beryl missed the cats in her old home. Orange striped, brown striped, and plain black, they used to wind around the ankles of her gentleman callers. When they’d given generous berth to handsome, pale Rodger Baskerville, she’d joked that even the cats respected him.

“You don’t wear black either,” she blurted.

“It would be conspicuous.” Laura Lyons peeled off her gloves to sip her tea. “When would I put it off? What is the proper mourning period for the man who would have been one’s husband, save that he was already married and also, in passing, a murderer?”

“Surely you English have an etiquette manual for that.”

“I have looked up proper forms of business letters in Hill’s Manual more times than I can count. The book is comprehensive, yet that specific matter is not covered. Did Mr. Holmes mention that I am the daughter of your neighbor, Mr. Frankland?”

Beryl blinked at a fact as seemingly irrelevant as whether there’d be partridge for dinner. “I don’t recall.”

“Right. It would seem the least of your worries. I married foolishly, was disowned, ran away from the man once I learned better, and have since endeavored to make my own way, as far from him as possible. Your brother—your husband—meant to help me with proving my own husband’s brutality and infidelity, so that I might be free of him. Had I known he—your husband—was cut from the same cloth, I would have counted myself lucky to have been tied by law to only one scoundrel.”

The neatness with which Laura Lyons wiped overflowing tears was so very English. Beryl would have wailed and torn her hair—except that she hadn’t, not in seventeen days since that single day of disaster. She had feared and fought so long that now, she felt both too exhausted to weep and too fragile to be sure she could stop weeping once she started.

“Why are you here?”

“I want to know if you can type.” When Beryl stared blankly, Laura Lyons flexed her fingers as if she were playing pianoforte. “On a typewriter. Typing.”

“I have never.”

“You could learn.” Laura Lyons leaned forward, her eyes bright. “If you’re left comfortably, pay me no mind. But Jack—your husband—always talked as if there was little money to hand. I mean no insult to you, but I would be surprised if he left you well-placed. Perhaps your family is kinder than mine about forgiving your choice of a husband. But if they are not, if you are concerned about your future, I’d like to offer you a partnership.”

A knot of stubbornness formed in Beryl’s throat. She forced tea past it. “A partnership. With my husband’s paramour?”

“Is that any more scandalous than being your husband’s wife?”

Beryl’s belly shrank within the confines of her corset. Her clothes had begun to hang loose, and now she felt as if her very skin would shrivel and leave her bones. “People will talk. His death must be all over Coombe Tracey.”

“The Barrymores can count on a free pint at the pub every time they tell the story of how they served dinner to a murderer. I pray they never learned my name or part in the matter, but—I cannot be sure. I wish to relocate to London.”

“And you think I will go with you?” There it was again—that weightless feeling. When Jack had dragged her to London, fearing to leave her in Devon, she had feigned distress at the noise and filth, but she had imagined, over and over, slipping into the crowds and never reappearing. In a city of over five million, it would be easy to lose herself.

“If you have somewhere better to go, perhaps you would have gone by now. Two women typists together can earn enough money to rent a respectable flat in London, particularly if we have the patronage of Mr. Holmes.”

“The patronage?”

“I propose to ask his help in setting up a typing bureau staffed by women of respectable appearance and behavior, who are escaping terrible marriages. Typists see all sorts of documents which might help him in his cases, and we are entrusted to the point of seeming invisible. If he will give us a little help at the beginning, we might do him a great deal of good in the end.”

Beryl met Laura Lyons’ level gaze. To fall in with this plan, she must rip off the last rags of her love for Jack. She could not put her trust in this woman while thinking daily of what Jack must have said to her, how Jack must have wooed her, whether Jack kissed one of them while his lips were still warm from the other. It would be an absolute ending to her marriage, more permanent than Jack’s plunge into the Grimpen Mire.

“How did you do it? How did you decide not to hate me?”

“After Mr. Holmes told me what Jack had done, I hated everyone, including myself. That was exhausting. On the fourth morning of putting cold compresses on my red eyes, so nobody would know I’d been weeping for a man with no conscience or morals, it struck me that not one of our problems would exist if Jack had possessed a single scruple or shred of decency.” 

Laura Lyons plucked a sad biscuit from the plate, looked it over, and set it on her saucer without taking a bite. “Perhaps it was that I’d scarcely slept or eaten for days, but feeling guilty because I’d believed a man who set out to be believable no longer made sense. By the same logic, I could not blame you for being deceived, nor for existing.”

“Jack chose to court you, knowing he was married.” Beryl said it as if she were reciting an English lesson to her long-ago governess. The cow stands under the tree. My aunt goes to the ball. My husband is a liar and a cad. Her hand in her lap clenched.

“I thought it miraculous. I had no hope of finding love again with an honorable man. In that, it turns out I was right.”

Beryl looked over her visitor again, slowly. Laura Lyons was a pretty woman, certainly, all burnished gold in coloring. She was poised, confident, professional—a creature of offices and shop counters, not the kind of butterfly Beryl herself had been raised to be. 

Laura set down her tea cup and lifted her chin. Her frank gaze now seemed less a challenge and more a vulnerability. Jack had seen that vulnerability and chosen to exploit it. He had taken the poise Beryl now envied—a woman able to make her own way in the world!—and twisted it to his own ends.

“I’ll do it,” Beryl said. Her deep breath cracked some bond that her rescuers had not seen nor unwound. “I’ll learn to type and go to London with you.”

She held out her hand to shake on the deal as she burst into tears.

#

There's an actual President of Costa Rica who has the surname I allocated Beryl from her mother. I gave her an entirely different Christian name because "Beryl" is positively not Spanish, and the nearest translation, "berilo," doesn't work as a girl's name.

The typing bureau is also inspired by Miss Climpson's typing bureau in the Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries.

Way back when I was seven or eight years old and read the Holmes stories for the first time, with mixed and spotty comprehension, I felt inspired to write a story about two teenage girls who lived upstairs from Holmes and Watson and had adventures. My mother got wind of this plan and was appalled at the idea of fanfic. While I've since written fic on other properties, I felt the time had come at last to do a little story where two women hatch a plan that could have them living upstairs from Holmes and Watson, while having adventures.

[404-mind-not-found]

A couple of Henry Emily headcanons yay :]]]

Underneath :]

- He was born December 1951, his sister Jen was already about 3 at the time. - Besides building robots, he also likes drawing (usually mechanical things, sometimes organic), programming, reading and textile arts. He likes doing things with his mind and hands simultaneously. Later in his life, he took up both piano and poetry, but they weren't as refined as much as his other skills. - He never really understood people socially. He was othered in school for how he acted and communicated and he also never learnt how to establish relationships properly on his own. He says he'd rather stay by himself in the corner, but he'd by lying if he said it didn't hurt to be alone. He is connected to robots more than humans, essentially, and deeply wishes they were as easy to understand. - He did have a couple of friends though! Well, before he started working on Fredbear's. He doesn't know why exactly they left after all those years together, but he thinks it's his fault. They would re-connect years later around FNAF 1 or 2. - He has eye problems like his father, which is why he wears glasses. It was quite a scare when his parents learnt this, because they were shortly worried that he could have inherited his father's respiratory problems too. Fortunately he did not. - He cannot stand the cold. He's either wearing long-sleeves or multiple layers almost 24/7, but his exceptions are his workshop and Freddy's since both get muggy really quickly. (I guess being in the Fredbear suit as well, but I imagined the employees would normally wear some kind of black undersuit during performances so) - His likeness towards bears started when he was a child, and despite his regular shady personality, he acts like one when he sees one. Total fanboy. If bears are sighted in their area, everybody checks him first to make sure he's not doing something stupid like trying to get pictures or cuddles. He made the main character of his restaurant a bear for this reason, but also to combat bear endangerment (which is like . real(?) fnaf lore or something??) - In that huge gap between FNAF 1 and FNAF 3, he got a few jobs that spanned from being a car mechanic (which was also his first ever job, before everything) to being a programmer. Somebody at one of his jobs made a Reddit post about him once! That was weird. - His favourite food is pumpkin pie (I have never had pumpkin pie). However, he's also a picky eater. He tries not to be, but he can't stand certain textures and a lot of tastes. Weirdly enough, Freddy's greasy pizza is on his safe food list!?

