#house husband booker au

[princessbrunette]

HOLD ME, KISS ME ♡

♪ the little dippers — forever ♪

WANTED: JOHN BOOKER ROUTLEDGE - SUSPECTED MURDER - $1000 REWARD - DANGEROUS! IF SPOTTED DO NOT APPROACH!

pairing: outlaw!johnb + sheltered!reader ⋆₊⊹♡

synopsis: your wishes come true when a beautiful boy is found sleeping peacefully in your barn. much to his surprise, you don’t care about who he is or what he has or hasn’t done — you just want to ensure he stays forever.

cw: mentions of prayer, religion and god (for plot purpose) reader has two parents, western!au, innocence kink, slight manipulation, mentions of crime, breeding kink, smut ♡

“Please deliver me a man, save me from this loneliness. Make him kind, and strong, and handsome. I vow to make him the happiest man alive.”

Your forehead rests against your clasped hands where you kneel beside your bed, speaking out loud as there was no one else to speak to. Your parents had gone on a trip for two weeks, leaving you in charge of the farmhouse all by your lonesome.

Isolated didn’t feel like the correct term. You were grateful, happy to live off the fat of your father’s land in the middle of nowhere, but sometimes you wished you had someone to share it with. Someone your own age who was there to see you. You had become the perfect host, thrilled when your parents would bring home guests once in a blue moon. You’d tie ribbons in your hair and pick the perfect dress and set the table like your mother taught you. You often imagined setting the table for a family of your own.

Your own farm house. The thought sent you off to sleep each night, walking through the home in your mind as if it were really real, feeling the creaking of the painted wooden porch beneath your feet as you enter, the distant cooing of your baby being comforted by your husband in the next room. White shabby-chic panels across the walls with oak furniture and knitted throw pillows and lots and lots of warm light. The kitchen table would have the perfect lace floral embroidered table cloth draped across it which you’d serve the heartiest dinners on each night. The babies room would be painted mint green, no— maybe pastel yellow, with handmade toys and a music box that played your song and oh, the master bedroom… where you and your husband rest your head would be flooded with natural light. A haven. All yours.

The details to the decoration often changed, new inspiration plucked from the papers that father would bring home and new favourite colours integrating themselves into your home plans but one thing remained the same each time. Your husband. He never had a face, but it wasn’t important. He was warm, strong without having to prove just how macho he was, kind— you could feel his love from the next room on. That was all you really wanted. You could forget the house, forget the land, live in a barn for all you care — you just wanted to experience a love like the ones in the fairytale books stacked high in your room.

It had been a week already of this routine you’d grown used to. You wake up, feed yourself and then the chickens, come inside, clean yourself and then the house, paint, crotchet or read — however the mood takes you, eat lunch, tend to the crops, brush the horses, maybe milk a cow, come inside and cook dinner, bathe, think about your dream husband and grind your wet messy cunt into a pillow, feel guilty, beg for forgiveness and then sleep. It was an easy life, and you couldn’t complain— but you couldn’t help feel the world had more to offer.

Your mother often told you that gifts from above come when you least expect it, you just had to keep your eyes open. You always wondered how one might find these gifts with no idea where to look.

Your gift arrived bright and early the next morning.

Well, not technically as early as it should have been, infact you probably nearly missed it. The roosters calls at 6AM each morning, but on that very day you had decided to sleep in. A few hours wouldn’t kill them, you think as you pull a plush white pillow to lay over your ear— it’s not like the chickens would starve.

At 11:45AM, you stumble bare foot onto the grass outside, setting out on your walk to the barn a little way up the land. Your pert nipples harden, awakened by the cool morning breeze as the thin white fabric of your nightdress blows in the wind. With the sunlight shining directly on it, it was sure to be totally and utterly see through— and you suppose that was one upside to living in the middle of nowhere, yards upon yards from civilisation. No one would see you. Sigh.

You feed the chickens, totally blind before it even occurs to you that anything might be astray. Infact, you don’t even seem to notice that the barn door was left ajar, as opposed to how you usually leave it bolted by a wooden slab to prevent the animals from wandering off or being massacred by foxes. You suppose that’s the price you pay for sleeping in, you live in dreamworld for the next few hours.

The Earth seems to stop turning for a moment when you see him.

You’re more curious than anything, wide eyed, holding your breath as to be totally silent despite having been humming and speaking to the chickens only a moment prior. You tiptoe through the hay, shards of straw sprouting between your painted toes and pin-needling your sole as you draw closer to the man. A fallen angel, your first thought.

He’s half curled up onto his side in the hay behind the stable for your white pony. He has thick-ish arms crossed over his chest, his hat laying over his face seeming to be serving as a purpose to block out the light. You figure as you hadn’t woken up him before, a closer inspection couldn’t hurt. Unhurriedly, you sink down into a squat beside him, knees pointed upwards and feet taking your balance. A real man, in your barn? It couldn’t be. You chew on your bottom lip, goggle-eyed and inquisitive as you cautiously lift the hat away from his face.

He doesn’t wake and you’re for some reason thankful. It gives you time to observe him, the breath all but knocked from your body as you take in just how beautiful he is. He was perfect, and just like what you were hoping for when you wished to be delivered a husband.

Dark eyelashes kissing at the rim of his closed eyes, pale lips and freckles, sunkissed across his nose. Your eyes trail over and across him, now with his face in mind taking in account what he looks like as a whole. You were still in disbelief, a real man sleeping in your barn. But then again, as your eyes skim lower and you notice the blood seeping through his shirt over his stomach — you wonder if he was sleeping. Surely he wasn’t dead? Only God could be so cruel to deliver you the perfect man without a pulse.

So, you press two cold fingers to his neck, searching for the rhythmic beats signifying life. As soon as you do so, the man jolts awake — wide brown eyes meeting yours.

“Jesus.”

This is where the stare off commences— you were sat in a squat giving him a straight shot up your night dress with dome like eyes and parted lips, observing him like he was some sort of alien life form that had happened upon your barn infront of your very eyes. Your chest rises and falls, and his gender fails to betray him as his eyes fall there for a moment, subconsciously noticing the way your bare tits strain against the thin fabric with each exhale. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can’t help but acknowledge that you’re a pretty thing, totally his type. In any other scenario, he might’ve seen you at a local tavern and introduced himself, getting you tipsy and loose, making you giggle beneath his soft gaze and coarse hands in some dimly lit booth before realising he’s far too respectful to take advantage of you like that.

With his eyes open, the picture is complete — and he truly is as beautiful as you thought. He had a puppy like quality to his eyes, they were big and brown but from the sunlight streaming in you could see specks of orange which intrigues you. You wish to look closer, but you feel it’s not the time. His adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow and he tears his eyes away from yours to look around, still disorientated from sleep. He touches his wound with gentle fingers and he winces, going to push himself up on his elbows.

You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it, warm deep voice raspy from rest as he dives into a sequence of begging.

“Does anyone know I’m in here?”

“No, I—”

“Okay, that’s— okay, please — hey, please don’t tell anyone. I won’t lie to you, I’m in a little bit of trouble with the law, nothing super bad I swear just — I needed somewhere safe to sleep so I ended up here. Didn’t take anything and uh— and I’ll be out of your hair now that I’m up.” He rambles, continually glancing at the barn doors, expecting Sheriff Shoupe to bust them down and take him in at any moments notice. You say nothing for a moment and he pushes himself to his feet, eyes squeezing shut at the soreness of his injury. “Think it’s easiest if I just—”

He cuts himself off this time, because you slip your hand into his— stopping him from going anywhere. His eyebrows jump up and he freezes on the spot, staring down at your doe eyes with a wide and confused gaze of his own.

“…Hi?”

“You just got here? Why’d you have to go?” You sound sad, and he actually can’t believe what he’s hearing. Not only did he break into your barn, on private land — but he’d totally overstayed his non-existent welcome, and now you didn’t want him to leave?

“P—pardon me? Ma’am?” He tries to be respectful, when what he really wants to ask is along the lines of ‘What the fuck?’.

You scramble to stand up and he helps you using the hand that you’re grasping. “Well, you won’t get far with a wound like that. It could get infected. Maybe you could come inside, let me dress it. You can refuel… maybe stay a few days?” The last part sounds wrong coming from your mouth. He’s a stranger for goodness sake— everything your parents had taught you about safety went against this and plus you were practically begging. You might have been embarrassed, if there wasn’t such a nagging feeling in your stomach telling you that this was meant to be.

He scoffs out a chuckle, because he thinks there’s no way you’re serious— but when he sees your wide eyes bouncing between his own, searching for something he couldn’t quite put a finger on— he realises you’re being completely genuine and his expression melts into a more worried gaze, shuffling a little closer on his feet.

“Look, I really appreciate your hospitality, but you have done more than enough, really. Just the fact you didn’t have the sheriff busting in to drag me away is something I will be very grateful for. Believe me. But I can’t drag you into this. Anyway, don’t you have family? That you live with?”

You sigh, looking down at your intertwined hands that you had yet to release, staring as if you were trying to memorise the feeling of a man’s touch incase you really couldn’t convince him to stay.

“Well yes, but they’re on a trip you see — and they’re going to be away for another week and I’m not sure how much more I can take. I’m awfully lonely, and I know you’re a stranger and all but I could really use the extra set of hands… plus it’s the least you could do… for breaking in…” You feel you’re pushing it with that last part, but decide to proceed with it anyway, any means necessary to get him to stay. He bites his bottom lip in thought as you stare up through your lashes and he thinks screw it. He’s sure you’re not setting him up, a little thing like you would be far too weak to pull that off.

“Okay, I… don’t see why not then.” He doesn’t sound certain, but you make such a good offer he’d be a fool not to accept. He bends down and swoops his hat off the floor, holding it to his chest and you take his hand once more, guiding him out of the barn.

He presses his lips together in an awkward smile at the way you confidently lead him, almost having to break into a jog to match your eager pace. Once nearing the house, you tell him your name and he nods — taking in the scenery.

You’re sitting him down in the living room before he can blink, and he takes in the setting around him. A real cozy place, a family home for sure — with a pale blue couch, a scratchy patchwork blanket draped over the back and floral cushions. There’s photos of you in multiple spots around the room, an only child — he gathers. The main photo sits on the mantelpiece, framed, a set of parents curtaining your smiling face in the image. You seem to be a few years younger, fuller in the face, still cute as a button.

He doesn’t quite realise you’d gone anywhere until you’re returning — the contents of an old first aid box rumbling in your grip. You give him a reassuring smile and lower to kneel by his feet, opening up the container and fishing around for some cotton pads.

“Do you have a name, mister?”

He clears his throat, trying to gage your reaction once he speaks, attempting to work out if the name rings any bells. “Uh, yeah. John B. John B. Routledge. You might’ve… actually heard of me. If you have, uh— I’m sorry.”

You don’t seem to react in any kind of alarming way, a smile grazing your face as you pour rubbing alcohol onto a soft white pad.

“Heard of you how? Are you famous?”

“…You’ve never seen those big ‘Wanted’ posters up in town? Kinda got my picture up on one of them.”

You peel up his shirt revealing tanned, toned skin and a wound that had crusted over with blood. You press the pad to it and he winces, knuckles turning white in his lap and head lulling back against the seat for a moment.

“Sorry.” You furrow your brows apologetically before continuing to mop up all the dried blood. “Oh, and I’m not allowed up in town. Not by myself anyway. So, I don’t keep up to date with all that… stuff.” You pull away, rifling through the box for another clean pad. He nods, eyes jumping to look at his wound and then back to you, watching your face for any discomfort regarding his presence. Oddly, there was none. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s wildly apparent now that you’ve truly been sheltered your whole life. There was this innocence you carried that was hard to come by, a lack of judgement that was sweet but made him worry for you slightly. You were lucky he had a good heart.

“That’s… probably for the best, actually. You know, they like to tell lies. I’m being falsely accused.” He speaks a little slower, and enunciates the last part as if you might not understand, and as expected— you hang onto every word, lips a little parted and wide eyed. It’s pretty cute, albeit inappropriate considering he’s a stranger.

As he speaks, you wrap his wound, pressing the sticky part down onto his skin before gently pressing the cotton covering his injury. “Well I’m really sorry about that John B. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” You chirp, before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss over the dressing, pulling back to offer him a sweet smile. The lines on John B’s forehead smooth out, his concerned expression melting into his own gentle smile of disbelief.

He wonders what the odds are that he’d stumbled upon a real life angel. Well, it was that — or you wanted to chop his body into tiny pieces whilst he slept and add it to your cauldron. He couldn’t quite figure it out yet, but you were pretty — and he was a total loverboy, so stupidly he was willing to take that risk.

He pulls his shirt back down over his now dressed wound and you begin to clear your things back into the first aid box.

“Is there anything I can do for you? Like, anything you need help with around here?” He offers and you look up at him, brows furrowing with adoration.

“Goodness, no— I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“Said you needed an extra pair of hands earlier.” He challenges with a smile.

“I only said that to get you to come inside. With your injury, I couldn’t possibly put you to work.”

He scrunches his face a little with a half scoff, half smile and shrugs one shoulder. “Please, this thing? It barely even stings. Come oooon.” He croons with a smirk, and you really feel the full effects of his charm now— the warm timbre of his voice headed straight to your clit giving it a heartbeat of its own.

“Fine.” It comes out airy with a giddy smile and you take his hand yet again, almost getting distracted by the coarseness against your palm, the sight of bulging veins along the backs of them.

Your bare feet are treading lightly over soft wood chip once more as you lead him toward the destroyed fence round the left side perimeter of the farm.

“So… I suppose you could carry all the planks back from the fence that fell down in that awful storm last week. I was gonna wait for my daddy to get home to get him to do it ‘cus I’m much too weak for something like that.” You point, and John B’s brown fluffy head follows your finger to the destination at hand. He nods, a doable task.

“Well a girl like you shouldn’t be lifting a finger anyway.” He turns his head back to face you with a smile, eyes squinted in the sun. He looks radiant, no sign of pain anymore and you look down at your night gown, scrunching it in your clammy hands with an uncontrollable grin at the floor, harbouring such an innocent crush on the boy already that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

His gaze stays on you for a tick whilst you step quietly and he speaks up again, tilting his head a little inquisitively. “I really, really hope this doesn’t sound rude… ‘cus I don’t mean to be. But… are you not… married?” He trails off, thinking of all the times he’s been walloped round the head in taverns for asking questions of a similar nature. Your smile doesn’t go away, your gentle nature not retiring for a moment.

“Oh no, no. I don’t meet boys often. Thats why I’m happy you came!” You chirp, hand reaching out to softly squeeze his arm. “Can be like husband and wife whilst you stay round.”

He just laughs in response. Not necessarily in a mean way, but the same way you laugh when a child tells you they’re going to be an astronaut when they grow up.

The brutal beating of the sun does nothing to stop the honest work you’d put the self proclaimed outlaw up to, he seems to be deep in thought often — carrying the planks to and fro. You slip inside for a while to change into something more appropriate, a sweet and floral sundress that ties up at the straps and hugs you in a more womanly way. You’d rubbed your lips together as you fixed your hair in the mirror before bringing him a sandwich in the early afternoon. “You are adorable.” He grins when you do so, and it wasn’t quite the reaction you’d hoped for on your dress but it still made you warm in the face. He simply brought out a true primal bodily reaction from you— that’s why you’d skipped the panties under your dress. He was making you excited and slippery down there and you just didn’t see the point. You stay out for hours at a time to chat with him. Your affections grow.

John B. Routledge finally returns back to the house when he’s all finished and you let him lay down for a nap on your couch, finally getting some real rest in. Whilst he does so, you spend hours preparing a hearty meal — the type you reserve for when mama and papa have guests round. As the pie browns off just a moment longer in the oven, you come to the man’s side, kneeling beside him and stroking his fluffy hair back.

“I made dinner. Sure you’re really hungry.” You whisper and his eyes flutter once more, the arms that were crossed over his chest stretching out as he wakes. You sit back to give him space, and when he opens his eyes you’re there with a smile — the orange beam of sunset haloing your head. Something about an angel drafts through his mind once more and he stretches.

“Oh boy, I slept longer than I was meant to huh?” He sits up and you shrug, leading him through to the kitchen where you’d laid the round table. Steaming seasoned vegetables in a bowl, freshly picked by you. Warm bread, baked and scored by you with flowers the centrepiece of the table. A jug of gravy there too. There’s a tray of mashed potatoes waiting, creamy and delicious looking. Routledges stomach audibly growls and he chuckles at this as he sits down, taking in the scenery you’d laid out. “You… have spoiled me. All this for someone who breaks into your barn?” He chuckles as he lowers himself into the seat.

You follow him round the table with a giddy smile. “Told you I like havin’ guests.” You perch your bottom on his leg, an arm wrapped around his neck as your feet swing. It felt right. You’d always wanted to sit with a man this way, you’d seen it before in the picture shows. Man and wife, domestic bliss. His brows jump up and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“Oh… sweetheart, you shouldn’t do that. I am a— a stranger, after all.” He tries to do the responsible thing, even though there was something about your innocent brashness that was turning him on beyond belief. Your eyebrows knit in the centre, a line between them and your bottom lip seems to have doubled in size from how it pushes out.

“But I like you?” You mewl, rejected. It all seems so simple to you, which is probably feels super unfair. No one had taught you how to address men because you were so sheltered, and now it was giving you all of these complicated feelings that John B would have to deal with.

“And I like you — a whole bunch. You know I’m super grateful for you taking me in and… all that good stuff. But sitting right here is gonna… make me excited. Because I’m a guy. Go ahead and hop off for me.” He taps your lower back gently and you huff, feeling upset and rejected about the whole thing. His eyes are all wide and hopeful as he stares at you, like he wanted to make sure you were okay. The way he handles you so sweetly made your stomach stir despite your current mope.

You drag your feet to the oven comically and he stifles a chuckle at how dramatic you were, despite his sympathy. You place your hands into oven gloves and take out the pie— perfect and golden. You walk it to the table and John B sits up a little straighter, eyes darting between you and the food.

“Did this all by yourself? You have got a real knack for cooking. Should put you on the TV.” He grins, switching on the charm to attempt to loosen up your silent sulk. You nod, eyes casted down childishly and he reaches out to touch your arm. “Thank you, pretty girl.”

A small smile slips out, and he flickers his eyes over to the heart shape you’d scored onto the pie, his own lips twitching up into a smirk. “That for me?”

“Maybe.”

“Hmm.”

You end up giggling, his smile too infectious and your bad moment is all forgotten as you serve him a slice, plating up for him and then yourself before you eat. John B digs in ravenously, it’s almost erotic — the way he’s groaning at how good it all tastes, gravy dripping from his lips as he licks more off his fingers. He was clearly less proper-mannered than you, but you liked that. Table manners were for boring old people anyway. Maybe everything about him got you going, but you had to really concentrate on getting some food inside you instead of just watching the show of eating he was putting on.

Once you’re finished, and he’s finishing up on his third helping — you let your giggles die down from the wild goose chase story he relayed for you, one where he of course wound up the hero which only made your heart beat harder for him. Your socked foot begins to prod at his ankle, sliding up his leg until it rests in his lap. He doesn’t seem to mind, the food having lowered his guard just that bit as he leans back in his chair, undoing his belt. He adjusts his hips on the seat as he does so and your thighs clench.

“So what did you think?” You ask, though you think it’s clear that he liked the meal from the empty plates and unbuckled belt. He lets out a long satisfied sigh, gazing at you for a moment with a kind smile.

“I think, whoever gets to marry you is a lucky son of a bitch.” He presses his lips together, almost like he was disappointed about the idea of you with another. You blink, the hands resting beneath your chin dreamily slowly falling to play with eachother on the table.

“Why not you, John B?” You question sadly, giving him those eyes again. The ones that tug on his heart and made him wanna give you everything and anything you ask for. He lifts a napkin, bringing it to his mouth as he shakes his head dismissively, closing his eyes with a frown.

