#i forgot who tagged me in this my bad lads

[radstormz]

happy wip wednesday saturday

enjoy the vaultghoul wip<3

It’s almost like watching a puppy, really. All wide eyes and wagging tail, flopping all around the place. Learning how to walk. Oh, she is absolutely terrified, ain't no doubt about it, but at the same time: there’s a spark in those eyes of hers. He can see it. She’s so… innocent. Untainted. Fresh meat, his mind whispers. Fresh fuckin’ meat. The Wasteland’s gonna chew this little girl up and spit her right back out again. The thing about this gal is, the world kicks her down and she just keeps on getting back up. He likes that about her. It's about one of the only damn things he likes about her.

And he ain't fuckin’ blind, either, he sees the way every man they come across looks at her. Like they wanna eat her, or fuck her, or both. With the shit he's seen, it's both. But then she'll turn to him and say somethin’, and her eyes will light up all bright-like, and his stomach will churn and churn, ‘cause the truth of it is, he’s no better. He’s no fucking better.

hey. hey @da3drat. whatcha workin on bestie

[leighsartworks216]

Lay All Your Love On Me

Zayne x gn!Reader & Sylus

Written for a challenge by @jinwoosbabyboo

The prompt: running into your main lads man (boyfriend) while you're out with your second favorite lads man (as a friend) and how they would react

I wrote this at like 2am cuz I got so inspired and then I promptly passed out lmao

Title from "Lay All Your Love On Me" by ABBA

Warnings: fluff, silly, jealousy, drunkenness, Sylus being a little shit

Word Count: 1,390

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Sylus grabs your shoulder, steering you back onto the sidewalk and away from the window displays. You’d been adamant on walking this way, even though your apartment is in the direct opposite direction. When asked why, repeatedly, all you did was giggle and say it was a secret. He can’t tell if that mischief stems from who you are as a person or the alcohol warming your blood.

“Come on, sweetie. We should be getting you back home.” He plants his feet, tugging on your arm to try coaxing you back the way you came.

You whine. You stumble over your feet trying to get free from his hold. “Nooo~ We need to keep going this way!”

He sighs. The amusement he found in your inebriation faded about a block ago. “If you’d tell me why we need to keep going this way, it would help me figure out what you want so badly.” You trip into him. He huffs as he catches you, holding you in a loose hug until your head stops spinning. “Feel like talking, kitten?”

“Hmm…” You let your arms go limp by your sides and drop your forehead to rest against his chest. Closing your eyes isn’t really helping, but neither is staring at your feet. Still, your feet are far more interesting to look at right now as you try playfully stepping on his toes. “I just- He’s gotta be this way! Cuz he said he was gonna go to the bakery after work, but I forgot! And- urgh, Tara dragged me out ‘n then I remembered!”

“Who are you talking about, kitten?”

You sigh heavily. You lift your head to look at him, chin pressing painfully against him. He doesn’t react more than quirking a brow at you. “This really cute guy I like,” you admit. Seemingly out of nowhere, tears start to pool in your eyes.

Sylus is starting to regret answering the desperate call Tara made to him, begging him to take you home. He can understand her desperation now.

“He- He’s taken, though! I like him so much, Sy! But he’s not single anymore!” You hiccup pathetically, face crumpling with emotion. “And he’s so, so pretty, and I- I wanna kiss him soooo bad, Sy. What ‘m I supposed to do?”

He pats your back awkwardly, scanning the stores down the way. “Look, the bakery is right there. Why don’t we sit down and wait for him, hm?”

You sniffle, wiping at your eyes with your wrist. “Okay…”

You follow along like a pouting child, holding his hand as he walks you the rest of the way to your destination. Outside of the display window, dense with cakes and other sweet treats, haloed by the orange light from within, is a wooden bench, blessedly unoccupied. Sylus sits you down first, ensuring you’re not gonna run off and cause trouble. He sits at the other end, his elbow resting atop the bench as he props his head up. He nods to you, resigned to his fate. “Tell me about him.”

You perk up, wet eyes lighting up as you wiggle giddily in your seat. “Oh, he’s so cute, Sy! He’s like, really tall and he wears cute sweaters sometimes. And! And his eyes are like-” You mimic starburst explosions coming from your eyes. “You know?”

“I can’t say I do.”

Ignoring him, you keep rambling. “His hair is soooo soft, too. I don’t know how he does it, cuz he doesn’t do anything to his hair, but it’s just- it falls so perfectly. ‘N it smells really good, too. I’m so jealous. I wish my hair was that perfect.” You pout, fussing with your hair. It doesn’t help that you can’t see it, but you certainly try. In the end, you’ve created the perfect mess on your head.

The door to the bakery jingles as it opens. A customer takes two steps outside before stopping. “Y/N?”

You look up, eyes glazed over, blinking dumbly. Slowly, your eyes focus in on him, like you’re just waking up from a dream. You gasp and rush to your feet. You fall into him more than you purposefully hug him, but he wraps his free arm around you all the same.

You turn toward Sylus, still lounging on the bench. “Sy, this is the guy I was telling you about! Look at his hair!”

Zayne easily deflects your clumsy attempt to mess with his hair. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I’m just a friend. You can call me Skye. You must be their boyfriend.”

“Wait!” You stare up at Zayne with wide eyes. “You’re taken by ME?!”

“How much did you have to drink?”

“Too much,” Sylus answers for you. He stands up, thumbs tucked casually into his front pockets. “They were crying on the way here about you being ‘taken.’ I trust that I can leave them in your capable hands?”

Zayne looks the man up and down. He doesn’t recognize him among the countless stories of friends you’ve told him about before. Something about him sets Zayne on edge, but he just nods stiffly, lips pursed. “Thank you for escorting them here,” he says, but it lacks the warmth of true gratitude.

Sylus smirks as he nods in return. You turn to wave at the tall man. “Goodnight, Sy! Say hello to Mephie for me, m’kay?”

“Of course, sweetie. Good luck sleeping off your hangover.”

With that, he turns and heads back down the street. Zayne watches him leave, arm tightening around you. Something stirs within him uncomfortably: the unmistakable twist of jealousy. It calculates every small glance, touch, glimmer of anything where there’s nothing, tossing it into a burning fire in his system. But now is not the time to address it.

“Hold this,” he says, with all the patience of a doctor dealing with a crying three-year-old.

You take the bag of treats from him without hesitation. “Oooh, what’d’ya get?”

Before you can peek in, your feet are being pulled out from under you as Zayne lifts you into his arms. You hold the bag in your lap with one hand. The other wraps around his neck to keep you secure. “The bakery had some seasonal desserts to try, so I got some of each. If we don’t like them, I also bought a couple of our usual favorites.”

The bakery is close to the hospital where he left his car parked. People give him odd looks as he passes by, but he’s more focused on the intense look you’re giving him. Intense not for any strong emotion behind it, but because of the unyielding way you stare at his face.

“What’s on your mind?”

You sigh dreamily. “Can’t believe I get to date you,” you hum. You groan quietly, pouting at him. “I wanna kiss you, but I know you don’t like that in public. Can I kiss you when we get back home?”

His lips quirk into a small smile. “You can kiss my cheek tonight,” he says, voice low, private. “Tomorrow, when you’re feeling better, you can kiss me properly.”

“I’m not gonna be able to survive until tomorrow!” you whine dramatically. “Just one small kiss? Pretty please? Pretty, pretty please with sugar on top?”

That stirring emotion in his gut is rapidly settled with your pleas. He sets you carefully back on your feet beside his car. The parking lot is empty, and almost every window in the hospital is dark or dim. You hold onto his arm with your free hand, preventing him from grabbing his keys until he answers.

He sighs softly, amused. Your face is so beautiful in this light. “Okay,” he agrees. “One small kiss.”

The way your face lights up is blinding. You dance awkwardly on your feet in your excitement, letting go of him as you try getting into the still locked car. “C’mon, c’mon! I got the prettiest man in the whole world to kiss!”

What did he have to be jealous about when he was the one taking you home? The one being pulled into kisses by you over and over again while he tries to get you ready for bed? The one you wake up to, groaning and wishing for death after drinking too much the night before? He doesn’t have anything to worry about at all.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi

[screamingforests]

This is a shoot off of the amazing @beloveds-embrace designationless!reader au! All credit for this A/B/O AU goes to her and go give her support!!!

Based on this specific scenario

Cw: Heavy angst, medical torture, inaccurate medical things, very little comfort

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe it was the way no one noticed you when you walked into the room that made you think you were normal. Maybe it was the way people around you edged away, put off by your lack of scent. The way everyone looked at you with pity.

You didn't want that. Your entire life you had just wanted to fit in. You wanted to be someone that someone else loved.

Maybe it was your family that was the root of the problem, the ones who separated you from your siblings who were all normal. The family that never let you into their mest, claiming your lack of scent, would destroy the atmosphere. That family ignored you, never responding to you. The ones who left to grasping for a relationship, only to realize you would never have one because you were less.

"I've noticed the way people edge away from me, the way they stare! I'm not normal, and this is my chance!" Desperation edged in your voice. "I just- it would be easier this way!"

Johnny chewed on his lip, "easier for who? We all accept you for you, lad."

"This procedure, it's downright inhumane," Simon adds, his brows furrowed as he looked at you, as if truly seeing /you/ for the first time. The scared child you were, wanting to be normal. "It changes you on a base level - I could kill you, dove. It's barely even out of its testing phase."

You sighed. Weren't you allowed to be selfish for once, to want?

"I know," Your voice is quiet but resolute, mind stuck in its decision. "But I want it."

John looks at you. Kyle looks between you and John, eyes full of nervousness. His arms were crossed, looking down his nose at you.

It reminds you so much of the look your dad would give you, the few times he was forced to interact with you.

"No - I won't allow you to get this procedure," John's voice almost rings in your ears. Out of all of them, you thought he might be able to understand.

Of course you were wrong.

You pull away from them, eyes burning. Your mind was made up, it had been since the moment the idea was out into you.

The pack just looks at you with sad eyes, as if understanding the pain you have lived with. As if they could ever understand the feeling of looking into a world, living in it for short amounts of time, but never really belonging.

~

It's weeks later, but you finally have your appointment. You hadn't told anyone about it, you didn't want them to worry.

It had to be fine, right?

~

It hurt, so bad. Pain sang throughout your body, needles sticking out of your skin, and probes stuck with adhesive. You screamed in pain but no one was coming.

You had checked in alone, even told the nurses you didn't want visitors.

No one soothed the pain like Simon did, no one cooed comforts into your ear like Kyle. John and Johnny weren't there to ground you. You were alone, packless.

And only had yourself to blame.

~

It started out small, the loss of sense in your fingers and toes. The doctors assured you it would come back, even if their voice was condescending. Like talking to a child.

(Simon and Kyle would've tag teamed together to massage feeling back into them - They had once, when you feel through ice on a frozen lake.)

You were constantly tired now, something you chalked up to the amount of tests you had been put through the few days you were checked in.

(John would always purr to help you sleep, a commodity you missed. You wished he was here.)

The hunger was easily explained, the staff did forget to bring you food but you didn't want to bother them. They probably forgot because you still had no scent and were easily overlooked. You didn't blame them.

(Johmny would've never forgot, he was always making sure your plate was piled high.)

~

Everything was blurry now, your sight starting to go. Another temporary side effect someone assured you. You couldn't remember whose voice it was.

But it didn't matter, a scent was starting to form. You were going to be normal soon. And even if your body was in constant flight or fight, you were going to fit in.

The way the doctors were seemingly cruel didn't matter. The way the nurses purposefully took more blood to keep you dizzy and compliant was suddenly okay.

You didn't need to know the more your pack pleaded to be with you, the crueler they were. You didn't need to know it was an enemy in disguise, slowly killing you to get back at your pack. The "scent" was just a chemical by-product of your body reacting to all the medications it was being put through.

It would stay, of-course, you might even present with a second gender if it went on long enough.

You didn't need to know so they didn't tell you.

~

Time was getting hard to keep track of. Your sight was nearly gone, and your wounds were slow to heal. Every day was pain. You started to forget why you checked in.

~

It was harder to move now. Your limbs refused to respond to your commands. They were heavy and your mind was too clouded to question it.

Your scent was turning sickly and almost sweet. As if prepping itself for a reactionary heat.

~

The next time you came to, you didn't know what was happening. You could hear shouting and a monotone sound. You felt like you were floating.

That should worry you, you think.

Eletricity rakes your body suddenly, and you're grounded again. Sightless and unable to move. Pain wracking every thought that appears.

You lose yourself to the inky darkness again. Unable to place the fact that you could smell other's scents now.

~

More shouting. These voices were more familiar. It almost sounded like your pack but that couldn't be right, could it?

Hadn't they left you? Or had you left them? You couldn't remember, your mind too slow. You wanted to know, though.

You're able to force a small whine to leave your throat, the first sound besides screaming you had made in what felt like months. There's loud footsteps as someone rushes to your side.

"It's okay, it's okay, we've got you, lad," a familiar voice says. He smells like the ocean and the smoke that comes after an explosion. You like it, it wraps around you like a blanket. "...christ- look at 'em- what've they done to them?"

"We'll figure it out later, for now, its time to go," Another voice says, roughened by what you can assume is years of smoking. He smells like high-quality cigars and soft cedar wood, like the ones surrounding your house when you grew up. "Guns up, we go out blazing."

A new person picks you up, your body immediately curling into him. He smells like petricor and bourbon, tinged with cigarette smoke. He doesn't say another but you decide you like both of the new scents.

A hand smoothes your hair. The last person, he smells like ozone and the forest. You can't describe it, but his voice is low and soothing when he says, "we'll get you home sweets."

And that's the last thing you know before you lose yourself again. Comforted by people you can't remember but you were obviously important to them.

~

It takes months to heal in a normal hospital. Your sight still hasn't fully returned, but glasses help.

So does your pack. While the procedure somewhat worked, your scent came and went. You were more normal than before and even if everything hurt now and you had to do physical therapy, you felt like you belonged.

When you were first admitted, your body had gone through a heat. It presented as an omega, but that was the only instance of it. The staff had you on regular blockers now until your new hormones stabled out. It felt okay, for now.

That didn't change the hurt and all you went through, but it would be okay.

Especially when you were curled up in a temporary nest with your pack in the hospital.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: HELLO PEOPLE! I wrote this on my phone in under an hour so I hope everyone enjoys <3

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter Nine: I Want You

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Michael takes care of you after a long day at work.

Warnings: Mentions of sex, but other than that fluff, fluff, FLUFF!

Word Count: 5.7k

A/n: This is so sweet y'all. I wrote some real domestic shit here and I am so excited to share this with you. I re-read it a million times and added even more fluff until I decided it was okay to post. Also, I said on AO3 that we have about 2-3 chapters with fluff before the Angst Train takes off again. The next one is a little angstier, but there is also a lot of fluff in there, and you're only going to start hating me after Chapter 12 :) If you want to be tagged or I forgot to tag you, let me know! (AND LOOK AT MY smiley little baby AHHH)

You find yourself at work when it finally happens.

Your phone pings and you look down to find two messages on your screen. One is from Michael, and when you open it, you have to stop yourself from laughing because why is he sending you a picture of your unicorn mug with a double espresso in it?

You store it away to answer later. The message that matters most to you is the one underneath. Maya’s name stands written over your lock screen and you have never opened your texts faster. 

‘Dad gave me my phone back. Going on the field trip on Saturday. Got my friend to vouch for the money. They agreed. Thank you again, so much <3 Love you.’

You almost cry out of pure relief. You do cry, in fact, but just a little. A stray tear slides down your cheek from the corner of your eye. 

Hearing Sarah’s footsteps, you quickly wipe your cheek and stuff your phone away, knowing that you’re not allowed to use it during work hours, let alone behind the counter. 

“Girl, there’s this lad in the ‘no work’ section,” she says, clearly not noticing the tears in your eyes. “He’s like, so hot. I’d fuck him.”

You’re not even surprised anymore when it comes to your friend’s ability to have the most random conversations. 

“Oh yeah?” you say, “Is that why you chose to personally bring him his coffee this time?”

“If ya looked at him, ya’d understand.”

You brush the wrinkles out of your apron and refocus on the dishes that still require to be washed after the first crowd of tourists came in and managed to ruin the three-hours worth of cleaning from the night before. 

Truth be told, you couldn’t be any less interested in the customer she mentioned, and you don’t plan on checking him out. A few weeks ago, you might have. It used to be your favorite thing to do, battling about who gets to treat the good-looking customers that came into the café. But for you, that is over now. You don't need it anymore. 

You found your good-looking customer a few days ago, and you would prefer to stay with him. 

“What, not even an interested glance?” Sarah asks. 

You shrug. “Why should I?”

“Because he’s hot–“ she breaks off into a gasp. “Oh, girl! You are down bad.”

You look away to hide the blush on your cheeks. “Shut up,” you retort, using the red towel next to the sink to dry the first few mugs from the rack. 

She eyes you before stepping closer and pulling your shirt aside. You frown at her bold move, but after spending so much time together, you no longer have boundaries. 

Sarah roams her eyes over your neck and the little bit of cleavage you’re showing. The hickeys are bright purple now, the edges slightly red where the blood is just starting to pool and she gasps again. She makes it sound as if she found out the most scandalous piece of information and you’re the main attraction in this case. 

“You’re walkin’ ‘round with hickeys now?” she asks, her voice hushed yet loud at the same time.

It sounds like she’s squealing, almost, but you’re not sure if it’s positive. 

“What are ya, fifteen?”

You pull away from her, pulling your shirt further up to cover at least the imprint of Michael’s lips on your breast. The one on your neck is for everyone to see; you didn’t bother covering it up, you’re embracing it, and you considered taking a picture to drive him crazy at home. If only he knew the glances you’ve received throughout the day, he would be at the door in a second, caging you against the wall and–

Sarah calls your name, her fingers snapping in front of your face. You blink out of your haze, your cheeks even redder now as the arousal floods through your body and meets with the yearning between your legs. 

She was right; you are down bad.

“These look brutal,” she comments, but now she doesn’t seem as angry anymore.

Maybe Michael is growing on her.