That's all :] I may make another one sometime

[crazyunsexycool]

My little love

I have 2 scenarios for the video below.

The first one being Bucky reading a bedtime story to the kids. 🥹🥹🥹 my heart can’t take it. This is why they ask him to read to them all the time!!! Imagine Sugar standing just outside the door and peeking in to see Lottie and Henry cuddled up with their teddy bears while Bucky is reading. How is she not pregnant yet?!?!?!

The second is Bucky doing a video as part of PR but now that he’s a dad any organization geared toward children is what he’ll always choose to work with! 😭😭😭

[firenati0n]

find the word tag game :)

Thanks for the tag @cha-melodius <3 !!

Rules: Share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you. Then select four words and tag friends (like sara, I used a random word generator rather than try to think of them myself. it's called EFFICIENCY).

My Words: spin, constant, contain, union

Your Words: ready, imagine, win, danger

i came up empty for union, but here are snips from diff wips for the other 3 :)

SPIN: angel!henry sequel

Alex spins around, the spoon in his hand splattering sauce on the counter. “Henry,” he breathes, eyes a little wide. “What the fuck are you saying to me right now?” It’s obvious he hasn’t made his intentions fully clear. He stands up and rounds the counter, crowding Alex between himself and the stove. Alex looks up at him, hope and a touch of fear in his eyes, and Henry doesn’t need his old angel senses to know that his heart is beating faster, emotions rushing up his throat. Henry holds Alex’s face in his hands, his thumbs brushing Alex’s cheekbones as his fingers press into his jaw and neck. 

CONSTANT: nolan!alex murphy!henry - actor au

“And finally, the biggest of thanks to Henry for an…eventful ten years.” At this, a good-natured ripple of laughter weaves through the audience. “We've had our share of ups and downs in this industry, but you've always been a constant. Your heart, your courage, your bravery…all things I try to infuse in every script, in every scene. You make it incredibly easy. You've played many stunning roles over the years. A tortured artist. A self-destructive piano player. A closeted royal. A temptress; slipping these jackets on and off with ease.”  Alex pauses, smiling at Henry seated at their table. 

CONTAIN: carmy!alex - the bear au

Alex's chest heaves with the effort to contain everything in his neat mental box. The storm rages on, the windows rattle, the ground shakes, the foundation trembles. His carefully constructed house of cards is about to come tumbling down in a fucking moment of weakness—that’s what he gets for showing his tender underbelly to anyone at all, even June. He should fucking know better; even the people who love him the most know how to poke and prod, know how to bring the house down with just a whisper of five words, a hushed plea said into a phone, hundreds of miles away, hoping and praying they'd get through the wind and rain and hit Alex square in the eye of the storm.  

xoxo roop

+ a few tags under the cut <3

@rmd-writes @kiwiana-writes @cricketnationrise @bigassbowlingballhead @eusuntgratie

@violetbaudelaire-quagmire @suseagull04 @14carrotghoul @priincebutt @itsmaybitheway

@wordsofhoneydew @anincompletelist @myheartalivewrites @tintagel-or-cockleshells @bitsnpisces

[couldvebeenus]

Henry's Christmas Letter to Alex (2020)

Alex,

There are years, and have been for me, during which the holidays become a long, lonely walk through a dark wood. Perhaps something irreplaceable has been lost. You stand before an icy path listening to the sound of bells, but you can’t recall how to follow them. Even if you could, last year’s coat wasn’t made for this cold. And why should it be? You don’t know the person who wore it any more than you know how to walk toward that goddamned ringing. You can’t remember a hearth, or a warm hand, or the smell of cinnamon and ginger—or, you can, but you can’t bear it, so you tell yourself that you don’t.

But there are also years that feel like a fresh snow. The first one of the year, an early, unexpected rush that knocks all the yellow leaves down. It’s strange to feel a beginning here, but I do. God, I do.

I love you for a thousand reasons and in a thousand ways, but today in particular I love you because I can’t wait to wake up on Christmas morning. I want the entire horrible, embarrassing ordeal—crackers and pudding and scratchy wool sweaters. (And yes, I will even consent to those matching ones you sent me. I am that thankful.) I want new traditions with you, and because they will be by your design, I am confident they will be ridiculous and sacrilegious and wonderful. I want to crackle across the radio with a Christmas address that’s only an itemized list of your holiday sock collection, beginning with the ones that have Father Christmas in a cowboy hat on them.

Put your chin on my shoulder, love. Climb under the quilt. Remind me what joy feels like. You do it every day, darling—shouldn’t be too troublesome for you.

Thank you for meeting me in the wood. Thank you for leading me home.

Happy Christmas,

Henry

Casey's note : The holidays are hard this year, so as a small gift to whoever may want it, I put together this silly little mock-up of what I imagine Henry would write for Alex’s Christmas card. Happy holidays, stay safe, take care ❤️💚✨

[avacoleman]

when the lights go out || a firstprince fic

summary: Henry Fox’s career is in crisis and his dating life isn’t faring much better either.  After a chance encounter with a charming man becomes memorable for all the wrong reasons, Henry throws himself into his next assignment: writing the memoir of a beloved C-list actor. Henry, however, knows Alex best for the role he played as his random, awkward one-night stand. Henry enters their professional partnership keen on keeping their relationship just that. But after Henry confesses that their hookup was less than spectacular, Alex concots an arrangement that Henry is unable to resist. In addition to ghostwriting Alex’s life story, Henry will teach him a thing or two about satisfying a man.  As they spend months out on the road together, they must decide if the connection between them is yet another story worth telling.

@strandtk my beloved. this one is for you 💜💕

chapter 1/8 || rated e || read on ao3 *updates every tues. and fri. *

I'm writing it down on the paper Making a record, like an archive of me and you So when we're reading it later,  It'll all come back brand new

New York, NY

Henry marvels at the universe’s capacity for pettiness as he sits at the bar with his signed copy of a book he’s written that doesn’t actually bear his name

He downs the rest of his gin and tonic, his face tightening slightly at the burn of the alcohol coating his throat. He licks his lips, savors the last taste of his drink, and tries to map out in his mind where to go next.

In every sense, he thinks belatedly. His career, this specific night, it all seems to be up in the air and he worries about where he’ll be when it all comes crashing down over him.

Henry lets out a sigh, his index finger tracing the circle of the glass’s rim absentmindedly as he stares at the book he just purchased at the signing nearby. 

The front cover seems to mock him. He stares at the wide grin of the latest internet gaming sensation with a rabid fanbase clamoring to have his story immortalized in written word. It’s the latest in a recent string of ghostwritten works Henry has penned that have sucked his soul more than nourishing it.

This wasn’t at all the future he imagined for himself when he graduated from university a few years ago with a degree in creative writing, ready to take on the world.

He glares back at the book, almost in defiance, before grimacing.

“Whatever it is you're reading, let me make a note not to add it to my TBR list. If it’s got you looking like that, I should steer clear at all costs,” a voice says to the left of him.

Given the relative emptiness of the bar and the specificity of the words, Henry knows this statement can only be directed at him.

He bites back saying that technically it’s his book, if only just not his life story. The NDA was ironclad, and spilling his secrets to a perfect stranger while in a slightly buzzed state is hardly the big finish to his career that he had in mind.

He turns toward the voice and startles for a moment, struck by just how good-looking the man seated two stools away is. He catalogs details of his new barmate:  a mess of unruly curls, wire-framed glasses, and a frenetic energy that both intrigues Henry and puts him on edge. It crackles in the very air, making Henry instantly disarmed.

But it’s the man’s mouth above all else that Henry can’t seem to tear his gaze away from for more than a few seconds at a time, especially as the stranger smirks as if they’re old friends reuniting at random.

That most certainly is not the case.

Henry knows for a fact he’s never seen this man before. He’s got the kind of face and aura that no one would be unable to recall at once, the kind a person would never be able to forget.

“It’s expected to be an instant bestseller, but we’ll just have to wait and see the list next week,” Henry says, finally finding his voice.

The man lifts his brows, conceding the point. “I’ll put a pin in it for now, then, while the jury’s still out.”

Henry smiles softly and pushes the book aside, ready—in every measure—to be done thinking about the book and talking about it. 

He’d much rather set his focus on this man he’s somehow had the fortune of ensnaring in conversation.

Henry perks up a little in his seat. He notices a lanyard around the man’s neck and points it out.