“Mm—mm.” The tissue fabric muffles the sound. “You don’t wanna marry me, believe me — okay, I’m an outlaw. Your parents would never in a billion years accept me. Anyway you… you deserve someone less rough and tumble, you know? Like a prince from a storybook. A bubblewrap life. Not… whatever this is.” He gestures to himself, more so the browned blood stain on his shirt.

You sigh, determined. “My parents would understand. They’re — they’re generous people.”

“Really? ‘Cus they don’t even let you leave the house.” He quips quickly in response, smirking at your naivety and you fall silent for a moment. His face flattens just a tad from guilt. You were far too soft for that kind of tone.

When you look up at him again, your face is more solemn — wide eyes searching his for a shred of understanding. “You don’t understand, John B. There are actual scary, dangerous men out there that would take me and do terrible things to me.”

The outlaw leans his elbows on the table, his lips stretched into an amused smile at the irony. There wasn’t an inkling of threat about the gesture, pure amusement coursing through the energy between you from his side alone. “And how do you know I’m not one of those scary, dangerous men. Hm?” His voice is warm, it seems to rumble straight from his chest. You release a shaky sigh.

“Well you haven’t hurt me yet?” Your voice lilts out, and you engage in a long stare off. There’s a different kind of tension in the air now, it’s hot and feels heavy on you. It oozes into the nooks and crannies of your balmy skin and slithers between your thighs. You can’t take the heat and you stand, beginning to bring his dishes to the sink to wash. It’s quiet for a while, John B watching you with this thoughtful and almost knowing smile as you tidy up around him. Even he couldn’t run from how good ‘domestic bliss’ felt.

You let yourself indulge in the fantasy too. Wife cleans up, husband sits behind at the table and sips at the drink she poured him. You wanted nothing more than to experience this everyday, and your heart sinks sadly at the fact that this will probably be the last. You lose yourself to thoughts and daydreams as you scrub away, to the point you nearly don’t hear him stand up, slowly walking to lean against the sink beside you.

You smile at him politely as he eyes you, and return your gaze to the plate in your hand. You mustn’t dwell. He moves, and soon he’s behind you, a hand resting against the sink beside your hip, head craning round to look at you from the other side. “You’re really serious about this husband and wife thing, aren’t you?”

“Very serious, sir.” You bat your lashes at him earnestly and his cock stirs in his pants at the title, unexpected but not unwelcomed. Bless your heart, you were only being courteous. He presses his lips together in thought and the side of your face warms with his slow exhale. Turning your body, you face him fully now. “I just think it was divine intervention that you wound up in my barn. You’re like an angel sent to take away my loneliness.” You’re shy, a little bashful about your beliefs and without thinking he cups your cheek in reassurance, thumb swiping slowly over the skin.

His eyes take in your every detail, and your lips part with a wobbly breath, nervous. “May I kiss you, John B?” You address, just as his thumb strokes the delicate skin below your eye. He grins, slightly amused by your formality and simply nods his head.

You stand on tip toes to reach him, socked feet almost knocking at his boots as your body presses to his, lips meeting. You’re a little messy, inexperienced— which comes as no surprise to the boy as he tilts his head, welcoming your mouth at another angle and taking control in order to guide you. You’re mostly a quick learner, slowing your pace to something much more sultry and he nearly can’t contain his excitement. He wants to be a gentleman, but as soon as he introduces his tongue — you lose composure, needy and all but panting into his mouth right then and there in the kitchen. He pulls away and breaks the string of saliva that connects your lips with his thumb, stroking it over your moist bottom lip as you stare at him readily.

He tilts his head, eyes wide and almost innocent as he gestures away. “You… want me to show you what husbands do with their wives?”

You nod so hard your eyes nearly roll back like one of those baby-dolls.

John B is the one to take your hand this time, leading you slowly and carefully through the house. You partially think he’s giving himself time to rethink what he’s about to do, but from the way your pussy is drooling into your panties — it feels set in stone. He finally reaches your bedroom and you watch his head move left and right as he takes it in, cheek lifting with a smile at the China dolls on the wall and the frilly white bedsheets. It’s clear your room hasn’t changed since you were a little girl. The sun is just starting to disappear behind your lace curtains and he switches on the lamp, sitting you down.

The man joins you, easing himself down at your side and cupping your cheek as he begins to kiss you again. He takes it slow, but the passion and need only grows as the splayed hand on your back begins to slide upwards until its cupping the back of your head and he’s beginning to slowly lower you to lie down like you’re made of glass.

Naturally you shuffle up the bed and he follows, hovering over you and leading with his tongue this time — the wet muscles wrapping around eachother languidly making you moan, legs falling wider apart.

“I wanna make you feel really good, okay? That okay with you?” He asks gently and you nod, sucking in a breath. You’d waited for something like this since you knew what pleasure was, craved the touch of a man with strong coarse hands and a wet mouth. Routledges thumbs swipe across your tits through your dress, massaging them until your nipples were poking painfully through the fabric as he burrows into your neck, licking and sucking.

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire as he tugs gently at your dress, eyes meeting yours once more.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?”

He tugs the garment up and over, puffing out his cheeks as he blows air out his mouth, brows raised at the sight of your naked body. You look so soft, so pliable beneath him. He was already hard just from kissing you, but this made him feel like he might combust. “Took your underwear off?” He smirks, pressing kisses to your stomach and between your tits before bringing his face up to eye level with you, same kind but teasing smile on his face. “Have you been needing me aaall day? Hm?”

You turn your head to the side, flustered and clammy with a whine— eyes screwed shut. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Oh, now you’re shy?”

“No, s’just — when you speak like that— n’say stuff like that… makes me hurt…” You’re breathless, hips twitching and bucking slightly as he grins, pearly whites showing.

“Aw.” Is all he manages before continuing his descent down.

He’s a real tease, spending an ungodly amount of time on your tits— sucking, licking and biting your nipples until you’re arched off the bed, teary eyed and wincing from sensitivity. It’s then, and only then he starts to kiss lower, pushing himself down your pristine sheets until he’s settling between your legs, gently easing your ankles upwards so that your knees faced the sky, your cunt fluttering and open right infront of his face.

“Well she’s very pretty.” He smiles up at you, thumbs coming up to spread you. He leans in slowly, hot breath fanning over your heat before he simply presses the softest kiss to your clit. He draws back again as you whimper, running the pads of his thumbs up along your spread folds. “Hear that? So wet, pretty girl.” He marvels in a whisper.

“Just want you to make it better.” You mewl and he nods slowly in understanding, tongue swiping over his lips as he observes you.

“That I can definitely do.” He confirms before leaning in, licking and sucking at your clit as his thumb automatically rolls downwards to massage your hole. You gasp, knees shooting up towards your chest as he eats you, similarly to the pure fervour and passion he only recently devoured the meal you cooked for him. You wondered how any appetite remained.

When he sinks his middle finger inside you, your stomach tenses — a high pitched noise of relief and utter devastation leaving you. You had no idea how badly you’d craved fullness to this very moment, and you weren’t even halfway there. He’s smiling against you, glancing up as you flutter around his single digit and make plenty of noise for him. “Yeah? Think you’ve really been needing some of that, little girl.” He nearly laughs at your extreme reaction. He had to admit, it was fun doing this with someone so inexperienced. Everything to you seemed like the best thing ever.

He eats and eats away, proving himself to have quite the monstrous appetite for your slick . Your feet rest on his shoulders at one point, lost in pleasure as you whine and writhe and to keep you out of the way, the outlaw pushes your legs up and pins them there, nose deep in your gloss.

“Feels too good— feels— hurts!” You cry, because you don’t know how to put that you’re simply aching to cum.

“Doesn’t hurt, sweet girl. Just let it happen.” He corrects in that low reverberation that you’ve grown to love. After a series of ‘Uh’ and ‘Mm’s, you feel yourself hitting that peak — the one you usually reach all over the soft cotton of your pillow, but ten times the strength.

As soon as he senses this happening, he doubles down and continues repeating the same action with his mouth over and over until you’re squealing and pushing him away, curling into a ball as your completion dribbles out of your quivering hole.

He grins, real proud of himself as he pushes up on his hands to near you, gently shushing you the same way you would to soothe a baby to sleep. “I know, that was a lot huh?” He coo’s, rubbing your back with his warm hand as you suffer the aftershocks, clenching and whimpering, a smaller clammy hand reaching out to his shirt to grab a fist of it.

He forces you softly onto your back, stroking a hand over your warm forehead. For someone so convinced the two of you shouldn’t be together, he sure did look at you like you were his entire world. By the gaze shared, you would never know the two of you only met that morning.

“What now, hm?” He smiles, quiet. You open your mouth to speak, and your voice rasps from the loud and explosive release that had you calling out.

“Wanna… make you feel as good as you made me feel, John B.”

He licks his lips, thinking over it. If it wasn’t already clear, his dick was throbbing in his pants just from pleasing you— and had you wanted to end things there he would be sure to take a trip to the bathroom to finish in his hand. Maybe swipe a pair of your underwear from the basin for inspiration, but that made his stomach tense with guilt.

“Think I can manage that, yeah.” He nods before reaching slowly for his belt. “Sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, good.”

His belt is still undone from after dinner so he slides the snakey leather from its loops with one hand, the act more attractive than you anticipated which made you clench once more with need. He sits on the edge of the bed and you usher up beside him, pressing your naked body to him and ghosting your drooly lips over his jaw line as he sighs, working his length out of his pants.

“Oh my.” You breathe, as soon as you look down. Now you hadn’t had much experience in dealing with the male anatomy, clearly — but you knew for certain John B had to be miles larger than the average man. His cock stood tall, straight — slightly mauve towards the tip with a beautiful blue vein drifting down his shaft like a river on a mountain. His balls sat beneath, heavy and pink — inviting in a way that made your mouth water primally.

“Yeah? This is… what m’working with.” He chuckles, sounding a little nervous.

“How do I…” You mutter after a moment and he’s quick to take your hand, pressing your fingers so that it forms a cup and bringing it to your mouth.

“You wanna spit for me, pretty? Right here.” He encourages and whilst you don’t understand, you do as he wishes, letting a bubbly glob of saliva drool out into the cupped crevice of your hand. You look up at him with wide unsure eyes, searching for praise or reassurance that you’d done as he asked. He presses his lips together at the sweet and submissive expression, shifting his hips a tad in excitement. “Mm, fuck.” He punctuates with an airy chuckle, ticking his head in a single shake.

He brings your hand down and begins to smear it all over himself, releasing a shaky exhale as he does so. “So, uh… you’re gonna wanna move your hand. Just like this.” He sighs as he works your hand up and down his shaft, slowly jerking him off. Your eyes flicker between his face and pretty dick to make sure you were doing it right. As you do so, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips, muttering a “So sweet, bubba.” Against your mouth.

This only encourages you to gain confidence, doing whatever feels right. You twist your hand— squeezing just a tad harder towards the tip as that seemed to be what made him release that heavenly groan, jaw constantly agape as he watches your hand.

“Theeere you go sweetheart. Easy right? Like milking a cow.” He kisses your temple briskly once more before his eyes screw shut, chest heaving with quicker breaths. You get carried away, fascinated by the pearly precum that seeps from his slit as you work him with your hand and following your own judgment you lean down. You figure if he used his mouth on you, you could return the favour.

His eyes open with a loud shudder when you tentatively wrap your plush lips around his tip, working your hand up and down to try and squeeze more of the interesting salty flavour from him. You let out a long drawn out moan of your own as you feel your clit throbbing with desire, liberating his precum from your mouth to let it dribble back down his shaft in messy bubbles.

He winces, placing a hand on your shoulder and removing you with such an abrupt speed that you nearly flew off the side of the bed. You sit up straight, slick mouth pouting as your eyes flicker between his, worrying that you’d done something wrong. There’s a second of just looking at eachother, before you stumble over some words.

“S—Sorry. Did I hurt—”

“No, no God no. I uh— I just wasn’t sure if I should make a mess all over that pretty face just yet.” His wide eyed expression melts into a reassuring smile, thumb rising to swipe lovingly at your cheek. You lick your lips, savouring the taste of him and nod — not quite sure where to go from there.

Your silence makes him question, and he eyes you. “Is there… anything in particular you want now?”

You think, blinking your doll-like eyelashes off into the distance before nodding once more— pushing off away from him and scurrying to the head of the bed where you lay yourself gently on the pillows.

“Hm?” He follows up in confusion, craning his neck round to watch you.

“Would… like a baby now, please.” You spread your legs a little, shy and bashful in your request like you wasn’t sure if you’d asked impolitely. His face falls as he stares at you for a moment before closing his eyes, rubbing over his face with an exasperated chuckle, elbows on his knees.

As you stare at him with with an upset little pout, already ashamed by your forwardness. “Like husband and wife?” You try to justify and he sighs out his nose, turning his body fully to you.

“Oh sweet girl.” He tugs you gently lower toward him by your hips, rubbing his thumbs at your waist. “We just met.”

You launch into full fledged begging, whiny and high pitched with tears threatening to dive over their trough. “I’ll make you so happy John B, I’ll make all your problems go away and you won’t have to run anymore. Please?” You were deadset on this man giving you your dream life, and you’d officially pushed shame to the side in order to get this. His brow is permanently creased, staring with those big wide puppy dog eyes, continually stroking your skin in hopes to calm you.

“Are you… sure that’s what you want? You’re still young. So much time for all that.”

“Just want it now. I’d never be lonely again.” You sound defeated, staring down away from him now. He felt bad, he’d always hated disappointing people. Once upon a time he was a fixer, always running to his friends aid to make their problems go away. That urge never died, just burned low and quiet like an old candle flame. He wanted to make your problems go away too.

“Okay.” He presses his lips together. “I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart.”

He watches your devastated expression lift into a radiant grin, and it was like watching the sun appear from behind a grey cloud after weeks of downcast weather. “Yeah?” You chirp toothily as he crawls over you, leaking tip grazing your tummy and then your folds as he buries his face into your neck.

“Uh-huh.”

When he pushes his tip inside, John B says a prayer for the first time in his life.

He’d never really followed any religion. His father had been the type to say it was all a bunch of ‘Mumbo jumbo’ and that he should believe in the human psyche instead, or something like that. But as your wet folds swallow him and you release that high pitched mewl at the inevitable stretch — he finds himself asking God — please, please don’t let me knock this young girl up.

There’s a warm blanket of chills that cover his spine as he slowly sheathes inside of you, feeling like he was pushing deeper and deeper into a black hole that would selfishly keep sucking him inside for the rest of his life. It felt too good, calming — like falling asleep. He was euphoric.

“So — so big inside me!” Your cry knocks him out of his thoughts and he kisses your shoulder before looking down to watch himself push in all the way to the hilt.

“Feel okay, gorgeous?”

You nod, a pained whine falling from you as you dig your nails into his skin, walls fluttering around him like they were constantly trying to accommodate for this thickness. “Fuck.” He groans, before sliding back a little and starting to thrust. Yeah, he wasn’t gonna last too long— he needed to get to work on you fast.

As he gently fucks into you, your plush tits recoil with the movement and he can’t close his mouth, sounds and sighs leaving him without permission. A hand slides between the two of you, the other pulling his shirt up to grip between his teeth— giving himself a better view of the way he strokes at your clit — your legs being spread exposing it, making it easier for him.

You clench, and shudder — that sweet face contorting with each time his tip ever so slightly grazes your cervix, careful not to bruise it. You really were beautiful, that type of homely beauty he’d thought of marrying in his lonely nights of travelling through desert and grass. The type of girl you work for, the type that deserves spoiling, princess treatment. The more he fucks, the more he’s convincing himself that impregnating you might not be the most awful thing after all. Why should he chase away security?

Your fingertips grace his chest, and he takes your hand — pinning it to the bed as your fingers intertwine, using the grip to aid his rolling thrusts— speeding up the pace and force now he knew you could take it like a champ. His mouth opens to speak, and his shirt drops out of it.

“Taking me real good baby. You like getting fucked, don’t you?” He coo’s and you can only nod, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes before rolling down to your temples. Poor thing, lost for words.

There’s a wet slapping sound with each thrust, your cunt equally gushing as it was thirsty — hungrily welcoming each inch of his, and even demanding more by locking your ankles around his lower back. Perhaps you did it for comfort, or perhaps because you suspected a hesitance, the threat of him pulling out last minute too much for your baby-crazed brain.

“Jesus. Sweet little puppy.” He breathes like it’s a revelation beneath your ear, the curly tuft of hair above his shaft tickling you as he continues to rub your clit.

“S’gonna happen again, John B. The big feeling.” You strain, eyes clamped shut and sniffling— too overwhelmed by your impending orgasm. He kisses each eye lid and watches you closely, experiencing you unfold once more.

“Thats my good girl. Let me have it, pup. Gimme a good one.”

You’re an explosion of whimpers and moans, thrashing under his firm grip once more— and he’s not sure when your orgasm ends, if it even ends at all— he doesn’t care, the release pushing him close to his own. He speeds up his pace, hand that was at your clit now wrapping around your lower back, forearm pushing your lower half up and against him, forcing you to just keep taking him.

He was like a beast from a fairytale book, fucking wildly into you with a primal determination that had you struggling to breathe. You’re crying now, full out crying because it’s just so much. There’s still one last thing you require, and only he can give you it.

“You wanna make me daddy, huh?” He demands, that gentleness in his voice gone. It’s nearly unrecognisable from him, and you preen beneath the rough touch.

“Mhm!”

“Words.” He barks. He didn’t mean to be mean, he just got a little bossy when he was close. You’d come to learn that.

“Please give me a baby. Please just — make you a daddy! Need it!” You’re squealing, voice shaking from the hard ‘plap plap plap’ of his balls slapping against you. You feel you might pass out if this goes on much longer.

He releases with a long groan, lips dropping to the centre of your chest and back arching upwards. You register his sounds before you feel it, hot slimy ropes of him— shooting up inside you, warming your walls. You moan too, because it feels so good to be full. It feels right, like this was what had been missing after all.

Everything is a blur for the next few minutes. It’s like you black out a little, because maybe you forgot to be breathing like you should have been. You briefly recall John B scooping you up and helping you through that, ignoring the gooey seed dripping from you to cradle you like a baby, humming a calm “Breathe, sweetheart. In and out. With me, c’mon.” Your gentle boy was back, and through your haze you smile.

Once you’re tucked at his side beneath a soft cotton blanket, his hand stroking over your head after cleaning you up, a whispered conversation ensues.

“Do you really like me John B? Like, you really think I’m beautiful?” You inquire, gazing up at him with stuck together black eyelashes. The question was so innocent, yet he could tell it was so meaningful.

His expression doesnt falter, a gentle smile sat comfortably on his lips as he continues to pet you. “Baby, I think you’re the ponds swan. Just… gotta get to know you a little better, okay? ‘Specially if I really did put a baby in you.” Only then his smile falters, brows knitting as the reality sets in. Oh Lord.

“Okay.” Your eyes flutter closed, happy to leave it at that, happy to fall asleep right by his side under his watchful eye. It was unnerving how safe a lonely girl could feel with a stranger.

“Okay. Good girl. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.” He quietly reassures, watching you drift off. He’s not sure if he’s trying to dispel your fears, or his own.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Title: Home is Wherever I'm With You (OT3; Rated G)

A/N: I couldn't stop thinking about the house husband!Booker thirst ask I received today and it took root in my head. To the person who sent it to me, I hope you like this ✌🏼

--

By the time Joe parks the car and Nicky locks up the main gate, it's almost ten past three in the morning. They take their time to unload their gear. The car will need a deep clean from all the blood Nile had left behind in the backseat but that can wait until they've had a solid eight hours of sleep.

Yawning, Joe rubs at his cheek, looking up to the lone porch light left on for them and has to smile. The windows are dark and the house is quiet when they enter. Locking up the door, they set the alarm and drop their things as softly as they can manage on the foyer floor.