Instead of berating you, she leans her hip against the counter and smirks. “Did ya have sex last night?” 

You bite your lip. It feels weird to be talking about it because your love life has been non-existent for a very long time and you forgot what it’s like to tell your friend about good sex, but Michael is exceptional in bed and he never leaves you dissatisfied. It’s something you should brag about and yet it’s so intimate, something special between the two of you because every time you do it, it’s different. There’s not just unbridled desire between you, the emotions are just as raw and they make the experience so much more intense. 

You sigh softly when you think about the feeling of his lips against yours, your neck, and the rest of your body. His hands burn their marks into your skin. The way he sounds, smells, and feels. You can’t tear your mind away from the man he is, and he is all yours.

Sarah’s smirk widens into a grin. “Oh, yer gettin’ dicked down every night now, huh?” she says. “And you’re enjoyin’ every last minute of it. I bet yer thinkin’ ‘bout it right now.”

“You know,” you say, trying to somehow save yourself, but it’s futile because she’s right; you are thinking about him right now. Snapping out of it, you continue, “You are very invested in my sex life for someone who claims she doesn’t like the guy I’m sleeping with.”

“Yes, I am a hypocrite, but I’ve noticed that you look a lot… happier, and if he’s good in bed, I mean, why shouldn’t I profit from these stories? I’m chronically single. Doesn’t mean I like Mister I’m-A-Mobster, but if his cock is good–“

“I don’t like the thought of you thinking about his cock.”

“Alright, alright, just let me have a little somethin’. I just want to know some details. Bread crumbs. Just a taste. Please? I don’t want his cock, but I want to know more about it, if ya know wha’ I mean.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as you lean in, wanting to keep this as private as possible. “Well,” you say, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes and reflecting in the mug you’re polishing right now, “My dining table suffered a little last night, and I’m not talking about spilling food.”

Sarah gasps again, burying her head in her hands. “Oh, my God!” she as much as shrieks, and you have to squeeze her shoulder to stop her from causing a scene. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, and it sounds almost proud.

What have you turned into?

She claps her hands excitedly. “Did it break?” she asks. And she almost looks disappointed when you tell her that no, it didn’t break. It only squeaked a little and left scratches on the floorboards after you were done fucking on it like wild animals. But that’s all that happened to your precious dining table.

“It should have broken ‘cause that’s the best kind of sex. If it doesn’t, yer not doin’ it hard enough.”

You snort. “Let’s just say he knows how to make me come,” you say. 

She smirks. “Like hard, or–“

“Mhm.”

“Does he cuddle after sex? Be honest.”

“The cuddliest.”

“Aw, man!” She fans herself. “What else?”

“Well, the way he does it… oh, Sarah, if only you knew.” You sigh. “So good.” 

Her eyes widen, hoping you will spill a little more than a few mysterious bits and pieces, but then your lips curl up and she knows she has been defeated.

“That’s all you need to know,” you say. 

“Ugh,” she says, “You’re boring!”

She pouts when you turn away from her to treat the next customer who just came in. 

Passing by her as you prepare the order, you halt to whisper something into her ear, “If you give that hottie your number, you might get good sex, too. Maybe even some morning cuddles like me. This café turns out to be a great match-maker.”

Seeing her face, it’s clear that Sarah considers taking your advice the second it leaves your mouth and reaches her ear.

You have an excellent day. After Maya’s text, there is seemingly nothing that can ruin your mood. The customers are all nice to you and you give them your best smile, which results in a lot of tips. You can already see a brighter future for your bank account, considering Ava allowed you to close up shop at the end of the day and do some overtime to add some more hours, and you have never been more grateful. 

You promised her you wouldn’t get overworked so easily, but when you’re finally done cleaning the café, your feet and back hurt and you’re almost too exhausted to even make your way home. But you still do because your thoughts flick to Michael and you know you won’t be alone when you get home. That’s all that matters to you when you make your way to your car and drive home.

Slowing down at the gas station, everything seems normal again after the shooting except for the police taping locking the place down for business, but you don’t feel as much threat coming from it now that the worst is cleaned up. 

Hearing that Michael’s family was involved in the shooting shocked you to your core, but death doesn’t scare you, it hasn’t for a long time, and neither does violence. What scares you is the fact that it is so damn messy, and you don’t fully understand the magnitude of the life he grew up in and his family continues to lead.

You don’t appreciate violence, so you don’t appreciate them making a living with the suffering of others – with bloodshed and drugs. It must eventually grow sad and lonely, right? It must be traumatizing. Michael is traumatized. He lost so much to his name and now he’s broken. You can’t imagine the others not feeling that way unless they’re psychopaths in which case you never want to meet them.

They’re dangerous and you should stay away, but Michael does not fit on that roster. And somehow, when you think about it, you’re more curious now than ever about what the Kinsellas have got to hide.

With every step up the stairs to your apartment, your feet grow more tired. You just want to get out of these clothes and these shoes, maybe take a hot bath to get rid of the ache in your muscles, and sleep. You have been so wound up and in your head thanks to Maya and your incompetent family, you didn’t notice how awful you have been feeling. 

You open the door, almost crying from how exhausted you are. Only after closing the door and locking the deadbolt, do you notice that the apartment is rather warm. Your heater doesn’t always work perfectly, so it’s often too cold. Tonight though, you can feel the comfortable heat of candles and a working heater hug you as soon as you step inside. 

Then you smell it. The softest whiff of pasta and garlic lies in the air. You sniff, trying to make out if it’s your neighbor’s cooking or coming from your kitchen. When you hear the clanging of utensils ahead of you, you realize that it’s not just anyone making dinner in the complex, it’s Michael. In your home. For you.

He somehow got the heater to work and still turned on a few candles to make it more comfortable for you before you got home. Now you want to cry even more because it is just so considerate, no one has ever done something of this magnitude for you before – and it’s somehow only the bare minimum.

You leave your coat and bag by the door, slowly walking down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Don’t get startled, I’m not a serial killer,” you say.

Michael’s head whips around when he senses your presence, his frown quickly turning into a smile. “Hey,” he says. “Yer home.”

Home. It’s a normal thing to say, but he’s referring to your apartment, the one he is staying in, and now he even cooked for you. It feels like he belongs here now, with you. 

He’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a cozy, green sweater. You remember it from the first day you met. The color reminded you of the cloudy Dublin weather, but also the grass whenever it rains.

He smells good, you can tell it from where you’re standing, once again reminding you of ground coffee beans, rain, and Michael. It’s his unique scent that draws you in the most. It’s woody, almost, but also holds a certain whiff of leaves in autumn and the feeling of the soft summer air during a clear London night. You can’t explain it; there are too many sensations when it comes to him, and none of them can be put into words. 

“You okay?” his gentle voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

Your eyes are a little wider than usual, cheeks already flushed from the warmth as you look around. “What’s all this?” you ask, your voice carrying a soft, quiet tone.

Michael frowns. “Dinner?” He smiles shyly. “I thought I’d, uh, make you somethin’ ‘cause ya said ya had to work late again today, so… Sorry, I–“

You raise your hand. “I’m not mad.” 

“What?”

“I’m… you did this?” Your eyes soften even more. “For me?”

“Well, yeah, who else would I be doin’ this for? Wouldn’t cook dinner all fer myself, that’s kind of… tha’ would be a lot.”

“Michael, I…”

“Are you sure yer okay?”

With silent steps, you approach him. He follows you with his curious gaze, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to read you. You wrap your arms around his neck in answer, pulling him down into a kiss. 

He smiles when he pulls away. “Hi,” he murmurs. “What was tha’ for?”

“Being you,” you say.

It warms your heart that he went out of his way to make you dinner. He made sure the apartment would be warm enough for you because you hate the cold and he notices how much you freeze at night, and how much you rely on his body to provide heat. But you were always too proud to get someone to look at your heater, so he took a look at it for you and found an easy fix. He did all of that without batting an eye, using his time alone for good, and you’re not sure how to react to that.

“Your heater had a few loose screws,” he answers your unspoken questions. “Fixed ‘em, now it’s warmer. And your tomatoes were ‘bout to go bad, so I decided I’d make some spaghetti ‘cause that’s the only thing I remember how ta make.”

You place your hands on his face, stroking the faint blush on his cheeks. “Thank you so much…” 

“Ya don’t have to thank me, love.”

“Yes, I do. That’s not something I can expect, especially not after such a short amount of time together. I mean, I haven’t always been completely open with you and that would be turn-off for a lot of people, and it would prompt them not to cook dinner or- or fix my heater. I’d totally get it if you didn’t trust me and tell me now that this won’t work out, but I–“

Michael shuts you up with a sweet kiss pressed to your lips. You’re quick to stop rambling, the softness of his lips moving against yours eliciting a warmth that comes from deep within and not from outside, and it reminds you that you’re home. It’s not the apartment that makes it feel that way, it’s home.

Ever since you moved to Dublin, you had been searching for a place to call home, but your four walls have almost just been an apartment, and you struggled. Now that Michael is here with you, you feel less stranded and alone and more like you’ve finally found somewhere you belong – and that is his arms and his lips, offering you a sanctuary and a home.

Your eyes are still closed when he pulls away. “I want ya t’be comfortable ‘round me,” he says.

You can feel his hot breath fanning across your face, his fingers painting delicate patterns on the back of your neck where he is holding your forehead close to his. 

“Michael, I–” you begin, but the words elude you. 

“Shh,” he shushes you with his index finger against your lips. “It’s okay. Let’s just… have dinner, and then I’ll run ya a bath, and then we’ll watch a movie. I wanna be with ya. I don’t care if it takes a day, a month, or a year fer ya to open up ta me ‘cause I have so much left to tell ya, too; as long as I get to be with ya and get to know who you are, that’s all I care about.”

You nod in response, unable to find the right words. You have always been just a caretaker and telling people the truth has never become important before because no one cared before, but he does. With Michael, it seems that you have found someone who sees you for who you truly are, flaws and all. You have found a home. In his eyes, you're not just someone who exists solely to take care of others. You're worth more than that, and he's taking care of you for a change to prove that to you. 

With a quivering smile, you brush your thumb against his cheek, cherishing the warmth beneath your touch. "I... I want that too," you finally manage to say. 

He leans in and kisses the pad of your thumb. “I know you do,” he says. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but–”

“Shh, let me take care of ya. You’d say the same thing ta me right now. And don’t say no ‘cause we both know ya would.”

Your shoulders slack as you sigh. He’s right; you can be quite the hypocrite sometimes. He smiles when your protests die down and takes your hand to lead you to the table. 

Watching him, you are amazed by how natural he looks moving around your kitchen. He’s in his element, and you mentally add another talent to his list – he seems to be an excellent cook, or he can at least stand his own in a kitchen, which is something not many can say about themselves. 

With a shy smile, he places the pasta in front of you. Michael put in the extra effort to plate the food well enough to make it look as delicious as it smells. You decorate coffee cups for a living, you know the eye of the beholder plays a big role in how food and drinks are consumed, so you appreciate it even more that he used herbs to garnish the spaghetti. 

“I’m not the best cook,” he begins. 

You glare at him from across the table, grabbing your fork. “It smells good,” you tell him. “And I’m sure it tastes just as amazing.”

“If it doesn’t, we could still order pizza.”

“Michael, darling, please stop expecting the worst from yourself whenever you create something.”

“I can’t help it, I–”

You shush him, digging into the pasta and taking a huge bite as if to prove to him you would still eat it even if it tasted like trash. You love cooking and you often do so for others because it is therapeutic, in a way. You used to cook for your sister all the time, and you would help your mother when she couldn’t. You used to make dinner for the whole family to prevent confrontation or any unnecessary violence because the fear was greater than hunger, and so food became a means for survival in more ways than once. 

You don’t like to dwell on the past, but there is a reason why you often cook for yourself rather than order takeout; you don’t know any better, and that’s also why in every relationship you have been in, you were the sole provider when it came to breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

Having Michael cook for you is something you never thought you would experience, let alone enjoy, but the second the delicious taste of tomato sauce, garlic, and spaghetti meets your tongue, you are in heaven. 

“It’s made with love,” Michale murmurs, “I hope that’s enough.”

You reach out and gently touch his hand. “This is…” you lick your lips. He is an amazing cook, he even exceeded your expectations. “It's delicious,” you say. “And I don't just say it because I like you. This is really good.”

His eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yes, really. This is probably the best fucking pasta I’ve ever had.”

“It’s an Italian recipe,” he says, slowly beginning to curl his own spaghetti around his fork. “Birdy brought it home with her after one of her trips and she taught me ‘cause Anna, when she was still little, I mean, loved pasta more than anythin’...” He chuckles. “So I thought I should learn how to make spaghetti, but I always thought… well, never mind.”

“You thought everyone was just pretending to like it for your sake?” you ask. 

He shrugs. You must have hit a sore spot. Nodding, you return to eating your pasta, enjoying every last bite with a soft smile playing on your face. When you meet Michael’s eyes, he’s watching you intently, his hazel eyes carrying a look you haven’t seen before, and it makes you frown. 

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he quickly looks away, flustered.

“Tell me.”

“It’s nothin’, I just… I can’t believe yer here.”

“Well, I am very real,” you say as you finish your last bite. “And you just cooked me probably the best dinner I have ever had in my life, so… not getting rid of me that easily, Mister Kinsella.”

His chuckle resembles a giggle and the sound swells your heart. You look over your shoulder, standing at the stove now and filling your plate with some more pasta. “What?” you ask.

“Hungry?” he teases. 

You poke your tongue out at him. “Fuck off! I didn’t have the time to eat today.”

“I’m not judging.”

“You better not.”

“Lucky for ya, there's plenty more where tha’ came from.” He gestures to the pot on the stove. “Help yourself.”

You add another spoonful of sauce. “Oh, I intend to,” you say. 

“And I encourage ya to do so.”

You sit back down across from him, your legs now crossed, and you dig into your second serving with enthusiasm. Michael watches you throughout. 

“Was it stressful?” he asks eventually. “Work, I mean.”

Swallowing the bite in your mouth, you shrug. “It was pretty tame today, actually, compared to yesterday’s mess, but I was in pretty early and then I had to close up, so it’s been a long day.”

“You shouldn’t be overworkin’ yerself.”

“I’m okay.”

“Maybe you should ask fer fewer hours, hm? If I do happen to get the job, ya won’t be as understaffed and—”

“I asked for the overtime,” you cut him off. 

Your words hang heavily in the air as he processes your words, then immediately frowns when they start making sense in his head. “Why?” he asks. 

You finish your plate and set it aside, shrugging. “Needed the money,” you say. 

His frown deepens. “How much?” His hands pat his pockets as if he’s searching for something, maybe even his wallet. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Michael, you don't have to…” The last thing you want is to take money for him without him knowing why you're short this month. 

He interrupts you, still.  “Please, just tell me,” he says. “How much?”

You sigh. “Fine,” you relent. “It's not that much, just a couple hundred quid. But that's why I asked for more hours. It's just to make rent due this month. Please, don't–”

You’re not sure why the most human struggle embarrasses you so much, maybe because he doesn’t know the full story, and maybe because he thought you had somewhat control over your life and now he realizes that you don’t. It makes you feel utterly pathetic. 

He looks at you so softly, you want to cry. He pulls out a roll of money and places it between you on the table. You don’t even want to know where he got it from, a feeling of unease spreading through your body. 

“I don’t have rent to pay,” he says. “I got that from… well, doesn’t matter. Point is, I got that after I got out and was still searchin’ for a job, and then I started with Amanda and I… I don’t need it. I have some stashed away for emergencies, and if yer strugglin’ to make rent due, then you need it more than me.”

If someone from his family gave him the money, it surely is connected to drugs or any other kind of crime they use as their main source of income. He notices your hesitation and the bewildered look in your eyes, and he sighs, sliding the money back to his side. 

“I get it,” Michael looks down at his hands, “Ya don’t want it because of– Sorry.”

You reach out and gently place your hand over his, stopping him from retracting the money. “No, wait,” you say. “I'm sorry. I appreciate your kindness more than you know, but…”

“I don’t want ya to question where it came from. I get it, trust me.”

Your lips curl into a sad smile. That’s what you’re doing; you are questioning where it came from and if it could get you into trouble if you were to pay this money into your bank account. You’re questioning if Michael had something to do with getting this money in the past, or what his family did to get that batch in the first place. It looks like a lot of money, and part of you wants to take it because it would help your situation, but your common sense speaks louder than words. Besides, you don't know how to accept help even if it’s served to you on a silver platter. 

“This isn't because I don't trust you,” you feel the desperate urge to add, “This is just me… and the fact that I’m just as confused as you are, and this…. I can’t take your money, no matter if it’s from your family or not. I have to find a way to get back on my feet on my own. Somehow… I can make rent due. I have to.”

Michael gently takes your hand and places it over the money. “Yer gonna work yourself to death,” he whispers. “I just… I just want t’ help ya. If it makes you feel better, I will pay all of yer bills and your rent, you don’t even have to touch it, but I can’t watch ya do this to yerself longer than ya have to.”

You meet Michael's eyes. It's both overwhelming and comforting at the same time how concerned he is. His offer is tempting, and a part of you wants to let go of your pride and accept his help. But another part of you is fiercely determined to stand on your own feet. You don't want to be dependent on anyone ever again. But it's money, and it isn't as easy to come by as you originally thought when you first moved across the sea. 

You bury your face in your hands. “I don’t want to be a burden to you,” you admit quietly. 

“Yer not,” he says, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. “Please? Can I help ya just a little?”

Taking in a deep breath, you nod. 

“Is tha’ a yes?”

“Yeah,” you answer huskily. The unshed tears in your eyes are burning, your body exhausted and overly sensitive. 

He smiles, getting up and walking over to your side of the table. “C’mere,” Michael urges, his arms already outstretched for you. “Let me hold ya. Yer exhausted.”

The comforting scent of his cologne envelops you as you place your head against his chest. He embraces you tightly, his strong arms holding you as close as he humanly can, you let out a soft whimper. His hands work their making over the sore skin of your back, and you find yourself falling further into his arms until all you can feel is him. You can smell him, hear his heartbeat and feel his breath tickle the crown of your head as he leans down to kiss your scalp.   You lose yourself in the feeling and for a moment, you allow yourself to breathe, shaking off the weight of the day and the days far before that. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, your nails clawing at his shirt. “For everything. Just… thank you.” He caught you when you were falling, and you are still not quite sure what you did to deserve this kind of devotion. 