“I take it you’re visiting,” he says, gesturing to the lanyard that disappears under his jacket.

The man places a hand to his sternum, where the corresponding badge must be tucked away.

“Yeah, I’m here on business. I had an all-day convention, but this is actually my last night before I head back home tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Henry says, surprising himself by how this life update of a man he’s only just met hits him.

“You sound disappointed,” the stranger says, that knowing smile painting his lips yet again. Henry thinks it must be something of a trademark for this man. He can only imagine how many people he’s been able to lure in because of it, perhaps without even trying.

“I’m…I don’t know the word for it. Perhaps disappointed will have to suffice.”

The stranger’s face grows a bit serious. He moves over one stool, then the other, bringing them just that much closer. 

Henry, for his sake, fiddles with his empty glass to keep himself busy. It strikes him then just how backwards this conversation has been so far.

“I’m Henry. And you are?” he asks, extending a hand. 

It feels like such an old-fashioned, antiquated thing to do. He’s not at all surprised by the man’s hesitancy, but an almost skeptical look shimmers in the stranger’s eyes for a beat before he takes hold of Henry’s hand and shakes it.

“Javier,” the man supplies before letting go.

Something settles in Henry’s chest at finally having a name to put to this face he wants to see more of— and perhaps do other things with.

“Javier,” Henry repeats. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

Javier smiles warmly at him, and Henry cannot believe how much a small thing like this is making his heart race. But this connection he feels to this man is so unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Certainly, he’s come across attractive people over the years, but there’s some kind of familiarity with Javier, an ease, that makes this feel right.

They pass some time chatting about surface-level things, cracking jokes over two more rounds of their respective drinks. Henry learns that Javier is from Texas and works in sales. He, in turn, reveals the not-so-secret fact that he’s from England, but also that he’s been living here for six years after coming to the States post-university and is a writer. Conversation seems to flow as easily between them as liquor does into a shot glass. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Javier asks after about forty minutes, abruptly curtailing their conversation.

Henry opens and closes his mouth, taken aback by Javier’s forwardness and intrigued all the same.

“I know, I know, that sounds like a total pickup line, but I truly do want to know if you’d like to leave this place and go on a mini-quest with me to find some other spot that serves real food. The kitchen’s closed here, which sucks for me, and my sad empty stomach.”

He rakes a hand through his hair before dropping it into his lap. 

“I’ve had a crazy long day, and the thought of stale pretzels or peanuts that grubby, drunken hands have touched all night is not cutting it for dinner,” he continues, jutting his thumb towards an admittedly gross-looking bowl of bar snacks.

Henry’s nose scrunches a bit before he looks back at Javier.

“You might find yourself growing bored of me before long. Maybe my charm only exists within the confines of this establishment.”

Javier rests his arm on the bar, leaning his head against his propped-up hand.

“Did someone put a curse on you?” Javier jokes. “Somehow, I sincerely doubt that, but I’d be willing to take the risk. And besides, I think we could find plenty of ways to keep the night from getting dull.”

Javier grimaces and puts his hand to his forehead before running it down the length of his face and dropping it.

“Jesus, I really need to get better at not sounding like I’m trying to make a pass at you.”

Feeling a bit bold, Henry lets out a contemplative sound.

“That’s a pity,” he says, continuing to muster up the kind of confidence he doesn’t typically have. “It was actually working for you.”

Javier swallows hard, his gaze unmistakably drifting from Henry’s eyes to his lips and back again. Henry smirks and breaks away, reaching for his wallet and setting down a few bills to cover his drinks for the night. Javier flags down the bartender and closes out his tab.

“Now, what was this about an adventure?” Henry says as he gets off the stool and slips his jacket back on, hooking his tote bag on his shoulder. He crams the godforsaken book inside. Though, now that it’s responsible for striking up a conversation with this handsome man, he supposes he could be a bit nicer to the thing.

He leads Javier out of the bar, still clutching onto his false bravado. This is so unlike him, but for tonight, he figures he can be someone else.

“You’re the expert of this area,” Javier says. “What do you recommend?” 

Henry thinks on it for a moment.

“Well, we’re in New York. Pizza seems like the most logical option, if not stereotypical,” he muses.

Javier laughs. “It’d be quick, hot, and good, so I’m not complaining.”

“I bet you say that to all the guys.”

Javier barks out a surprised laugh and playfully strikes Henry’s arm.

“Oh, you're trouble. A damn deadly combination.”

“And what would that be?” Henry asks, lifting a brow.

“Funny, sharp, and handsome. One might call that being greedy. Save some for the rest of us, sweetheart.”

Henry scoffs as they walk down the street, two women around their age doing a double take at Javier as they go. They quickly turn to each other, talking fast.

“Yeah…I don’t quite believe you’re exactly hurting in that department yourself.”

Javier looks a bit tense, but he quickly relaxes and smiles. “Guess it all depends.”

Henry takes them to one of his favorite pizza shops, a real hole-in-the-wall spot. In Henry’s experience, he finds places like these have the best meals.

They order and grab a table near the back. The bright fluorescent lights are such a contrast to the dimly lit bar, and it only serves to highlight just how good-looking Javier truly is. Now that they’re seated, Henry can’t seem to get his fill of looking at him.

He’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for the fact that Javier can’t stop looking at him either. It makes Henry suddenly very aware of himself, curious what it is that Javier sees when he looks at him.

As they eat, they continue talking, their legs somehow touching under the table, though neither pulls away. Henry isn’t sure who even initiated it, though he supposes it’s very likely they simply just gravitated towards each other. In all fairness, that seems to be the theme of the night with them, and Henry prays that will continue carrying over.

By the time they’re finished, Henry feels a sinking weight in his chest, knowing they’ll eventually have to call it a night and go their separate ways. He practically drags his feet as they leave.

Henry isn’t walking anywhere in particular, but he assumes it must be in the right direction, as Javier doesn’t protest. He thinks perhaps he should get the guy’s phone number or, at the very least, a social media handle, but to do so would feel like putting a definitive end to the night.

Their arms brush on every other step, and a light rain begins to fall. Henry ducks under an awning of a closed store. Javier leans against the grate on his shoulder.

In the light of the neon signs glowing from the storefront next door, Javier is backlit and practically glowing. 

“Would I be completely overstepping here by saying that I really want to kiss you right now? That I’ve kinda been wanting to since the very second I saw you come into the bar?” Javier says quietly, his eyes latched onto Henry’s.

This shouldn’t be coming as a surprise, given how quickly Javier cozied up to him earlier. But to hear it so plainly like this is a bit jarring all the same.

“I don’t usually do this sort of thing,” Henry blurts out awkwardly. Why these words have decided to fly out of his mouth at this exact moment, he’ll never understand.

Javier’s eyes widen, suddenly looking unsure of himself.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I had a really great night either way. I shouldn’t have pressed it. I’m sorry.”

Henry reaches out a hand without thinking about it and gently grabs Javier’s jacket.

“I’m not saying I don’t want to. I’m merely highlighting the fact that it’s uncommon for me, and yet, with you, I…,” he trails off, shaking his head. “This is the very last thing I could have seen for myself tonight, but I’d be lying if I said I took issue with how it’s all playing out.”

Javier smiles up at him, swaying slightly as he rocks on his heels.

“I’m glad I could be a happy surprise.”

Henry inches closer, still maintaining his grip. It makes Javier stop moving at once.

“Hopefully, the surprises don’t end here,” Henry says, the words coming out almost like a question as his eyes lock onto the other man’s.

Javier tips his chin up, and Henry takes the leap, closing the small distance between them and pressing his mouth to Javier’s.

The man’s lips are soft and warm, inviting even in the tender way he kisses Henry. He’d been expecting a rushed, heated kiss, given the kindling that’s been burning between them all night, but Henry appreciates this speed even more. 

He likes the way Javier takes his time, as if this night is somehow infinite. It makes Henry slow down and truly relish in the moment too. 

For all his shortcomings, in the here and now, Henry’s finally managing to get something right. 

Javier deepens the kiss, his left hand cupping Henry’s cheek, his body pressed flush against him.

They may be on a busy city street, but as far as Henry is concerned, no one and nothing else exists.

He’s never had a first kiss with someone like this before. It’s as if they’re both relying on each other for sustenance, as if they’re the air keeping the other alive.