"Think he's asleep?"

"I hope he is," Joe answers, smiling as he slings an arm around Nicky's shoulders and going further into their home.

In the three days they've been gone, Booker had rearranged the books on the shelves in the hallway, redone the kitchen so that the spice rack was in alphabetical order and the pots and pans were by size with all the plates and cutlery put away. Upon further investigation, they see that the ground floor study is immaculate and devoid of the mess they'd left behind, the living room was equally spotless and neat with Joe's sketches framed and hung on the wall.

"Wow," Nicky breathes.

Joe echoes that sentiment. In silent agreement, they strip off and head off to the bathroom to shower. They could do it upstairs in their en suite but that could mean waking Booker and that is something they do not want to do.

Not that it stops their husband from peeking into the steam filled bathroom as they finish, squinting with bleary eyes and sleep mussed hair to smile at the sight at them stepping out of the shower.

"Hello love," Joe greets, reaching out to pull Booker into a hug and a kiss. "Did we wake you?"

He shakes his head, tucking his face softly against Joe's damp cheek. Nicky wipes himself dry before he takes Booker's already dozing and relaxed body from Joe.

"Did anyone get hurt?"

"No more than usual, mon amour," Nicky says, curling his fingers to the back of Booker's neck. "How was your weekend without us?"

"Lonely," Booker hums, nudging his nose to Nicky's jaw. "I think we should get a dog."

"We can get whatever you want, baby," Joe laughs when Booker perks up at that. "We can go to the shelter tomorrow. Or later today if we can manage it."

Booker smiles and Joe ducks in to kiss the corner of his pillow creased cheek as he moves to grab their dirty clothes to chuck into the hamper. Nicky wraps an arm around Booker's waist and they switch off the lights as they ascend the stairs to their room. Joe picks out a pajama set for Nicky and himself - shirt for Nicky and pants for Joe with a pair of black briefs for Nicky - before crawling into bed with Booker.

"Can we make pizza for dinner?" Booker asks as he snuggles up behind Joe who curls himself around Nicky.

"Anything you want baby, you got it." He tangles his hand into Nicky's and draws Booker's on top of theirs to his lips for a kiss. "Thanks for taking care of yourself while we were gone."

[nevermindirah]

Dorothy Freeman facts

By facts I of course mean headcanons, because Nile's mom doesn't get a first name in canon (or even confirmation that her last name is Freeman). All we know about her is the picture on Nile's phone lock screen (which is Kiki Layne's real-life mom and brother!) and a few lines that Nile tells Andy about her. I’ve been collecting my Dorothy headcanons for a while now to eventually make a post, and @mprosperossprite​‘s excellent post giving non-Americans context for what it means that Nile is from the South Side of Chicago prompted me to go ahead and share this. Disclaimer that I’m white and I will absolutely make corrections if it’s pointed out that I’ve caused harm with any of this.

So here have some fun facts about the version of Mama Freeman who lives in my head rent-free:

Her family and growing up:

she was born in the mid-'60s and named after Dorothy Dandridge

I can’t decide whether she was born in Chicago or moved there later on (maybe with Nile’s dad?) and when in the waves of the Great Migration her family left the South

she came of age in the "post"-Civil Rights movement and went to college in the mid-80s when a lot of what are now the foundational classics of Black feminism were being written

she was a young adult when Anita Hill risked so much to report that a Supreme Court nominee had sexually harassed her, and as a result she HATES Joe Biden

Marriage and babies:

she met Nile's father — I can’t decide how they met and I have two competing headcanons for his name, either Gideon for the hefty Biblical masculinity vibes (Giddy for short among family, that man loved to laugh) or Carl, which started out as a shitty Carl’s Jr burger chain joke that turns out to be perfect (it means free man!), and @knoepfchen​ used it in the sequel to if you do take a thief where Carl is alive!! — and Dorothy was a little skeptical of his near-religious devotion to the military but he was really hot and really devoted to her and they made it work

she's a little pissed that she was right but it's unbearable if she thinks about it too often

it's going to be a long, long time before she can look back on pictures of Baby Nile stomping around the house in her dad's combat boots (this is a Gina Prince Bythewood headcanon, whyyyyyyyy can I not find a link to where she said this)

she named their second baby Indus, Indy for short (this is nearly as established fanon in Book of Nile circles as how much Booker loves eating pussy, and Indy Freeman as a young adult is portrayed by either Aldis Hodge or John Boyega I don’t make the rules)

Work:

Dorothy did some office jobs but nothing really grabbed her, and she was probably gonna have to move for her husband's career, so she decided on teaching — high school humanities

she’s been active in CTU (one of the strongest teacher’s unions in the US) her whole career and one year she was on the bargaining committee and her babies know damn well never to trust a boss, not even one who says all the right things — if she ever finds out the way Nile said "like Quynh?" when Andy promised to protect her, she will lose her mind with pride

(Nile was 18 and freshly graduated from high school in 2012 when CTU went on strike for the first time in a generation and she brought her mom snacks on the picket line)

one of her very favorite things is getting her students to laugh despite themselves at her "oh my GOD you're so EMBARRASSING" old-people jokes

she's one of those teachers who can get 30+ teenagers to go dead silent with judicious application of body language

she's known to occasionally go easy on grading subjective things like essays when she knows students are having a particularly rough time at home, but the second she gets the feeling they're taking advantage and not trying their best that shit is over and they better mind their Ps & Qs

she's the kind of person who says old-people shit like that

she gives her students assignments like "help 5 neighbors register to vote" and "write a compare/contrast table about the candidates in this local election" and "research 5 different ways you could get grant money to do X" and other practical civic-minded shit

standardized testing is her supervillain origin story, just kidding it’s Rahm Emanuel, why the fuck did Obama trust that asshole

After her husband died:

she would have lost her goddamn mind if it weren't for her church friends after her husband died, people from the church raised money so they could make ends meet while his pension paperwork was taking forever, church friends watched Indy so Nile could go out for the soccer team, etc etc

she sold her and her late husband's house and moved to a 3-bedroom co-op unit when Nile started high school, it's more affordable and it meant she didn't have to worry about household repairs in the same way, she can use a wrench if she needs to but she doesn't have time and it just makes her grief flare up (co-op housing has a long history in Chicago and other US cities (like Washington DC where I live) as a way for Black people to access decent, affordable housing in the face of entrenched discrimination)

the move meant putting a longer commute between her and church, but she didn't even bother looking for a church closer to their new home, she loaded the kids into the car on the weekends, parking is hell in their new neighborhood but it's worth giving up a hard-won parking spot to not have to wait so long for the L on Sunday mornings

Indy lived with her through college and he was gearing up to get his own place when Nile died, Dorothy was planning to move into a one-bedroom in the co-op building because she doesn't need so much space anymore, Indy took a day off from his new job (not so new anymore, her baby's so grown!) to help her sort things to donate when those dress-uniform Marines came to their door

part of her wishes she could've been home more and not had to rely on Nile so much for help with Indy, but he's turned out such a kind young man, and he's a much better cook than his sister is (was, oh God — no wait, is! she’s alive! what do you mean you’ve been alive all this time??)

some of the girls from church are encouraging her to check out this social dancing thing, nobody's pressuring her to date but there's definitely been some ribbing, and with Indy out of the house... maybe? probably not, but maybe

Her feelings and beliefs and likes and dislikes:

she's an absolute badass and also she's a soft human woman with lots of feelings

she's very, very traditional in some ways, and part of her mixed feelings about Nile following in her dad's footsteps is gender stuff, she's proud of her daughter and would never stand in the way of what Nile wants to do with her life, and if Nile came home and told her she's a lesbian she would never reject her, but if Nile came home and told her she's bisexual maybe she can just try focusing on men? “I love you sweetheart and I want you to be happy I just know how hard it is already for us in this world” type shit

she has been on team natural hair basically her entire life and one of the worst fights she and Nile ever had was over Nile wanting to straighten her hair as a pre-teen

Indy takes more after her and Nile takes more after their dad, she's so proud of both of them, but Dorothy's activism was mostly wearing her natural hair to work and daring bosses to give her shit, Indy's out there marching in the streets like her parents had and she WORRIES

she teases Indy for going to so many protests like he's using it as an excuse to meet girls, but she WORRIES

when she turns 60, she gets box braids with streaks of dark purple, subtle enough that it's still work-appropriate but it makes her smile, she may be old now but damnit she’s still pretty!

she loves Grey's Anatomy and Star Trek and she watched Bridgerton all in one day

she has a dirty-old-lady celebrity crush on Chris Hemsworth

if she's ever masturbated thinking about Donna Summer, well, that's nobody's business but her own (do non-Americans know about the queen of disco??)

If you want to read fic featuring Dorothy:

I won't have to leave alone, 1000 words, Nile has a nightmare and decides to go tell her family she's immortal

I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore, 65k, Nile adjusts to immortality and does a lot of soul searching about what it means to "do what we think is right", Booker goes to grad school for trauma studies, the working title of this fic was Booker Reads Edward Said and Gloria Anzaldúa and Goes Down on Nile and the final product has an annotated bibliography in the author's notes if you’re into that kind of thing, a lot of my Dorothy Freeman headcanons were born of my process writing this

Gather round the table, we'll give you a treat, 2279 words, college AU, Nile brings her Jewish boyfriend home for Christmas

a contribution I made to Shitty Old Guard Deaths: (Booker, USA, 2025, cause of death: a mother’s righteous wrath)

[scimitar-and-longsword]

I genuinely wish to understand the interest and appeal of Book of Nile, and you seem like the right person to ask, so could you please enlighten me? (i promise this isn't meant to be rude, i'm just really curious)

oh my gosh, Well I certainly LOVE this ship and I’d be happy to brainwash convince you of it’s merits! But first of all do not EVER feel pressured to ship anything. I certainly don’t care if you ship or don’t ship what I ship. I try to tag anything I post with “Book of Nile” so you should be able to avoid it should you so choose. 💜

First The Book of Nile Manifesto

This honestly describes it better than I could, it’s super well written and has been basically this entire rare-pair ship’s intro into the fandom lol (the rest of this post just vaguely summarizes the manifesto sooo yeah, read it)

Alright! That out of the way, I LOVE THIS SHIP SO MUCH! And here are the 3 main reasons I love it 

1. Nile and Booker have so many parallels!! Strong ties to family that they were separated (in one way or another) from due to their immortality, youngest members of the team, sarcastic AF, relatively modern military ties, similar deaths (neck related lol), I could go on.

2. THEY HAVE CHEMISTRY! They get along fairly quickly and make each other laugh, Booker seems extremely intimidated by her in their first scene, and then Nile wants to just let him off with an apology. Booker grabs clothes for Nile, Nile won’t leave Booker behind in the lab. Booker is the first person Nile sees come back to life. They work together really well in the fight when they’re protecting Andy, taking over for each other when Booker gets shot and then Nile’s gun gets jammed.... they just vibe and I’m here for it.

3. Nile is the main character. She deserves to be LOVED!

Ok. So the main hurdle that I think most people have with the ship is the “age difference” which is fair enough and again if the actors’ ages squick you out you don’t need to ship this, I won’t judge. BUT if you can get past that then I need to introduce you to probably the most important piece of fanon regarding this ship: 

BOOKER NEEDS TO FUCKING WORK FOR THIS AND IT’S GONNA TAKE AWHILEEEEEE 

Most of this fics for Book of Nile revolve around them VERY SLOWLY figuring out their attraction for each other, right along side everyone’s fav Booker ship: Booker x Therapy.  A lot of fics take place at the end of or along side the 100 year exile. That or they take place in the future, beyond the exile. That’s not to say they ALL do, but it’s many of them. At a certain point age probably doesn’t matter. Like yeah 26/250 is a weird dynamic, but is 126/350?? Idk that’s up to you, but I think those lines start to blur the longer they’re alive. The literal thousands of years between Andy and Quynh don’t seem to matter soooo??? Also we all love to joke about Andy Joe and Nicky getting it on with famous people.... those age difference would have been WAYYYY bigger (ok sorry /salt) Obviously that doesn’t account for AUs.... but it’s an AU... you can do whatever you want lol age them however you’d like...

I also really love that we as a fandom of collectively written Booker as A: A house husband and B: Worshiping the ground Nile walks on. 

Anyway *I* have a lot of fun shipping them!

I hope that helped explain the appeal??? idk lol Obligatory “I hate it here and this was forced on me”

(thank you @poe39 and @bookernile for helping me sort through my thoughts lol)

[even-after-a-millennia]

my heart (and lungs) ache for you

Femslash Fortnight: Tuesday - Hanahaki disease AU

For those of you that haven't read a Hanahaki disease AU before, the basic premise is that unrequited love makes flowers bloom in your lungs and they will kill you if you don't tell the person that you love them or if they don't return your feelings. You can get surgery to remove the flowers, but it also takes your feelings for that person away, so many people don't go that route. The flowers usually have meaning, same in this fic, and the meanings are at the end of the fic. Hope you enjoy!

This was written for Femslash Fortnight, hosted by @tog-femslashfortnight

You can read this fic down below or over on my Ao3 account here.

Yusuf and Nicolò burst into Quynh and Andromache’s cell, covered in blood and ready to spill more, to find a lone woman slumped against the wall.

She looked up at them, her eyes dead.

“It’s too late,” she croaked.

Their eyes widened as they took in her words.  The blood on her wrists, the floor.  The lack of their other sister.

“...Quynh?” Yusuf asked, his voice quivering.  They are both shaking in front of her, the adrenaline of their fighting crashing in the worst possible way.  

“Gone,” Andromache said, her voice twisted and broken.  ��And… that’s not all.”

She coughed and a bloody flower falls from her lips.

She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch as all she had revealed sunk in.  

She far preferred the darkness found behind her eyelids than the reality in front of her.

___________________________________

Andy had died two hundred and forty-nine times from the disease in her lungs by the time that Nile joined her group.  While her body reset with every death, whether it had to do with Hanahaki or not, the flowers always came back.  A bitter reminder of the one she had lost.

The first time she coughed up a petal around Nile, they were eating their first meal altogether.  Nile’s eyes were darting around, unsure where to look.  Joe and Nicky had told their story, so had Booker.  Nile asked her how old Andy was.  Her chest tightened and she put down her bowl.  The men at the table knew what was coming, but Andy still saw Nicky’s brow furrow as she began to cough.  He had been to college multiple times for medicine, trying to find a way to alleviate her pain.  There was nothing he could do.  Not anything, not without Quynh there.  And though they had searched for her until they had almost lost themselves, there was no sign of the iron coffin that had become her tomb.

Nile stared at Andy, then the bloody petal in her hand.

“Better get used to it, kid, it isn’t something that can be fixed,” Andy said.

Joe winced and Booker handed Andy his flask.  She took it and chugged a mouthful, hoping the taste of carnations would be washed away.

She’d had countless kinds of flowers emerge from her chest over the centuries: pink camellias, forget-me-nots, salvias, yarrow… the list went on.  Eventually, she stopped looking up their meanings.

They all came down to this: Andy loved Quynh to this day, and she ached to have her back by her side.

“Is it… not requited?” Nile asked tentatively.

Andy snorted.

“Not in the traditional sense,” Nicky said, taking the responsibility of answering.  “Andy’s wife is unable to return her love and that is why she is still sick.”

“Oh.  Okay.”

“Tell her about when you two idiots both had it,” Booker said, and Andy looked at him and sent him silent thanks.

Joe smiled, his eye wrinkles out in their full glory.  “This is years after the Crusades, and one morning, I wake up with heliotropes dripping from my lips.  I didn’t want to tell Nicky, so I hid them from him.”

“Little did he know that earlier that day, before he had woke, I had coughed up violet petals,” Nicky said, smiling over at his husband.

“Stupidity ensued,” Booker said with a small grin.

“Until one day we both coughed in front of one another and noticed the flowers.  It took a while for us both to admit our feelings.  Didn’t help that I was angry at the idea that someone out there didn’t love Nicky back,” Joe said, laughing.

“Only for us to realize that we had both thought our love to be unrequited when in reality, it very much was,” Nicky said.

Andy shook her head, taking another swig of Booker’s flask before handing it back.  

“Idiots,” she said with a small smile.

_______________________________

Her shoulder wasn’t healing.

Her fingers came away red after she brushed them over the stab wound.  It was partially healed, but still bleeding sluggishly.  She quickly left the mine and went to the nearest town.

She grabbed all the first aid supplies she could think she would need.  It had been a long fucking time since she had needed to patch herself up after a fight, but she had done field medicine on others, on mortals, much more recently.

In the end, she didn’t need to.  In her six thousand years of life, Andy had somehow forgotten about the kindness of strangers.

“We also have cough drops, if you would like,” the woman, Celeste, said as she helped Andy put on her coat again.

“Thank you.  That would be good.”

Andy got back to her car and shut the door behind her.  Her lungs were burning, but she didn’t let herself cough.  She had died on the killing room floor just a few days ago, so she had a while before the disease got bad again.  A few petals here and there, then full flowers, until she was unable to breathe around the growth in her lungs.  The longest she had made it from the beginnings of the disease to her inevitable death was nine months.

When she was immortal, that had hardly mattered.  

Now though… 

Now she was running out of time.

__________________________________

“Hey, if they can examine the Hanahaki in your lungs, they might be able to find a way to stop it.  And I can finally move on and be with my family.  It could work out for both of us.”

Her side bled and bled and bled.

“Oh, Book.”  There were tears clogging her throat, petals right behind them.  

“What have you done?”

_________________________________

Bloody flowers fell from Andy’s lips.

“Fuck.”

The sentiment was echoed around their safe house.

Nile, Joe, and Nicky were all staring and trying not to stare as Andy went to the kitchen and made a cup of tea to soothe her throat.  

She had been drinking a lot of tea these days.  And taking a lot of naps.  And sleeping in general.  When she was awake, she felt lethargic.  She had bruised her ribs from coughing so much and her throat was constantly inflamed.

It had been seven months since they had left Booker at that pub.  Andy felt twinges of emotion about it daily, though the emotion itself changed constantly.  Grief, anger, understanding, betrayal, sadness.  They all flowed through her.

Nile’s phone rang.

“Hello?” she asked, her voice curious but guarded.  “Book?  WHAT?!”

They all focused on her.

She looked up, directly at Andy.

“Quynh got out of the coffin.  She’s been recovering with Book for a month,” Nile said, her eyes filling with tears.

Her smile made them spill over, it was so big and full of hope.

“She wants to see you again.”

“Andy,” Nicky said gently, ever the voice of reason, “if you see her and she doesn’t return your love, it will accelerate the disease.  You will die in days, not weeks.”

Andy nodded, glad of the fact that no mention of surgery was mentioned.  Surgically taking out the flowers inside Andy’s lungs would remove the disease, but also remove her ability to love Quynh anymore.

And that really wasn’t an option for Andy.

“I’ll risk it.  At least…” she trailed off, her thoughts too private to be spoken.

At least I’ll die having seen her again.

By the looks on her family’s faces, split between fear and hope, they knew what she had thought anyways.

_______________________________

They went to France.  Marseille, specifically, and Andy let herself be glad that Booker had gone to his home city.  It gave her hope for him.

They let themselves into the safe house, Nile insisting on going first.

“I don’t think it is a trap, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t be smart about this,” she said.

Andy knew that Joe, Nicky, and Nile were all carrying a small army’s worth of weaponry, but she hadn’t bothered.  She would live or she would die, one way or another, and she did not want to raise a weapon against Quynh in her final moments.

They entered, the others scanning the room for threats.  But there was only Booker, slouched into himself as usual.

“Hey.  She’s right through-”

“Andromache…” whispered the voice Andy hadn’t heard in five hundred years.

Her eyes snapped to the source and there stood Quynh in black skinny jeans and a deep red sweater, her eyes flinty as she looked at them.