Just as you took care of him, he is taking care of you now; isn’t that what a relationship should look like? You heard about it, but you have never experienced it before he came along, but you know you don’t want to live without it anymore. 

He keeps his promise of running you a bath. The hour you spend in the tub of warm water and bubbles soothes the ache from your muscles and offers your feet some sweet relief. Your favorite candles adorn the side of the tub and you sink further into the bath, wanting to be consumed by this cozy feeling forever. 

The door opens eventually after a gentle knock, and Michael comes in to check if you’re still awake – it’s sweet that he wants to prevent you from drowning, which you appreciate because knowing you, you would fall asleep in the bathtub and fight for your survival later. 

He settles down at the edge of the tub, gazing over you. You reach out to take his hand. 

“Wanna come in?” you ask. 

“If ya want me to,” he says. 

“Always.”

“Okay.”

Michael sheds his clothes and you watch curiously as he undresses. You move a little to make space for him behind you, and he slides into the tub with you. 

You lean back against his broad chest, his arms encapsulating you instantly. You sigh. His warmth matches the one of the bath water and you find yourself hulled into a serene state of mind that doesn’t happen very often to you. 

He strokes your arms and your hair, getting some of the strands wet that you tried to tie out of your face, but with him so close to you, you don’t mind. You relish in the gentle intimacy of your moment together, and even he seems to relax visibly behind you, his muscles slacking as he pulls you fully into him.

His heartbeat thuds against your ear as you turn a little, listening to your favorite lullaby. His chest moves your head up and down with every rise and fall. 

You’re content. 

You spend some more time in silence together before the water runs cold and you are forced to get out. You get up first, wrapping yourself in a towel. Michael watches your every curve with a gentle smile on his lips, and maybe he’s a little flustered seeing you so effortlessly naked moving around him as if you have been together for years. 

As you brush your hair and tie it back up into a bun, he gets out, too, and dries himself off. You don’t talk throughout, you simply share stolen glances and soft smiles, his arms wrapping around your waist and hugging you once again. You speak through the language of touch and you both know how to translate. 

Later that night, he makes some of the Popcorn he found in your cabinet, and prepares some drinks while you settle in on the couch with a giant blanket that covers you whole. 

When it comes to picking a movie, you find yourselves at a crossroads because you share very not-so-similar interests.

“Just put on what you want,” you say.

“No,” he retorts, “That defeats the purpose of a movie night.”

“But I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“As long as I have ya in my arms, I can never be unhappy.”

He makes you blush with his comment and you cave, putting on a movie from your watchlist. It’s a new one, something Netflix just put out. A rom-com. Michael is not a fan, but he settles in next to you anyway, pulling you into his chest.

The blanket lies over you both as the intro of the movie starts, and fatigue instantly settles over you. His hand cradles your head close to his heart, his other arms draped around you. He’s your rock, quite literally. 

You cling to him, your body succumbing to the exhaustion of the day and the mental turmoil you have been in the days before. It all falls off your shoulders in his arms and you find yourself gradually sinking deeper into the pits of sleep before you can even taste the buttery popcorn he prepared.

His fingers move along your scalp, massaging the skin, and that’s the moment when you begin to clock out completely. Your eyes roll back. You lose yourself in his touch and his gentle whispers in your ear, the stupid comments he makes about the movie you can barely pay attention to, and your eyes flutter closed.

Looking down, Michael notices that you have drifted off to sleep. A small smile forms on his lips. As he’s turning off the tv and adjusting you so he can carry you to bed, the sudden movement startles you.

“I’m awake,” you slur, your eyes open, but your mind still asleep.

“Shh,” he cradles your head and places you back on his chest, “I’m just movin’ ya to bed,” he says. “Go back to sleep, love. There ya go. Good girl.”

You close your eyes again, your consciousness slipping once more. 

Michael lifts you up and gently takes you to bed. Tucking you in with the same loving touch he's always had, he makes sure you're comfortable first before even thinking about himself. You nestle into the softness of the blankets, his warmth still lingering on your skin. As he pulls away, you instinctively reach out, afraid he might slip away if you don't keep him close to you.

He climbs into bed next to you, and as soon as he's next to you, your body curls into his. “Don’t go,” you murmur. “Stay.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in closer as your bodies mold together, fitting perfectly like two puzzle pieces. “Always,” he whispers. His lips find your forehead. “I'm right here.” 

And he won’t be going anywhere, that much he promises. 

Tagging for this Series: @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms

[jmkho]

15 questions for 15 mutuals!

Thanks so much to @maud-gone @jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka @ignite-my-fire @ageofhearingloss @iheartjakekiszka @sunandthemoontwinflames @joopsworld @joshym @useremo @greedyvanfleet for tagging me!!

I’m a little late to the show so if I do tagg you and you’ve already done it! My bad!!!!!!

Were you named after anyone?

Yes! Apparently my first name is from a lady from the tv show The Champions and my middle name is from a grandmother I never got to meet.

When was the last time you cried?

Monday when I rushed off to the emergency room again ffs

Do you have kids?

Nope

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

I use it all the time lmao

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

It really depends. It could be their humor, their attitude, if they come off as a chill person etc.

What’s your eye colour?

Blue/greyish they’re on the lighter side of blue so I get to give eye contact like that Miley pic lmfao!

Scary movies or happy endings?

I thrive off horror. I watch horror TO calm down. This is no lie but when I’m stressed I slap on The Exorcist.

Any special talents?

I do voices lmao I can do a random ass mix of voices like Gollum and Jar Jar Binks lmao

Where were you born?

I was born in B’ham United Kingdom :)

What are you hobbies?

drawing, reading, photography, writing, listening to music, journaling

Do you have any pets? (I forgot about this one lol)

Yes! In England! Lol I have a cat (despite being allergic???) Named Mitsuo. She'd named after the guitarist from the jrock band Nightmare lmao

What sports do you play/have you played?

I played football in school just as a fun after school type thing. Don’t play any now, god no I’m terrible, although now thinking of it when I do like archery I’m quite good so maybe I should take that up looooool

How tall are you?

5ft5.5 / 5ft6 in shoes lol

Favourite subject in school?

I loved English and Art. I also loved drama

Dream job?

I was a music/band photographer before moving to Korea and that was the goal in my life at the time, I’d like to get back into it because it’s just me doing my thing so when I move back to the UK I might do that again, but also a book shop owner lmao I’d love my own book shop where everyone can come in and chill, read, browse, just enjoy a nice atmosphere. A librarian because people won’t bother me lmao, or even doing art but I don’t think my skills are good or that I could make a living off the shit I draw so lol who knows anything where I’m happy is the goal

I legit think nearly everyone has been tagged and done this but here we go!

I’m tagging: @oliverreedmasterass @starcatcherkiszka @loser-user-noaccuser @losfacedevil @mrd-gvf @earthlysorrows @runwayblues @puzzle-gvf @rhythm-of-space @writingcold @allieisacrybaby @becinabubble @gold-mines-melting @gray-gvf11 @way-to-go-lad - or if you want to do it then you’re TAGGED if you want to do it PLEASE tag me I wonna learn more about ya’ll!!!!!

[vivi-in-the-sky-with-diamonds]

Where Heart Doth Hop

(Source)

In which you help three of four boys practice a certain Shakespearean performance.

Apologies once again for no posts. It's raining a lot here and the only internet I have is my hotspot and my data gets really slow when it rains. Finally finished reinstalling Windows 10 but now I have to reinstall Word with my slow ass internet >.> since my masterlist is a page and can only be accessed for editing on web (and since my internet is an actual ass), this one might not be there for a bit, but that's why we make master tags lol.

Like I said before, originally written for my Beatles dr but I honestly liked it too much to not post it. This isn't a direct manuscript of this performance, but it's pretty damn close. The audio on that performance (or at least the upload I've seen) was kinda bad, and the audience was super loud (understandably so) so some lines are directly from the original play or just referenced from an outside POV. I watched the performance and read the scene from the play several times while writing this to make it as accurate as possible. It's never explicitly stated where John is (I think at one point, I decided in my head, he was on a date or something), so you can choose your own adventure on that.

Proofed in UK English (probably). Checked with a random TTS website to triple-check for typos and me forgetting to change the person. Sorry I'm posting this at 3 AM, I procrastinated by sleeping all day (it was raining, I couldn't help it!) and then playing the Sims Medieval for an ungodly amount of time. Please excuse my sorry excuse for a name for this one, it's my favorite line and I couldn't come up with anything better. Enjoy!

“Y/N, can you help me with this?” Paul asks when he comes into the sitting room.

“Of course, love, what is it?” you reply.

“Well, we’re supposed to perform this Shakespeare thing and the lads and I wanna run through it, but, well…” He gestures toward George and Rich, noting the lack of John.

“Oh, I can do John’s lines,” you volunteer. “Which character?”

“Okay, you’ll be Thisbe.” He hands you what you assume is John’s copy of the script. “I guess we’ll pretend the coffee table is Wall.”

George and Rich stand back, Paul guiding you to do the same.

“O, I fear my Thisbe’s promise is forgot!” he begins. “And thou, o wall, o sweet and lovely wall, that stands between her father’s ground and mine! Thou, o wall, o sweet and lovely wall, show me thy chink, to blink through with mine eye— But what see I? No Thisbe do I see! O wicked wall, cursed be thy stones for deceiving me!”

He pretends to beat up whatever poor soul plays Wall before addressing the audience about Thisbe’s cue.

You walk to the table and clear your throat. “O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans for parting my fair Pyramus and me! My cherry lips have often kissed thy stones—”

As you continue your line, Paul addresses the audience again before standing across from you. “Thisbe!” he sings. “Thisbe!”

“What?!” you reply in fake annoyance. “My love thou art, my love I think.”

“Meet me at Ninny’s tomb straightaway.”

“Ninny’s tomb; is that still open?” You're trying your hardest not to laugh at the line as you both step back, allowing George and Rich to take their places in front.

“You ladies,” starts Rich. “You who fears the smallest monstrous mouse that walks the floor may now perchance both quake and tremble here, when lion rough in wildest rage doth roar!”

You and Paul nearly dissolve into giggles at Ritchie’s tiny roar before he continues, “And know that I one Ringo the drummer am, for if I was really a lion, I wouldn’t be makin’ all the money I am today, would I?”

He steps back, leaving George alone. You can tell George is having trouble with not having the hecklers' lines practiced, because he’s pure frustrated by the time he gets to, “Look, you, all I have to say is to tell you that this lantern is the moon, you see. I’m the man in the moon. This thorn bush here is my thorn bush, and this doggy-woggy here is my dog.”

You step forward. “So, this is old Ninny’s tomb. George, do you need something to hold in place of a lantern?”

George, with his arm suspended above your head, answers, “It’s fine. Keep goin'.”

“Right.” You feign knocking on the door before opening it. “But where is my love?”

Ritchie pops up in front of you with another roar; you scream, and he begins chasing you round the room before you end in what would be the background.

According to the script, you're—or rather John is—meant to drop a mantle, so you drop your handkerchief on the way back.

“Sweet moon,” says Paul, “I thank thee for thy sunny beams.”

As he begins another sentence, George shakes his head and gestures toward your fallen handkerchief.

“Hello, hello, hello, what’s this?” He begins his line as he picks up the fabric. “Eyes, do you see; how can it be? What dreadful dole is here! Thy mantle good, all covered in blood—” his accent makes the words rhyme, “—o dainty duck, o dear! Come, tears, confound! Out, sword, and wound—” he pulls an imaginary sword from its hilt “—the pap of Pyramus; that left pap where heart doth hop!”

You stare at him in adoration as he speaks, though you don’t think he notices, as he continues, “Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, now am I fled. Oh, well, you can’t win ‘em all. Tongue, lose thy light, Moon, take thy flight. See ya, George.”

George exits the “stage” as Paul begins fake stabbing himself. “Now, die, die, die, die, die!”

You skip in, humming a tune, and kneel next to him. “Asleep, my love?”

“Die, die, die!” he continues, still stabbing.

“What, dead, my dove?” You begin shaking him as you continue, “Pyramus, arise! O, speak, speak! Quite dumb. Dead, a tomb must cover thy sweet eyes. Those lily lips, his cherry nose, those yellow cowslip cheeks are gone, are gone. Lovers, make moan. His eyes were green as leeks.”

Paul is trying not to laugh as you say, “Tongue, not a word, not a word. Shut up!” You move to sit instead of kneeling. “Not a word. Come, trusty sword. Come, blade, my breast imbrue.”

You stab yourself with Paul’s imaginary blade before saying, “And, farewell, friends; thus Thisbe ends. Adieu, adieu, adieu!”

You and Paul take hands and lie backwards together as he says the line with you.

You're both laughing by the time you stand up.

“Right, I think that was good. Lads?” Paul looks to the other two for confirmation.

They both nod and Rich says, “I like her better than John. She takes the role seriously.”

[rebelwrites]

Love Is A Battlefield || Chapter Ten

Clay Spenser x OC

Join The Group Chat Here - If You Want Tagging Manually Let Me Know 🖤

Love Is A Battlefield Masterlist

This Months Writing

Rylee took one final look in the mirror at her appearance, her blonde hair styled to perfection, her makeup was on point, the black dress was like a second skin, hugging her curves in all the right places. It was sexy but left some things to the imagination, the small cut out was positioned perfectly showing off her under boob tattoo, and paired with the push up bra it made her boobs look amazing.

“Roo, hurry up we ain’t got all night you know,” Sonny laughed, as he knocked on her bedroom door before strolling into the room, the moment he laid eyes on his best friend his jaw hit the floor. It wasn’t very often that anyone saw her dressed up. “Holy fucking shit girl,”

“Do I look okay?” She asked as he slipped her feet into her flats, grabbing her louboutins off her bed.

“Seriously you look fucking hot,” Sonny grinned, “I guess I’ve spent so long seeing you in either your greens or basically gym wear I forgot how well you scrub up and let’s just say heads will be turning tonight.”

“You don’t scrub up too bad yourself,” she laughed, taking in the fitted suit he was wearing, “Right let’s go before I change my fucking mind, and Sonny thank you for doing this with me,”

“Oh hunny, do you really think I’d miss out on seeing Blondie’s reaction when he finds out who you are,” he laughed as he followed her down the stairs. “Because let’s face it I think the boy might just have a heart attack.”

The drive was only a short one to the school, Rylee didn’t say anything for the journey, and nor was the radio on, she needed to collect her thoughts before she walked through the halls of this school again. She was no longer the same person but the feelings never truly went away.

Resting her head on the steering wheel after she had parked the Audi, she took a few deep breaths, it was now or never right.

“Just remember I am here, right beside you and the moment you want to bail just say the word and we are out of there,” Sonny whispered, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Right let’s do this,” Rylee breathed, wrapping her fingers around the door handle. Part of her wanted to stay in the car and drive away but she knew she needed to do this, not only for herself but for the team. Clay needed to know who she was.

She linked arms with Sonny as they walked to the entrance, instantly being greeted by one of the asshole jocks, one of which used to bully her.

“Name please.” He smirked, obviously checking her out.

“Rylee Middleton,” she nodded, waiting to see the reaction.

“No fucking way,” he laughed, “I am going to need to see your ID because the Rylee I knew wasn’t smoking hot like you are.”

Sonny could feel the anger radiating from her body and he wanted to deck this asshole but instead he leant down, pressing a kiss against her forehead before whispering, “don’t let him get to you, he is an asshole,”

Taking a deep breath she pulled her ID from her purse, handing it over to the first asshole of the night, she watched his face drop as he looked over her Navy ID.

“Well I’d never thought I would see the day when I was calling little Rylee Middleton smoking hot,” he hummed, passing the ID back to her.

“Actually Tom,” Rylee smirked, “it’s Chief Petty Officer Middleton,”

“Damn girl,” he breathed, “and I’m guessing this is your other half.”

“Petty Officer Quinn,” Sonny said through gritted teeth, “and I’d appreciate it if you stopped eye fucking my girl. Now are you going to let us in or not.”

Rylee had to bite back a laugh, the lad was practically shaking, Sonny wasn’t the type of guy you messed with and he could tell. Tom soon stepped aside letting them walk into the building, tonight was going to be a long night, that’s for sure.

“I can’t do this,” Rylee whimpered, as her and Sonny entered the main hall. “I feel sick.”

“Roo, you have got this okay,” Sonny whispered, pushing the door open slowly. “You are a badass bitch and by the end of the night everyone will be grovelling and begging for your forgiveness, trust me.”

Stepping through the doorway she instantly saw Clay and her stomach churned, it was too late to turn back now.

Every time Clay saw the main doors of the hall open, he glanced over to see if he could see Rylee but he had no luck, he was really hoping she would turn up and they could at least speak and hopefully clear the air.

“Who the fuck is that?” Danny gasped, keeping his eyes trained on the door.

“I overheard her talking to Tom on the door, apparently it’s Rylee,” Josie scoffed, as she narrowed her eyes at Rylee.

“Well either way, I will be having my way with that fine ass tonight,” Danny laughed, rubbing his palms together “She looks so much better now than when she was chubby as fuck.”

This made Clay instantly spin around, locking his eyes at the entrance to the hall. The moment his eyes landed on Rylee his jaw dropped and he felt his heart rate start to increase. Surely this couldn’t be her, the girl he had spent the last couple of weeks being iced out by. Everything was confirmed when he looked past her to see Sonny, standing behind her with his hand on her lower back.

“If you even think about forcing yourself onto her, you will have me to deal with,” Clay growled.

“Awww does little Spenser still have a crush on the nerdy girl,” Danny cooed, punching Clay’s shoulder, “mate the only thing she’s good for now is a quick fuck, I mean just look at that body man.”

“If you ever speak about her like that again, I will fucking end your life,” Clay snapped, grabbing Danny’s arm, twisting it behind his back, making him Yelp.