When they pull apart, Javier’s eyes are still closed for a moment before he looks at Henry and speaks.

“I don’t want to say goodnight to you.”

Going back to a hotel with a guy he doesn’t know, not even his last name or whatever company he works for that brought him to the city in the first place, is so out of the realm of his typical life.

But looking into Javier’s soft eyes now, he can’t imagine he’d be put in any peril at his hands.

“How far is your hotel from here?” he asks.

Javier smiles a little. 

“A few blocks over.”

Just a few city streets separate him from getting his hands on Javier in earnest. A thrill runs up the length of his spine at the thought.

“Let’s go there then.”

Javier’s smile grows, and he pecks Henry’s lips once before leading the way back to his hotel. They pass by a 24-hour pharmacy, and Javier points it out, veering toward the entrance.

“Pit stop. I fully did not expect to be hooking up with anyone on this trip, so we need supplies.”

Henry’s glad for the man’s foresight and pulls open the door for him before going inside, too.

A quick trip to aisle seven and a glorious option for self-checkout gets them back en route to Javier’s hotel.

Henry lets out a low whistle as they approach.

“Impressive,” he says.

Javier rubs the back of his neck. “My company put us up nicely,” is all he says as they head in.

The lobby, with its pristine floor and gold-plated fixtures, is quiet at this hour. The only real sound is their footfalls as they cross the lobby and head toward the bank of elevators.

As they step inside, Henry feels his body craving Javier’s touch at once.

In such a confined space, the urge to push Javier up against the wall is almost overwhelming but Henry fights it off. He’s glad for it, too, when they hear a voice call.

“Hold it, please.”

Javier quickly throws out his arm to keep the elevator doors from closing as Henry pushes the doors open button.

An older woman comes into view a few seconds later. She looks up at them and smiles warmly.

“Aren’t you two just the sweetest? Thank you,” she says.

Javier and Henry smile back at her before settling in again.

“What floor?” Henry asks her. 

“Eight, thanks.”

He pushes for her floor, and as the elevator begins to ascend, Henry feels his eagerness climbing, too.

Javier is close enough for him to smell the scent of his cologne mixed with the rain from earlier, making Henry practically ache with want.

He steals a glance at Javier, but the man is staring straight ahead. It at least gives Henry a look at his gorgeous profile before he realizes belatedly that the elevator doors are reflective, and Javier can no doubt see Henry shamelessly gawking at him.

One look at the doors tells him as much as Javier smirks at him. What’s more, the woman seems to notice, too, as she smiles knowingly at him before dropping her gaze.

Henry suddenly becomes very aware of the pharmacy bag in his hands.

Could she possibly know what’s within the confines of it? Suddenly, it feels as if he has a giant neon sign flashing above his head, decrying that he’s about to get laid tonight.

He doesn’t have much time to truly dwell on it as the elevator stops on the eighth floor and the doors open. She wishes them a good evening.

“Have a nice night, ma’am,” Javier says as the woman leaves, and there’s an unexpected faint twang to the last word, an echo of his Texan roots sneaking out. Henry finds it sweet.

As the doors close, Henry lets out a breath when the elevator resumes its journey to the fourteenth floor. Javier encroaches his space suddenly, pinning his hips against Henry’s. He can feel how hard Javier is— a clear promise of what’s waiting for him in just a few moments.

Henry gets a hand in Javier’s rain-slicked hair and kisses him hard as they make their way to the fourteenth floor. He’s breathless by the time the doors open and they get out.

Javier takes a hold of his hand as he leads them to his room. Henry can’t stop himself. He kisses the man again, his back against the door as Javier fumbles with the keycard.

The door gives way, and they go stumbling over the threshold, laughing as they hold onto each other for balance. Henry very nearly loses his footing, but Javier catches him around the waist and keeps him upright.

They hastily slip off their jackets at the door, kicking off their shoes as well. In their haste, Javier’s head clunks back against the wall, and Henry trips over one of their shoes in the dark, tweaking his ankle a little. There’s a moment where Javier gets tangled in his lanyard as Henry tries to help him remove it.

All their smoothness and finesse from their kiss outside has seemingly fallen by the wayside. 

“Maybe the room is cursed,” Javier muses, rubbing the back of his head.

“And you laughed off my warning at the bar,” Henry replies. “Maybe kissing each other is the antidote?” he continues, eager to feel Javier’s mouth on his again.

“Totally only kissing you now for research purposes and nothing more.”

“I can respect that. Purely academic, yes,” Henry echoes right before Javier gets him up against the nearest wall, grabbing a fistful of Henry’s shirt.

Henry kisses him deeply, his tongue slipping into Javier’s mouth as the man’s lips part. His hips jerk forward, and he whimpers feeling Javier’s cock against his hip.

One-night stands have never been Henry’s forte. But with such a tempting offer before him, this night from hell is taking a turn.

He walks them towards the bed and falls on top of Javier as the man tips backwards onto the mattress. They shift to the top of the bed, and Javier flips them over. Henry’s hands instantly fly above his head, and Javier takes it as the perfect opportunity to get his shirt off. Henry has zero qualms.

Javier turns on the bedside lamp, and his eyes seem to drink in every facet of Henry in the soft light. Javier reaches out a hand for a second before retracting it. Henry smiles reassuringly and takes hold of the man’s hand, guiding it to his chest. 

Javier sucks in a breath, his fingers splayed against Henry’s left pec before gently sliding down his torso, along his abdomen.

“Shit,” Javier says softly under his breath as he stares. 

“Why thank you,” Henry muses.

 Javier laughs and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t get cocky, sweetheart,” Javier quips, leaning over him.

Henry laughs but stops as he notices Javier’s chain. He hadn’t seen it earlier, the piece of jewelry once buried under layers of clothes, but it fascinates Henry now.

Henry toys idly with the key that dangles from Javier’s neck, his fingers slipping from the thin silver chain to the jagged peaks and valleys of the key itself. 

“A piece of home,” the man says, answering the question Henry wasn’t sure he had a right to ask.

His eyes flicker back up to Javier’s face, their eyes locking as he continues to fiddle with the key.

“You travel so often that you require a keepsake?” Henry asks, feeling emboldened to do so.

Javier smiles, lips skewing to the left.  

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s stupid, but it helps me feel grounded.”

It’s a candid statement, a level of sentimentality Henry wasn’t expecting but appreciates all the same.

There’s hardly much from his life back in England that he cares to hold on to, but with an entire ocean separating him from home, he can understand Javier’s token.

“It’s not stupid at all,” he assures. “Quite the opposite.”

Something changes in Javier’s eyes, though Henry can’t exactly name it. For a fleeting moment, he wishes he knew this man well enough to gauge his thoughts, to even be free enough to ask for clarity. But he swallows down the question and simply tugs Javier closer to him, their lips meeting in the center of the space between them.

Henry can feel the slight tremble in the other man's body against his. He finds it endearing and—admittedly— a bit of an ego booster. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt someone’s anticipation for him as a palpable thing. It only makes Henry all the more eager to make this night a good one— for the both of them.

Javier kisses him deeply, enough to steal the air from his lungs and make his mind go quiet in a way it hasn’t been able to in weeks. He pours back into Javier, giving just as good as the man gives to him.

He craves more, and his curious hands begin to wander, first at the small of Javier’s back, silently guiding the man to press further against him. 

A moan fills the room, and Henry isn’t sure which one of them is responsible for the sound, but it hardly matters. Encouraged, Henry slips a hand under the hem of Javier’s shirt and is instantly rewarded with the feel of smooth skin and toned muscles beneath his fingertips.

He nips gently at Javier’s bottom lip and tugs, their kiss growing rougher, more carnal as their patience wanes, and he clamors to pull off Javier’s shirt.

Javier looks down at him, a few rogue curls sweeping against his forehead, his brows furrowed almost pensively.

Henry takes the opportunity to rein himself in, to get control of his breathing. The task becomes a bit difficult again as Javier runs a slow hand up from his stomach to his chest and settles at the base of his neck, his thumb softly brushing his throat.

Javier leans into him and kisses the journey his hand made in reverse, his mouth making its way from Henry’s neck to his collarbone, to his chest, to his abs. His breath is warm against Henry’s stomach as he exhales just above the waistband of Henry’s jeans.