Her smile wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cruel.  “Hello, my love.”

Andy felt something building in her chest and she sprinted to the nearest garbage can, and coughed and coughed and coughed.  Petals and buds and flowers came pouring out of her lungs.  She felt a soft hand on her back, soothing her through the pain, but she couldn’t tell who it was.

The final carnation fell from her lips and she slumped over the trash can.

She heaved a breath, the first that didn’t burn her lungs since Quynh had been taken from her.

Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she rose and turned to Quynh.

Her expression was fractured from what it had been.  Andy could now see beneath the anger to the Quynh she knew before.

“Hanahaki?” Quynh asked.

Andy nodded.  “Since you were taken from me.”

“And still you stopped searching.”

Andy stared straight at Quynh as she said, “Yes.”

“You are mortal now.”

“Yes.”

“And yet, you did not search for me in your final days.”

“That, actually, is not true,” Andy said.  “With resources provided by Copley, we have been.  Only to find out, you weren’t where we were searching.”

Quynh’s mouth twisted, but Andy knew her face, knew it more than her own, and she saw how she tried to hide her trembling bottom lip.  “You could have died, and I would not have seen you again.”

“But that did not happen,” Andy said, risking a step forward.

“I am here,” she said, taking another step.

“And so are you.”  Yet another.

“And you still love me, despite everything.”  Closer.

“Or else I would be choking on flowers right now, my final death.” Andy was a foot away and finally stopped.

“We have a chance to spend my remaining days together.  It won’t be an eternity, but it will be more than I ever expected to be able to have.  I know we have much to discuss and many traumas to bear, but I want you, Quynh.  I want you with me until the end.”

“Just you and me,” Quynh said, eyes fixed on Andy.

Taking a chance, Andy leaned her head forward, until their foreheads rested against each other.  

“Always,” Andy whispered.

Flower meanings: Red carnation - Alas for my poor heart, my heart aches Camellia, pink - Longing For You Forget-me-not - True love memories, do not forget me Salvia, blue - I think of you Salvia, red - Forever mine Yarrow - Everlasting love Heliotrope - Eternal love, devotion Violet - Loyalty, devotion, faithfulness

[caitlesshea]

if you close your eyes

Happy (1 day) early birthday @themoonwhenimlost! I promised a Coffee Shop AU with a happy ending, so the happy ending will be posted on your actual birthday. Sorry not sorry? I love you!

Chapter 1/2

“Will you stop?” 

Joe pauses his attempt at pacing a hole in the floor to glare at Booker.

“You’re just going to keep working yourself into a frenzy.” Booker tsks at him.

“I’m nervous.”

“You’ve done this before.” Booker points out unhelpfully.

And the thing is, is that Joe knows he has. He’s nine hundred and fifty four years old, and he died his first death nine hundred and twenty one years ago, leaving him forever thirty three. 

His first death. Stabbed by a long sword at the hands of one Nicolò di Genova, but not before Joe was able to stab him first. Only, Joe gasped awake and Nicolò stayed dead.

Or so he thought. Thirty years practically to the day he sees Nicolò looking every bit the same, minus the ridiculous chain mail, working in Cairo. 

At first he thought that Nicolò had survived that fateful day, like Joe had, but over time he came to realize that wasn’t the case. This Nicolò was not from Genova, even though his family hailed from there. He was born thirty years earlier. 

Over the years they traveled together, became lovers, and when Nicolò had started to age, Joe told him his secret. 

After his Nicolò passed, it became clear that history was repeating itself. 

Ever since that second meeting, Joe will meet Nicolò one way or another, spend however long they have together in that lifetime, and then thirty years after he inevitably loses Nicolò, he’ll find him again. 

Nicolò isn’t always the same. He’ll have different hair, different styles, even different names. But he always looks at Joe like he’s the sun. 

Joe gets to fall in love with every version of Nicolò he meets. 

Nicolò never remembers Joe or the lifetimes they’ve lived. Something Joe has spent his long life cursing the universe for. 

Now, he’s pacing his apartment floor, thirty years after he last lost Nicolò to old age. He never knows why he gets an inkling to do something or go somewhere a year or two before the thirty years is up, but he always follows his gut and does what his heart tells him. 

This time he knew he needed to be a university professor. Booker ever so kindly forging documents for him and now that he’s been at the university for two years he’s getting anxious. 

With technology how it is he knows he could’ve looked up Nicolò. He knows he’ll have some variation of the name he had all those years ago when Joe was still Yusuf and Nicolò was still Nicolò. 

But, he doesn’t want to. Well, that’s not true. But he feels like that’s cheating destiny. 

So far they’ve always met organically. Joe never seeks him out and once he gets comfortable enough to let his guard down and share their past with Nicolò it always goes over as smoothly as it can. 

“Too many times.” Joe answers Booker solemnly. 

“Joe.” 

“No. No, I’m being melancholic.” 

Booker snorts but then softens. “Hey.” Booker stands and grabs Joe’s shoulders. “This is always the worst part but once you meet it’s like he never left.”

“I know. I know.” The thing is Joe does know. Even though Joe always goes through thirty year periods without Nicolò he always gets him back. 

Reincarnation. 

Or, that’s what Copley, Booker’s husband, had called it when he first became immortal and joined their family. 

“Alright enough of this.” Booker walks over to the front door to put on his shoes. “I want coffee, we’re getting coffee.”

“I have coffee here.” Joe mutters weakly as he puts on his own shoes. 

“I want to try that new place on Charlie.”

“Cup of Joe?” Joe groans even as he says it. He hates coffee shops close to the university because he always seems to run into students. 

“Yes that one! I like the name.” 

“I hate you.” 

“Love you too, mon chéri.”

Joe laughs as Booker blows him a kiss as they make their way to the coffee shop. 

“I’m telling James you said that.”

“You wound me, Yusuf.”

“You’ll get over it.” Joe mumbles as he pushes open the door to the coffee shop with an entirely un-unique name. 

He’s about to let Booker walk in first when he turns and runs into someone. The moment they touch Joe knows it’s Nicolò.

Joe’s breath catches and they lock eyes, only Nicolò doesn’t have the usual look of wonder when they meet, no. This time he’s scowling. 

“Scusi.” Nicolò looks at him and scurries away but not before shooting a glare back at Joe. 

Booker shrugs and a woman wearing an apron behind the counter quickly apologizes for Nicolò’s behavior.

“Sorry. Nicky’s not normally so rude to customers.” The woman glares at Nicky and Joe smiles at the name. 

Nicky. 

He’s never gone by Nicky before but Joe immediately loves it. 

“It’s alright. Maybe he didn’t see me.”

Booker snorts and Joe elbows him in the side. 

“Maybe.” The woman looks at Nicky and turns back to them. “I’m Nile, what can I get for you?”

“I’ll have a large soy chai with extra whip cream.” Booker cuts in and Joe rolls his eyes at his drink choice. 

“I’ll take a coffee please, two sugars.” Joe says and Booker elbows him now and points to a sign.

First coffee is free for customers named Joe.

“Oh! Free coffee?”

“Is your name Joe?” Nile asks as she pulls out two punch cards for them.

“Yes.” Joe answers at the same time Nicky says, “That’s not his name.”

“Nicky.” Nile hisses and turns around. “Frankie! Come get your boy.” 

Another woman comes out from the back of the counter and takes one look at everyone and then grabs Nicky who starts muttering something that suspiciously sounds like his name is Yusuf in Italian.

Joe's staring stock still and Booker’s looking at him like he’s worried Joe’s going to start freaking out. 

“I am so sorry. Coffee’s on the house. I promise he is not like this.”

Nile’s worried voice breaks him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“It’s okay. I’m a professor at the university so my real name is in my bio. It’s Joseph.”

“Presumably most people named Joe have a full name.” Nile mumbles and looks back to where Frankie is forcing Nicky to sit down. 

“Anything else?” Nile asks as Joe stares at the bakery case. 

“No thanks.” Joe answers and they take their coffees to go.

“That was weird.” Booker mutters when they get outside. 

“You think?” Joe scrubs a hand over his face. “He’s never been hostile towards me.”

“Except the first time.” Booker points out unhelpfully. 

Joe glares at him.

“C’mon, we’ll come back tomorrow after your class. Maybe he’ll be in a better mood.”

~~~

Turns out, Nicky is not in a better mood when they head back to Cup of Joe.

Nile shoves him into the back as they order and Joe’s heart sinks. 

Booker looks like he’s about to say something when Joe spots baklava in the bakery case. 

“Baklava?” 

“Oh yes. Nicky loves it, loves to travel, so he bakes different versions from around the world. If you put in some money and guess the ingredients we’ll give you one on the house.”

Joe looks up at a sign that says:

Place your bets!

Booker snorts and Joe is transported to the last time Booker and Nicolò bet five hundred dollars on Andy guessing the flavors of an Eastern Turkey baklava.

Joe can hear Nicolò’s voice in his head. 

“Five hundred, Booker?” 

Joe turns to look at Booker and can tell he’s reliving the same memory. 

“Alright, five dollars Joe can guess that one.” Booker points to one on the top shelf and places a five dollar bill in the bowl.

“Okay!” Nile scoops up the baklava and hands it to Joe on some parchment. Before he takes a bite, Nile's yelling for Nicky and Frankie.

“Nicky! Frankie! We’ve got a guesser!” 

A crash sounds and then giggling and Joe’s breath catches at the sound of Nicky’s laughter.

“Honestly, introduce my wife to my best friend once.” Nile mumbles and Joe chuckles. 

He understands that sentiment, the first time he introduced Nicolò to Andy, Quynh, and Booker, and every time thereafter, they’ve all become fast friends.

“Who’s guessing?” Nicky asks and then pauses when his eyes lock with Joe’s.

Nicky turns away too quickly for Joe to notice anything so he decides to take a bite of the baklava and moans at the flavor.

“Mmm. Hazelnut, not walnut.” Joe takes a bite as Booker starts counting the ingredients off on his fingers. Nile smiles at him.

“Black Sea.” Joe smiles and takes another bite. “Rose water, pomegranate.”

Joe can see Nicky tensing and Joe takes another bite.

“Mmm. Eastern Turkey.” 

Joe opens his eyes in time to see Nile clapping and Booker smirking. 

But Joe only has eyes for Nicky, who’s covering his face in his hands as he turns and heads back behind the counter. Frankie pats Nicky on the back and looks at Joe and Booker.

“You’re the first one to guess that flavor profile.” Then she turns on her heels to find Nicky.

“That was amazing!” Nile’s still smiling and Joe shrugs. 

The flavors are familiar because it’s the last piece of baklava they bought Andy together, on their last trip to Turkey, the one Nicky bet Booker on.

Booker shrugs at him and orders another coffee.

“Do you want your free pastry now or rain check?”

Joe thinks about it for a moment. “Rain check.” 

Nile nods and pulls off a coupon from a little booklet and hands Joe a coffee. He thanks her for both as he wanders over to the wall of books and smiles at the little stand to drop off used books. 

“This was Nicky’s idea.” Nile says as she comes up beside him.

“The books?” Nicolò always did love books. Joe smiles at the warm memories.

“Mm. My wife and I wanted to open a coffee shop, and Nicky agreed to partner with us if he could bake and bring his books.”

Joe feels warm all over at the very Nicolò like thing that was to do. Nicolò was always reading and feeding people.

“These are his?” Joe looks over at the books.

“Some of them, yes. He thinks they should be shared with the world, which is why if you leave a book.” Nile points to the stand. “You can take a book.” 

“I love that.” Joe says honestly.

“So did we.” The bell at the front door jingles to indicate a new customer and Nile smiles as she goes to help them.

“How very Nicolò.” Booker mutters as he walks up to the books.

“I know.” Joe stops suddenly when he sees them. 

His books. His poetry. Nine of them, the very first volume One Thousand Sixty Nine is the only one missing. 

“Joe.”

“He has my poetry books.” Joe whispers, looking at the volumes, all written under various cover names. Except the first one. Which hasn’t been in print for a long time, the remaining copies sitting in a trunk at his house. 

“He has good taste.” Booker tries to joke but Joe isn’t convinced. 

“He’s never.” Joe shakes his head. “He’s never had any of my things before.” 

Booker turns back to look at where Nile and Nicky are whispering with a look of great concentration on his face. 

“What?” Joe snaps and then immediately apologizes. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. C’mon, you can come back tomorrow.”

“I don’t…”

“Joe.” Booker grabs his shoulders after they get outside. “I know this is different but when has any of this ever made sense?”

“No, you’re right.”

“I usually am.” Booker says smugly as Joe rolls his eyes.

“Don’t push it.” 

~~~

Joe changes up his tactics the next day, heading to Cup of Joe without Booker. 

He’s waited thirty years to see his Nicolò, hopefully he can manage a single conversation with Nicky that doesn’t involve glaring. 

No such luck. 

“Morning Nicky.” Joe says brightly and Nicky, ever the professional, sighs with his whole body and gets Joe’s coffee. 

That he doesn’t even have to ask Joe what he likes to drink makes Joe smile.

“Did you want your free pastry?” Nicky asks him and Joe smiles at the first real words Nicky has spoken to him.

“Surprise me?” Joe smirks and some of the tension Nicky’s carrying eases. 

Nicky picks a pastry that Joe finds vaguely familiar and when Joe takes a bite he actually can’t help the moan that escapes. 

“Oh my god, this is my favorite.” Joe says around a mouthful of a desert he hasn’t had in years. His mother used to make a variation of this and Nicolò always replicated it when he would learn that fact. 

“I know...I’m glad you like it.” Nicky curses in Italian and Joe can only look at him inquisitively. 

Before Joe can say anything else another customer walks in taking Nicky’s attention. 

Joe walks over to the bookcases and discretely pulls his own book out of his bag, the first volume that Nicky’s collection is missing. He places it on the Borrow a Book shelf and turns back to speak to Nicky.

“Ci vediamo domani.” Joe waves, pleased at the look of shock on Nicky’s face. 

Joe’s about to go to class when he sees a text from Booker. 

[Book: you gave him the book didn’t you?]

[Joe: how did you know that?]

[Joe: did you break into my place again?]

[Book: I have a key]

[Joe: I’m taking it back]

[Book: no you aren’t]

Joe sighs, Booker’s right. He isn’t taking his key back. They all have keys to each other’s place, privacy long since passed between all of them. It’s more enter at your own risk now. But still. 

Joe wanted a little more time with his decision to essentially out himself as himself with this prickly version of Nicolò before everyone else knew about it. 

And everyone else would know about it because Booker likes to gossip. 

He pockets his phone, resigned to spending hours with ungrateful students before he can see Nicky again. 

~~~

Joe thought when he walked into Cup of Joe the next morning he would be met with a shy smile and a ‘how did you find that edition?’ of his book that he dropped off. 

What he did not expect was for Nicky to grab him by the arm and bring him right back outside in such a flurry that Joe nearly falls down. 

Joe takes a moment to steady himself as he takes in the anger and fear on Nicky’s face. 

It’s something Joe hasn’t seen in centuries, although this Nicky is already so different than the Nicolò’s of the past, from his longer hair curling around his ears, the beard around his face, and two gold earrings, but also the fact that he seems to remember is enough for Joe to know this time is different.

“Where did you find this?” Nicky scowls and shakes the book Joe dropped off the day before in front of his face. 

“I…”

“Yusuf.” The sound of Joe’s real name jolts him back into awareness. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I had it in my collection. Thought I could complete yours.”

“Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn al-Kaysani.”

Joe sucks in a shaky breath.

“Tell me how I know that’s your name.” Nicky snarls. “Tell me.”

“How? I don’t - ” 

“He’s the moon when I’m lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold.” 

“Nicky.”

“Tell me, Yusuf, how I didn’t have to read a single line in this damn book to know what it said.” Nicky shoves the book into Joe’s chest and he clutches it to him. 

“I - ”

“Better yet. Tell me how I remember you writing this. In Malta, in our cottage by the sea with the windows open while I laid in bed. ‘Nicolò, habibi, stay just like that.’ ‘Are you sketching again, amore mio?’ ‘No, writing about our love.’ Because it is a memory, isn’t it?” 

Joe feels like he’s been sucker punched. 

“You...you remember?” 

Nicky groans and grabs at his hair. Joe doesn’t know how this is possible. So many things in his life haven’t made since but Nicolò, even though they go years without each other, has always been his constant. 

“Tell me how this is possible?”

“I can’t, I…” Joe feels like he can’t breathe and the incoming panic isn’t helping. “I have to go.” 

Joe turns quickly and walks away from Nicky as fast as he can even though Nicky’s shouting after him. 

“Yusuf!”

Joe feels like running but he’s already struggling to breathe so he doesn’t, thankful that Booker and Copley live close to the coffee shop. 

He gets to their door and knocks, barely able to stand. He could use his key but that would require effort. He hears someone’s footsteps, Copley’s probably, and braces against the door as it opens.

“Joe? Why didn’t you use your key?” Copley asks him and then frowns at him.

“James.” Joe croaks out and Copley immediately knows that something is wrong because Joe has called him James exactly one time, and it was when Copley and Booker got married.

“Okay. C’mon. Can you walk?” 

Joe nods and he can tell Copley is checking him over to see if he’s injured.

“‘M fine.”

Joe sinks down onto their plush couch as Copley calls for Booker.

“James? Was someone at the door?” Booker takes one look at what Joe is sure is the most pathetic he’s ever looked before Booker’s running over to him.

“Joe? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Booker’s frantically checking him over and Joe just shakes his head. 

Joe looks up at the sound of more footsteps and cringes when he sees Andy and Quynh. 

“What? You didn’t think we remembered what year it is?” Andy asks as she sits on the coffee table. 

Joe gives her a weak smile as Booker grabs his hands to stop them from shaking.

Copley hands him a glass of water and Joe’s grateful for the cold, as he takes a couple of minutes to get his breathing under control. 

When he’s finally able to take a true breath he looks up at the people he’s called family for longer than anyone should ever live and cries.

“He remembers.” Joe says brokenly.

“Who?”

“What does he remember?” 

“What happened?”

“Nicky?”

Joe ignores the rapid fire questions from everyone and just looks at Booker. 

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Someone tell me what’s going on.” Andy uses her no nonsense voice and Joe cringes.

“He met Nicolò the other day.” Booker sighs after a moment when Joe stays silent. 

Andy and Quynh gasp, which Joe supposes is nice, that Booker didn’t let the cat out of the bag until Joe could tell them himself. 

“He goes by Nicky this time.” Joe smiles at the memory of finding out that Nicolò uses a nickname in this lifetime. 

“He owns a coffee shop with two of his friends, it’s called Cup of Joe.” 

Andy snorts and Quynh swats at her arm. 

“He, well there were signs the last couple of days that he knew things about me, about us, that he shouldn't have. But I just assumed it was me overreacting.”

“I take it the book didn’t help?” Booker holds up the book to show everyone and Joe nods.

“I dropped it off yesterday and today before I even made it inside Nicky was grabbing me and bringing me outside to tell me he remembered every line of poetry.”

“Well, that would make sense if he read it yesterday.” Copley sits down next to Booker, who immediately grabs his hand. 

“He didn’t just remember the poetry. He remembered what we were doing when I wrote it.”

“Gross.” Booker gags and Joe shoves him while everyone laughs.

“No. We were in Malta. He told me word for word the conversation we had.”

“And you remember it?” Andy asks and Joe glares at her.

“Of course I do.” Joe snaps and then reaches out to squeeze Andy’s hand in apology. 

“What do you want to do?” Andy asks him and Joe shakes his head.

“No, it’s not just about me or - ”

“Joe. If he’s remembering you need to tell him. You always do anyway.” Booker says quietly. 

“He was just so confused.” Joe puts his head in his hands, ashamed at himself for leaving Nicky there when he was clearly freaking out. 

“Hey.” Booker grabs his shoulder and Joe looks at him.

“I just left him. He’s all alone and I left him, probably wondering what’s going on.” 

“It’s too late now to do anything. You can go to the coffee shop tomorrow and see him.” Booker suggests as Copley stands to make dinner.

“Tomorrow.”

Joe wants to go now. Wants to comfort Nicky or at least be an outlet for his frustration. Joe’s never had to explain their history to Nicky with Nicky already having a head start. 

“Fine. Copley better be making croque monsieurs.”

“I am!” 

Booker laughs and claps him on the back and Joe nods, resolute to fix this, so he doesn’t lose Nicky this lifetime. 