“Dude it was just a joke, calm down.”

Clay didn’t even bother responding, he dropped Danny’s arm and began to push his way through the sea of bodies, he needed to get to Rylee before it was too late.

@chibsytelford @mrsmarvelous1995 @supervalcsi @talicat713 @disasterfandoms @bravo-four-seal-team @jasonbabymama @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @lotsoflovefromlea @seik-o @velvetcardiganbucky @phoenixhalliwell @pancakeisreading @itsonautopilot @pinkrockstar19 @galaxysanduniversesinmymind @softi92 @abby-splace @theysayitscrazy @thelovelyleo23 @innerpaperexpertcloud @pascal-reyes

[leewritesstuff]

Keeping Up With The Hollands | 04

Summary: You and Tom were offered to document your life since you are both famous in the entertainment industry. Now as you got older you left the entertainment industry and head for the medical field. How difficult can it be? Also, did I mention that you have kids?

Pervious | CHAPTER 04 | Next

Series Masterlist

WORDS: 1.6+k

Writting this made me laugh at some parts pfftt. Anyway let's pretend that Far Away From Home was shooting during the time the boys were of age (forgot their age ngl 2 or 3 somewhere there)

Tom woke up first, sensing something on his face. He opened his eyes and catch a small foot in front of him. In confusion, he turned and notice all of his children on his king-size bed. Slowly but gently, he removed the feet that belonged to Edward.

He got up and head to the kitchen. Preparing breakfast for the family. His girlfriend Y/N was on a press conference for her charity.

"So today, we are going on the set of Spiderman Far From Home. Um, I'm not really sure how I'm going to do that and take care of four children. I know Harrison said he will be there but... I'm scared" he said to the camera as he tries to flip the pancake.

"I actually tried hiring a babysitter, they only lasted a few hours. I think I had forgotten to tell them that there would be more than one kids. Anyway, Ed and Chase gave them hell so they all left." After flipping the pancakes, Tom separated them, one for each boy and three for him, with some whipped cream on them.

Finish fixing up breakfast, he goes to wake up the boys, seeing as they are on a time limit. When he got there, he saw Jake up, trying to wake up his brothers.

Tom smile and ruffle the boy's hair, "Morning bud, you slept well?" Jake gave him a toothy grin and nodded. Jake got up and jumped into Chase's body making the boy yell, which woke up Max.

"Get up" Chase got up and pushed Jake down the bed, the two starting a fight. Jake's leg accidentally kicked Ed in his face, making the boy cry. Tom pulled away Chase from Jake and grabbed Ed, trying to soothe his nose.

"Alright, alright, it was an accident okay? You're okay" Once the boy calmed down, he picked up Maxton and carried him to the kitchen, as his two other ducklings followed.

Chase and Jake climbed into their highchair while Tom put Ed and Max in there's. He grabbed the prepared plates and gave them it.

Tom sat down in front of them, trying to feed each of the boys, "Chase is the only one who could fully feed himself, so I have to help the others."

Max took a piece of pancake and gave it to Tom, when Tom saw what he was doing, he opened his mouth and let Max feed him.

"Thank you Max for sharing." Max smiled and nodded and continued eating. After the boys were finished, Tom took their plates and washed them.

When he was done, he went to get the boys dressed including himself.

They made it to the studio safely. Tom took out each boy and placed name tags on them. He took Chase hand's who was holding Ed, then Jake's then Max and walked towards the entrance.

"Pa where we at?" Questioned Ed as he looked around the building.

"Well, we're at my work. You get to see Ironman, Thor-"

"Do we get to see Batman?" Tom looked at Max as if he just asked the weirdest question. As he was going to answer, Ed beat him to it.

"No stupid, they have Captin America"

"Aye! Don't call your brother stupid!" Ed pouted but kept quiet. After checking in with security and handing the children their passes they were allowed to enter.

As they were walking, Tom felt something heavy on his foot. He looked down and noticed Maxton was on it, he let out a sigh and tried to get the boy off of him.

"Max let go, I need to walk"

"No"

"Max, come on buddy, I need my foot"

"No"

Tom huffed and bent down, then he grabbed the boy making him scream. He tried shaking the boy off his foot but he wouldn't move. Giving up, he grabbed back Chase's hand and dragged his right foot.

"Stay then. Bloody hell"

On his way to his trailer, he showed the boys all the objects that were on the walls, the posters, the banners, the pictures of people etc etc.

Tom had left the boys in the lounge area with his stylist, Rachael since she asked too. He was grateful for that, but what he didn't mention was that they were slippery. Literally.

The poor woman's attention was more focused on Jake and  Maxton fighting to get the last box of juice, that she didn't notice that both Ed and Chase were missing. Somehow, both boys ended up by the set where Tom was shooting his scene for Far Away Home.

They watch as 'Spiderman' fought Mysterio. Wanting to go help his father, Chase quickly took off his clothes and ran onto the set and started hitting Mysterio.

(I'm sorry I had to laugh at this scene pffttt)

"Someone's Kid is on set!" someone shouted

"Tom's!"

"Whoa! Hey hey! Get me down!" Tom yelled when he notices what's going on. Jake who was playing as Mysterio, 'fell' onto the ground yelling, "Argh! You got me! Man down!" Giggles and laughter could be heard around the seat.

After they got Tom down, he quickly grabbed his son, and shield him, "Mate, I get you're trying to save me and all but you need to keep your clothes on"

Chase smiled at his father, dimples on display. Tom couldn't hold in his laugh and just started bursting out. Jake got up from the ground and head over to the duo. "I guess we have a new spiderman?"

The director yelled for everyone to take a break, Tom, Chase and Jake head over to where Ed and Jacob were enjoying themselves at the buffet table.

"Ed, I thought I left you at Rachel's? Why didn't you stop your brother?"

"He's older" "Yes he is, but you know sometimes he acts like a div and you're stronger than him, so why didn't you?" "I saw food" Both  Jake and Jacob laughed at that while Tom let out a sigh. He picked up the other boy and carried them to who knows where. They spent a good few minutes looking for the other two Hollands. After giving him, Tom carried the two to the lounge area. Tom got irritated when he saw both Jake and Max sitting next to Zendaya and Angourie who was entertaining the two.

"You're shitting me right?" The four turned towards the voice, Max with his bag on his back and  Jake running up to their father's leg and hugging him.

"Daddy said a bad word" "Pay the cookie jar!" Both girls laughed at their friend, watching as his children scold him for cursing. Tom squeezed into the girls and sat on the couch. Noticing that his brother was nude, Max goes up to Tom and turned around. The said man opened the bag and took out some clothes.

While he was putting on the clothes on his eldest son, he kept mumbling about how 'what's with you and clothes?' and 'I will glue them onto you' or 'You have some issues with clothes'

Both girls found the whole scene to be entertaining considering the eldest son was fidgeting and feeling squirmish. Zendaya who had Max on her lap, played with the boy's hair while Angourie tickled Jake. Ed kept on enjoying his juice box.

After finishing dressing the boy, Tom took out a juice box from the bag and handed it to Chase. "Now keep your clothes on okay?" The boy nodded his head in return.

"So what's his issue with pants? Is it too tight or something?" Questioned Zendaya.

"No. He just doesn't like clothes for whatever reason. We're trying to break him out of it but it's hard. The lad just likes to keep his bits cool" "Tom never say that again please" "I'm just saying"

As he was going to say something else Rachel burst into the room panting and sweating, gasping for air. Quickly Tom got up and handed her a bottle of water while Zendaya rubs her back.

"Are you okay?" questioned Angourie. After calming herself down, Rachel turned to Tom and quickly started spurting out apologizes, "I-I'm sorry,  I got distracted by Max and Jake? I think and then I lost the other two and then I told the two that were with me to stay put but when I came back they were gone!"

"Rachel, love, it's alright. I forgot to explain hay they tend to wonder about so that's my fault. I shouldn't have given you four kids. They are a lot to handle" After trying to reassure the woman, he turned to his troublemakers who all gave him a cheeky smile.

"You should apologise for worrying Mrs Rachel."

"We're sorry" The woman nodded her head and left the room, feeling tired after all of the stunts that were pulled on her today.

Since Chase interrupted the scene, the director decided to call it a day and sent everyone home. After Tom changes out of his suit, he heads back to the lounge to pick up his troublesome children.

Once they got home, Tom took them to the shower, after doing that he dressed the boys into their nightwear with the extra stress from Chase.

Once they were out cold, Tom grabbed his phone and called his wife.

"Hey love"

"Hey, you sound tired, how was today?" He took his hand and rubbed his forehead. A minute had passed.

"It was alright until Max and Jake gave Rachel the slipped, then while I was shooting Chase ran onto the scene and started hitting Jake" "He what?!" "Oh! Not our Jake, I mean Jake Gyllenhaal" "Almost got me rilled up"

"Yeah no, we were shooting a scene and Chase thought I was being attacked so he started hitting Jake, it was cute and funny but it did give me the day off. I got them ice cream, so we had a good day, yeah"

"Well I'm glad you guys enjoy yourself" "Yeah.. I miss you. I'm going to bed alright?" "Sure, night, love you" "Love you too"

Tom hangs up the phone and heads to bed, as soon as he laid down, he heard yelling in the other room.

"You got to be pissing me!" He complained but head into the other room to try and get his trouble makers back to sleep.

T A G L I S T @webmeupspiderdaddy @runawayolives @nerdy-collector-festival @hopelessromm@bi-lmg @speedyhandsbonkpalace (If you see this then I couldn't tag you) Want to be added? Then message me!

[toxiccrybabymatureart]

I posted 18 times in 2022

That's 18 more posts than 2021!

10 posts created (56%)

8 posts reblogged (44%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@toxicfucksaround

@toxiccrybabyart

@y0ur-beta-b0yfriend

@aghostisdrawing

@toxiccrybabymatureart

I tagged 15 of my posts in 2022

Only 17% of my posts had no tags

#nonbinary artist - 11 posts

#artists on tumblr - 10 posts

#y0urb0yfriend - 8 posts

#no minors - 8 posts

#minors dni - 8 posts

#digital art - 6 posts

#digital artist - 6 posts

#oc art - 5 posts

#mc - 5 posts

#macey kane - 5 posts

Longest Tag: 27 characters

#your boyfriend (game/day 3)

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

This is Haeres, a demon lord of the shadows, having an affair with his servant Cresil (the one doing most of the seducing, Haeres usually is far too embarrassed to ever try seducing Cresil.)

Haeres is married to a lesbian demon lady named Hiroko, who only has eyes for her rather flirtatious servant Melros. The two agreed early on into their arranged marriage that this arrangement was for the best, having already asked their love interests first.

Context out of the way, here’s my demon lad rocking a new design, hopefully I can get into drawing them all more and sharing the art with you all.

Now I know you might be wondering, why is this marked as mature?

That’s because the story is, 80% smut and 20% plot so, yeah these Ocs are used for only the horniest of reasons and as such can only be shared on a mature blog.

8 notes - Posted January 22, 2022

#4

Welcome to part 2 of my YB Art collection. Yes I’m posting this right after part 1, I have a lot of shit to post here and it’s my blog I do what I want.

Anyways here’s a redraw of a scene from the Your Boyfriend game.

Here’s some outfits I made for my interpretation of Y/N

See the full post

10 notes - Posted January 3, 2022

#3

Late but MC and YB enjoying a sweet Valentine’s Day milkshake date together.

I started this like, weeks ago and just forgot to finish it so, my bad.

17 notes - Posted February 17, 2022

#2

Highschool YB and MC.

Started as a doodle but then I got carried away.

22 notes - Posted March 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Here’s the man himself, the redesign I said I’d share.

He’s called Wybie, because Coraline was MC’s favorite movie in highschool.

He looks kinda like a scene kid I’m not sure how that happened but it’s fine because alt people are muah, chefs kiss, Easily the best fashion style, fight me.

So what’s the difference between this Peter and in game Peter?

Quite a few things. For example, Wybie actually respects aromantic and asexual people. Don’t get me wrong he’s still a weirdo he just, you know, doesn’t invalidate your sexual or romantic orientation. Same with lesbians, even official blog Peter was weird about lesbians. Wybie is not. Your a lesbian, he respects that, but he’s your best friend and you can’t have a partner with him in your life, obviously. That being said he’s still very much a “I’m the only person in your life, regardless of if we’re friends or lovers” kinda yandere, though he can be, helped to be less obsessive of that but it’s a long road.

He also would rather die than use any violence on you, at all. None. Your his beloved, after all, only scum hurts their partners.

He’s mindful of your consent, as well. You don’t consent to something he’s not gonna do it. Well, aside from obviously the stalking, maybe taking a few things you no longer want or need but, sexual wise, nothing is done without permission.

If you don’t like any of this that’s fine, I’m not shaming anyone for still liking Peter. I just personally don’t like the way the game is going and so spite fueled me to make a version for myself and anyone else who feels betrayed by the game. Others have done this better, like @y0ur-beta-b0yfriend who is phenomenal honestly. I just wanted to try my hand out making a yb design is all.

24 notes - Posted April 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[rosaliepostsstuff]

Secret santa - F.W.

This is my fic for @thisismysecrethappyplace​‘s writing challenge, using prompt #27 - "Today, it's like there's rock bottom, then 50 feet of crap, then me."

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Hufflepuff!reader (although the house is not mentioned much)

word count: 2070

a/n: I’m not one of the people who start celebrating Christmas on November 1st (but if you do - live your extra life, love) but the idea of secret santa game just popped into my head and I couldn’t think of any other story to work with the quote. Year is not specified.

If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know!

December rolled around and the castle of Hogwarts has been covered in snow once again. The snow reflecting the little sunlight the area got this time of year, making the inside seem a bit brighter. It reminded you that in just a few weeks’ time it would be Christmas. Even though you were to stay at Hogwarts this year, you were looking forward to it.

During one of the study sessions in the Great Hall, you were sat next to your friends from Gryffindor. You were quietly chatting to Angelina and Katie. One word led to another and you learnt that the girls and a few more friends of yours would be staying for the Christmas break as well.

“Look, we’ll finally get to properly spend the holidays together-“ Katie started, but Angelina quickly joked, “oh, like the big, dysfunctional, happy family we are” and finished with a big grin that quickly fell when she caught Professor Vector’s eye and got back to her notebook. “Hey, that’s not a half-bad idea,” you put your quill down and looked between the girls, “how about we gather the rest and do a ‘secret Santa’ type of deal, huh?” you said enthusiastically. They studied you a bit sceptically, but you got them intrigued.

When you got them convinced, you talked to a few other people and decided to gather the next evening after dinner to draw the names so you’d still have almost three weeks to prepare the gifts.

That’s how you found yourself, all the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, Lee, Angie and Katie gathered at one of the tables near a huge fireplace at the Great Hall. Being very excited about the idea, you prepped the pieces of parchment with the names beforehand and now everybody was to draw one from a hat passed around the group.

When it reached you, your heart started to beat slightly faster – you were quietly hoping to get Fred – you were friends, but you liked him slightly more and were hoping the act of kindness of a well thought out gift would get you some bonus points. It was now or never.

You reached in, stirred around with your hand a bit and picked one of the folded pieces, then passed the hat on. Carefully, so that no one would see it, you unfolded the parchment that read-

“Lee Jordan”

You tried not to show disappointment on your face. It was fine. You liked Lee and you planned to make the best gift you could think of. You’d still get to see Fred, even if you didn’t make the present for him.

You couldn’t help but wonder who did draw his name. Would they make a nice gift? Maybe a nicer one than you would’ve? Get his gratitude- oh, how you hoped it wasn’t any of the quidditch girls. What if it’s Angie? Oh, he must like her – she’s tall, pretty, and cool-

“Hey, Y/N?” Hermione’s voice snapped you out of your spiralling thoughts. “What’d you think? Do we exchange on Christmas eve? Christmas day, boxing..?” Asked Katie. “Uhm, the eve’s fine,” you mumbled and followed everyone, getting up and heading out.

You said your goodbyes and separated from the group – you were the only one headed to the dungeons. As you were about to go through the door you saw a piece of parchment someone must’ve dropped. Before you got to it, you saw Harry notice it and pick it up.

Passing by, you involuntarily looked at the parchment-

“Y/N Y/L/N”

Dammit, you thought and went on. That was about it for your surprise, or at least half of it.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

Days had passed, then weeks, and you found yourself with just a few days left in this term before the winter break would start.

You woke up late, with weird neck pain – you had slept in a funny position. Throwing on your robes you kicked your shin by accident and took a moment to shout out a few indecent words to help ease the pain and then you pushed through, determined to reach potions on time.

During the break, before your second period, you figured you would stop by the library to pick up a book you were going to need for an assignment you planned to start that evening.

Walking through the aisles with your destination well known, you looked out the large windows at the snow – and with the remnants of any positive attitude you had in you, you smiled to yourself.

“Have you done yours already..?” you suddenly heard Ron’s ineffectual whisper from behind a bookcase. It made you stop in your tracks and against your better judgement, you listened in. “Yeah, I got her a book…” Harry’s voice whispered back. ‘please, don’t say what book’ you repeated in your mind. “… something about the history of wizarding settlements in Britain..? I can’t remember the title, but she’ll like it.”

You grimaced to yourself at the thought – he couldn’t be more wrong. And then to top it, he added some sweets you absolutely loathed.

With heavy steps and a heavy heart, you headed to charms.

You liked charms, and you loved professor Flitwick. He was one of the decent teachers in this school, kind and sometimes even funny.

Today was one of those lessons, this time of year, that he gave up on starting a new topic and decided you were to do some revisions. Your mood slightly lifted, you were practising the banishing charm.

As the end of the lesson was drawing close you got comfortable and your mind started to wander. Thinking about the earlier events, you lost your focus and accidentally knocked over the pile od books Flitwick was standing on, sending the professor flying face down.

He was nice enough to understand your mistake and you were not punished in any way, but it didn’t change how bad you felt about it.

As you headed to lunch, cursing the universe, Merlin, and everything around, you thought the day couldn’t get any worse.

And then you tripped on one of the stone floor slabs.

You heard Fred and George’s booming laughs, lying on the floor and debating whether life was worth getting up. When the twins saw you not getting up, they stopped laughing.