Henry’s own breathing is heavy, though he doubts anyone would be able to blame him. His skin is still buzzing in every place Javier’s lips landed, and his cock is straining in anticipation of learning his touch too.

“Is it cool if I…,” Javier trails off, and sincerely, from the bottom of his heart, Henry would accept any conclusion for the question Javier doesn’t even ask.

He nods, not trusting himself not to all-out beg for whatever this man has in mind.

Javier’s cheeks seem to flush a little as he nods once, almost as if steeling himself, and undoes Henry’s jeans. There’s something vaguely bashful about it, but in the next breath, Javier’s eyes are focused like a man on a mission.

Needless to say, this bodes well in Henry’s mind. He gets comfortable still against the bed as Javier undresses him completely. He figures he should probably feel awkward being the only naked one now, but as Javier’s gaze roams his body in its entirety with a look of sheer want and hunger, being fully on display like this hardly seems like anything to feel insecure about.

“It’s actually kinda ridiculous how attractive you are,” Javier says.

Henry laughs. “High praise coming from you.”

Javier continues staring at him, his eyes jumping to different places on his body. Yet still, his hands remain at his sides. 

“You’ve got me here. You can, in fact, touch me,” Henry prompts.

Javier’s face reddens ever so slightly.

“Yeah, for sure. Totally,” he murmurs. 

Henry’s brows furrow. For all his smoothness this evening, Javier seems to be stumbling, his footing no longer secure now that things are well and truly underway.

He takes a tentative hold of Henry’s cock, his eyes widening. He lets go quickly before mumbling an apology. He clears his throat and touches him again, his back ramrod straight.

“Everything okay?” Henry asks after a moment when Javier’s hand trembles a bit but doesn’t move.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m fine.”

Javier smiles unconvincingly but seems to get back to himself as he starts to stroke Henry. 

It’s stiff and mechanical, with awkward fits and starts. Henry shifts against the mattress in an attempt to get a new angle. But he quickly discerns it’s not his placement on the bed that’s making this handjob unenjoyable. 

Javier is simply ill-equipped to give one.

“Oh my god,” Henry mutters under his breath.

“You like that, hm?” Javier says, completely misinterpreting his words.

There’s no finesse to his movements; it’s all rudimentary at best. 

Henry kisses him, and it’s enough to get Javier to stop his movements.

“I think I’m ready for more,” he says. Henry moves away then and roots around for their purchases.

He takes out the lube and box of condoms, handing the bottle over to Javier.

“I want you to open me up.”

A muscle in Javier’s jaw flexes as he accepts the bottle, their fingertips brushing. It sends a tingle of excitement through Henry, knowing he’ll get to feel them elsewhere in a few moments’ time.

“Cool, yeah,” Javier says, snapping open the bottle. He fumbles with it, and it drops to the bed. He quickly picks it up and squeezes out an obscene amount of liquid.

Henry doesn’t miss the way Javier’s hand shakes a little. He’s about to ask once more if the man is okay before Javier starts coating his entrance.

He squeezes more lube onto his fingers and rubs against Henry’s hole. Henry tries to get his body to relax, but he can practically feel himself leaking lube at this point. He supposes it’s better than the alternative of not having enough lubrication to ease him open, but nothing about this feels particularly sexy.

After a few minutes, Javier works a finger into him. Henry thinks finally, they’ll begin to get somewhere, but Javier fingers him in the most literal, basic sense of the action. His finger pumps in, slips out, then dips back in to repeat it all over again. There’s nothing skilled about it, no switch up even as he adds another finger. It doesn’t feel like he’s even trying to stimulate him by finding his prostate. By the time Javier adds a third finger, it’s clear he’s just completely neglected the idea or simply never had it to begin with.

“We’re good now,” Henry cuts in, keen to put an end to this horrendous fingering.

Javier nods and grabs a condom from the box Henry unearthed before and works quickly to get it onto himself.

Henry sighs and tries to clear his mind and stay optimistic. Maybe this time around, the third time will be the charm, and they’ll manage to get back in sync with each other.

Javier adds even more lube to Henry’s entrance, and at this point, the mental image of what the sheets must look like almost makes Henry burst out laughing. He bites his bottom lip, and above him, Javier does the same as he coats his cock, giving himself a few quick strokes.

Javier grips Henry’s hips as he aligns himself.  

“Are you ready?” he asks.

Henry nods, holding onto Javier in turn. He breaks eye contact, staring at a point on the wall just past Javier’s ear as the man slowly enters him. 

Javier shudders, and Henry can admit the slide of the man’s cock inside him feels good. It’s been far too long since he’s been intimate with someone, and Henry can’t help but cling to the familiarity of being physical like this.

He clutches Javier’s shoulders and brings them closer together. Javier’s breath catches, and he stays frozen for a moment. Henry rolls his hips forward, silently letting Javier know it’s okay to proceed.

Much like with his fingering, Javier’s thrusts leave much to be desired. Henry wonders if perhaps he might be nitpicking, but this all falls so flat. He tries to get a rhythm going for them, but it’s as if they’re both tuned into different frequencies, their bodies out of step as they move to different beats. 

Above him, Javier moans, crashing their hips together.

“You feel so good,” he rasps. 

Henry contemplates the ways it’s possible for two people to be experiencing the same moment but have such contrasting points of view.

It’s not that Javier necessarily feels bad. Objectively speaking, his cock fills him up nicely. It’s just that it doesn’t seem like Javier really knows how to use it fully to his advantage. A part of Henry thinks he should speak up and give some tips, but the thought of making this even more awkward keeps him quiet. He opts instead to make some convincing noises here and there.

“I’m so close,” Javier pants.

That makes one of us, Henry thinks tersely as he bucks forward, still holding out some small sliver of hope that Javier will find his groove. 

Any potential for that is dashed as Javier finishes with a shudder, his breath raspy in his ear, moaning Henry’s name. Javier takes a few steady breaths before pulling out.

Henry doesn’t spare a moment in pulling the covers over himself, disguising the fact that he didn’t actually reach his end as Javier disposes of the condom and settles into bed again.

Beside him, Javier is looking up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling heavily. He looks thoroughly satisfied, and, if nothing else, Henry is glad to see he actually enjoyed himself. 

“Are you okay?” Javier asks, turning suddenly on his side, searching Henry’s eyes. He looks so expectant, his brown eyes looking more like a puppy dog’s, and Henry sees very little point in voicing the truth but he doubts he can convincingly manage a lie.

He splits the difference and smiles, making a noncommittal sound before leaning in and kissing Javier.

This the man is spectacular at, and Henry clings to that to redeem the night. He gets lost in their kiss as best he can, but flashes of their encounter just moments ago keep springing to mind, shattering the illusion.

Javier pulls away first, stifling a yawn.

“Sorry. It really has been a day,” he says.

Henry shakes his head.

“It’s alright. You should get some sleep.”

Javier’s eyes look a bit unfocused as fatigue seeps in further.

“Night, Henry,” he says softly, pressing his lips to Henry’s one more time before closing his eyes.

His face is instantly softer with sleep, and the guilt that trickles throughout Henry for the fact that he cannot stay a moment longer than necessary is immediate.

Henry bides his time, waiting until Javier is in a deep sleep before gingerly climbing out of bed, careful not to jostle it and run the risk of Javier waking to find him scampering off. 

When he’s on two feet again, Henry quickly moves about the room, retrieving his clothes and redressing.

He looks one last time at the bed and Javier’s sleeping figure.

This is for the best, he reasons, even as guilt taps on his shoulder once more. 

He’s careful in closing the door, turning the handle all the way as he pulls it in behind him. It closes with a quiet click, and Henry holds his breath as he listens for any sounds on the other side of the door. After a few seconds, he feels assured that he’s in the clear.

It would be his luck to find a guy as interesting and attractive as Javier on a night like this, only for it not to end in fireworks but to go up in flames.

The universe truly has a vendetta against him, certain to get in one last laugh at his expense.

~*~*~

Pez HELLO?! Where is the confirmation you haven’t been beamed up to outer space?

Pez If the aliens are sexy then I suppose I can’t hold it against you for your silence 

Pez Send proof of life or I am calling the authorities 

Pez Drink lots of water, my love xoxo

Henry

Negative on the sexy aliens. However, I must confess to making contact with a very attractive man. Does that constitute as out of this world enough for you?