~~~

Joe shows up at Cup of Joe right as it’s opening, a small bushel of lavender, Nicolò’s favorite, in his right hand, and his poetry book in his left. 

Nile takes one look at him when he gets to the counter and scowls.

Joe takes a step back and holds his hands up. Nile notices the lavender and softens immediately.

“Is that for Nicky?”

“Yeah.” Joe swallows. “How is he?” 

“He’s...been better.”

Joe nods and looks to the side, wondering just how much Nicky disclosed to his friends. They’ve had mortal friends throughout the years, if only because Nicky was mortal as well. A few they’d let in on their secrets but not in a long time. 

Nile sighs loudly and he turns his attention back to her. 

“Look. I don’t know what happened between you two, but he was pretty shaken up yesterday.”

“I didn’t…” At Nile’s scowl, Joe amends his statement. “It was a misunderstanding. I have no intention of hurting him again.”

Nile takes a moment, sizes him up, and must come to some conclusion that he’s telling the truth because she nods and hands him a brown paper bag and a to go cup.

“What’s this?”

“His favorites.”

Joe smells the bag and smiles. “Vanilla latte and blueberry scone.”

Nile smiles at him and Joe’s thankful she doesn’t ask how he knows that.

“He lives upstairs. That.” She nods to the bag. “Will let him know I sent you.”

“Thank you, Nile.”

“Don’t make me regret this!” Nile shouts after him as he goes to leave.

“I won’t!” 

Joe finds the stairs leading to the second floor and smiles at the hanging plants and welcome mat that says ciao at the front door. 

Nicky opens the door before Joe even knocks, almost like he was expecting Joe to stop by. 

Joe smiles and holds up his offerings. “Hi. I think we should talk?”

Nicky holds the door open further so Joe can walk inside and as he takes a look around he smiles warmly at the apartment that is so very Nicky.

“Nile gave me these.” Joe hands over the coffee and scone. “And I brought you these.”

Nicky takes the lavender and brings it to his nose to smell. He smiles a little, even though it’s sad.

“I guess I don’t have to tell you they’re my favorite, do I?” 

“I’d love to learn everything about you.” Joe blurts out instead of the answer Nicky really wants. 

Nicky takes that for what it is as he puts the lavender in a vase and then opens the brown paper bag and moans when he sees the scone. 

Joe chuckles. “You like your own baking that much?”

Nicky looks at him oddly and then shakes his head as he takes a bite. “I don’t make these, Frankie does.”

Joe pauses and then smiles as he remembers that he always made Nicolò scones, an old family recipe that puts…

“Brown sugar in the batter.” Nicky finishes and Joe realizes that he said the last part out loud. 

Joe smiles, sheepish, and holds up the book instead. 

“I wanted you to have this.”

“Why?”

“Well, frankly, it’s yours.”

Nicky nods and hands Joe a glass of water and Joe is grateful for something to do with his hands as he waits for Nicky to answer. 

Joe hands it to Nicky who runs his hands over the cover like it’s something special and precious.

“This was the only one I couldn’t find. The others, they’re not a true collection, different authors.” Nicky grins. “But I knew they were all by the same person.”

“Did you?”

“Know it was you before the other day?”

Joe nods, wondering if Nicky’s been remembering his past lives his entire life.

“No. And before you ask I didn’t start...uhh, the, uhh, un riccardo, how do you say in English?”

“Memory.”

“Right, the memories didn’t start until we met the other day.”

“When we touched?” Joe remembers the jolt he felt, unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. 

“Sì.” 

“I’ve had these feelings my whole life, inklings, I think. Like with the books, the scones, things like that, but never actual memories before.”

Joe looks around the apartment and notices the tapestries and rugs that match the ones they have in their home in Malta. The artwork on the walls, reproductions of both Booker’s and Joe’s art. The same nine books of Joe’s that he has in the coffee shop. Little pieces of their lives together and Nicky had no idea.

“It’s all familiar to you?” Nicky asks him quietly and Joe nods.

“Will you tell me about it?”

“About what?”

“Our life...lives.” 

Joe looks shocked for a moment. “I thought you?”

“I want to hear it from you, if you’re willing?”

“Yes. Yes of course.” Joe smiles, pleased that Nicky’s willing to hear him out. “Where do you want me to start?”

“The beginning.”

“It’s quite a long story. I’ve been alive a long time.”

“I’d like to hear it. I need to...make sense of everything.” Nicky points to his head and Joe smiles.

“Alright. I’m pretty sure you killed me during the Crusades.”

Nicky laughs and Joe can’t help it, he laughs too. A thought occurs to Joe and he gasps.

“Is that why you were so cold to me when we first met?”

Nicky’s cheeks turn a bright pink as he ducks his head and Joe warms at the sight.

“I didn’t know what was happening. I was confused. Seeing things that couldn’t have been real, in languages I didn’t know I knew.” Nicky shrugs. 

“You know I don’t blame you, right? We’ve long since worked it out.”

Nicky gasps and Joe’s glad that he can read this version of Nicky. 

“The love of my life was of the people I’ve been taught to hate.” Nicky recites and then shakes his head and Joe steps closer, raises his hand to telegraph his movements. 

Nicky nods and Joe squeezes his hand, gasps as the buzzing returns but then settles. 

“I love you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“You’re right, I don’t know this version of you, but I know your heart. I know the pain you still feel about what happened, but I’m telling you, the Nicolò I love has grown to realize the mistakes he made when he marched on Jerusalem.”

Nicky squeezes his hand before he steps back and Joe lets him go, stepping back a little himself. 

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you about our lives together, and you tell me about you.”

“You want to know about me?”

“I want to know everything.” 

Nicky smiles and turns to put on a kettle. Joe warms at the thought that Nicky still loves tea even though he owns a coffee shop.

“Chamomile? I think we’ll be up a while.”

Joe nods and takes a sip of the tea when it’s done, smiling when he realizes it’s just the way he likes it. 

Joe walks over the couch and settles with a blanket as he gestures for Nicky to join him. Nicky chuckles softly and goes to sit down.

Joe immediately shares the blanket as they settle in. 

“I think I’d rather hear about you first, especially if you remember a lot of our lives.”

“I’m not that interesting.” 

“Nicolò.” Joe waits until Nicky looks at him. “You are the most interesting person to me, always.”