Fred walked up and looked at you a bit confused – the fall wasn’t all that bad and you didn’t look hurt. “You alright there, sunshine?” he said leaning over you. You groaned in response and rolled over, then reluctantly got up from the cold floor with Fred’s help. “Peachy,” you replied, dusting off your robes and Fred snorted, then studied your expression.

He signalled for George to go without him and patted your shoulder lightly. “Today, it's like there's rock bottom, then 50 feet of crap, then me.” You gestured wildly. “Alright then, papa Fred’s got you. What’s troubling you?” he asked, slightly amused, yet genuinely as you began strolling in the direction of the great hall. You took a deep breath, wondering where to start. “I slept in, was almost late to potions which we know would leave me with trauma, I knocked Flitwick to the ground by accident when we practised Depulso  - and now this,” you kicked the cousin slab of the one that made you trip and Fred chuckled at your pout, “Oh and I almost forgot – my Christmas present’s gonna be rubbish,” you exaggerated. “How so?” he asked, confused. “Well, I know who’s my secret Santa already. Found out by accident. Then I overheard what I’m gonna get… I mean, it’s okay, but I guess I was just hoping for something nice…” you rambled looking down to the ground. “Oh. Okay then… you know what? I actually promised Lee I’d pick something up for him before lunch, so – I- I’ll see you later?..” It was your turn to be confused. You looked up at him but before you raised your hand with a little wave and mumbled small “bye”, he walked off.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

You haven’t seen Fred all that much since that weird encounter – you didn’t have any classes together and you were in different houses so it was just a coincidence to you.

The Christmas Eve came around and you were playing wizards’ chess with Ron in the great hall to pass time before the rest of the group gathered. People were slowly pouring in, each of them adding to the small pile on the wooden table, a box enchanted with a concealing spell, so that each gift looked the same – and the secret Santa remained secret. Among the last few was Fred, looking slightly sheepish for himself.

“So are doing it, lads and lassies?” exclaimed Lee rubbing his palms together, making everyone chuckle. You all sat down close in what resembled a circle, making sure no one was left out.

Hermione pointed her wand at the pile of boxes, “Revelio” and they all appeared in different forms, with various name tags attached.

You decided to open the gifts one by one going clockwise, starting with all-too-eager Lee. You couldn’t help the wide grin that appeared on your face when you saw his child-like joy after opening the gift from you. Then it was Angelina’s turn, then yours.

You reached for the package with your name on it, trying to appear enthusiastic and not-at-all like you already knew what was inside. You unwrapped the paper with a mix of shock and confusion on your face.

Inside the paper was a box of your favourite chocolates and underneath a plain-looking book. You opened it and it turned out to be a photo album filled with photographs of you with your friends, along with some captions and thematic drawings on the white-ish pages around them.

With mouth slightly open you flicked through a few pages and ran your hand over the doodles. You looked up at Harry, who had the same expression as anyone in this circle – except for one person who studied your reaction and tried to hide the satisfied smile on his face.

The gift opening continued. It was when Hermione opened hers and you saw what you had thought you’d get that it dawned on you. It started with the assumption that when Harry picked up the note with your name it meant he was your secret Santa, which (obvious for you now) didn’t have to be the case and it wasn’t. Then with your mind set in stone, you just kept assuming things.

“Did you like your gift?” with newfound courage thanks to the good mood, you nudged Fred on the way out. He slowed down to walk beside you and separate from his mates. “Why, were you my Santa?” he asked cheekily. “No, not this year. Just curious.” you shrugged your shoulders. “Yeah, it was nice.” he stated simply, and after a bit of silence added, “d’you like yours?” “Why, were you my Santa?” you giggled. He put his hands in his pockets and avoided your gaze as a smile started creeping upon his face. “Merlin’s beard, you were..?” you cursed yourself for saying that out loud as your heart started thudding. “Maybe.” He looked at you with a mischievous smile and you melted. “Freddie, I loved it. It was really… sweet,” you said, shyly. “Good then, glad it wasn’t rubbish.” he snorted lightly and you wanted to bury yourself right then and there. “I’m soo sorry about that, it was a misunderstanding. I was in a bad mood, I thought somebody else was making a gift for me, I- I didn’t… I’m sorry Freddie.” You smiled awkwardly at him and he chuckled, ruffling your hair. “It’s alright, sunshine. I’m happy you don’t resent me” “I could never.” “Oh?” he stopped and looked you straight in the eye, smirking. “Uh, I mean…” your mind went blank. “You see, I was really happy when I drew your name.” he looked up above the two of you and your eyes remained on him. “It just so happens that I really like you so you must agree it would be convenient if you liked me back.”

You gulped. He looked back down at you, then gestured with his eyes for you to look up.

There it was, hovering above you, in all its glory – the magical mistletoe.

“So?” He leaned down a bit, turned his head to the side and tapped his finger on his cheek, “make it up to me?”

[killiansprincss]

Two Victims of Bad Form

Okay so this fic is inspired by this post I made last week and it blew up and I had a few requests to write it, so here it is!! I really hope you enjoy it!! 

link to A03

Tagging: @the-darkdragonfly​ @elizabeethan​ @superchocovian​ @lostintheskyfaraway​ @pirateprincessofpizza​

_____

Liam Jones was used to The Underworld. He hadn’t yet had a run in with Hades and it wasn’t too bad of an afterlife. He didn’t try to keep track of his time here, it was a waste. While he did wonder when he would see his brother again, he only wished he was living a long and happy life.

Liam does wonder what he is up to and what happened when they returned to their home kingdom. Killian was Captain of the Navy now, would he go in front of the King and reveal the true nature of that awful plant, and become a hero?

But had he also found happiness? As a navymen Liam can’t lie and say the female sex didn’t find ways to converse with them and Killian would often become flustered, not knowing the correct and best way to talk to them, as a men of the King there were expectations. But he had hoped there was a special female who he had found happiness with.

But his life-or-afterlife was pretty good. It wasn't great at first though. Accepting the fact you are dead was not something Liam was able to accept straight away, he kept playing his last moments over and over again, and wishing he could go back and stop himself from scratching the dreamshade on his arm. It was a foolish and rash decision which every day he regrets. He fell victim to bad form quickly. The Underworld was a strange town but the wide variety of alcohol was one thing he liked.

There was a bar that Liam would go to every day and the Rum was far spicier than the one he had become accustomed to in the Enchanted Forest, and it was stronger too. Apparently being dead knocks out your tolerance for alcohol. He was a mess. He grieved for his own life, all the things he planned to do and see, and he grieved for his little brother and how now he was all alone.

The owner of the bar, Alaric, was a former King of a long forgotten kingdom. He wasn’t the kindest or most understanding King in his former life, so in the Underworld Alaric devoted his time to helping others, and he helped Liam come to terms with the fact that while he was dead, it was not the worst thing in the world.

“If your mother is here, her gravestone will be up. If she’s in a better place it will have fallen, but a crack will appear if that is not the case.” Those were the last words Alaric said to Liam before he found peace.It was the one thing Liam wanted to know.

Finding out his mother’s fate was a high priority for Liam, he hoped she were in a better place and they would be reunited once Killian arrived in years to come. He hoped she could be proud of her two boys. He doesn’t know what he would do if she were in a worse place.

And there it was. A grave marked “Alice Jones”

Liam smiles. It had fallen over. She was in a better place.

Knowing his mother was in a better place, at peace likely, was all Liam needed to get on with his life in the afterlife.

Alaric was the first person Liam felt like he could speak to and open up to. And it felt good. He wanted to do the same for other people.

So Liam takes over and starts working at the Bar, working his way through the ranks until he eventually becomes manager and owner, well nobody is really an owner of any property in the Underworld, but in every sense the bar was his. He becomes to other people what Alaric was to him. Letting them grieve and come to terms with their own passing and potentially their unfinished business.

Every day he’s at the bar, he hopes his little brother will walk through the doors and they can be together again. Deal with their unfinished business and find peace together. But every day he doesn’t. And as much as it hurts not seeing him, it’s a good thing.

Every day Killian doesn’t walk through his doors is another day he is on Earth living his life. Maybe he's married to a Princess and is the greatest Captain the Royal Navy has seen in centuries. Just maybe.

These dreams keep Liam positive, until one day.

________

It started out like any normal day in the Underworld, Liam would wake, go for a morning run before his shift at the bar. It wasn’t too busy, a few regulars who would sit quietly on the other side to where he was working. Until a woman came in who he hadn’t seen before. She was beautiful, with strong bone structure and dark curls that accentuated her face. But she didn’t look in the best state. A new arrival to the Underworld Liam guesses, he’s seen that scared face all too many times.

“I need something strong.” is all she says as she sits on the bar stool to steady herself.

Liam nods as he reaches around for the strongest whiskey they stock and pours it into a frosted glass. This was a much nicer way of serving alcohol, he assumed this was how royals drank, vastly different to the dirty taverns he and Killian drank in.

“How did I end up here?” She sighs as she takes the glass in her hands.

“Well, this is the Underworld, therefore I’d say to end up here means you died. Sorry to be the one to break the news.” Liam says with a sarcastic smile.

She looks up from her glass, clearly not amused by the sarcasm, and Liam can see the pain in her green eyes. “It gets easier, I promise you that.”

“I was murdered.” She finally says. “How am I expected to feel better?”

It was an unfortunate fact that a lot of people ended up in the Underworld due to falling victim to murder.

“Well, I died because of my own stubbornness, left behind my little brother who is all on his own. It takes time to accept these facts, not saying it gets easier right away but you’ll get there in time.”

“I left my son behind with his horrible father. I am a horrible person.” She admits. “It wasn’t meant to be like this. I was going back for him and we would’ve been a family.”

Liam doesn’t say anything else, so he pours her another shot of whiskey and lets her sit there until she eventually leaves. This was her journey and Liam didn’t want to probe into open wounds. And if anyone knew anything about being left with a horrible father it was Liam. He hoped the poor lad ended up on a better path.

But the next day she comes back. “So that whiskey was really good yesterday. Got anything else?”

Liam smiles as he grabs the spicy rum he’s grown accustomed to drinking on days where he needs to drown his sorrows. “My bar is always here if you need a drink or a chat. Names Liam.”

The dark haired beauty takes the glass from Liam and takes a sip, “Milah. Have we met before? You look awfully familiar.”

Liam studies Milah for a second, her green eyes and dark curls don’t ring a bell, and he was normally good with faces. “Can’t say that I have, unless you’ve been dead longer than you think.”

__

Milah comes in almost every day for a few weeks before she starts to open up. Liam doesn’t pry, he serves her a drink while she ponders her afterlife.

“My ex husband killed me.” She tells Liam one day. Liam didn’t try to force her to say anything which she appreciates, so she doesn’t mind telling him her story.

Of all the things Milah could’ve said about her murderer, Liam was not expecting that. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you mind me asking why?”

Milah takes another sip before saying, “I ran away. To be with my lover. He was angry that I left my son behind, but he was just a boy and the high seas are dangerous. I was going to come back for him when he was older. After I ran, my ex husband got hungry for power and revenge so he found a way to become the Dark One, and sure enough he got his revenge on me. Rumple ripped out my heart and called me a bad mother, which I hate to admit he was right.”

“I don’t think you were a bad mother.” Liam tells her. “Sure you could have handled your situation differently, but it sounds like you never forgot about your son and the fact you wanted to go back for him speaks volumes. You mention the high seas, was your lover in the Navy?”

Milah laughs. “Oh no, far from it actually. He was a Pirate Captain and I guess I was also a Pirate. We weren’t bad people, I assure you that, but Baelfire was far too young to understand anything.”

Liam gives her a disapproving look which Milah catches. “Don’t look at me like that. We both ended up in the same place. Don't tell me you were in the Navy.”

Liam just nods. “Naval Captain. Died on a mission the King sent us on. My little brother tried to save me but it was poison and it went straight to my heart.”

“Well I’ll cheers to that.” Milah says, raising her glass.

A few days later Milah is telling her story again, and giving more details about how bad her life was at home with her husband. “He took my choice away from me to have a second child. Baelfire was sick, and he was too much of a coward to steal the medicine to save his life. Rumple made a deal instead that this man would take our second born in exchange, so I could never have a second child.”

“You’ll get to face him again one day, when he arrives down here and you can tell him what a coward he was.” Liam felt horrible for Milah, she was a victim of another man's bad form and it ruined her life and led to her destruction.

“One can only hope. Anyway, it was that night I met Killian and everything changed.”

Liam freezes, he hadn’t heard that name come out of another mouth since he died. Milah notices, “are you okay?”

“Sorry. Killian was my little brother's name, I haven't heard it since, and it brought back memories. Sorry, continue with your story.”

“So he tells me he’s a Pirate, and he’s captain of the fastest ship in all the realm and he can take me anywhere I wish.”

Killian. It’s a common name surely. Fastest Ship in all the realm, Liam is sure a lot of Pirates say this. But just to be sure. “What was his name? Captain who? We came across Pirates in my Naval days, I’d be interested to know who he is.”

“Jones. Captain Killian Jones.”

Liam freezes and his vision suddenly becomes blurry.

No. It couldn’t be. His little brother, his trusted Lieutenant, a Pirate. No, not just a Pirate, but apparently the most ‘fearsome in the land.’ “I believe you’re talking about my little brother. Only when I died he was Lieutenant Jones of the King's Royal Navy.”

Milah’s eyes widened, “That’s why you look so familiar, you have his eyes.” Tears began to form thinking about what she had heard and what Killian had mentioned about his brother. “Something called Nightshade, it poisoned you, but the King wanted it for his army. Killed you as soon as you left the Island.”

Liam smiles, Killian had told someone about him. “The poison was called Dreamshade. I didn’t want to bore you with details of my death but I guess it relates. We didn’t know that it was a poison, and assumed it was a simple herb or plant used to heal our warriors. It was a strange island, there was this boy no older than 15, he told us it was deadly. Course I didn’t believe the kid so I cut myself with the plant. One thing led to another and I died because the water I drank which healed it wore off as soon as we were back in the Enchanted Forest.”

“I’m so sorry Liam. Killian spoke of his brother, of you. I didn’t put two and two together.” She felt horrible that she had been speaking about Killian not knowing his blood and flesh was right in front of her.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not angry at you-how were you to know. I’m a little disappointed in my brother though, as soon as he became a Navy Man he stopped drinking and always believed in good form, Pirates were the epitome of bad form.”

Milah shakes her head. “No stop that. You don’t know what your death did to him. He told me the reason he became a pirate is because how could a King send his best men on a mission that had such dark consequences, he would never serve under the rule of such a cruel man. He would not let you become a victim of the King, he didn’t want the man who sent him there to die and speak crap about what a fine captain he was and what a tragic accident it was.”

“So you’re saying he became a Pirate because of me?” Liam was having a hard time understanding how the most noble man he knew would live a life like that when they had worked so hard for their position.

“I met Killian only  a few years ago, and by then he had made a name for himself in the lands. But once I got to know him, I understood he was a broken man who drank away his sorrows. He mentioned you to me but he mainly buried what happened to you inside, bottling up his emotions so he seemed hard-faced and scary to others. But not to me.” She explains. “He idolizes you, always believing you were the best man he ever knew and how could he ever live up to that. But it was the anger over what happened to you which forced him into the situation he was in, he made a statement as the King had to scramble to find a new Navy and a new ship.”

Liam smiles at the thoughts of their so-called great King realising his navy men were now a band of Pirates and convincing the people it was fine and explaining to trade leaders why he needed a new ship and a brand new legion. “Our terrible King paid a dear price for his wicked plans, I guess it’s what they call karma.”

“We were happy, Killian and I. He was happy, his men commented they hadn’t seen him like that since you died.” Milah tells Liam. That’s all she would want to know about Bae, if he was happy.

“I’m glad he was able to move on and find love. And I’m just sad it didn’t last.”

“He will be happy again. It’ll take time but I’m sure he can find what he has with me with someone else.” Milah wasn’t cruel, she wants Killian to find love again someday with someone special- he doesn’t deserve to be alone forever.

______

While Milah stops coming to the bar every day, they still keep in touch and give each other updates if someone new arrives who knows Killian.

“Captain Liam. What a sight for sore eyes you are!” Miller, a former crewmate of Liam and Killian arrives one day, explains he was killed by someone called a Lost Boy, another Pirate. “Your brother is a fine captain, Hook may be a Pirate but you’d be proud of him.”

“Hook?” Liam asks.

Miller looks confused for a second before realising, “Oh I forgot he got the hook after you died!”

Turns out the Dark One cut off Killian’s hand and in Pirate fashion he replaced it with a hook, so now he’s ‘Captain Hook.’ Well at least he now knew to listen out for Captain Hook when new arrivals came.

And sure enough this worked out, though he wasn’t fond of some of the stories he heard.

“Did you hear there will be a curse?” Milah says to Liam one day.

Liam shakes his head, he doesn't like to hear too much of what is going on up there, he’s only interested in his brother.

“There’s an evil witch or someone who is planning on cursing everyone in the Enchanted Forest and placing them in her own personal hell.” Milah explains, she leaves out the rumours her ex husband is involved. “They say they will be frozen in time for 28 years until a saviour comes.”

“28 years? That means-“

Milah finishes his thoughts, “28 years frozen in time means nobody comes down here and we are in the dark about Killian.”

Liam sighs, it had been a few hundred years in the world upstairs, and they had learnt Killian was in Neverland, a place where nobody ages. But they had learnt so much about him and were hoping to find out more, but this curse was a setback.

_____

They know the curse has broken when people start entering the Underworld. Also turns out the town where the curse put them was based off the Underworld.

At first they don’t hear much about Killian, or “Hook”. Until one day.

“They took the Saviour’s son. Hook lent his ship to the Hero’s, they’re going after them.”

Not too long after, a face Liam would recognise anywhere shows up. The boy who led them to the dreamshade. And he is joined by the Dark One himself.

“I’m not ready to face him.” Milah tells Liam.

“It’s okay, he’s the only one who knows about my brother. I shall keep your name out of it.”