Henry sees three dots appear and vanish for the briefest of seconds before an incoming call from his roommate flashes across his screen instead.

He sighs, knowing full well he should have seen this coming.

He accepts the call and before he can open his mouth to greet his best friend, Pez is firing on all cylinders.

“I want a detailed recap of your night at once or, so help me, God, I will track you down and claw it out of you.”

“Easy now. No need for threats I know you’d make good on,” Henry says, heading into the kitchen.

He pulls down a mug and plucks a tea bag from the canister on the counter. He drops it inside of the mug.

“My night was…interesting,” he says, moving next to the kettle and adding water.

Pez makes a perplexed sound over the line, not that Henry can blame him.

“You don’t sound like a man whose life has been altered by mind-blowing sex despite the description of this mystery man. What exactly happened?”

Henry shudders a bit as the memory of Javier’s hotel room comes to mind. He can still feel the excessive amount of lube even though he’d showered thoroughly the second he got home.

He recaps the night just as Pez demanded while he makes his tea, not skimping on all the details even as his face burns as he recounts it all. Pez is aghast, gasping and shrieking right on cue as Henry describes the night and his early morning escape. 

“Anyway, I still feel rather guilty for leaving while he was sleeping, but I couldn’t bear the thought of having to talk about it.”

“You worry too much. It was a one night stand. Staying the night is not customary nor is it mandatory. You got in, you got out. That’s standard protocol for an evening such as this. Especially as this handsome devil turned out to be a dud.”

Henry frowns. “Still. Some kind of acknowledgment would have been the decent, proper thing to do. I hope I didn’t offend him.”

Pez tuts twice.

“My darling Hazza, life is too short to waste it dwelling on mediocre hookups. All the same, I must say I’m particularly proud of you, young chap! Sowing your wild oats without much abandon! You’re like a brand new man. My little Henry, all grown up right before my very eyes.”

“Have I expressed lately just how much I loathe you?”

“Sweetie, don’t lie. It’s most unbecoming.”

Henry rolls his eyes and smiles to himself as he sets his mug to his lips and drinks. His phone buzzes and Henry pulls it away to see another call coming in from his agent.

“I’ve got to run. Shaan is ringing me, but I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

Pez bids him farewell and Henry quickly switches over.

“Henry,” Shaan greets. “Are you busy today? Would you be free for lunch?”

“How sweet. Are you thinking about buying me a meal?” Henry muses.

He can practically hear Shaan’s eyes rolling.

“Hardly, but there are some people who are interested in doing such. An American actor just got acquired for his autobiography and he and his team responded quite well to your samples. They’d like to meet with you today.”

Henry freezes, surprised by the news.

“Wait, seriously?”

“He and his manager are leaving this afternoon, but they’d love to meet you if you’re able to make it for lunch. It’s a bit of a time crunch here.”

Henry eyes the clock. His afternoon is in fact free; he can certainly make the meeting but the question still remains, does he even want to? Last night’s borderline career crisis is still top of mind. He’d been so ready at the bar last night to throw it all away, to give up ghostwriting, to get back to telling his own stories instead of being the unknown voice behind others.

Henry pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“If I go, it’s not a commitment, right?”

“It’s just an inquiry, a get-to-know-you for everyone.” Shaan pauses. “Is everything alright with you? I know things with that gamer guy didn’t go over so well, but from the pitch, it truly sounds like these guys are going to give you true access to Alex. They want this to be extremely collaborative.”

Henry purses his lips and stands up straighter.

“Alex. That’s the actor then?”

“Yes, Alex Claremont-Diaz. He was on that teen vampire show, I’m completely blanking on the name right now. The vampire craze a few years back really was hard to keep track of. Anyway, he’s been in a few made-for-TV movies and has made some guest appearances over the years. His fans love him. I think this could be a great opportunity for you and what they’re offering is pretty substantial. They’re putting their weight behind this one in a big way.”

Despite the man’s resumé, Henry hasn’t the foggiest idea who the guy is, but he figures it’s a better alternative than knowing him for negative reasons.

“Would you be up for taking the meeting?” Shaan asks. Henry can hear a bit of strain in his voice.

There’s no harm in at least going, Henry thinks.

“Of course, yes. Just text me the details and I’ll be there. Thanks for setting this up, Shaan. Sincerely, I appreciate it.”

He hangs up and looks around his kitchen, his mind racing. In an ideal world, he would do his due diligence and look up this actor and make sure he’s the kind of person he’d even want to get to know, let alone invoke on the page.

Instead, he’s only able to make a mad dash for another shower and throw together a presentable outfit before heading out the door. He checks the text that had come in from Shaan while he was getting ready to get the meeting details.

He makes his way into Manhattan and to the restaurant, giving the name Shaan told him the reservation was under, Zahra Bankston.

He’s led through the tastefully decorated restaurant and brought to a table with a woman with a no nonsense expression as she types furiously on her phone and a man who makes Henry believe he’s having either a stroke or some kind of psychotic break.

Though his head is down perusing the menu, it was only a few hours ago that Henry had a view like this: that head between his legs trying in vain to make him come.

There’s only a split second before the man looks up, confirming what Henry already knew. All the same, it still feels like a dagger to the heart seeing that face again.

“Ah, you must be Henry,” Zahra greets him, rising from her seat. “Thanks so much for squeezing in this meeting. But with us in town, it would have been crazy not to at least try getting some time together.”

Henry, to his credit, manages to function enough to smile and answer back. From the corner of his eye, he can see Javier—Alex—avoid looking at him and taking a sip from his glass.

“My pleasure, really. I’m glad I could come.”

Alex chokes on his water, quickly patting his chest twice and coughing.

Zahra looks over at him, a sharp perfectly groomed brow lifting.

Alex holds up a hand and gestures for them to continue.

Henry wonders how long it’ll take for Alex to actually utter a word.

“Your samples were incredible and that’s not me blowing smoke up your ass. You’ve got such a range. We’d love to see what you could do with Alex.”

Henry looks over at the man just then and their eyes meet.  

Unlike last night, there are no glasses obscuring Alex’s face. He looks different somehow in the daylight, his features sharper– every bit the celebrity he’s now been revealed to be. Even how he carries himself is different. Henry chalks it up to Alex now having an air of professionalism. Last night as Javier, he didn’t have to be someone embarking on a meeting. He could let his guard down and be himself freely, even with a fake name and fabricated backstory.

Henry looks away and tries to get his head on straight, to exist right here at this table rather than being pulled back to retrace last night.

Zahra’s phone vibrates on the table, rattling her cutlery. She grabs it and looks at the screen, sighing.

“Crap, sorry. I have to take this,” Zahra says impatiently, removing her cloth napkin from her lap and putting it on the table before she bustles off.

Without her, Henry feels completely unmoored and the shockwaves of seeing the man next to him again shake him once more.

“Okay, well, this is awkward,” Alex says flatly. 

He’d been so quiet this whole time, Henry was starting to think he’d lost his voice in the hours that separated their run ins.

“Understatement of the century. I never thought I’d see you again.”

Alex laughs. “Yeah, I kinda got that impression when I woke up alone.” 

He says it lightly, but his words still land like punches to the gut.

Henry frowns. “I’m sorry. Everything last night…going back to your room, I told you, that’s not really me. You weren’t actually you either though. Here on business? Working in sales?”

Alex’s brows furrow. “I couldn’t be. Hell, I didn’t know if you might’ve known who I was or not. It was a risk so, yeah, I fibbed a little.”

“You fibbed a lot, Javier.”

Alex’s face is unreadable and Henry thinks perhaps he’s taken this a step too far.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Alex waves him off. “I probably deserved that, but for different reasons, I couldn’t be honest. You can understand that, can’t you?”

Henry imagines himself in Alex’s shoes, a man with a certain level of public notoriety. He can picture how difficult it might be to forge genuine connections with people when there’s an underlying fear that it’s merely seen as an opportunity for a quick fifteen minutes of fame.

“I can. I’m not actually mad. I’m just…God, the last twenty four hours have been some of the most confusing for me.”

Alex laughs dryly. “You’re telling me.”

Henry can sense there’s a backstory here, but he doubts he’s in a position to ask for details. Instead, he takes a cleansing breath.

“Had I known this meeting was with you, I wouldn’t have taken it. I’m clearly not the right person to have on this project. When Zahra gets back, I can let her know. Or I’ll have Shaan phone her later.”