Nicky blushes again and Joe’s enamored. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, he can’t wait to learn everything about this Nicky. 

~~~

When he leaves Nicky’s apartment the next morning, he’s smiling from ear to ear, with a spring in his step, even though he didn’t sleep.

They spent the rest of the day and all night talking, trading story after story. He knows they didn’t learn everything but he feels closer to Nicky than he ever has before, not realizing he was missing a partner that just knew things about him.

He also managed to get Nicky’s number and plans for an actual date tomorrow night, since all they ended up eating was leftovers. 

He’s giddy with the thought of dating Nicky. Of learning about all of the little things that make this Nicky decidedly his own. 

Joe doesn’t know how he does it but he makes it through all of his lectures and office hours. He even makes it through dinner with the family, overjoyed to tell them about his night and plans for the next day. 

He wakes up happier than ever, eager for the day to end so he can take Nicky out on their date. 

“I’ve never seen you like this.” Booker comments as they make their way to Cup of Joe the next morning.

“It’s all so new, we’ve never dated like this before.”

“You’ve dated.”

“But not like this. Not where he knows.” Joe knows he’s practically bouncing as they walk down the street, smiling from ear to ear. 

Booker chuckles and he shoves his brother lightly when he sees Nicky, Nile, and Frankie setting up their patio outside the coffee shop.

Joe also knows he has a besotted look on his face because Booker gags and then groans.

“Oh god, it’s like that already?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Joe says innocently and Booker smiles.

“It’s good to see you like this, brother.” 

Joe smiles warmly at Booker before he looks back at the trio outside the coffee shop. They’re just crossing the street and he calls out for Nicky. 

“Nicolò!”

But just as Nicky turns to smile at him, a car comes barreling down the road, completely out of control, and Joe can only watch in horror as the car hits the curb right in front of the coffee shop, flipping and careening right into the patio in a sickening crunch. 

“Nicolò!” Joe screams as others nearby scream and he and Booker run towards the wreckage. 

“Nicolò!” Joe slides to where Nicky was standing and sees him lying lifeless on the patio. He briefly touches Nicky’s forehead and looks around and sees Nile and Frankie lying at unnatural angles.

Nicky’s body is shielding them like he tried to push them out of the way. 

“Nicolò.” Joe croaks as Booker tries to pull him away.

“No. No!” 

“Joe. We have to call for help.”

“I can’t leave him!”

“Joe. He’s gone.”

“No! No!” Joe sobs as he cradles Nicky’s head. “No.”

“Yusuf.”

“No.” Joe knows he’s not breathing right, the hiccuping sobs making it harder to think.

“Nicolò, destati.” Joe sobs as he brushes Nicky’s shoulder softly. 

“Destati.”

[deankirk]

Another Fic Rec List - various pairings

It’s time for another fic rec list, folks. 

Immortal Husbands (Nicky/Joe from The Old Guard)

I’m pretty much obsessed with this ship and specially with their background history, and these are the getting together fics that we all love & deserve.

Waiting by domini_moonbeam, 12k, rated E

Summary:  After a beat, Nicolo’s head bobbing in a tired nod. Yusuf patted his back, giving him a little shove toward the water. “Don’t drown! I don’t want to go in after you,” he said, backing away. Nicolo paused, glancing back at him, eyebrow raised and face painted in blood. There was a question there, in those incredible, expressive eyes—another question Nicolo would not say out loud. “And I would,” Yusuf answered this time. “I would go in after you. I would become a spirit of this forest, haunting that river until I found you.”

fearfully and wonderfully made by bethecowboy, 9k, rated E

Summary: Over the past few years, he’s started sleeping as little as he possibly can without dying — his under-eyes are permanently bruised and he spends daytimes hallucinating. It’s better than dwelling on what has come before: screams, limp bodies, spraying blood, blue eyes.

deo volente (lux aeterna) by qqueenofhades, 65k, rated M

Summary: Yusuf snorts, as if to say it’s mutual. But the Italian struggles to sit upright, wincing and swearing, and – Yusuf cannot pretend he does not want to know, not when a creature will always seek out its like, its matched half as the Greek philosopher Plato wrote, and there is nobody else in the world, to the best of his knowledge, like the two of them. He says, “What’s your name?”There’s a very long pause. He can hear the other man deciding whether to lie. But there is no purpose to it, except for bitterness, and the answer is uttered cold and shortly. “Nicolò.”

(Or: The inevitable backstory.)

Bonus:

Half In Love with Easeful Death by merle_p, 4k, rated M

Summary: “They are quite the sight, aren’t they?” Adrienne says, sitting down next to him on the log by the fire, offering him the eau de vie once more.“What are you talking about?” he says, feeling caught out. The bottle is half-empty already, and he does his part by taking a long drink so he doesn’t have to look at her for a while.“Those two,” she says, pointing her chin at Nicolas and Joseph, who are huddled together with their backs against the wide trunk of an ancient olive tree. “You were staring.”

(In which Booker is new to immortality, and trying to make sense of Nicky and Joe's love. Andy isn't exactly helping. Or maybe she is.)

Destiel (Time Travel and Future Fics)

Crazy Diamonds by pantheon_of_discord, 25k, rated E

Summary: A week ago, Dean was pulled out of Hell. Now, he’s apparently woken up in 2018, and the angel that a mere twenty-four hours beforehand had threatened to chuck him back into the pit is sleepily pouring himself coffee and wearing Dean’s second-favourite Zeppelin shirt. It all seems like a perfect happy ending, but with Hell’s scars still so fresh, Dean can’t imagine how he could have possibly gotten there.

At the same time, the Dean who went to sleep in the bunker, right next to Cas, wakes up on Bobby’s couch in 2008. He’s instantly bombarded with questions by a Lilith-obsessed brother and a man who’s been dead for years, and must decide between keeping his finally-perfect life intact, and the lives he could save by re-writing history.

Regardless of these choices, both Deans are trapped in the wrong decade, and their only way back lies with a Castiel still very much under Heaven’s thumb – one who might find the future Dean describes difficult to believe.

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo, 30k, rated E

Summary:  “Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.”

The Mirror by cloudyjenn, 25k, rated M

Summary: When Dean touches a strange mirror, he's whisked away to one alternate reality after another and it doesn't take him long to realize the universe is trying to tell him something.

The Story of You and Me by the_diggler, 55k, rated E

Summary: Dean wakes up in bed next to a very human Castiel, and a journal in his own handwriting that tells him it’s two years in the future. The house looks a lot like Bobby’s, and Sam lives there too… He just can’t remember how they got from angels falling in the sky – to comfortable domesticity.

While there is much in the journal Dean doesn’t remember, there is much of their story he’s always known. And as he settles into the routine of his new life and relationship with Castiel, it quickly becomes something he doesn’t know how to live without.

Stucky (Just Some of my Random Faves)

That Reflection Man by SkyisGray, 30k, rated E

Summary:  Political AU - Steve is the son of a Governor and the grandson of a Vice President. At 18, he meets Bucky. At 24, he marries someone else. At 25, he's elected to the House of Representatives, and Bucky overdoses. But their story is really just getting started.

 Ain't No Grave (Can Keep My Body Down) by spitandvinegar, 107k, rated M

Summary: It's six in the morning, and Steve is heading out on a run when he nearly trips over a bouquet of sunflowers on the front steps of his brownstone.

For a second paranoia takes over, and he kicks the flowers a little, waiting for them to explode. They don't. They also came with a card, which he picks up. The front of the card has a tasteful picture of the Brooklyn bridge at sunset. It's very nice and sedate, like the kind of card you would buy to give to your boss. On the inside someone has written a short message in big, shaky block letters.

I AM SORRY FOR SHOOTING YOU.

Steve sits down hard on the steps.

Steve Rogers at 100: Celebrating Captain America on Film by eleveninches, febricant, hellotailor, M_Leigh, neenya, tigrrmilk, 10k, rated G

Summary: Heil Hydra,” the enemy agent shouts. 

“Heil this, motherfucker,” says Captain America, shooting off a rocket.

Steve and Bucky find out Hollywood has been busy since they went away. A historical survey, including but not limited to: one set of exploded genitals, a brief interlude in France, Mel Gibson and other masterworks of casting, eight Academy awards, several dinosaurs, and something Tony Stark has ominously dubbed “the masterpiece.” Art included.

Relax by ShowMeAHero, 1,3k, rated G

Summary:  Bucky remembers a detail of his past over breakfast, and nobody can handle it.

FIC RECS: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

[inheritorofmemories-archive]

So far in my Sense8 au: This is a gay only event (working title)

there's a cut because i got slightly carried away

Andy: Kazakhstan. Has learned the way of the blade and horse riding. She’s the big brain of it all, always have a plan. She fears nothing because once a pissed off horse ran over her and she got out with nothing. She has every gods by her side and she’s the most powerful of them. Her husband Achilles left her because he was sick and didn’t want to die with her watching him, that fucked her up a good deal, ngl. Tired tm even tho she’s the same age as the other.

Quynh: Vietnam. A certified prankster and the asshole everyone love because she’s compelling like that. Knows a martial art like Sun, but she has no qualm about gloating about it, because she’s good and the world deserve to know. Big pressure from her family to not show her sexuality and take after the company when all she wants is to be free and herself, kicking ass while looking good because she knows fashion. Will join Andy and they will live happily ever after as wives after years of yearning and chasing each other without putting too much intent because they’re not sure the other wants that. Peak lesbian representation. Quynh makes the first move because she’s tired of waiting. Will become an insta influencer only because Veronica Ngo’s ig kills me every time she posts.

Lykon; Kenya. The optimist, always seeing the bright side and cheering on other. A good sport that never let anything bring him down and is so resilient. It’s impressive how many time he gets up from awful stuff. Insanely good with numbers and science stuff, big fan of cinema too. There’s literally no info on Lykon in canon, so I’m inclined to give him Capheus’s nationality.

Yusuf: Tunisia, like Marwan. He’s the artist, was almost an actor but realized he liked painting more. He’s now an art professor in a college and has a somewhat successful career as an artist but he’s more interested in historical painting and trying old techniques for his researches than selling his artwork. Sometime does reconstruction of old paintings. The incurable romantic, the heart of the team, always see straight (lol) and try to do good. Very supportive and loving family that are behind him, but he won’t talk about the sensate thing because he doesn’t want to bring them any trouble.

Nicolo: Italy. A priest, will have a big surprise with Yusuf when all his suppressed gay will surge out of the closet he forgot he made in his head. Will get in an argument with Yusuf about art and religion and that’ll become their way of flirting for about a year. The other sensate will have random bit of arguing and obscure middle age  and renaissance knowledge sprung upon them at random time. Andy will get pissed first and have a mental sit down with them, telling them to have those arguments face to face and not in their brains. Nicolo goes to Tunis and fuck he doesn’t hate the guy, he loves him. Oops. He’s the moral of the team and can convince anyone of anything and manipulate anyone. Also really good at guilt tripping bad guys, that's Catholicism for you.

Booker: France. Forger, went to prison. Kinda like Wolfgang, but sadder and drunker and a widow too. Or maybe divorced but he talks about his wife like she died, making it 10x funnier, not sure what I want for him yet. Has sort of given up on life at this point, will refuse the cluster until he realize it’s a good thing. Will try to get better to not inconvenience the other with his shitty thoughts. Get along with Andy real good, and now Joe always has a buddy to watch the football match with, so it’s nice. First interaction with Nicky: a rediffusion of the ‘06 world cup final. It goes well (no it doesn’t). First interaction with Quynh: she’s in his home and call him out (damn bitch, you live like this?).

Nile: USA. She was a marine because of her father, shot on service and left with a honorable discharge. She works as a body guard in small gig to have money for college, she’s good at most practical skill anyone can have. Really close with her family, her mom will believe her and help her (kinda like Amanita’s mom in the show). Will get into college for her art history degree and will manage to have professor Al-Kaysani make a couple lectures there and every prof in her school will love her immensely because that guys is famous world wide for his work, how did you get him to come here? He’ll help her with her PhD and doctorate, she introduces him to Vine. It’s a fair exchange in his eyes.

Copley: England. Born in the USA but really an English man through and through. The Hacker, hacktivist like Nomi. Was CIA, leaked info on illegal us business and is now on their watch list, trying to take him out. Snowden and Micro from netflix’s punisher mixed if you will. Wife died of ASL; him, Andy and Booker have a monthly widowed club in their heads where they drink and talk about their deceased partners (if divorced!booker, he’s an honorary member but miserable enough so they let him in). It’s very sad and none of the other are allowed. After a few month it becomes: the most responsible of the cluster (again, honorary booker only) having a drink together and talking shit about the latest drama in the cluster. Immensely and perpetually tired of the collective lack of brain cells from the cluster, he’s the only one who has his geolocation off on his phone. Even Nile forgets it sometimes. Will become the “let me unplug your router to fix the problem” assigned person of the group.

.

Plot: So far, it’s found family shenanigans, getting together and the human connection of it all. Maybe with a side dish of Merrick bad guy if I feel like it needs angst (or a plot). Also, they’re around 27/28yo here, they’ve lived a bit already.

.

At first I thought: I’ll just use the series sensates and change the names but like, it really doesn’t fit. So they’re just another cluster, different from the 8/8 cluster. Also added Copley in the immortal gang because he now has an honorary positon in the team in canon so why not? It’s sense8, nor sense7.

And no cop, only reformed gouvernement employee who hates their old jobs because we’re not bootlickers in this house.

[bookerandy]

Idk if you're still taking Andromaquynh prompts, but since it's spooky month, how about a Vampire AU? or them getting mistaken as vampires in one of the many conspiracy theories people have come up with regarding the guard? :D Love that you want to write for them!

Thank you!! This was a lot of fun to write and I’ll always want to write andromaquynh honestly. You can also read it on ao3.

Please, consider that there’s blood, mention of death and some kisses in the fic.

I love the idea of vampires being lovers/mates/whatever for life that’s why they’re Like That™️.

-

The moon stood high when they returned. Nicky and Joe together, then Booker and Nile. Joe and Nicky walked with their heads close together, while Booker and Nile walked as far away from each other as possible, even though that only made it more obvious that they had something going on.

“Hey, Boss”, Joe stopped in front of her and she glanced towards him. Nicky, Nile and Booker came, too, and Andy slowly sat. There was clearly something they wanted to say.

She slowly placed her feet on the coke stone floor and stood. The long, loose fitted dress she wore fell covered her ankles and feet in a mere second and she carefully pushed her hair from her face.

“What’s going on?”

Nicky gave Joe a look. So that’s what they had discussed, whether to tell her or not. Joe completely ignored his husband and took another step forward. He held out a small piece of clothing, drenched in blood.

“There’s someone else in the area”, Joe began, but Nicky spoke again before he could.

“It might just be someone passing through. We didn’t find anything.”

Nile and Booker stood silent. Andy reached out for the piece of clothing and took it. Behind the thick smell of blood…

“Quynh”, Andy mumbled and twisted the piece in her hands. It was the scent of her long lost love and it was drenched in blood. Not Quynh’s blood, more likely squirrel, but that was it. Nothing else would the piece tell her, even if she still twisted and felt it a whole minute later.

Andy quickly grabbed the knife she always kept under her pillow (a silver knife would do more damage than a bullet if she ran into someone she didn’t want to meet) and the coat thrown over a chair by the dining table.

“I’m going out”, she announced, as she put the coat on.

“Boss, the sun-...”, Booker began, but Nile must’ve stepped on his toes because he cursed under his breath and Andy could almost feel them stare at each other.

“I’ve still got a few hours”, Andy replied calmly and before anything else was said, she had left.

They stayed in an abandoned factory right now. Andy didn’t know what they had used it for, but there was plenty of room and the place was surrounded by trees. The nearest house was seven miles in one direction and the nearest gas station was twelve in the other. It was a good hunting ground. Bigger things to hunt than squirrels, that was for sure.

But Quynh wouldn’t have gotten the squirrel if she didn’t know Andy was there, would she? No, Quynh knew she was there and Quynh knew Andy would do anything to follow her, even put herself at risk.

It took a little longer than Andy would’ve liked to find the scent again. It was the same as it had always been, but Andy tried not to think about it. She tried not to think about the five hundred years that had passed since last time.

Andy took her time, as she followed the scent. It got stronger with every step she took and it itched in Andy to run, but she wasn’t going to give Quynh the satisfaction. If Andy was going to die today, after nearly seven thousand years, she was going to take her time.

Quynh sat in a glade, with her back to Andy. Her hair had grown longer and by the looks of it, she had gained the weight she had lost during the trials back. She smelled… wonderful.

“Andromache”, Quynh said without turning around. “It’s been a while.”

Andy swallowed. She didn’t know what to say. She had left Quynh, she had left her and nothing would change that. She had starved for five hundred years .

“Lost your voice, darling mine?”

Andy glanced up at the sky. It was a nice night to die. A nice place. The moon shone up the glade and the newly fallen leaves. They coloured the ground orange and brown and red and it looked soft enough that Andy wouldn’t mind laying down and staying there. The breeze was cold, but she couldn’t feel it and the stars, even though they had shifted since her youth, felt as familiar as the inside of her own hands.

“You didn’t look for me.”

Andy swallowed again. She tried to breathe, even though she knew she didn’t have to. Perhaps the human part of her brain still thought of it as calming.

“Of course I looked for you”, Andy carefully took a step closer. She desperately wanted to sit down next to her, feel her, do anything that would prove that she was real. “I’ve spent the greater part of five hundred years searching for you.”

Silence fell. Andy heard rustles of leaves and she slowly moved to sit next to Quynh, then.

Andy wasn’t sure how long they sat together, but it was soothing. It was a feeling Andy hadn’t had for five hundred years.

“I’m sorry”, Andy said, finally. She traced her fingers over the leaves. “I’ve looked for you. I’ve looked for you, I’ve killed more people than I can count to find you and…”

Andy was interrupted. Quynh had moved closer to her and their noses brushed together. She stood on all fours in front of Andy now and one of her hands came up to caress Andy’s cheek.

“You shouldn’t have looked for me”, Quynh whispered. Her voice was soft and the amount of love Quynh put into her words had Andy close to tears. Andy didn’t dare to touch her.

Quynh brushed her lips against Andy’s. Less than a moment later, Quynh had cupped her face and Andy had wrapped both arms around Quynh’s waist.

Quynh pressed her down on the ground and Andy feels the wet of the leaves in her hair, but she doesn’t care. She cares that Quynh is in her arms and that her lips are pressed to Andy’s.

“I love you”, Andy whispered, when Quynh pulled back again. “I love you. I’ve missed you so much. Don’t ever leave me again.”

Quynh kissed her cheek, then her jaw and moved to her throat. Andy sucked in a breath and one arm came to tangle in her hair.

“May I?”

Andy nodded and she gripped Quynh’s hair tighter. When Quynh separated her lips and placed a wet kiss against the same spot she always had.

It stung for just a second when Quynh’s fangs broke through her skin, then a warmth spread through her body and even though it had been centuries it felt as if it had only been seconds they had been apart.

Andy wasn’t sure how long they stayed there. She wasn’t sure how much Quynh drank and she didn’t care. She wouldn’t die. She barely could.

When Quynh did pull back, Andy felt dizzy and warm and full of love. Her heart hadn’t beaten since she died, but it felt as if it was now. She felt alive for the first time since she had lost Quynh.

“There we go, love”, Quynh whispered and pulled back enough to brush hair from Andy’s face.

Quynh sat up, but one hand held Andy down to the ground, as she took a bite of her own wrist. She gently pressed it to Andy’s lips and Andy drank. Quynh had always tasted sweet, but this was something else.

Quynh pulled her wrist away and pressed her lips to Andy’s. They kissed again.

Breathless and dizzy, Andy pulled away from Quynh. Quynh pressed a gentle kiss to Andy’s forehead and Andy held her as tightly as she could.

“I love you”, Quynh whispered. “I love you so, so much.”

By sunrise, Andy and Quynh returned to the factory hand in hand.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Ot3 thirst, the good morning interview of matthias naked in bed - Joe/Nicky coming back from a mission in the morning. They try to be quiet so they don't wake their lover up but he's been waiting for them so he's up, playful and horny. Nicky walks into the room first and his brain explodes in horny. He starts stripping while yelling for Joe to get his ass in the room. Booker, the little shit, just spreads his legs wider - he's got himself ready and his hole is stuffed with Joe's fav plug

Okay, I'm deadass folding this into the House Husband Booker AU coz this is a good prompt Anon and I'm weak ✌🏼

@bewires ❤️

--

In the 900 years they've been together, there is very little that comes as a surprise to them. The space that Booker occupies in their hearts, the love the feel for him is one that never fails to steal their breaths in awe and delight whenever they think about it.

The sight of their home with the lone porchlight peeks through the dappling sunlight that marks their way up the driveway and Joe eagerly brings their car to a park. Sliding his hand into Nicky’s, he locks the car door and walks up to the steps with their keys jangling in his other hand.

His heart feels full to burst with warmth and love to be stepping into their foyer, basking in the rightness of the smells and sounds of this place that they’ve worked to make theirs. They take their shoes and socks off to place by the cubbyhole, then they shed their clothes until they are in nothing but their briefs. This early in the morning, Booker must still be asleep and they climb the stairs as quietly as they can. 

Joe looks forward to crawling into bed with the other half of their hearts. They’ve long since accepted that this arrangement was for the better and they have seen and reaped the fruits of it, but it doesn’t mean it is ever easy to leave Booker behind. 

Nicky had been the one to say it; curled up on the helicopter as they were lifted from the extraction point. Maybe it would do them some good to leave this behind for awhile, too. They have had had an eternity at war, watching each other’s backs. What was another eternity in the arms of the one they love?

A quiet moan accompanied by the careful creaking of their bed creeps down the stairs to them. He catches the way Nicky’s eyes sharpen up and they conquer the rest of the way. 

The sight that greets them when they reach the doorway of their bedroom is something, in Joe’s humble opinion, that they should have expected.

He squeezes Nicky’s hand in his and feel the responding pressure anchor him. Arousal licks a firebrand through his blood at the way Booker welcomes them home on his hands on their headboard, kneeling with legs spread and hiding none of the way Joe’s favourite plug is snug and stretching his hole, glistening with lube in the morning light. The sight of them at the doorway darkens the blues of his eyes until they are nothing but lust black. That delightful dusting of pink that spreads over his cheeks, down his back makes the back of Joe’s teeth itch to taste and chase.

As if knowing the exact wickedness that is taking root in his mind, Booker smiles. Arching his spine, to show the way his balls and cock hang heavy, leaking a thin line of precome onto the duvet, he sighs. The single note carries through the quiet like a crystal clear bell calling them to feast.

“Well?” 

Booker looks back over a shoulder, eyes half-lidded with pure desire. Nicky huffs, letting go of Joe’s hand, he pushes his fingers to the band of his briefs to undress. 

Joe laughs a little at the way Booker breaks his sexy, sultry persona and erupts into a fit of giggles at being tackled by a growling and playful Nicky. He intends on having his turn, of course, but for now, he will follow suit and drop both their briefs into the laundry hamper before joining his moon and stars, and spend the rest of the morning making love to them.

[nickydestati]

just an overview of my fics, mostly for navigation purposes!

MULTI-CHAPTER

 Sing, o Muse (completed)

Sing me, o Muse, of the love of Yusuf and Nicolò, stronger than hatred and all-consumer death, one that saved many men from the house of Hades, strong-greaved Greeks and Trojans alike, tamers of horses. Sing it from the moment when they first slew each other, These enemies, bound by fate to face eternity together.

Or: what if Nicolò and Yusuf met during the Trojan War instead of the crusades?

Between the Lines (completed)

Yusuf and Nicolò are characters in a fairy tale, designated by their Narrator to be sworn rivals, fighting over the heart of a woman. (In the blank space between the lines, however, a whole different story unfolds.)

Or: what happens if your characters decide to hijack your story.

The Music of Your Soul Calling Mine (completed)

In all senses but the literal, Nicky is lost. In an attempt to find himself again, he leaves Italy for a year of solitude in the US. Soon, he finds a safe harbor in the local museum, a place where he can think and find rest. A place where he one day meets an intriguing pianist by the name of Joe. It is Joe who rekindles Nicky’s dream of becoming a cellist he had been forced to cast aside, and it is Joe who stands by his side all the way to achieving it. But most of all, it is with Joe that Nicky finds everything he didn’t know he was looking for and more. 

ONE SHOT

Confession to the Crescent Moon 

After killing each other many times and failing to keep the other dead, Yusuf and Nicolò begrudgingly decided to work together to figure out what was wrong with them. In search for answers, they chase the women they keep seeing in their dreams, but it is a long and troublesome journey. Even so, the two men come to know the human behind the enemy. For Nicolò, this comes along with the crumbling of everything he has ever held for truth. But the more time he spends with Yusuf, the more he discovers a new, life-altering truth. And one night, he slips away to make a confession.  