“Well if it isn’t the one handed Pirate’s brother.” The Dark One says when he enters the pawn shop, which he apparently owns in the cursed land. He’d never met the man before, but supposedly he was all knowing.

“You’re the only person who can tell me about my brother. Please I mean no threat.”  It wasn’t his place to defend Milah, he also did not wish to anger the Dark One.

The Dark One sighs. “I met your brother when he was a Pirate and I was a man with no power. He beat me in a duel when I was still powerless, so it was an unfair advantage. Many years later we met again and I cut off his hand as I thought that’s where a magic bean was but alas he tricked me. The Pirate hid in Neverland for a couple hundred years to get revenge. But I will say your brother has changed while in Storybrooke, he’s in love with the Saviour who hasn’t quite admitted she feels the same just yet. But he’s changed his tune, he may be a Pirate but he’s working on being a hero.”

Liam smiles, his little brother has found love? And a hero. This woman he was in love with- a saviour, the one who was destined to break the curse? Not admitting her feelings for him, sounds like the perfect match for the ‘womaniser’ that he had rumoured to be.

“He’s on the side of the heros.” He tells Milah that night at the bar when she was sure she was not going to run into her ex.

“You’re not serious?” Milah couldn’t believe it, Killian was working on the good side?

“Dark one confirmed it himself. He also, um,” Liam begins to tell her about how he found love, but isn’t sure how she would take to it.

“What? What is it” Milah can tell he’s hesitating, not wanting to tell her something, wait. “He’s found someone-hasn't he?”

Liam nods.

Milah lets out a soft laugh, “It’s okay that he found love again. I’m not so daft to wait 500 years for him to return. Killian is not my unfinished business, my son is. Tell me about the woman he’s found.”

___

And so Liam wonders about this woman his little brother had fallen in love with. He imagines she’s strong and feisty, like he remembers his mother was, and doesn’t put up with his brother's cockiness he inherited from their father.

Killian was always destined for great things and it sounds like he is finally on the path for this greatness. He tries to listen out for little things here and there when new people start arriving, but he wants to hear it himself when he eventually does see his brother again. Although he hopes it won’t be for a very long time, he wants to hear how his brother fell in love and started a family, giving his kids a better childhood than the two of them had.

But unfortunately one day, sooner than expected, he does overhear

“Captain Hook is here.”

He arrives at the blue house by the water, it’s grand and beautiful. Knocking at the door was the hardest thing he ever had to do, but a blonde woman dressed in white opens the door, this must be the saviour.

He doesn’t know what he will say to her, does he say thank you for being the woman his brother needs? Or does he just introduce himself and hope Killian isn’t too far away.

“Hi can I-“ she begins, but that’s when he sees him standing behind her,

“Killian!” 300 years of waiting, looking a lot older and dressed in modern black leather, his little brother was finally here.

[doubletriplepowerbomb]

Mr. Lonely part 2

Sheamus x fem reader

NON-WWE AU

Word count: +4500

Warnings: none… yet ;)

Tags: @jenn0755 @zappyzoodle @disturbthepearls @lost-in-the-stories @lithesxx @racingandreigns @rocketgirl2410 @vebner37 @therianfurry46 @littlelunaticfringe @finnbalorlover21-blog @winged-time-criminal @mrsnegan25 @xfirespritex @wefunloveruniverse @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk

Read part 1 here

I woke up at 10 am, fully clothed with a fully clothed Sheamus sleeping soundly next to me. His back was facing me and I watched his body fall and rise slowly, entranced by the freckles that dusted the pale skin I could see.

What the hell did I do?! I kissed him and he spent the night in my bed! I scrubbed a hand over my face before realizing that there was no use trying to take all this in. Whatever, at least we didn’t have sex.

I decided to try to act as normal about this as I possibly could- I wasn’t attached, we never did anything. I got up out of bed and headed straight for the bathroom.

Sheamus awoke to a comfortable bed that was not his own. He rolled onto his back and caught a glimpse of me brushing my teeth in my bathroom.

Ah could get used to this. A satisfied smile graced his face as he laid on his back, his arms behind his head. She looked different than any other girl ah see in the morning. If ah’m being honest, ah don’t stay long enough to see much of ‘em after ah’ve seen all of them.

Here ah am, though, laying in my jeans in the bed of the girl ah used to like in high school. The girl who never picked up on my flirting, never realized that there was another reason ah wanted only her to edit my essays. The girl who always smelled like citrus. She smelled like citrus last night at the bar too. Maybe that's what fucked with my head.

Sheamus turned onto his side to catch a glimpse of the clock on his phone, 10:05 am. At this point, ah would have been long gone. A girl sometimes likes to stay so I usually never have a one night stand at my place. Ah have to stop comparing… this isn’t a one night stand. She’s different.

Sheamus turned onto his other side and watched me brush my teeth.

She’s wearin’ the clothes she wore last night, her jeans and tight black top.

Looks a lot like a one night stand.

“G’morning, y/n.” He spoke from the bed. It startled me slightly but I don’t think he noticed. I rinsed my mouth before walking back into the bedroom. I wasn’t wearing any makeup and my hair looked kinda messy. I felt comfortable, I didn’t feel the need to not show my face until I looked presentable.

For a second, it looked like she was mine.

She’s not yours, lad. Don’t get all screwed up now.

“Good morning, Sheamus.” You would think this would be super awkward, but it wasn’t. There was a comfortable silence as both of us searched for the right words to say but we both came up short. After I realized that we weren’t gonna say much, I turned to my closet and slipped off my black shirt, revealing the black bra underneath.

“Is someone ready to sleep with me now?” Sheamus teased, sitting up in the bed. I didn’t have anything witty to say so I simply unclasped my bra and let it fall down my arms. His breath hitched as his eyes raked over my figure. I’m sure he was praying for me to turn around, but I didn’t. I grabbed a crew neck sweatshirt from the closet and slipped it over my head.

Sheamus couldn’t help the disappointment that filled him as he watched me slip the large sweatshirt over my figure.

“Do you want some breakfast?” I asked before taking off my jeans and slipping on pink pajama pants. Sheamus looked shocked and I explained myself. “I’m sure you don’t usually stay for breakfast but you’re still here and I’m hungry.”

Sheamus smiled before climbing out of bed. I wanted to act smug but I couldn’t, I was too busy staring at him as he got out of the bed and stood before me. His arms were muscular and defined and I could see his abs through the thin white fabric he was wearing-- butterflies shot to my stomach and I felt heat between my legs. Oh my fucking god, I gotta get out of here. I walked out of the room before he could see my face get red.

Sheamus emerged from my room a couple minutes later, he was holding his shirt and placing things back in the pocket. A travel sized toothbrush and deodorant. “You’re kidding. You bring travel-sized toiletries to your hookups?”

Sheamus looked at me with a weird expression. “Yeah, I also always have an extra condom, some people like mornin’ sex.” He said it so simply and he stared at me like I was the crazy one. “Ah’m like a boy scout, y/n, always prepared.” I laughed at him before handing him a paper plate with an egg sandwich on it.

“I hope you like sunny side up, I forgot to ask.” I told him, while carrying my plate to the small wooden table in my apartment.

“Don’t worry, ah like everythin’.” Even that sounded seductive, he either meant it to be or I was going absolutely mad.

We didn’t talk about anything important as we ate, just random, comfortable, small talk. Somewhere during our conversation, something clicked in Sheamus’ head. “Y/n, I know ya keep brushing this off, but I really do like ya.” He paused and my mind raced. He didn’t let me speak though, the next thing he said seemed to answer my fears. “Ah’m not just sayin’ it cause I want to sleep with ya, ah’m sayin it because ah was more content just sleepin’ next to ya than ah’ve ever been sleepin’ with any girl.” I was silent. My mind went blank. “Ah haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

“Who made you feel it before?” I asked quietly, my eyes looking downward at my coffee. I don’t really know why I asked it, it kinda just came out.

“You. In high school.” My eyes shot open, but he kept talking. “Ah had the biggest crush on ya, why do ya think I asked you to edit my papers every day?”

“Well I thought you needed help writing. You always did make the same mistakes though,” I paused as the pieces fell together in my head. “Oh my god. Sheamus, did you just make stupid mistakes in your essays so I would help you?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me in high school? I always liked you too.” Now it was his turn to open his eyes in shock. “Why do you think I helped you? You were so charming and you seemed so helpless.” There was hope behind his eyes. Snap out of it. “But that doesn’t mean anything now. I don’t want to sleep with you no matter how much you might like me.” The hopeful glow behind his eyes disappeared.

“Ah don’t wanna just sleep with ya. I wanna be with ya.”

That was worse. Does he say this to all the girls he deems difficult assignments? I couldn’t trust him, I wanted to but I couldn’t. My stomach was doing flips as I imagined being with him. Waking up with him every morning and spending long nights in his arms- but that would never happen. He’s lying.

I couldn’t hide the skepticism on my face. He saw it but didn’t say anything more, I don’t know how he expected me to believe him. I wanted to be serious but I couldn’t make anything serious come out, “Well, if you want me that bad you’ll have to prove it.” I was hoping to say something along the lines of ‘Sheamus I can’t trust you and you know that.’

“Ah can prove it, y/n. Ah promise ah can.” I rolled my eyes and he smirked. “Just you watch, y/n. Ah have to go to work now but ah’ll come by the bar tonight.” His voice sounded so smooth and so confident- I was melting in my chair. He grabbed his flannel and walked up to me still sitting in my chair, he bent down and I looked up at him, thinking he was going to say something. But he kissed me instead. Then he smiled and left my apartment.

What the fuck?

What have I done?

I watched the door for a few more minutes, I was stuck in shock. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. After a while, I had managed to get up and go back to my room to grab my phone. “Megan, you’ll never believe what happened.”

“Did you sleep with him? Was it amazing? Tell me everything!” She squealed.

“Well, not really, no. It’s a long story.” I heard her get settled through the phone. “We kissed last night, at the bar, he stayed until closing. We had been talking and flirting all night but I just thought it was an attraction thing. But when he kissed me I instantly knew what everyone was raving about.” I paused, expecting something from Megan. She was silent but I shook it off. “So then we went back to my apartment and ended up in my bedroom but then I told him that I didn’t want to sleep with him. So then do you know what he did?”

“Did he leave?” She shouted. “How could you let him leave?!”

“No, no,” I started, “he didn’t leave. He just kissed me again and told me he wasn’t gonna force me into it. Then we fell asleep… fully clothed. We woke up and I made him breakfast and we talked.”

“Are you sure this was Sheamus? It sounds like he likes you.” Megan teased.

“Well then he told me that he liked me!” Megan gasped. “Yeah, he told me that he’s liked me since high school and that he was gonna prove to me that I can be with him.”

“That… is bonkers. Y/n he likes you! That’s great, but why does he need to prove anything.”

“Because I can’t get over things the way you can, Megan. I’m not as optimistic as you. I can’t get attached to him. I’ll be so hurt when I see that he’s moved on to other girls. And what if I’m working? This won’t last, there's no way he won't get bored of me then I’ll see him at my bar and I’ll have to serve him while girls fall all over him begging for him to spend the night again.”

“You already sound attached, honey.” Megan said, sounding defeated.

“I know. I get it though, he’s hypnotizing.”

“I know he is. But, I wouldn’t worry. I know a lot of girls Sheamus has been with and none of them have ever said anything like that.”

“Really?” Don’t get your hopes up.

“Yeah really, he’s never forced anyone into anything but he doesn’t stay the night with girls who don’t wanna sleep with him and he never stays for breakfast. He always wakes up before you then gets dressed and is gone. Sometimes he gets roped into morning sex but never breakfast.”

I stayed silent but I felt relieved- I know I shouldn’t care. I should feel indifferent, what do I care that he’s never treated any girl like this? Plus, he’s probably lying.

“Well, I gotta run but I’ll swing by the bar tonight.”

“Please. He said he was coming.”

“Of course, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.”

Silence. I let myself flop onto my bed and I felt myself being drawn to the side of the bed he slept on. It smelled like cologne and whiskey.

-

I got to the bar at 4:30 to open for 5. My heart pounded, I had no clue what was going to happen. At 4:50, I let Megan in through the back and at five, Sheamus filed in with my regulars.

“You’re here early,” I teased as he approached Megan and I. I knew the only thing I could do was keep it light and normal. Megan can’t leave and, eventually, a girl will come and take him away.

Megan, Sheamus, and I chatted idly as I served my regulars. We talked mainly about high school, considering we all went together, and a little about college. We talked about our jobs and that’s when Sheamus spoke up.

“Oh. That reminds me. Ah’ve got to finish fixin’ sink pipes for a friend, ah got the final piece to the sink in the mail this mornin'.” He stood up and stared right into my eyes before finishing his statement. He looked at me as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. “Ah’ll be right back, y/n. This shouldn’t take longer than 25 minutes.”

I nodded and he ran off, it was only 6:30, younger people wouldn’t start coming in until around 8.

“See, I told you I couldn’t trust him. There he goes running off to ‘fix pipes’.” I mimicked his accent. It hasn’t even been a day since he told me he’d prove that I’m more than just a body to him.

“I think you are still. He just left. We’ll figure out if he’s a liar or not in 20 minutes. If he comes back in time, I think I’d trust him. He seemed kinda worried about leaving you here.” Megan was being too rational. I needed someone to be extra crazy and not support a friend’s budding romance with Mr Lonely.

I wasn’t consciously expecting him to get back, but I was watching the door between serving customers. After 20 minutes, I craned my neck to look at the clock, 5 more minutes. I was still looking at the clock when I heard the door open, I stopped looking at the clock and there he was, walking towards me. I couldn’t help the smile on my face and Megan, upon seeing my expression change, turned too.

“Was someone waitin’ for me?” Sheamus teased once he sat back down in the stool.

I ignored his question. “How’d the sink go?” I asked, sounding more impatient than I wanted to.

“It was fine. Easy fix. I just had to attach a final piece then turn the water back on.” His voice was normal and genuine. There was no hint of guilt and I believed him.

“What about that condom you keep in your pocket? Where’s that?” Megan chimed in. My face went red, if he didn’t already know that I liked him too, he does now.

“Ah didn’t bring it…” he started, only to be cut off by Megan.

“Didn’t bring it? Or already used it?” She accused. I know I said earlier that I wanted her to be crazy. But now that she was, I’m not sure I liked it- I didn’t want her to uncover any truth I wasn’t ready for.

Sheamus looked annoyed. He didn’t focus on her when he spoke, he just kind of stared at her with a glazed over expression. “Ah didn’t bring it.” He paused. “Ah wanted to prove to y/n that I didn’t want to sleep with anyone else.” Sheamus turned to me and noticed my embarrassment and his expression changed, “plus, you know how I operate, lass, would I ever spend only 20 minutes with a woman?” His voice was almost cold, it sounded like he was almost scolding her for making me feel weird.

After the ‘scolding,’ his mannerisms instantly changed and we returned to normal conversation. Megan didn’t seem phased by his tone or gaze from seconds ago. She, like every other girl in Pittsburgh, seemed to fall for his charm and never stay mad at him.

I found it weird that Megan, nor any of my other friends, were jealous. When the rest of my group showed up around 8, they all flocked to Sheamus and Megan told them the “good news.” They were all excited for me. They were supportive and smiley, something I wasn’t expecting.

If what Sheamus wants is true, that’ll mean he’ll retire as the man you can call for a good fucking. Why are they not upset?

Sheamus turned down 3 girls at the bar that night. My friends stayed with us the majority of the night and we had a normal conversation. They no longer treated him like some god who had seen them all naked, but like a friend’s boyfriend. It was weird, but nice. I enjoyed feeling like he was mine.

I know I shouldn’t feel so comfortable right now. The only girl in the bar that he hasn’t seen naked was me. That should scare me, right? He’s seen all of my friends naked, he’s kissed them, he’s slept with them next to him, he’s had sex with them.

Why am I not scared? Y/N!!! He could have anyone in this bar. I should at least be worried!

-

Our first week “together” went by unlike any week I’ve ever had, it felt like I had been dropped into an alternate universe. Sheamus must have felt like he was going to explode- he hasn’t had sex in a week. We talked everyday, he went to work and so did I, the first night we spent together had been the only one. It should have felt normal, but it didn’t. Normally, I wouldn’t have anything to do with him, but I was beginning to understand why so many people liked having him around. Aside from the fact that I expected him to fuck another girl at any moment, he was enjoyable to be around.

It was a Wednesday, two weeks into our companionship, I had just closed the bar and Sheamus was with me. On usual weekdays, Sheamus didn’t stay too late, he worked early in the mornings and I never wanted to keep him up later than he had to be. He stayed with me tonight only because his first job of the next morning was at 11.

Sheamus was standing behind me as I was locking the door and he suddenly spoke, “Ah want ya to come back to my place tonight.” He blurted. I noticed that he had been slightly on the quieter side tonight and I knew he was mulling over something, I guess that was it.

I had never seen his apartment, rumor has it that no one has. He doesn’t bring girls back to his place… ever. I wondered why but I didn’t ask him. “Oh wow, really?” I said both excited and sarcastic.

Sheamus smirked and nodded, “C’mon, love,” he started. My heart stopped beating at the nickname. It’s not a big deal. I had to remind myself that him calling me “love” was not actually him saying he loved me. I knew the Irishman liked to tease, but something inside of me didn’t want to think of it as just a tease or a nickname. “Ya haven’t seen my flat yet.”

I followed Sheamus to his truck, he had driven me to work today, and I climbed in. The drive was filled with a comfortable silence, I caught him singing softly to the songs on the radio but I didn’t mention it. I found it cute and I knew if I called him out, he’d stop.

We arrived at his building, it was only a short drive further than mine but a lot nicer. I followed him out of the car and through the lobby. Sheamus paused to speak to the man behind the security desk. “Hey, Tony, how are ya fella?” I wasn’t surprised, Sheamus was a local personality, everyone seemed to know, and love, him.

“I’m good my man, I’m good. How are you?” His New York-Italian accent was thick. “And who is this lovely lady?” He asked, looking past Sheamus at me. “Ya know I’ve never seen this guy bring a girl here, it must be serious, huh?” I blushed and Sheamus spoke up before I could.