Alex’s head snaps back a bit as if he’s been struck.

“Whoa, wait. Henry,” he says softly and instantly Henry’s brought back to last night, the way Alex rasped his name.

He squeezes eyes shut, blocks out the memory before pulling himself back into the moment.

“We’ve gone through so many freaking portfolios and yours really stood out the most. That doesn’t suddenly change just because of yesterday. We called you in on merit, on your talent. I still think you’d be the best person for the job. You don’t even know just how perfect you are for this. Please consider it? Whatever happened between us, we can just ignore it and start fresh.”

Henry searches his eyes trying to see if he can detect any underlying doubt but Alex’s face is completely earnest. 

Before he can answer, Zahra comes bounding back to the table. Her presence is so commanding, people from other tables stare after as she passes by.

She either doesn’t notice or she simply doesn’t care. Either way, Henry is in awe of her.

“Okay. Where were we?” she says as she settles into her seat.

Henry still feels shaken by Alex’s plea and the curiosity he felt before is only amplified tenfold as Alex’s words play on a loop in his head.

Why would Henry of all people be the ideal candidate, even with their recent history?

“Right,” Zahra continues, clapping her hands together. “Alex will be hitting the con circuit in full force while the announcement goes live in two weeks. You’d go with him, getting complete access to panels and photoshoots, everything so you can shadow him for research.”

“The announcement?” Henry interjects.

“Crescent Valley will be doing a reunion special,” Alex answers. “It’s under wraps for now, but we’ll be breaking the news during this tour. It’s something fans have been asking for for years now. We know it’ll get a ton of great coverage. But when we start out at the first stop in Portland, you’ll be able to get the hang of what it’s like on the road before the madness kicks in.”

“And, uh, how many stops exactly?” Henry asks, his head already hurting at the mere thought of the costs.

Zahra must pick up on it as she says, “Ten-city tour this time around plus time in L.A for reunion-related filming. All your travel expenses and lodging will be covered. You’ll also receive a per diem while you’re on the road with Alex for these three months.”

She picks up her glass and takes a sip of her wine.

“You’ve got a damn good agent in Shaan. He negotiated for an advance as well. You’re practically robbing the publisher, but honestly, good for you. You’d be worth every cent.”

It’s a lucrative deal, far more than Henry could have imagined. A multi-city tour, an advance. It sounds too good to be true. Last night he’d had one foot out the door with this career. Now, it felt as if a red carpet was being rolled out at his feet.

“So, what do you say? Can we tempt you?” Zahra asks. Henry is quickly learning to appreciate how direct she is, even if it is slightly intimidating.

Henry can’t help it; he looks right at Alex then.

“I can honestly say you’ve already succeeded in that.” 

He holds Alex’s gaze for a moment before he looks back at Zahra. 

“I’m in.”

~*~*~

Henry spends the better part of the day after lunch falling down a rabbit hole of YouTube videos of Alex, everything from Entertainment Weekly interviews to fanvids. The content is bottomless and if there’s one thing to be clear, it’s that Shaan was right. Alex’s fanbase is devoted, the comments sections overrun with people making declarations of love for both Alex and his character. On more than one occasion, he’s seen oaths from people vowing they’d leave their current relationships if given the chance to date Alex.

From their ferocity, Henry doesn’t think they’re being hyperbolic.

He’s part way through Alex’s BuzzFeed puppy interview, because of course Alex has one, when he hears Pez coming home from his spot on the couch where he’s spent far too many hours stretched out with his laptop.

Pez enters with a tote bag of groceries on his shoulder and flowers, no doubt from his favorite stall at the farmers market.

“Have you ever heard of an actor named Alex Claremont-Diaz?” he asks Pez by way of a greeting.

Pez stares blankly at him and, for a moment, Henry worries something has happened to his best friend until Pez sets down the flowers and tote bag and plants his hands firmly on his hips.

Henry is sure the look he’s going for is stern or authoritative, but it's very hard to take Pez seriously when he looks more like a deer caught in headlights.

“Are you playing jokes on me? You know I could not shut up about Crescent Valley when we were uni! Of course I know who Alex Claremont-Diaz is, that delicious slice of apple pie.”

Henry snorts a laugh, keeping himself back from saying he’s actually had a taste firsthand.

“Why the sudden interest in him?” Pez asks, picking up his discarded items. Henry follows him into the kitchen.

“We had lunch.”

Pez turns back sharply from the cupboard he’s just opened.

“Pardon me? You and whom exactly? Certainly not Alex Claremont-Diaz! That simply cannot be. That is not news you just oh so casually drop like you’re giving me a weather update, Hen. Are you positive you didn’t meet aliens last night? Surely you’ve been possessed. One night stands and rubbing elbows with celebrities. I mean, my word.”

Henry smiles to himself. If only Pez knew the totality of it, of the way this all intersects.

“Paint the scene! But start from the beginning. How in the world did you end up on a lunch date with Alex Claremont-Diaz, the man I once believed was my destiny?”

Henry rolls his eyes at the latter part of Pez’s words.

“I will tell you, but only if you stop using his full name every two seconds. You can just say Alex.”

“Oh, well. Excuse me. Have I been replaced? Have you gone off and made a new best friend then? Your precious Alex,” he says, fluttering his lashes on the name.

Henry scoffs.

“I haven’t been able to cut you loose yet, so I’d wager you’ve earned your stay in my life, much to my dismay,” he teases before he starts to explain Shaan’s call and the snowball that his afternoon became as a result of it.

“This is unreal,” Pez says by the end of it, awe coloring his tone. “Where’s the first stop?”

“Portland.”

Pez claps his hands together.

“We must go shopping for flannel at once.”

Henry gives him a deadpan look.

“What? They’d probably bar you from entry into the state if you don’t look the part,” Pez jokes.

“You just want an excuse to dress me up like I’m a Ken doll.”

“But, I mean…aren’t you though? You strapping young lad you.”

Henry rolls his eyes and smiles.

“I’m going to miss you. It’ll be strange going weeks, months really, without having you around.”

Pez puts the back of his hand against his forehead and drapes himself dramatically over the counter.

“I suppose I’ll have to fend for myself. You can write me letters. Carry my photo in a locket to remember me by. Tattoo my name on your heart so that I know the love is real.”

“On second thought, perhaps I won’t miss you at all.”

[ghostfilecabinet]

November’s is Ryan’s birthday month, so our theme is: BOTTOM BERGARA! Because loving someone in fandom means wanting to see them fucked silly. Without further ado -

Onwards.

let us touch so much of ourselves together by uneventfulhouses | E, 4K | He’s soft, but Ryan knows a huge dick when he sees one. “Jesus.” Ryan blinks and. Well, he blinks again, because what else can he do. He realizes he’s staring at it, but—

Once Upon a Porno by GomorrahHillsides (Within_N_Without) | E, 15K | How one awkward moment can change your future. Or, the story of how two grown men end up forging a deeper, more intimate relationship by way of dubbing a period piece porno together.

The Thermostat by GomorrahHillsides (Within_N_Without) | ft. D/s | E, 12K | When arguing over the thermostat blatantly means 'I love you'.

The Wall Between Us by buzzfeedunwritten (loudmouthraccoon) | E, 29K | In order to get over his hopeless crush on Shane, Ryan finds himself at an establishment specifically designed for the purpose of safe anonymous sex. It goes about as well as you would imagine.

A Grand Unified Theory for Dummies by Siria | E, 5K | Shane had something of a grand unified theory of dating one Ryan Bergara brewing which—and bear with him here—used Pokemon as its central metaphor.

kiss today goodbye (point me towards tomorrow) by idkspookystuff | E, 4k | Suddenly, there’s a loud crack from behind them. Shane and Ryan go still, and from this close, Ryan can see the hair stand up on Shane's arms. “Do you think there’s any chance that’s Taylor Lautner?” Ryan jokes feebly. He’s gonna be really mad if those are his last words.

leave me high and dry by bodhirookes | E, 11k | He can’t believe he’s hearing this come out of Shane’s mouth. He says as much out loud. “I can’t believe this. You think I’m a wimp? Even throughout all of the demon encounters and my rippling muscles?”

this rainstorm (it smells like home) by popkin16 | ft. a/b/o | E, 28k | Ryan’s heats were always regular, like clockwork. [...]  His next heat wasn’t due for another two months, but it was hard to deny how empty his nest looked and how much it bothered him.