DUOLINGO PROMPT SERIES

under the cut because there are a lot and there will be more! 🦉

1. I Am a Butterfly (also on tumblr, Joe x Nicky, modern au)

After a long and hard day at work, it's always nice to come home to your husband and an unexpected butterfly. 

2. My Wife? I Adore Her (tumblr, Andy x Quynh)

When the Guard goes dancing at a club, Andy quietly reflects on her love for Quynh.

3. He Is Not My Enemy But My Friend (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, pre-canon)

After years of travelling together, the hostility between Yusuf and Nicolò has changed into something neither of them expected.

4. Our Garden Has a Beautiful Yellow Flower (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, soulmate au) 

When Yusuf was eight years old, his mother told him about hearts and flowers and souls meant to meet. Or: another take on the soulmate-trope.

5. Is It His Jacket? (tumblr, Nile & Booker, post-canon)

Even though Nile hasn’t been part of the family for long, she feels the stinging emptiness Booker leaves behind, like a gaping wound. 

6. Who Am I? What Am I? (tumblr, Joe x Nicky)

Nicolò used to think there was only one heaven and that it was unattainable for people like him. Over the centuries, though, he has been proven wrong.

7. Saturday Night (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, college au, band au)

After years of friendship, Joe has finally mustered the courage to ask Nicky on a date, but he is in for a surprise. 

8. Why Don’t You Come With Us? (tumblr, Booker centric)

Sebastien does not know how they find him because even he does not know where he is anymore. There’s only this endless ice, this perpetual snowfall that lives within him and clogs his ribs. He’s so cold, so cold. 

9. It Is Not Enough (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, Pygmalion au)

Yusuf has always loved marble. Ever since he first set foot in the workshop where he started his apprenticeship as a little boy, he felt as if he understood it. As if it shared its secrets only with him.

10. On Which Balcony Are You? (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, modern au proposal fic)

Usually, Joe was more of an improviser, a let’s-see-what-the-moment-brings kind of man. He just followed his heart wherever it wanted to go and dove into things head first. This time, though, Joe had planned everything meticulously, feverishly almost, because this had to be perfect.

11. Who Did You See in the Mirror? (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, pre-canon)

On their travels in search for the women in their dreams, Yusuf and Nicolò come across a woman claiming to possess a magical mirror that can tell them a truth about themselves. They do not expect it to work. They expect even less that it will change everything between them.

12. Night of the New Moon  (tumblr part 1, 2, Andy x Quynh, Siren!Quynh)

It is said you should stay clear of the water when the new moon resides in the night sky. It is said something lures unfortunate souls into the depths with an ensnaring song. It is said they are never to be found again.

Andromache never believes what is said until she has seen it with her own eyes.

13. Does He know? (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, pre-canon)

“Does he know?”

Nicolò clears his throat and focuses on the scimitar again, pretending to clean the spotless metal. “Does he know what?”

“Does he know that you love him?”

14. You Do Not Believe Me (tumblr, Andy x Quynh, angst)

Andromache may have stopped the search for Quynh, but her attempts to get her love back from the grasp of the ocean will never cease. She has not given up on her, and she will prove it.

15. Refrigerators (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, crack)

When all is silent and his family has settled in the warm embrace of sleep, Nicolò sneaks out of the house to meet his secret lover.

Or: a crack Romeo and Juliet AU no one asked for.

[arplis]

Arplis - News: “Everybody knows that pestilences have a way of recurring in the world, yet somehow we find it hard to believe in ones that crash down on our heads from a blue sky

There have been as many plagues as wars in history, yet always plagues and wars take people equally by surprise.” — Albert Camus, The Plague Time is cruelly elastic. When March began, Joe Biden was celebrating the resurgence of his presidential campaign after a win in the South Carolina primary. When March began, downtown Atlanta was packed with marathon runners, while the Hawks were, reliably, scraping the bottom of the Eastern conference. When March began, we were going to restaurants, and to school, and to soccer games and concerts and plays and funerals and weddings. When March began, we were going to work. When March began, dozens of Georgians were walking around with absolutely no idea that within a matter of days they would be dead from a virus that had traveled across the world only to alight on them. How many more of us will step into its crosshairs? Each day feels like a month. So much news is compressed into 24 hours—thousands more infected, ICUs at capacity, unemployment rates reaching heights not seen since the Great Depression, our 401ks decimated—that our brains seize up. Grocery store visits are planned with the precision of a wartime raid. Kids’ days are ostensibly scheduled—Reading! Enrichment! FaceTime with the teacher!—but how do you homeschool and telework at the same time? You don’t. The screens you once cursed are now free childcare. That’s, of course, if we even can work from home. Some of us can’t. Many of us have been laid off or furloughed as restaurants close their doors, as nonprofits’ funding dries up, as fitness studios go dark. Others of us who have been deemed “essential”—nurses, doctors, first responders, grocery-store workers, mail carriers, truck drivers, delivery people—come home late at night and shed our clothes outside so as not to bring the virus near our loved ones. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was guaranteed to happen. But to us? Now? We spoke with our neighbors about the world we’ve left behind, and the one that awaits. Interviews edited for length and clarity. Tap on each person’s name to read their full interview. • • • Dr. Michelle Au | anesthesiologist at Emory Saint Joseph’s Hospital I first started hearing about the virus after Christmas. But the news still felt like something distant. It was in China, so you’re watching with this detached interest. I am in the unusual position of being a Chinese American physician with a public-health degree who also happens to be running for office [Au is a Democratic candidate for the 48th state Senate district, which incorporates parts of Fulton and Gwinnett counties]. I was talking with voters in the Chinese community who said that I should be speaking out on the issue more. I probably should have paid more attention. I should have taken it more seriously. Dr. Meria Carstarphen | superintendent of Atlanta Public Schools Right after Valentine’s Day, one of my friends was going to Venice, Italy. While my friend was there, they shut down Carnival [due to coronavirus]. That was my reality check. I said to our team, “We need to prepare for the day when we have to shut down the district.” There were moments where I felt I was pushing a wet noodle up a mountain. As things started escalating, we had to make decisions. I said, “We have to prepare a contingency plan that starts with the worst-case scenario.” Devon Clinkscales | senior at Booker T. Washington High School This year was my senior season of high school baseball, my last year. I was really excited about going out strong and getting ready for travel ball. It was my best opportunity to get some scouting. Hugh Acheson | owner of Empire State South in Midtown and 5 & 10 in Athens and operator of By George in the Candler Hotel The real canary in the coal mine was [in early March], reading about restaurants in Shanghai. Shanghai to Wuhan [where the virus is said to have originated] is an immense amount of distance. [Restaurants in Shanghai] were saying that they didn’t know how long they could stay open. Their sales were down 80 to 90 percent, and it was just a ghost town. We’re not an industry with deep pockets. Everybody’s like, “Oh, Hugh, you’ve been on TV. You must be rich.” I’m like, “You have no idea how this works, do you?” Kathy Weeks Lowery | self-employed travel agent in Marietta [A client] was supposed to leave on March 28 out of Tokyo for a 12-day cruise. That was her son’s college graduation gift. Holland America held tight. They said if she cancels now, she’s losing 50 percent of her money. That was January 24. Travel insurance doesn’t cover a pandemic. Since then, they canceled the cruise and gave her the rest of the money. Cruise lines are offering as much as 225 percent of your refund toward a future booking. For me, it’s been everything. I had 117 kids going to D.C. for a field trip, 10 people going to the Grove Park Inn, a busload going to Mary Mac’s and Hamilton. All canceled. I only get paid after clients travel. I figure this year’s income will be 20 percent of last year’s. Amy Phuong | vice president of government relations for the Atlanta Hawks My wedding was set for March 28. We had everything planned. I even had a final walkthrough at the venue on March 4. We’d invited 200 people. Mike Gallagher | co-owner of Brick Store Pub and Leon’s Full Service in Decatur, Good Word Brewing in Duluth, and partial owner of Kimball House. Together, the four restaurants employ approximately 200 people. 2019 was a tough year. We had opened [Good Word Brewing]. The contractor had gone belly up when we opened. We lost our chef and sous-chef. We had a lot of money invested in Duluth. But 2020 was starting great. We’d put down a sizeable amount of money on a redo of Brick Store. On February 26, after seven years running the pop-up restaurant Eat Me Speak Me, Jarrett Stieber opened his first permanent restaurant. The build-out took months. Jarrett Stieber | chef-owner of Little Bear in Summerhill We had inspectors tell us we had to change things, and we covered the cost. So, like every restaurant, we ran way over budget. We opened with $285 in our checking account after buying products for the first week and just prayed that we were busy. We, thankfully, were. On March 2, five days after Little Bear opened, Governor Brian Kemp announced the first two confirmed cases of coronavirus in Georgia—two members of the same household in Fulton County. Nationwide, only 90 cases had been confirmed, six of whom were fatalities. “Georgians should remain calm,” Kemp said. Stieber We had one customer who said that she couldn’t believe that a place like Little Bear was here, that it reminded her of restaurants in San Francisco. That’s exactly what I had in my head when I planned this restaurant, that small-capacity hole-in-the-wall that basically is a neighborhood restaurant in terms of how it feels but has food as good as any high-end restaurant. We were hitting our stride. Jarrett Stieber: “My focus is keeping the business open any way I can.” Photograph by Audra Melton Clinkscales On March 2, we were evicted from our apartment, but they didn’t change the locks. If they’d changed the locks, we’d have nowhere to go. Our stuff would be out on the street. My dad and my mother had a couple of disagreements on how to maintain. I have an older sister who has an apartment in a project, so my mother, my other sister, and my niece all moved in with her. But I stayed with my dad. He didn’t finish high school. He needs someone. He doesn’t understand how things work. I love my dad, and I have to be with him. Belisa Urbina | founder/executive director of Ser Familia, a nonprofit that provides services to Latino families My husband’s family is from Spain, so we knew what was going on there. We knew what was going on in other places. I knew that if this was happening in all these other countries, it was going to happen to us because we are connected. Flights are coming in and out. People are moving around. Shawn Ware | owner of Vibe Ride cycle studios When the news about the coronavirus first came out, I was taking a break at home, between working at the Westside studio in the morning and Grant Park in the afternoon. I thought, Okay, well, this is just a flu. I’ve always been a gym rat, and I’ve always joked that I’ve been a germophobe since I was in the womb. I’m always washing my hands, using hand sanitizer. I thought, So, now you all are jumping on board for what I’ve been doing my whole life? But then, as the hours and days went on, I realized this was serious. On Friday, March 6, President Trump, wearing khakis, a windbreaker, and a Keep America Great baseball cap, visited the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta for a photo op and press conference, where he referenced his “natural ability” at understanding the complexities of virology and addressed the sluggish pace of testing for the virus. What he said wasn’t even a complete sentence: “As of right now, and yesterday, anybody who needs a test—and that’s the important thing.” While other countries were ramping up their tests to include even those who were asymptomatic—results which indicate who is contagious and who is not—the United States was (and as of late March remained) unequipped to test any but those suffering the most extreme symptoms. By Monday, March 9, the number of Georgians who’d tested positive for the virus had climbed to six, with 11 more presumed positive. Kemp announced that space at Hard Labor Creek State Park in east Georgia would be outfitted to accept COVID-19 patients who needed to be isolated. Phuong Even that week [of March 9], I started out feeling like, Okay, our wedding is so soon there’s no way it’s going to be impacted. Even though Italy at that time had made a turn for the worse, [my fiance] Kerry’s family is from Spain, and we felt good because they weren’t impacted the way Italy was. Then, we got to Wednesday, and that’s when it dramatically switched. That’s when the Hawks had their final game. That was the same evening that Trump instituted the travel ban from Europe. Kerry’s family would not be able to make it. Carstarphen The day when I said to my fellow superintendents that I’m considering closing the district even though we don’t have any cases—that was a bit of a shock. Even to myself. I work with children. So, the idea that I would even put on the table this notion that they might not have a prom, they might not be able to play for the state championship, they might not be able to get closure after 12 years of public school, that their moment gets snatched away from them? It’s sobering how your decision can change the direction of people’s lives. Dock Hollingsworth | senior pastor at Second-Ponce de Leon Baptist Church Wednesday, March 11, was a turning point. We were here for the Wednesday night services. There was still a lot of levity. A 94-year-old man came up to me and said, “Boy, I was relieved that this is targeting people 60 to 80 since it’s been so long since I was 80.” By Thursday morning we were in a whole different mode. I was in a peer group with other Atlanta pastors. Everyone was asking, “What measures are you taking?” Keisha Lance Bottoms | mayor of Atlanta I went to Sam’s Club on Thursday. A woman asked me what I was doing there. “The same thing you’re doing.” I have four kids at home. My husband makes grocery runs on his way home from work. But I knew we needed to stock up with a family of six. I’m now cooking three meals a day. But my personal adjustment pales in comparison to what’s happening. People are dying. Urbina We provide services to about 4,500 people. The services that we provide are very difficult to find. To give you an idea, there are 700,000 Latinos in metro Atlanta but there are less than 70 counselors who are fully licensed that can speak Spanish. There are four psychologists in the state of Georgia who can speak Spanish, and there are five psychiatrists who can speak Spanish. Latino children have twice the chance of having anxiety and depression compared to other teens. Our Latina girls, almost 20 percent of them attempt suicide. Joey Camp | cook at Waffle House in Canton who also drives a party bus part-time I started getting pneumonia [in early March]. I felt like I was drowning. The chills had gotten so bad that I could not keep my teeth from chattering. If my teeth weren’t chattering, I was coughing. [On March 12,] I went to the emergency room. They did all these tests—a CT scan with contrast, x-rays, everything. They were like, You got really bad pneumonia. We’re going to put you in a room and monitor you for a few days. Well, I was in there for probably nine hours when they hung the isolation box on my door. Which is where they keep all these gloves, smocks, and masks that everybody has to put on before they’re allowed into the room. I got a little nervous.   Photograph by Audra Melton Phuong It hit me Friday night. We’d been planning so long, and now, our wedding is not going to happen. It was emotional. Dr. Laurence Busse | medical director, critical care, Emory Johns Creek Hospital On March 13, it was profound the amount of people coming into the ER. That was a scary day, and we all finished that day thinking, What are we in for? Dr. Jessica Nave | hospital medicine, Emory University Hospital I was hoping that, by early April, we’d peak. But now, my projection is we’ll peak at the end of April. And that’s still optimistic. It’s just the numbers. If you look at Seattle and New York, they’re still going. We didn’t start getting cases until the second week of March. We have to have a solid month of getting hit really hard before we peak. Marshall Rancifer | homeless advocate and relief worker There are 4,000 homeless people out there on the streets. Youth and adults. Homeless people share everything: food, clothes, hygiene products, blunts, crack pipes, needles sometimes. I brought a bunch of crack pipes to them so they wouldn’t share pipes. Some don’t know there is a virus outbreak in the city. They don’t have access to social media or the news. If you’re not in a shelter, you’re walking around in suspended animation all day. I saw people starting to light cigarettes and pass them around. I knocked the cigarettes out of their hands. I said, “You can’t share cigarettes, can’t share food, don’t touch nobody, don’t shake nobody’s hand. Don’t hug nobody.” Had to explain to the mothers in a park on Proctor Street what they can and can’t do. We’re not just educating the homeless; we are educating poor people and marginalized folks. They just don’t know. The weekend of March 14-15 was surreal. Social media and television were talking about nothing else, and school districts across the state, including Atlanta Public Schools, were announcing or had just begun indefinite closures. But for many Atlantans, life went on as normal. Bars were full. Restaurants were open. The BeltLine was packed. At Brick Store in Decatur, the owners decided to go ahead with a planned St. Patrick’s Day celebration, which included a short parade to the bar, scheduled for Saturday. Their decision, announced on the bar’s Facebook page the day before, brought out the knives. “You are encouraging people to make a very selfish decision,” wrote one of the more restrained commenters. “Public health providers are telling us to behave AS IF WE HAVE THE VIRUS, because many of us likely do.” Gallagher Calling it a “parade” is a stretch, because there were about 15 to 25 people. There were more people congregated in front of retail stores than there were in the parade. But we did it, and we had our event. We removed some tables. We put some tables spread out outside. We removed some barstools. I think people were clustering with whom they felt safe, their own household member or a family member, and then they spread out otherwise. It wasn’t six feet apart in the whole place, for sure. But our staff was militant about sanitizing bartops, tabletops, stools, chairs, menus in between their reuse, faucets. I got a lot of feedback from staff and guests about how meaningful it was to them and how they viewed it as a beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak moment in time. So we certainly got a lot of great feedback. But the bashing on social media was unfortunate and unnecessary, quite frankly. Carstarphen I always believed we would be here at mitigation—not prevention, not containment. Mitigation was probably the only way we’d go given the spirit of our country, given we’re a democracy, given that people love their personal freedoms and their individual decision-making. Stieber This is the first time that social media and the general public have been able to kind of force people’s hands in a business sense, beyond just what is recommended from a health standpoint. We live in an era where people are so polarized and proselytizing of everything from behind their screens that whether you want to stay open right now, to fight for your business, you don’t really have much of a choice because of the stigma associated with doing so. As new restrictions kept restaurants from opening to guests, they pivoted to takeout operations. They started GoFundMe accounts for furloughed staff. At Brick Store, owners reduced their menu to soups and sandwiches. Donations to the “soup kitchen”—meant to compensate workers—were encouraged, but if you couldn’t pay, you could still grab a bag. Acheson My real worry is for all the people that I promised to provide for and can’t. That’s very hard, because I want on my tombstone to be remembered as a good employer, and a good human, and a good dad. The people who are going to get hit worst by this are undocumented. It’s not like we have a huge number of them on the payroll, but across the country, there are. They can’t get unemployment. They pay taxes through payrolls, but they don’t get taxes back. They are screwed. But we’re all screwed. Everybody’s like, Well, we’ll recover. No. Fifty percent of the restaurants that just shut down across this country will never reopen. Gallagher Most restaurants are lucky to have two full weeks’ worth of financial runway, and employees, probably even less. A lot of these guys are paycheck-to-paycheck. We are taking the money from the GoFundMe, the money from the gift cards, and any additional monies that have been given, and we’re divvying them up among staff on this upcoming payroll. We’re going to try to find an hourly threshold. For instance, if you worked 24 hours or less, you’ll get this pay rate. If you’re 25 or more, you’ll get that pay rate. We felt that was the most equitable, least cumbersome way to do it. I’ll be honest, it was tough. Do you pay more because they make more? Do you pay more because they need more? Do you pay more because they worked with you longer? Acheson I’m really happy that people are buying gift certificates. If we sell $2,000 of to-go food today, I’ll be impressed. That does not equate to being able to pay $16,000 in rent next month that Empire State owes and payroll costs of $44,000 every two weeks. Urbina Our community works in hospitality, restaurants, construction. Those are the first industries that are affected. We have already had clients who have lost their jobs. They know that they’re probably not going to be able to pay rent at the beginning of April. While most coronavirus infections don’t require hospitalization, roughly 15 percent do. Usually, though not always, the person needing hospitalization is elderly or immunocompromised. The infection ravages the lungs, leading often to pneumonia. Patients can’t get enough oxygen on their own. Some require a ventilator, a machine that augments the patient’s respiration through forced exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide. Busse I’m critical care. So, when patients get to me, they’re in dire straits. The typical thing that’s seen down in the emergency room is fever, some increased work of breathing, some hypoxia [low levels of oxygen in tissue], and some malaise or body aches. Those folks who have, let’s say, a little bit of increased work of breathing or need some oxygen would be admitted to have supportive care while they get through their illness. But if they have a higher degree of oxygen needs or they’re in septic shock or they’re in kidney failure, then they come to me. And those folks can be exquisitely ill, anywhere from just needing a few extra liters of oxygen to having multiorgan failure and needing a full bevy of life support. Dr. Laurence Busse: “When patients get to me, they’re in dire straits.” Photograph by Audra Melton Nave Sometimes illness is difficult to define by objective measures. We’ll get a call from the ER physician saying, “I think this patient needs to get admitted.” I’m looking at their chart and saying, “Well, they’re not hypoxic, they’re fine.” They’ll say, “Just come and lay your eyes on them.” So, I do, and it’s, “Oh yeah, this person is not going to do well.” They have a look about them. Their breathing pattern is abnormal. They’re using more accessory muscles. Au The act of intubating a COVID-19 patient is essentially the highest-risk procedure you can do. As you’re putting in that tube and they’re breathing out through this channel you’re putting in, it gives an opportunity for the virus to be in the air. Usually, it’s in droplets. Aerosolized virus can float around. It’s one of the most infectious potential procedures you can do on a COVID patient. The person who is best and most senior and experienced at doing intubations should do it. They take the least amount of time possible. Put in the tube, quick, hook up the ventilator, and minimize exposure to everyone. Nave Some of our sickest patients have been in their late 20s to late 30s and otherwise healthy. We don’t know why. Camp On Saturday [March 13], they tested me for COVID-19, and I got positive affirmation on Monday. How in the world did I get this? I have not been to Italy, I haven’t been to China, I haven’t been around people, to my knowledge, that have been to those places. I live a very boring life. When they finally told me on Monday, they also released me from the hospital to self-quarantine. The house I was living in had an infant in it. I didn’t want to take the chance of getting that infant sick. So, I was like, “I need options.” Camp was brought to Hard Labor Creek State Park and put in a camper to recuperate until he was no longer contagious. He was there for six days. Camp It had a nice bed in it. There were cookies. The state health officials were super helpful. I asked them to go on a grocery run because a diabetic cannot live on chips and cookies. And they went and got me some bananas, some apples, some cucumbers—all this stuff for me to snack on. I offered to pay for some of the stuff, and they wouldn’t have it. They paid for my medicine. They got me a new blood-sugar meter. The first few days were rough. The coughing was the worst part at that point. I had stopped having chills, I had stopped having a fever, but I was still coughing my brains out. It was like starting a car. Just whoop, whoop, whoop, just constant. And it just slowly went away. One day, I was coughing every three or four minutes; the next day, it was every half hour; the next day, it was every hour. And by the time I was done, I was only coughing very, very rarely, when I got a tickle in the back of my throat. It wasn’t even in my lungs anymore. Au We know that some of the sick are going to be our colleagues. We know that the more we are going to engage, the more people are going to be sick. Over the weekend, I started sleeping in the guest room in the basement because it’s separate from the rest of the house. I have my own bathroom because I don’t want to share a bathroom with anyone. I’m very meticulous about hygiene now—I mean, I always was because I work in the hospital—but now it’s like, shower and change into clean clothes before I leave the hospital. And then, I shower and change clothes again [once I’m home]. Rancifer I wasn’t scared before, but I’m scared now. My father and mother always taught me not to run away from trouble—run toward it, because you can be the person who can change something or save someone’s life. But once this gets out of hand, I’m not going to run toward someone that can kill me. I’m 63. I fall under the category of major at-risk. After I meet with big groups of folks, I skim down to my skivvies. I wear two pairs of gloves. When I get in the car I take my clothes off and throw them on the ground. I take the top pair of gloves off and put them in a disposable Ziploc bag. Then, I take the sanitized clothes out, get dressed, and then move on back home. Au Yesterday I cried talking to a high-school friend. When you’re at home, because the kids are there, you want to be like, Everything’s cool. It is so disruptive for them, so you put on the cheerful face. And at work, since I’m an attending physician, you want to put forth that “everything’s under control.” You get accustomed