“This is y/n. She bartends over at Jack, ya should stop by it's a nice bar. She’s turnin’ me into an honest man.” Sheamus joked, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me close. I smiled up at Sheamus knowing that, despite his joking tone, he meant it.

“Well I’m happy for you two, enjoy your night.” He said happily.

“You too, Tony.” Sheamus spoke before turning toward the elevator with me still wrapped in his arms.

I looked back and waved at the man behind the desk, “It was nice meeting you.” It was the first thing I said since climbing into his truck.

“You too, y/n.”

I don’t know what I was expecting to see in Sheamus’ apartment. I kinda was picturing something like mine, small, on the cheaper side but still nice and plainly decorated. That's not what I saw. Sheamus’ apartment was much bigger than mine. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large kitchen and living room. Nice big windows that would let in wonderful natural lighting, a beautiful black leather couch, a large TV, and tasteful decor. He looked back and noted my visible confusion. “What,” he started. “You were expectin’ more of a bachelor pad, weren’t ya love?”

I nodded. “This is really nice, why do you never bring girls back here?” I didn't want to know the answer to that question originally. I had thought it was because he lived minimally, I could see now that he didn’t.

“Well ah didn’t want any of them in my house, fer some reason. Ah guess ah wanted to be able to leave. Ah don’t like them gettin�� too attached.” His reasoning was simple. “But ah want you here. Ah want you to get attached, ah’m already attached to ya I feel like it’s only fair.”

I smiled and let him lead me into his bedroom. More large windows and elegant black furniture that contrasted with the clean white walls. The only thing that hung on the wall was a Celtic Cross by his bed. He had photos and momentos, but they were in frames on his dresser and night tables. I didn’t stop myself from looking around. I picked up a picture of a small boy with pale skin and red hair smiling brightly in the arms of a jolly-looking woman with matching pale skin and mousy brown hair. “Is this you and your mom?” I asked, turning back to him with the photo in my hand.

Sheamus grinned and reached up to grab the back of his neck with his hand, I watched as his muscles flexed and the black fabric of his t-shirt rode up, showing shimmering white skin. “Yeah, that’s my ma’.” He moved to stand beside me and pointed to himself.

“You were adorable.” I said, my eyes locked on the small smiling boy in the photograph.

“Ah’m not adorable now?” He asked, a dramatic pained look on his face. I laughed at him and looked back at the small boy in the photo.

“Not as cute as you were here. When was this.” Sheamus had never talked about his life before moving. If he didn’t look or speak like a leprechaun, I wouldn’t even have known he was from Ireland.

He hesitated before leaning his chin on the top of my head, “Ah was four. She had just told me that she was takin’ me to a football game for my fifth birthday. My dad took the picture, he couldn’t come to the game, that or he didn’ want to.” Sheamus took the picture from my hands and placed back down on his dresser. “But enough of that, love.” Sheamus always seemed to know what I was thinking, he knew I wanted to ask more questions but he didn’t want to answer more questions about his father.

Sheamus turned back to me and leaned down to kiss me. His calloused hands held my face and I instantly forgot about what I wanted to ask him. He lifted me up and placed me gently on his bed before crawling over me. We remained clothed until my hands pulled on the hem of his shirt. My shirt came off after his but that was the only thing that came off. Sheamus waited until I made any moves and I didn’t want to tease him. He never made me feel bad about wanting to wait but I couldn’t help feeling a little conflicted about it. My fingernails raked over his pale skin, leaving red trails in their wake. Sheamus pulled away from my lips but didn’t go far. He moved to kiss my chin, his moustache tickled my lips. His soft lips moved down my neck to my collarbones and I couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped my lips. Sheamus pulled back briefly, smirking at the fact that he could unravel me with just his lips. My eyes shot from Sheamus’ face to his neck, exposed and strong, pale and begging to be bitten. I wrapped my arms around his neck and lifted my shoulders off the bed to attach my lips to his skin. Sheamus moaned as my lips ghosted along his ear and down towards his collarbone. Sheamus moved to his knees and wrapped one of his arms around my back to keep me pressed tightly against his firm body.

“Ah want ya, bad.” He moaned, his voice coming out uncontrollably. I pulled back from his neck and glared into his blue eyes. I didn’t have to speak, he knew what I was thinking. “Ah… uh. Ah mean ah want to… date ya bad.”

I smiled at him as he continued to hold me tightly against him. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what you meant.” I moved my arms from the back of his neck to cup his cheeks. I pressed my lips against his and smiled against them. Sheamus laid me back down and pulled away from the kiss.

“Ah didn’t mean to make ya uncomfortable.” His voice was soft and he looked at me sweetly. His fingers brushed across my face gently and pushed a lock of hair behind my ear.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Sheamus,” I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself up to his ear. “We’ll start dating after the first time you fuck me.” I whispered before letting myself drop onto the bed below him. I smirked as I stared up at his shocked face. His blue eyes were wide and his lips were slightly parted. “But that won’t happen yet, now let's go to bed.”

Sheamus groaned dramatically and flopped onto the bed beside me. He rolled out of bed only to take off his jeans. He tossed me a pair of sweatpants and asked if I wanted a shirt, I took off my own jeans and agreed to the shirt. The shirt was green and soft, it had an Irish flag across the chest. I turned away from him and slipped my bra off before pulling the shirt over my head. It was long and reached above my mid-thigh. I didn’t put on the pants, the shirt was long enough. Sheamus smirked as he watched me crawl back into bed. Ah could get used to this. He pulled the white sheets and puffy black comforter over us before he wrapped his arm around my waist. His bed was soft and warm, my clothed back was pressed against his bare torso and my bare legs were tangled in his.

I could get used to this.

Part 3

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 38: Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding...choice. Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997.

[CLICK]

KEEPER

When did you start using these for official statements?

GERTRUDE

If this were official, I would have you write it down. Most of the people who come in with a statement simply fill out the forms provided by the Institute.

KEEPER

So why not have me write it down? Why bother to listen?

GERTRUDE

Because I suspect that what you’re about to say would be…unwise to add to the Archives.

KEEPER

It’s not related to that statement, if that’s what you’re getting at.

GERTRUDE

I don’t think it is, no.

But I do think that, whatever it is that brought you here, it may not be something that needs to be available to everyone. I’ve begun recently making audio recordings of statements that I want my research to be…private, shall we say?

KEEPER

Or we could say “secret”.

GERTRUDE

(heh) Fair enough. Any live statements that I feel could be…useful, to myself or my successor if need be, go on the tapes as well. In this case, I suspect it may be both.

KEEPER

You may not be wrong.

GERTRUDE

Besides. I don’t know that I’ve ever had another…devotee of one of the Powers walk in off the street and offer me a statement. Call it curiosity.

KEEPER

I can certainly assuage that, Trudy.

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that.

KEEPER

Sorry. Occupational hazard.

I’m sure you know how that goes by now.

GERTRUDE

I suppose I do.

Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding…

KEEPER

Choice.

GERTRUDE

Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997. Where would you like to start?

KEEPER

At the beginning, I suppose.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

As long as there have been lighthouses in England and Ireland, there’s been a Blackwood manning at least one, probably dating back to the Dover Castle in Kent and leading all the way down to my father. My earliest memory is of him holding me as we stood on the railing, the beacon flashing across the night-darkened sea, keeping safe any ships that might be sailing by. He took his responsibility seriously, and so did I. I remember telling my best mate, a boy whose family lived next door to where Ma and I lived, that I was going to be a keeper myself one day. He asked how I knew, and I told him it was what we Blackwoods always did.

I told Dad that, too, and he took me on his knee and explained a few things. He said the Blackwoods had always been lighthouse keepers, not because we wanted to, but because we had to. He said I was going to be starting school in the fall and that I was a bright lad, so I’d have choices he never had. He told me he wanted me to do the best I could, and that when the time came, I could choose to be a keeper if I wanted, but it had to be my choice.

He died that winter. There was a bad ice storm, and while he was scraping the glass clear, he forgot to shield his eyes when the light came around. It blinded him, and he lost his balance and fell. Hit the rocks at the base. They found him washed up on shore the next morning. Ma took poorly and was in bed for a few days when we got the news, and I went to stay with my best mate until she could get up, but she never quite recovered. I was afraid Ma would want to move back to Ireland where her family was, but she said we had roots too deep in the Bournemouth soil to leave it now. Wasn’t until years later that I found out how little money we had—we couldn’t afford to leave. Then again, if Grandmother hadn’t left us her house, we wouldn’t have been able to afford to stay.

I still wanted to be a lighthouse keeper, but by the time I was ready for the eleven-plus, I knew I couldn’t. For one thing, Ma got into hysterics any time I mentioned it—like it would somehow be more dangerous than anything else I could have done, just because it killed Dad—but for another, they were beginning to automate lighthouses by then. Every year there were fewer and fewer jobs, and I’d have been lucky to get one. My grades were all right, but I knew I wouldn’t pass any of the tests needed to be a keeper.

If I couldn’t do that, I decided, I’d do something on the sea. My best mate and I used to play at pirates some when we were little, and we talked about doing that, but of course you couldn’t really do that. We thought about the Navy, too, but we agreed that whatever we would do, we would do it together. By the time we were sixteen, though, I knew I wouldn’t make him. He was smart, top of our class. I barely scraped by with a pass. So we made another deal, him and I. I’d go into trade, learn to sail, to fish, and he’d go on with his education, get a degree in business. Together, we’d build our own fishing company, go out together. Someday, we said, we’d have our own business, a business we could hand down to our sons if we wanted, if they wanted.

I found a job with a fishing crew. Deep-sea stuff, extended voyages. The money was good, so I could take care of Ma and save up a bit, too. And winters were my own, so I could spend them at home. I was a bit of an outcast among the crew, though, and not just because of my age. Even when they were together, they were silent and…distant. The captain was one of the owner’s sons, so of course he was too high and mighty to talk to any of us, but I always felt like he was…watching me. Like I’d disappointed him, even though I did everything right. I felt sometimes like I was the only one with connections on shore—not just Ma, but Walt. We were right close. Looking back…there might’ve been more there than we ever admitted, but it just wasn’t done.

Then I met Liliana.

Walt introduced us. Actually, he was just starting to date Sarah at the time and they needed a fourth for dinner, so Sarah invited her along. I won’t say it was love at first sight…truth be told, I won’t say there was ever love. I’m still not sure Lily’s actually capable of feeling positive emotions towards other people, to be honest. But we had some of the same interests, then. We both liked to dance, we liked the same books, the same foods. She introduced me to her father just before I went out that year, and the old boy and I hit it off, so when I got back in the winter we started keeping company again.

Ma died in January, and Lily came to the funeral, which I appreciated. The four of us got a bit drunk that night, and…well. I was getting ready for the next salmon run when she told me she was in the family way. I was just considering my options when Walt called and asked if I thought the crew could use another sailor, because Sarah was expecting, too. He was leaving school immediately—they needed the money.

I—I couldn’t let him join the crew. It felt like a waste, and I knew he’d want to be there for Sarah and the baby…and I kind of hoped he’d be there for Lily and mine, too, since I couldn’t be. Besides…something about Captain Lukas gave me the creeps. I wouldn’t willingly subject anyone I loved to to that. Luckily, my father-in-law had just mentioned to me that he needed a general handyman about the place. The pay was just as good, and Lily and I had made our home base not far away, so it seemed perfect. We had a quick double wedding, and I went out with the fishing run.

She gave birth right after I got home. We were a bit early back that year, come to think of it, but at the time it never occurred to me that there was anything odd about that; we’d hit quota, that was all. I didn’t love Lily, I told you that, but my God, when that doctor laid the baby in my arms and told me “it’s a boy”, I fell in love then and there. Walt’s boy was born about a month later. There’s a picture somewhere of the two of us, sitting on Alastair’s porch, rocking a pair of sleeping babes and talking.

At least, I hope it still exists somewhere. Brings me comfort thinking it does.

Walt died right when he said he would, three weeks before the fishing run started. The three of us went to the funeral, but Sarah screamed at Alastair before it even started. Accused him of killing her husband.

GERTRUDE

I can’t imagine—

KEEPER

Oh, it wasn’t. Complete accident. The old man wasn’t even home at the time, he’d taken the boys to a science exhibition of some kind. And I’m the one who found him, come to that. Sarah was just hurting and needed someone to blame. But it ended with her ordering us to leave. The look on Walt’s boy’s face when I pried mine away from him and said we had to go is one that still comes to me when I’m having trouble sleeping.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

My boy and I got a lot closer after that. That boy was my world. My light. The beacon that drew me back to shore. I started calling him Wickie before he could talk. Lily hated that nickname, but then, she hated a lot of things.

She—she wasn’t strong. I don’t mean her health, necessarily, although I know it was a hard pregnancy and that’s when her troubles started. I mean her mind. It was so—easy for her to give into despair. We’d never been close, but we got further and further apart every year. We’d probably have fought more often than we did, but I wouldn’t put Wickie through that. Instead, I’d absent myself. That didn’t help.

Plans. Choices. They never go the way we mean them to.

I gave it one last chance, and it’s one I’ll probably regret to my dying day. The Lukases have a Christmas gala every year, but you have to be an officer on a vessel or serve fifteen voyages before you get an invitation. Suppose it’s to make sure you’re loyal enough to deserve it, but maybe it’s also to make sure you know the rules. I don’t know. The year Wickie turned eight was my fifteenth year with the crew, so I got the invite. It included the whole family. Lily was actually enthusiastic about it, but…she didn’t want to bring Wickie. Said he wouldn’t behave. I—I’m the one that insisted on giving him the choice. Of course he said he wanted to come.

I wish I hadn’t let him.

There were no other children there. That should have been my first clue something was wrong. None of the other sailors even had spouses or sweethearts. I was the only person besides the Lukases themselves who actually brought my family. Maybe the only one who had a family to bring.

I talked Lily into a dance or two. We used to like it, once, and for a song or two it seemed like we’d got back…well. It didn’t last. She said she was tired and wanted a drink. I found her a seat at a table where she and someone from the shipping side of the company could ignore each other and went to fetch her something, and I was looking around for Wickie. I—I found him, eventually. He was off to one side, looking scared, looking…lost. One of the Lukases—Peter—was talking to him. He seemed perfectly friendly, but I could see the fog rolling off him, threatening to engulf my boy. Didn’t seem to be anyone else who could see it, or maybe everyone was just ignoring it. He reached forward to tuck a curl behind Wickie’s ear, and the fog curled that much closer.

I admit I had a bit of a reputation for fighting when I was in school. Never unprovoked, mind you, but…well, between the fact that I was half-Irish and the fact that my best mate was darker than some people liked, I got in my share. I don’t have a temper, but I do have a protective streak a mile wide, and I’m not above acting on it.

As you might imagine, breaking your boss’s son’s nose isn’t exactly the sort of thing that looks good to your employers. I got Wickie and Lily and we left then. Took me the better part of the next week to convince Wickie it wasn’t his fault I’d got in a fight, but it rather put a damper on our Christmas. At the beginning of January, I got a rather terse letter from the Lukases telling me I’d not be welcomed back to the crew.

I…I didn’t tell Lily. I certainly didn’t tell Wickie. Lily was starting to get sick, I couldn’t have told you what it was, but we needed an income and now all we were getting was the bit she picked up at the tailor’s when they needed her. I was desperate to try and come up with something, anything, but nobody was hiring. I swear to you I was about three days away from coming to you and asking if you’d take on a new assistant when there was a knock on our front door one foggy night.

(heh) The fog should have been the clue, really, but it wasn’t, and like a fool, I opened the door. Peter Lukas was standing there. I almost shut the door in his face, but he told me he felt bad about me losing my post on the crew. Said my boy deserved better than an unemployed father, and he was there with an offer. Against my better judgment, I listened.

His family owned a lighthouse, he said. One it was important to keep lit, but just then it was without a keeper. He wanted to offer me the position.

I didn’t believe what I was hearing for a minute. The idea of actually getting my childhood dream after all…and from someone I had every reason to hate? I knew there had to be a catch, so I asked, and I was right. Peter told me it was a stag station, meaning no families; Wickie and his mother would have to stay.

I—I laughed. I asked him how big a fool I thought he was. I’d already told him once to stay away from my boy, and if I wasn’t there, what was to stop him from going after him? Peter took the contract out of his pocket and showed me a clause that explicitly said he would stay away from my son, as long as I kept the light. He gave me the paperwork and told me to think it over, and if I was interested, to sign it and send it back and it would all be taken care of, but warned me I’d have to leave by the time the season started.

That night, with Lily and Wickie both asleep upstairs, I read over that contract with a fine-toothed comb. It all seemed airtight. The pay was decent, enough to keep up with Lily’s medical bills at least, and the tasks were exactly what I would have expected. It wasn’t until I got to those last clauses that I realized what the catch was. It explicitly stated that the Lukases would stay away from Wickie as long as I held the position—but it also stated that I had to do the same. Should either one of us break the taboo and talk to him, it would be fair game for the other to do the same.

I didn’t have much time to think about it. The season was only a week away. I thought about asking Alastair, but I knew what he’d say—not to have anything to do with anyone tied to those things. He’d never been thrilled I worked for the Lukases anyway, but at least before I’d had some distance. This was…worse, somehow. I thought about taking Wickie and absconding in the night, but—but I couldn’t do that. He’s smart, Trudy, he can do so much, and I knew if we were on the run he’d lose so many opportunities.

There was only one choice, in the end. I signed the contract and mailed it off.

The night I left was the night I would normally have left for the fishing run, so I just…let Wickie think that was where I was going. Went through our usual routine. We had alphabet soup and cherry preserves for dinner, then I tucked him in and sang the old sea shanty I always sang the night before I left, to put him to sleep. Once he was asleep, I went downstairs to talk to Lily.

I won’t repeat the things I said to her. Suffice it to say I made sure she knew I wouldn’t be back, and…I let her believe that it was what she’d accused me of before. That I was leaving because of her, because I didn’t want to deal with her and her issues anymore. I left that night knowing I’d well and truly burned that bridge behind me.