Baby, Be Mine by petitfangs | ft. D/s | E, 7K | “Hey,” Ryan greeted him, eyes big and warm like the curl of his lips, the bright shine of his teeth, white and perfect. Something tightens, low and hot, in Shane’s stomach. He tampers down the sudden urge to kiss him. 

Want You In My Court by Ourladyofresurrection | ft. D/s | E, 51k | How do you gracefully say: ‘Hey, I know we’re in a group project now, but I think I came to the sound of your voice the other night and I can’t stop thinking about it and frankly, it’s driving me a little crazy‘

Can't We Just Roll for the Moment by punk_rock_yuppie | E, 2.8k | “This doesn’t count as proof,” Shane says.

Wind Me Tighter Than a Wire by sequence_fairy, uneventfulhouses | E, 5k | Ryan’s like, “I’m just aesthetically attracted to some men in particular,” and “I don’t want to do anything about it,” and “alright, maybe, sometimes, I think about getting lovingly railed by Henry Cavill while I jerk off but who doesn’t?” and Shane is maybe losing his mind about it.

be so sweet by sarcasticfishes | ft. D/s | E, 3k | “I feel like you’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Shane says, keeps stroking through Ryan’s hair, again and again, soothing, “I think you already know what you want from me.”

Teacher's Pet by chapscher | E, 24k | “You aren’t describing a teacher’s pet! You’re describing… I don't know the name for it. Someone who tries to seduce their teacher so they can get a better grade.” “Isn’t that a teacher’s pet?”

Oh, Ho, The Mistletoe by Bottomryanbitch | E, 7k | Mistletoe made them do it: sex pollen edition.

Lovesick fool by petitfangs | E, 7k | “If I make you come, will you get off my lap and stop trying to kiss me?” Shane asks gruffly. 

stay the night with the sinners by bodhirookes | E, 85k | Steven Lim and Andrew Ilnyckyj flee Heaven and Hell to be together, and Ryan Bergara is forced to serve on the jury for their trial. Shane Madej is constantly there to remind him why Heaven and Hell should never be allowed to fraternize.

Shut Me Up by Fraudgara | ft. D/s | E, 6k | "You never seem to shut up when I'm touching you." Shane and Ryan play a very very terribly executed rendition of the quiet game.

Read To Me by ouijaboy (nbfutureboy) | E, 18k | When acclaimed children’s author Shane Madej meets a long-suffering parent at one of his signings, he decides on a whim that he’d like to torture this man some more. As it turns out, both Ryan Bergara and his son are two infinitely entertaining human beings.

Something Old, Something New by ChimChimCherrie | E, 8k | Thrifting wasn't Ryan's favorite way to spend an afternoon, but he had to admit the boutique that Mari found was pretty cool.

[rmelster]

The Tudors “Margaret” Tudor and purposeless character assassination: A rant.

(This is today’s rant subject, “Margaret” Tudor. Of course, no hate to Gabrielle Anwar, the actress that portrayed her; she has far better roles than this… Bitter princess)

“ICONIC” MARGARET?

(Some) People find it brutally empowering to see this refined lady murder her husband. And certainly, they first present her a very undesirable situation where we cannot do nothing but to be biased in her favour: We have a handsome gentleman of noble birth named Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk (played by the equally handsome Henry Cavill), who she has the hots for, and then, this dying, stinky pervert (Manuel I, King of Portugal) that we don’t know exactly why had she married (specially since, both historically and in the show, he had already a vast, healthy progeny). She has to bear with this torture until she says “no more of this” and decides to smother the king and hastily marry the Duke of Suffolk, her true love.

Well, this is when we get three big things wrong:

Firstly, murder remains an inexcusable crime in most of the cases. Imagine a young man killing his elderly wife in that same way. “But men have more authority and bodily autonomy!” It’s. Still. Murder. Henry VIII killed his wives (and many other innocent women both related and unrelated to him) to get with the woman/en he wanted, and we loathe him for that; but in this show, Margaret kills her husband to go back to Suffolk’s torrid embrace, (some( people find it iconic, girlboss, empowering.

Secondly, The Tudors is guilty of the punishable mistake of disguising lust as “passionate love”. We see it in Henry VIII / Anne Boleyn, and we see it in Margaret / Suffolk too. We soon learn that Margaret and the Duke have little to nothing in common, and that they spent most of their times fighting or separate (time that he idly spends in getting under the farthingales of ladies and trying to woo more women above his possibilities, just like the married and very fictional queen Claude of France). Just because he says “I’m sorry” before her grave that doesn’t make this a tragic love story.

Thirdly, she is no empowered character that we should take example of. Even after “freeing” herself from the King of Portugal, she spends most of her time bemoaning her life and the marriage she killed for. And that scene of her disapproving her brother’s “unnatural” divorce by saying: “Oh, I won’t step into a court where a whore rules”. Miss, you literally bedded Suffolk before marrying the King of Portugal, then mercilessly killed your husband, then brought Suffolk back to warm your black widow’s bed and smugly told your brother. Your actions are as bad as Henry’s.

FANCY PRINCESSES DON’T WEAR THAT

As it happens whenever I encounter some The Tudors costume, I felt the dread of seeing clothes that neither of them would have ever worn. Margaret’s dress could have been very cool, but certainly, it had something that I didn’t enjoy. Her hairstyle, as pretty as it is, wouldn’t have been possible nor fashionable in those times, since she would have worn a proper headdress.

(This is a latter impression of Gossaert’s Wedding Portrait of the Dukes of Suffolk, which portrays the real Margaret, whose name was actually Mary, and the real Charles Brandon)

As you can see, the show counterpart misses a proper headdress, jewellery and the French gown that we are so used to see in Mary. She also seemed to borrow a crown from her sworn enemy Anne Boleyn apparently (in the show). I read in the WiKi that Margaret is a rebellious soul that wears unfashionable clothes, which highly contradicts the fashionable Mary Tudor, who brought the French fashions to court. Her clothes in the masque (everyone’s, actually) are highly historically inaccurate, and it is giving cheap copy of Fifty Shades Darker.

WILL THE REAL QUEEN PLEASE STAND UP? Manuel I of Portugal indeed remarried with a young princess, but this wasn’t any Tudor princess, but an Hapsburg one: Her name was Eleanor of Austria, and would become a widow three years of marriage and two children together after. Who Mary Tudor actually married was the King of France, Louis XII, who lacked male heirs (he only had two surviving daughter, the future Queen Claude, and Renee of France) who was fifty two when she was eighteen. And, despite making her brother swear to allow her to remarry in case she widowed (which is far more reasonable than what she did in the show), she was actually pretty kind to her sick, elderly husband, and he was very pleased with her too. Within months of marriage, he sent a letter to King Henry VIII calling him “brother” and expressing his upmost pleasure to be married to her. Mary may have been aware since her childhood, seeing her older siblings marry strategically into the Royal House of Scotland and Castile - Aragon, that she would suffer the same fate, and that she would have to be strong and a worthy sovereign to whatever kingdom she would be bound to reign; though I wouldn’t be so bold to say that she eventually loved him, Mary didn’t openly show her disgust to the king and treated him nicely. He suffered a long and painful agony due to his gout and died barely three months after marrying Mary. She spent some cautionary time in France, in case it was proven that she was with child, and then left.

Princess Mary Tudor, firstly Queen of France and later Duchess of Suffolk, was a pretty interesting character that was slain by the poor writing of the show runners, whose main focus revolves around her (quite unhealthy) sexuality and her good looks; then, after having her becoming a “burden” to Suffolk, they hastily had her killed and, after giving him some cheap ass redemption by looking mildly sad in her funeral (when he was literally bedding another woman as she agonised)m the next chapter comes and he already had set his eyes on his ward (which is nearly an adopted child, but with personal interests). Ironically, the true Charles Brandon had originally betrothed Catherine Willoughby to his son, then married her roughly two months after Mary’s demise; she was fourteen, and he fourty nine, making him thirty five years her senior, which in the show they dismiss quickly. Their age gap was one year bigger than that of the true Mary and Louis XII, but, quite the contrary of the first one, they never dare to make it undesirable in the show. Hypocrisy, I think.