to trying to keep other people calm. But talking to someone that I’ve known before this, it was just an unguarded moment. What if I get sick? [My husband and I are] rewriting our wills right now. He’s a doctor, too. One of us has to stay well. Clinkscales My mom is worrying about what we’re going to do. She is part of a housecleaning business, but people haven’t been allowing them into their homes because of precautions. My dad works in building services for a hotel, and his income has been dropping. Because of the pandemic, baseball has been canceled, five games in. Colleges aren’t recruiting. Some schools aren’t even accepting students. Ware I spent most of the day today on the phone with our creditors and sending emails to landlords and to the people we lease bikes from, and they’re like, We get it. They’ve been extremely understanding, but it is a very, very scary time. One of our creditors said, We can defer for three months but we’ll still collect interest. Our largest creditor, Wells Fargo, is deferring payments with no late fees and no interest and no reporting to our credit bureau. But a community bank is going to charge us interest. They said, That’s just what we have to do. When we sent the email that we were going to suspend everyone’s membership, we had 35 to 40 people call and say, Don’t cancel. Don’t suspend our accounts. We want to continue to pay because we know you are hit hard, and this is our gym. We want to help and support you as much as we can. Some of these people have been members since the beginning. They’re not clients or strangers; they opened the doors with us. That has been so amazing. Shawn Ware: “I spent most of the day today on the phone with our creditors.” Photograph by Audra Melton Acheson I had $26 in my checking account last week, last week, before this all happened. I’m borrowing personal funds from people I know to pay payroll. Small business is being abandoned. It’s been abandoned for a long time in this country. Nobody has any inkling about how much hurt this is going to do. Lobbyists are on the Hill right now getting every meeting that they want to bail out Delta Air Lines yet again, and the auto industry is going to get bailed out. One in 10 people in the States work for the hospitality industry. Nobody’s bailing us out. We bail out all the wrong people in this country, consistently, over and over again. These are the same people who don’t want Medicare for All, yet they want a socialist handout when they make bad decisions in business, and they go broke. When the coronavirus closed Atlanta Public Schools, the district implemented a massive effort to continue offering free meals to its 52,416 students. Working with the Atlanta Community Food Bank, APS offers a bag of free groceries every Monday at four locations around town. The district hosts an additional giveaway on Tuesdays and is offering meal service at 10 sites around town, including delivery of meals via the school bus system. Carstarphen Our goal as of yesterday was to be at 40,000 meals on any given day in a school district. We let everyone eat. As food supplies diminish or are late, and as staff continue to self-quarantine and find other challenges trying to come to work every day, we’ll have staffing shortages. Bottoms I drove to my mother’s house, and she stood outside my car. I hadn’t seen my mother in a few weeks. Which isn’t normal. My grandmother would quote the Bible: “Be anxious for nothing.” You hear from people all the time, “This, too, shall pass.” I had to write that on the wall in the mayor’s office to remind myself. We’re going to be alright. When I need to take a breath and clear my mind, I’ll go and sort some shoes. This too shall pass. Camp I work in the service industry. Half of my income has been wiped out by this. The party bus industry is on hiatus because all the bars are shut down, proms were shut down, all of that. That’s killing my income. I still have bills. Part of me feels like the government shouldn’t be telling businesses to close their doors. I feel like that should be a case-by-case basis. Busse The preparation [by the federal government] has been poor, but I didn’t really expect it not to be. Do you plan for the worst-case scenario? Or do you put resources elsewhere? So, the response in general has not been great. And I think that’s sort of what I expected. And frankly, if I was in that position, I’m not sure I would’ve done it differently. I mean, it’s really hard to plan for something like this. I’ve never had this in my lifetime. And I’ve been here for Ebola, for H1N1 influenza, and I was here for the first SARS illness back in 2003. We’ve seen these things erupt on a regional level but never really become a global pandemic. This is new in our generation. Urbina My nightmare is that one of my employees gets sick, and I have to close my office, and our families have nowhere to go. At the moment, what we need most are donations or gift cards. One donor asked if she could bring baby formula, and I said yes, that would be fantastic. We have another person who asked if they could bring baskets of food. Yes, whatever you think you can do. We are very grateful. Busse When we run out of ventilators, that’s not something that we can just pull out of the closet. So, we’re relying on and hoping for support from the government to get more ventilators. We’re relying on and hoping for support from industry to get us more resources. We’re using what we have now, and once that’s it, once we’re out, we’re going to have to get creative. We don’t have enough N95 masks. We don’t have enough personal protective equipment. We’re using what we have, and we are hoping that we don’t get the virus. Nave We’ve started rationing our personal protective equipment. We’re trying to be very, very smart about when to use it and on which patients. It’s kept under lock and key because there’s panic even in the healthcare system when something like this hits. People start hoarding. Ware My husband is 60 and has heart disease, so we want to make sure he is extra-protected. I’m a breast-cancer survivor. We live in a condo downtown. We are in and out of the parking garage, touching that door all the time. Those are the things we have to be conscious about. We’re here, and we’re in the house more now, obviously. But it’s fine, it’s family time. We’ve got a puzzle. I got me some wine. Brad Levenberg | rabbi at Temple Sinai So many of us have relied on physical gatherings to provide comfort when we’re going through difficult times. When it’s joyous, we gather to celebrate. In the days after 9/11, we gathered in homes and apartments to watch the news. Now, this kind of support is all being challenged. We need to find other ways. Busse Right now we’re not seeing the normal volume of patients that show up needing care at the hospital. And is that because patients are being more careful and taking their medicine and having telehealth visits with their primary-care doctors? Are they no longer using the emergency room as a sort of a primary-care outlet? And it makes me think: Is this what healthcare could be if we were sort of using the system appropriately? Now, of course, the pessimist in me worries that when this is all said and done, we’re going to look at mortality and morbidity of people that were not infected with COVID-19 and we’re going to see that go up. Nave Italy had so many cases that all presented at once that it overwhelmed their entire system, and they’re having to choose who’s going to live and who’s going to die. They’re looking at two patients who are actively dying and there’s one ventilator, and they’re saying “You get it.” That’s probably the most horrific experience for a physician. I can’t even imagine. That’s what we don’t want. Hollingsworth We are in the holy season of Lent right now. It’s already designed to be a season of introspection and asking the big questions. So, in many ways, this makes the Lenten questions more real and more pressing because the ground is shaky under people. But personally the ground doesn’t feel that shaky to me. Because I have a different kind of existential hope. We may see people turning to the church to ask, Are there answers there that perhaps I’ve been making fun of for a long time? This is an opportunity to live inside a hope that is not built on markets or how many widgets you can sell. Carstarphen This is going to have a huge and disproportionate impact on black and brown and poor children. When you’re in a city that has the label of being the most unequal city in America when it comes to income disparity, and you’re working with people who are already fragile and incredibly strained in the healthiest of economies, this is crushing. If you’re wealthy, you can still get the access to the things you need for your family. Our kids weren’t getting that at the outset. It took a pandemic to wake up some people to know that we have to support our marginalized brothers and sisters. Clinkscales I don’t have money to pay for college on my own. Scholarships have been taken away. I’ve been thinking about starting a business. I have always wanted to own a sports bar. Now, I’m scared about what I’m going to do after I graduate. I was working hard, doing extracurricular activities, filling out scholarship applications, playing sports, trying to do something better for my family. And it all got taken away because of the virus. Devon Clinkscales: “I’m scared about what I’m going to do after I graduate.” Photograph by Audra Melton Urbina This pandemic has proved how connected we are. Nobody can say that they have not been touched by this. I am Latina, but if something is happening to my friends in the black community, it’s my problem. I have to do something about it because they’re my people. With everything that’s happening to the Asian community, I feel so sad that people have made them feel they are to blame for the situation, which, they’re not. We need everybody’s help so we can survive. There will be repercussions from this that we can’t even imagine right now. Do whatever you can, but just do something. Stieber My main focus is keeping the business open any way I possibly can, which right now means switching to a to-go–only format this week. But we have to do what we have to do, and I’m doing whatever I can to make sure I pay my staff and keep their jobs. If you have the ability to stay home and still get paid and you’re willing to share with the people who need it, then do so. Just stop posting the same memes—pony up and do something legitimate to help. Nave I don’t leave my house a lot [when I’m not at the hospital]. We have gone to the grocery store. We do not bring our children. I keep hand sanitizer in my purse. The second I get in my car, I sanitize my hands again. We bring all the groceries in, unload then, and immediately wipe every single food item down: boxes, milk jugs, whatever. Then, we take a wipe and retrace our entire steps from the time we entered the house—every doorknob, every baby gate, every counter. Levenberg This is a time when you don’t have to put your life on the line to be a hero. You’re a hero when you pay your yard people to not show up. When you pay your cleaning people to stay home. When you send a gift card to teachers who are learning new tools to teach your children. These are all heroic measures. Bottoms I’ve been thinking a lot about the Holocaust and the diary of Anne Frank, how people’s lives changed and they had to go in hiding. When I think about that, this is a minor inconvenience. There are people who live across the globe with disease and war. I’m in a house with AC and a backyard and two dogs who get to run around and play. It’s made me grateful just about the little things—going to a restaurant, getting your nails done, going to the store. These conveniences we take for granted our entire lives. It’s given me a perspective, another layer of empathy. Nave This is a different infectious agent than we have ever seen in most of our lifetimes. This truly is unprecedented. I was at Emory when we dealt with Ebola. Ebola’s mortality is way worse than this, and it’s very infectious—but not as infectious as this. This is crazy: You start with one city in China, and now, the whole world has it because we’re so interconnected. This is such an unprecedented infectious agent that we have to be more diligent and cautious, even at the cost of some of the economics of this country. Because how do you put value on a life? Hollingsworth If we have a death in our community, it’s our practice to come together as a community and tell stories. We can’t do that now. But an interment can’t wait. The staff here will do small graveside services, and we’ll encourage families to push a memorial service into the future. Gallagher [My wife and I have] had some difficult talks about the greater good. Is it being available as a soup kitchen, or selling food to raise money for our staff, or closing down and keeping the highest level of social distancing? This morning, she shared a dream she had where she was in the grocery store and there was too many people and she could see the hand sanitizer and she couldn’t get to it. Levenberg I hope we have a renewed understanding of those who are more marginalized than we are and of the privileges we claim by default. Maybe that sense will be awakened in people who are seeing that there are a lot of people who are worse off, who are seeing that they’ve milked the existing system for their families at the expense of others. Amy Phuong and Kerry O’Brate Photograph by Audra Melton Phuong We thought, What’s preventing us from still getting married? So, we went to the courthouse to get our marriage license the last day the court was open. We pulled up the weather app to look for a date when it wasn’t going to rain. Bill Bolling [the founder of Atlanta Community Food Bank, who was officiating] said, “Pick a pretty spot.” I thought, let’s just pick our neighborhood park, Cabbagetown Park. When Kerry and I first started dating, it was midway between our houses. My parents came, my sister. We had to keep it under 10. We had hand sanitizer. I picked up pastries from Alon’s that morning. We used Kerry’s Zoom account to do some livestreaming. We wanted to make sure family and friends got to be a part of it. On the virtual stream, somebody wore pearls, somebody put on a dress and makeup, someone wore a tuxedo T-shirt, one of the bridesmaids who couldn’t be there even wore her dress. There was a beautiful moment in the ceremony where Bill was addressing the virtual crowd. His remarks almost made the park feel like it was full. He did an affirmation: “Will you guys support this couple?” That was a beautiful moment, looking over at an iPhone on a tripod and hearing everyone say, “We will.” Expanded interviews: These Georgians had so much more to say than we had space to print. To read their full stories, click on the names below. Dr. Michelle Au | Dr. Meria Carstarphen | Devon Clinkscales | Hugh Acheson | Amy Phuong | Mike Gallagher | Jarrett Stieber | Belisa Urbina | Shawn Ware |Dock Hollingsworth | Keisha Lance Bottoms | Joey Camp | Dr. Laurence Busse | Dr. Jessica Nave | Marshall Rancifer | Brad Levenberg This article appears in our May 2020 issue. The post 21st Century Plague appeared first on Atlanta Magazine. #JarrettStieber #EmpireStateSouth #KeishaLanceBottoms #MichelleAu #Coronavirus

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/everybody-knows-that-pestilences-have-a-way-of-recurring-in-the-world-yet-somehow-we-find-it-hard-to-believe-in-ones-that-crash-down-on-our-heads-from-a-blue-sky

[factpatrol-blog]

‘My favourite place in New Orleans’ – a top 10 guide by locals | Travel

Bar/restaurant off the beaten track

One of my favourite drinking spots in New Orleans has got to be Lakeview Harbor. It’s well outside of the usual tourist area – though not really that close to the lake (Lake Pontchartrain). It is more of a locals’ spot, not trendy by any means. Its daily two-for-one happy-hour drinks make it a great place to catch up with friends after work, and its burgers (from $10.50) are on a par with some of the best in the city. Lakeview’s signature drink is the Typhoon and trust me, it will definitely put you in a good mood. • 911 Harrison Avenue, +1 504 486 4887, lakeviewharbor.us Brooke Boudreaux, manager of Circle Food Store, (the first African American-owned full service grocery store in New Orleans)

Great live music

Photograph: Lee Celano/Reuters The Maple Leaf bar is where I first set foot on American soil in the 1980s (I grew up in Kent, in the UK). I was welcomed warmly into the bosom of a dysfunctional family of alcoholics, junkies, rednecks and hippies, Cajuns and Creoles, brilliant minds and half-wits. I’m glad to say that today, 37 years later, not much has changed and even though the laundry machines have gone and James Booker might not play piano on Tuesdays, and Earl King and Rocking Dopsie have left the stage, you can still hear great music in this neighbourhood bar and drink in the daytime with the locals. • 8316 Oak St, mapleleafbar.com Jon Cleary, Grammy-award-winning musician

Vital vinyl store

Photograph: Euclid Records Euclid Records is such a New Orleanian experience. Everyone there from the patrons to the guy behind the counter are fiercely passionate about the music in this city. It isn’t one of those pretentious shops where they will only speak above you. You can overhear (and join in conversation) about bounce, New Orleans soul and R&B, trad jazz, and everything else musical happening here. Go upstairs and rummage through the 45s for a couple of hours or hang out and see an in-store show. Its selection is great and you’ll find more records than you can possibly drag home. 3301 Chartres St, euclidnola.com Taylor Lyon, owner, Graphite Galleries

Park with a story to tell

Few areas in New Orleans fill me with as much nostalgia and joy as the Storyland Park. Having grown up in the city, the collection of statues themed around nursery rhymes and children’s stories is a wonderful place to idle away an afternoon with my nieces and nephews. It points back to the city’s suburban history and its transformation after Katrina. Whether it’s walking through the boot of the shoe that the Little Ol’ Woman lives in or looking into the fish tank inside the giant whale’s mouth from Pinocchio, I love spending a spring day here with the people I love, remembering my own childhood. • Open 10am-5pm, $4, kids 3ft tall and under get in free, 5 Victory Avenue, neworleanscitypark.com James Fitzmorris, playwright and owner of Theatre at St Claude

Classic French Quarter hotel

There are a lot of wonderful old hotels in New Orleans, but I’ve always been a particular fan of the Soniat House. It’s a lovely historic building in a quiet corner of the French Quarter, surrounded by some of the oldest buildings in the city and adjacent to the 18th-century Ursulines Convent. The hotel’s rooms are furnished with 19th-century antiques, from the era that really influenced the style of the French Quarter. The staff are friendly and their long tenures speak of the integrity of the ownership. Another great thing is that they also tailor your in-room bar to your preferred cocktails. • Online deals for double room from $120 room only, soniathouse.com Nick Detrich, bartender and partner, Cane and Table

Restaurant with a north African twist

My favourite Uptown (an area on the east bank of the Mississippi) restaurant is Jamila’s. It’s the perfect place for date night with my husband Rory. It’s tucked away on Maple Street, a little removed from the college bars and is family owned. Moncef is the host and his wife Jamila the chef. They blend Tunisian and Mediterranean cuisine, with our favourite dishes being the mussels ($7.95 starter) and the lamb tajine ($19.95). Moncef is so personable and warm that half the appeal is going to see him – you feel like you’ve been welcomed into someone’s home. • Mains from $16.95, 7808 Maple St, +504 866 4366, jamilascafe.com Sarah Celino, owner, Bella & Harlow clothing store

Daytime dining

I love breakfast food. If there’s anything better in life than a buttery croissant with eggs and cheese on it, I’m not sure I deserve it. Surrey’s Café and Juice Bar has all the trappings of a greasy spoon, but with diet-conscious options. I almost always order a breakfast croissant with eggs, bacon and the truly decadent grits. If I’m recovering from a disaster of a night, I’ll drown my shame in biscuits and gravy (a popular southern dish). The cafe encourages customers to bring their own booze and it’s easier to bring a bottle of sparkling wine than it is to figure out how to split the bill for rounds of endless mimosas. • Breakfast plate from $5.95, open 8am-3pm every day, 1418/4807 Magazine St, surreysnola.com Mary-Devon Dupuy, comedian

Seminal Cajun dishes

When people ask me where to eat in New Orleans, K-Paul’s is always at the top of my list. The food isn’t gimmicky - it is balanced, seasonal, and fresh. The blackened redfish is a seminal dish in US cuisine. The dark, spicy chicken and sausage gumbo is a Cajun revelation in a Creole city – and don’t conflate the two. Chef Paul Prudhomme (who died in 2015) was a native of the small Louisiana city of Opelousas, and founded the restaurant with his wife Kay in 1979. The flavours of Cajun country shine through in his interpretations. Just try not to fill up on the house-made bread basket. In a city where it seems like a new restaurant opens daily, K-Paul’s is still among the best. • Mains from $32.95, 416 Chartres St, +1 504 948 6434, kpauls.com James Cullen, chef at JC’s Chicken and photographer

Stroll, culture, boats and bikes

Photograph: Alamy Just as Bourbon Street blossomed into an adult playground over the past half-century, City Park has emerged as a playground, period. New Orleans Museum of Art features an array of children’s programming, but when kids want to get outdoors, they flock to the Carousel Gardens Amusement Park (complete with little Ladybug roller coaster). Just across the parking lot sits the recently added City Putt golf course and beyond the museum of art, at the southern end, a vast green space where visitors will come across Morning Call (for beignets and café au lait). Boat and bike rentals abound and the Louisiana Children’s Museum (currently on Julia St) plans to relocate there in 2018. • 1 Palm Drive, neworleanscitypark.com David Lee Simmons, editor, local culture website PopSmartNOLA.com

Feel like dancing?

I thoroughly enjoy Poor Boys as one of the best dance venues in the city. The nights it throws are diverse and energetic, and it books a wide variety of bands and DJs. The dance floor is really spacious for New Orleans, and the place reminds me of those classic older discos in the early 1980s, especially with the characteristic raised DJ booth. The bar owners are great at promoting local bands and DJs and have created a space that’s fun and safe for a diverse crowd. • 1328 St Bernard Ave, no website Rahn Broady, garden educator, artist and ice-cream maker Source link Click to Post

[randomingoftherandomness]

Title: Apple Jam Season (OT3; Rated G)

A/N: for @bewires 😊❤️ follow up to this

--

It should be impossible for anyone to pull off a FC Internazionale Milano jersey in that horrible shade of blue - God, does Nicky regret ever egging Joe on into buying it for laughs because now those colours assault his eyes every time it is worn - but Booker, for some inexplicable reason, wears it like he is about to walk the runways of Milan fashion week whilst pairing it with booty shorts Nicky thinks has existed in their closet since the 80s.

It is a truly arresting sight to see.

Especially since Booker, upon Joe and Nicky picking from the lone apple tree in their garden, takes it on himself to make and bottle some apple jam. Joe has long since been banished, laughingly and with a kiss, to the living room after one too many sneaky fingers in the diced apples, but Nicky has been allowed to stay.

Which is good. Because it means he is privy to the way Booker hums along to Dua Lipa on the radio and how he shakes and rolls his hips to the music, how he seems to know all the jaunty commercial jingles that come on, and most importantly, how his ass cheeks are highlighted in all their glory by the tiny shorts that Nicky is very determined to destroy by the end of all of this.

Dua Lipa switches to Kim Petras and Booker makes a deep and delighted sound that has Nicky stumbling against the wall.

Oblivious to how he is crossing and uncrossing his legs, Booker goes to the refrigerator where he bends over to look for the butter, thighs apart and short hem riding up the seam of his ass cheeks and Nicky feels like dying from how much he wants to put his face between them.

Beating a quick retreat to the living room, he spots Joe on the sofa in the middle of sketching, and throws himself against him.

"Yusuf, my darling, please save me."

Joe wraps an arm around his shoulder, chuckling as he kisses the side of his head. "And what foes should I slay for you today?"

"Booker's booty shorts. They mock me."

"Oh?"

"He's so beautiful. Happy and content," Nicky laments, faux dramatic and already cracking a smile. "I am aroused by our husband, husband."

"Ridiculous man," Joe laughs, setting aside his sketch book and pencils. Pulling him in for a kiss, he whispers against the corner of his mouth. "I'm pretty sure he knows what he is doing to us. He only wears those shorts when he wants to tease."

"You mean this was all planned?"

"What I mean is," Joe murmurs, trailing his lips up his cheek, "Perhaps we should launch our own counter attack on his senses. It would be fun to see him blushing, after all."

Nicky's mind immediately turns to the mental image of their Booker wearing a dusting of pink on his cheeks and chest and nothing else, being fucked over the kitchen sink and has to stop himself from smiling too eagerly.

"What do you propose?"

[randomingoftherandomness]

Title: To Be Balanced

A/N: Follow up to Home Is Wherever I'm With You and Apple Jam Session because what can I say? @bewires planted one hell of seed in my head 🌱

--

They stay out of Booker's way as he attacks the house with the hoover. Experience has long since trained them to hole up at the living room before decamping to garden when he is about to come in.

They have offered to help but after the incident of The Green Banana, they have wisely and instinctively kept out of their beloved's way when he gets into the mood to clean.

As the hoover rumbles and hums above them, they are folding the laundry and cleaning their gear. Copley's given them a two week break before they are to fly to New Zealand. Booker will, instead, be heading to Edinburgh because one of his new friends from his graduate programme is keen and has invited him along.

They'll miss him, of course. They always miss him when he's not with them but they know that being a non-active combatant is the best way forward for Booker. The trade off is a happier Booker who thrives with the roots he has set down in their home; one who smiles and laughs more, whose bad days are still there always present but is more willing to let them in to sit and share in his silences with him.

They would take this trade any day.

The hoovering above them whines to a stop.

"Nicolò di Genova, did you motherfucking put your socks in the Lalique!"

Joe levels Nicky with a fond look as he folds their shirts into a pile. "Better start running, my love. I'll be sure to come find you with a shovel to dig you out of whatever hole he puts you in."

He grins, kissing Joe before he vaults over the back of the sofa and bolting out of the French doors.

[randomingoftherandomness]

I don;t know if you already saw (I don't know if Ao3 sends out alters) but I have posted the first chapter of an omega Booker fic heavily inspired by your wonderful omega and househusband Booker fics, and also because you turned what I though was gonna be just another 🌶🍋minific/notfic into a full blown fic. Please ignore me if you want! I know you said you're moving onto different fandoms and stuff now. Sorry again for bothering you.

Omg hello friend! I've been swamped at work so I've not been checking my emails but I'll have a look once I'm on my evening commute home.

This is super lovely and completely unexpected! I'm looking forward to checking it out. I'm feel very touched that you'd even thought to undertake this. Thank you for it ❤️ I've been feeling rather tetchy about writing anything to do with TOG lately - maybe it's burnout, maybe it's just the creeping existential dread, maybe it's Maybelline (lol) - and this has really made me smile about the whole endeavour.

Please do not ever apologise for sending me asks and messages about loveliness such as this. You've definitely made my very exhausting and very busy week, for sure ❤️

I'm a multifandom hoe, I always have been, so whilst I may not be posting much TOG on this blog, I'm still flitting around on the fringes with extreme caution and happy obliviousness to the... Whatever goes down on the main tags 😂

Can't wait to read that first chapter x