Peter Lukas met me at the docks. We didn’t speak. Ignoring all the ships preparing to go out, we went down to the shore and began to walk, silently, until all others had faded away and it was just us, the sand, the waves, and the grey of the pre-dawn sky. And then…there was a door. An old oak door with a brass knob, supported by no structure, standing on the beach and waiting. Peter stopped, pointed at it, and said, simply, “The door to the Light.”

I didn’t ask questions. The time for questions was past. It was my last chance to choose differently…but even if I hadn’t signed that contract, I don’t think I could have chosen to do other than what I did. I shouldered my bag, took a deep breath, and strode through the door.

And I took up my duties as the Keeper of the Light.

It has no name. It needs no name. It’s just…the Light. Fifteen feet in diameter, made of brown stone, it stands on a mountain overlooking, not the sea, but a desert. A vast, impenetrable desert, with nothing as far as the eye can see. The beacon it shines over this desert is not white, but red, bathing the sands periodically in light the color of blood.

The first day I was there, I did an inventory. There were all the things I remembered my father having when I was a wee nipper, things I only vaguely remembered the purpose of, but I knew I’d learn quickly. I’d been told the light would be fully equipped at all times, and it was. The oil was full, there were plenty of fresh wicks, and all the tools were in perfect working order. There was a single bed, big enough for a single man to sleep, although not particularly comfortably. There was a table with one chair. There was one plate, one bowl, one cup, one fork and spoon and knife. The cupboards, I had been assured, were fully provisioned, but I wasn’t yet hungry, so I went to look at the rest of the light.

There were no windows, but there were pictures on almost every wall, each one framed in a different frame. Each picture looked like it was a windowpane, which I thought odd. Then I looked in one, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp. It was a window all right, and one I knew. It was looking into Wickie’s bedroom. I could see him, as clearly as if I was right there, hair rumpled with sleep, looking absolutely devastated. Lily was standing there, too, holding a picture in one hand. I think it was the photograph of the two of us he keeps on his nightstand. She must have been taking it away.

It hurt. I looked away and went to look at another picture. There was a little boy in it, looking—terrified. Upset. Like he wanted to cry or scream but didn’t know if he was allowed. He was reaching a hand out towards a house, where a young man was looking into an open door. He looked like something inside had caught him off-guard, and—something dark, something inside, was reaching out like it was going to grab him. There were cobwebs in all the corners, but they were part of the picture.

For a moment, I didn’t know why it was there—but then I gasped again. I recognized the boy, or thought I did. It looked like Walt, exactly like Walt had at that age. Then—then I saw the eyes. Walt’s eyes were blue, a bright, bright blue that outshone the ocean. This boy’s were a warm and guileless brown. Like Sarah’s. This was Walt’s boy.

The pictures aren’t static. They aren’t of things that were. I realized that as the days, weeks, went on. They change from time to time. I’ll see Wickie working away on his knitting, or Walt’s boy curled up with a book, or one of them standing outside and looking at the sky. It lets me…keep an eye on them, I suppose. But it aches. It’s the ache of separation and loneliness. I can’t look at them too often.

The only place to see out is from the railing around the light. It looks out over the desert, and from there, I can see everything. Doors appear periodically, more old oak doors with brass knobs supported by no structures. They never last long. Sometimes people stumble through them, and then the doors disappear. The people wander the desert. Their paths cross all the time, or go alongside one another, but they never talk, they never see. Each person in the desert believes themselves to be alone.

I can hear them sometimes. I hear them talking, desperately reaching out. They’re all looking for someone, all missing someone. They run for the doors when they see them, but they don’t always make it, and they don’t always see them. I wondered about those doors, about where they led…at first.

Three months in, I found out.

I was doing a perimeter check of the lighthouse, around midday. A door appeared, just in front of me. I walked closer to it, and it didn’t move. For me, the doors stay. I hesitated, then grasped the knob and opened it. The room beyond was dark, the hands of the clock indicating it to be later in the evening than I knew it to be where I was. Time doesn’t move the same way there, I supposed. Then I realized where I was. I was in Wickie’s bedroom. He was curled up asleep, having a nightmare, poor thing. I wanted to go over and comfort him. I’d actually taken half a step over the threshold when I stopped, when I remembered.

Choices.

I had the choice to go in, to see my boy, to hold him and let him know I loved him and would never stop. But if I did—if I do—then Peter Lukas can get at him. He’s so young, I know the—I know they don’t normally go for children, but…I worry. I can’t risk opening that door.

They keep appearing. More and more frequently. And now…the more attuned I am to the Light, the more I know what I’ll find on the other side. And it’s hard not to go through.

I can redirect them. Sometimes. Or maybe I can just open another one. One every…well. To me it’s one a year. But that’s the thing. As I said, time doesn’t move the same way in the desert that it does everywhere else. It’s been about a year, as far as you’re concerned, since I signed that contract and took the job. For me? It’s been more like ten. But I can a door and let it take me wherever I want. I’ve done it when the temptation is too strong. The last time was Christmas. (sighs) Wickie started in chorus this year. His first concert…I could have gone. Could have stayed in the back of the room, maybe, and just listened, just seen him. But what constitutes contact, what violates the contract? I couldn’t risk it. So I did the next best thing. I opened a door and went to Bournemouth and saw Walt’s boy. Didn’t talk, didn’t tell him who I was. Just stood on the shore next to him for a while. I wanted to…but I didn’t.

I don’t even know if he remembers. I couldn’t hurt him by giving him more memories. That would just make the loneliness worse when I did leave.

GERTRUDE

And you used one of these doors to come here.

KEEPER

That I did.

GERTRUDE

Why?

KEEPER

Thought you’d want to know. Honestly, I half didn’t expect to see you here. I assumed I’d have to wait for you, but your assistant—what was his name? The one that looks like he’s about twelve?

GERTRUDE

Michael.

KEEPER

Michael, aye. He told me you were in. Suppose it gets down to time being weird again.

How was it?

GERTRUDE

How was…what?

KEEPER

The funeral.

…You did go, didn’t you? Come on, Trudy, I know you’re all about keeping your past away from your present, but—

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that. What are you talking about? What funeral?

KEEPER

Gertrude. What was Tuesday?

GERTRUDE

…My God.

KEEPER

Aye.

Lily wouldn’t be pleased to see me. Or you, for that matter. But Wickie…Lily’s making it all about herself, I’m sure. You know how she can be. I just…I hoped if I gave you my statement, you’d at least look in on him for me.

At least make sure he’s okay.

GERTRUDE

I…I’ll see what I can do.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

GERTRUDE

Final thoughts.

Well. I…I don’t know what to think. This is…useful information to have regarding the Lonely. And I’ll certainly be on the lookout for any old oak doors with brass fittings. But as for the rest…

I checked. Alastair Koskiewicz’s funeral was today, and I believe I have missed it. But I may be able to at least pay my respects. I will have to be discreet if I do. Lily made it very clear she wants nothing to do with me, and I have done my best to respect that. And I know I am…observed more often than I would like. The last thing I want is to draw anyone’s attention to Martin.

I don’t think I should tell him who I am.

And, since the Keeper’s statement mentioned it…I listened to Walter Sims’ statement again, and the dates he gave for both his own death and Alastair’s match exactly. I believe I will make one last attempt at reaching out to the Stoker family, especially now that Daniel will have been born. Perhaps they’ll be more likely to listen now. I don’t know what precautions they can take, but…they should (heh) at least have the choice. At the very least, perhaps they’ll be prepared when the time comes.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[STUNNED SILENCE, BROKEN ONLY BY THE SOUNDS OF SOMEONE—PROBABLY PAST MARTIN—STRUGGLING NOT TO CRY]

TIM

…Fuck.

PAST ARCHIVIST

I-I didn’t…I had no…oh, God.

PAST MARTIN

(tearfully) W-Walter Sims…was—was that—?

PAST ARCHIVIST

My father.

He—I never knew he—gave a statement. Or that he…

Was that the grandfather you told us about?

PAST MARTIN

Yeah.

[PAST MARTIN MAKES A SOUND—A LAUGH? A SOB? BOTH?]

Guess that explains the cherry thing, huh?

PAST ARCHIVIST

(softly) I guess so.

TIM

So—hah, so you two knew each other?

PAST MARTIN

I-I mean, we were two. That was…that was a long time ago. I didn’t—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No. Neither did I, I—

[FABRIC RUSTLES, A STARTLED “OOMPH” FROM SOMEONE WHO CLEARLY WASN’T EXPECTING AN ATTACK HUG]

PAST MARTIN

Sorry, I’m so sorry, I—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, Martin, it’s not your fault, it’s—it’s not your fault.

It’s not your fault.

TIM

That statement…your dad’s statement. Do—do you think it’s…in here somewhere?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I don’t—I don’t know.

Basira, she, she said she got as many as she could. There might be some that—I don’t know, Tim.

PAST MARTIN

(uncertainly) W-we could—we could look?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yes. Yes, if—if you could do that, that would…

I’m sorry. I-I need to—I’ll be right back.

TIM

Jon. Be careful, okay?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I’m just going outside. I’ll be fine.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[MUFFLED SOUNDS OF THE STREET]

PAST ARCHIVIST

(muttering to himself) …won’t be sensible…I know he worries, they both do. Last thing I need to do is make that worse, but God, after that—

BREEKON

‘Scuse us.

HOPE

Jonathan Sims?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yeah, wh—? Oh, sh—

[THE PAST ARCHIVIST WHEEZES AND COUGHS AS THE WIND IS KNOCKED OUT OF HIM]

BREEKON

Miss Orsinov wants to see you.

HOPE

Says she changed her mind.

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, please, I—

[VAN DOOR SLIDES OPEN,  A LOUD THUNK AS THE PAST ARCHIVIST IS SHOVED INSIDE]

[DOORS CLOSE AND ENGINE STARTS]

PAST ARCHIVIST

Oh, God.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[HIGH HEELS CLICKING ACROSS A HARDWOOD FLOOR]

ELIAS/JONAH

Ah—Sasha.

[FOOTSTEPS STOP]

SASHA

Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

Coming back from lunch?

SASHA

…Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

I’m a bit busy today, so I don’t really have time to get down to the Archives. Please let Tim and Martin know that Jon will be out for a few days.

SASHA

…Sure.

Is…everything all right?

ELIAS/JONAH

Perfectly.

I just have something I need for him to do. It might take some time. I’m sure he’ll explain everything when he gets back, but meanwhile, do make sure your colleagues stay on task, will you? No doubt you have a lot to work on.

SASHA

Yeah, of course. We’ll keep things running smoothly while he’s gone.

ELIAS/JONAH

Thank you, Sasha. I knew I could count on you.

(under his breath) Reliable old Sasha.

SASHA

…Thank you.

[FOOTSTEPS RESUME, CHANGE TO A SLIGHTLY MORE HOLLOW SOUND AS IF SOMEONE IS WALKING DOWN STEPS, SLOW TO A STOP]

[SOUND OF NUMBERS BEING DIALED ON A PHONE]

[THREE TONES]

AUTOMATED INTERCEPT MESSAGE

The number you have reached is not currently in service. Please hang up and try again.

SASHA

Shit.

[CLICK]

[in-tua-deep]

tua s1 rewatch with my roommate

episode one (I forgot for the first episode oops):

I have been treated to pictures of a lovely cosplay of Klaus who won a cosplay contest my roommate was in !!

Klaus putting his arm in front of Five during the funeral fight is good shit

“I have heard like nothing about Vanya” “yeah that’s pretty much how she’s treated in show as well”

“I can see why he’s the fandom favorite” - about Klaus

“Istanbul is in the firST EPISODE?”

I forGOT about the “rapists can climb” line when he breaks into Vanya’s apartment omg but also like,, his dumb arm wound

Episode two:

HERR CARLSON

Aww baby fives first time travel his little smile. Baby. Baby boy. And the dawning horror in the apocalypse baby nO

Five: you got anything stronger

Also five: takes one sip and then fills up more, takes another sip, and then immediately puts it down ?????

The motel dude for hazel and cha cha just looks at them like “yeah these are serial killers” and just rolls with it

Also actually why tf doesn’t the commission spring for better stuff?? Why would they cut costs?? They time travel? They could game the stock market so hard ?????? Give the assassins their own rooms omg

Also why didn’t five like. Crush his tracker. Why did he just leave it whole and intact outside of the Griddys.

Forgot how much I love Agnes

(Oh man it is storming bad here it just BOOMED)

Also idk if Diego actually deserved that taser hmmmmm but also like,, communication lads five was literally right there killing people and Diego is like “hmm something is up here” like. Yeah Diego ur big brother “I can get my sibling in trouble for something” senses are tingling

Wow I really did repress all these Allison and Luther scenes huh. Also it’s still super cute that Allison read Claire moon books

Allison: dads heart gave out, which wasn’t how I was expecting to find out dad had a heart but it tracks

“SHUT YOUR PIEHOLE BEN... said with love 😘”

Did five actually sleep at Vanyas?? The sofa looks undisturbed but he had to wait for work hours to interrogate the meritech people,, five,, please sleep. The whole “IF YOU CALL ME YOUNG MAN ONE MORE TIME” interaction makes more sense with five on. Zero sleep.

I didn’t remember that Patch straight up knows about the umbrella academy oops. Like she clocks Diego as overcompensating for his childhood. Queen

Is that an umbrella adademy Diego cross stitch on Diego’s wall?? Did he buy that? Make it?? Did grace make it?

Vanya, walking into the academy: five??? five? pspspspspsps

Also like. Who was Vanyas therapist??? Clearly they did not help her

Aww the tow truck driver :(

I know the show wants me to dislike Patrick I KNOW,, and I think her fathers funeral is extenuating circumstance?? But still Patrick is valid for not giving an inch regarding his ex who mind controlled his child. Vanya didn’t really deserve Allison snapping at her but like. She had some good points. Allison arguably would have had to deal with vanyas book more than anyone else

Five smiling proudly at Klaus’s drama at meritech bless but also KLAUS DONT BREAK GLASS ON YOURSELF

Me, spotting Leonard: BASTARD

Love how everyone greets Diego in the gym and don’t question all his knives or anything like “yeah that’s Diego he lives here and loves knives :)”

Why could Leonard have not been like. A normal ass guy. Vanya needs friends who sympathize with her holy shit get this person some socialization

Pogo really did have to lead these kids by hand to the recording rooms because literally no one was super invested in reginalds ~murder mystery~

ahafahJAGSJWGAI MY ROOMMATE JUST SAID POGO IS THE BEST CHARACTER SO FAR,,,, I will probably never include pogo in my fics because I do Not Care About Him lmaoooo

Aww five does to see Dolores and being like “it’s been a rough couple of days :(“,,,,, baby,,,, but also tag yourself I’m hazel going “elastic wrist splint yesssssss”

Five I am begging you PLEASE get some sleep

OH FIVE SHAKING DIEGO IN THE APOCALYPSE TO TRY AND WAKE HIM UP OHHHHH OH :(

Episode 3:

my roommate is super faceblind which is an issue bc she identifies people mainly by hairstyle so seeing the s2 stuff on tumblr is tripping her over bc she keeps seeing diego and going ??? who is that again? bc she’s seen his longer hair

okay there is no way that the eggs that grace put in that pan are the ones that ended up on the smiley face breakfast plate,,, but also grace that whole scene was a mood honestly i would be like “okay maybe mom killed dad BUT he deserved it sooooo”

“what the FUCK” - my roommate about cha-cha’s shitty wound care where she holds a curling iron against her arm

i didn’t remember that five got shOT AT THE DEPARTMENT STORE did i just erase that from my memory?? i mean yeah it’s a graze but he stitches it up and then slaps a bandaid on it so he has a wound that needed stitches on his shoulder for the entire show ??????? is he okay???? that would make moving your arm,,, painful,,,,,

a bandaid just slapped over it i’m actively yelling

“Sometimes when I see a million gifs of a show before I watch I get really surprised when they talk but he is exactly what I expected” - my roommate, about five

“I noticed they’ve only really showed diego in really badly lit scenes so far” - my roommate defending her lack of ability to recognize diego

i’m still laughing about pogo literally having to point out the murder tapes and now allison and luther are investigating and just. allison is lowkey defending grace and i’m laughing

“why is he saying woodwork is embarrassing that’s like one of the most middle of the wood hobbies to have. you’re respectable to grandpas who used to carve wooden ducks AND twenty-year-olds who can’t make anything to save their lives” - my roommate on leonard peabody

“i think he’s already crossing some lines he’s met this lady ONCE” - roommate on leonard/vanya

five having flashbacks in the car :(

did allison and luther draw straws for who went to fetch which sibling?? allison was like “dibs on vanya” and luther was just like “aww :(”

five luther and klaus in the van - BOYS NIGHT BOYS NIGHT let’s go pick up diego

“the coat he’s wearing does have a nice swish to it” - roommate about klaus’s coat

luther being like “you’re just as messed up as the rest of us and we’re all you have” like luther,,, baby,,,,, you literally ARE all he has,,,,,, his family is the only thing he’s really cared about since he was thirteen and maybe before then :(

“I can’t tell if those are supposed to be cake or yeast donuts... i think extruded donuts are cake donuts but she said she lets them rise so maybe they’re yeast?” - my roommate focusing on all the things that i do not

sometimes i forget that hazel and cha-cha pretended to be private detectives trying to find a lost child in a potentially dangerous situation,,, five would be disgusted

“she shouldn’t get a vote” “i was gonna say i agree with you” “she should get a vote!!” this is peak sibling energy honestly i think i’ve had that exact interaction with my siblings voting for a movie or something

“hashtag android rights” 

“I want to be the tailor who gets a call one day that says ‘i want you to make clothes for a chimpanzee”

is it telling that only luther in the flashback didn’t really talk to grace at all,, i mean five didn’t either but i think he was gone by that point in the flashback ???? 

wait diego tells grace that she worked for him for thirty years,,, the kids are 29 and later it’s implied she was built bc vanya kept killing nannies when they were like four but maybe s2 clarifies that some more?? or diego just is rounding up

“that’s an interesting fabric to her skirt” - my roommate about grace’s outfit

forgot that hazel and cha cha broke the door to the manor busting in,, do they ever fix that?? we’re only at episode three do they spend the rest of the season with their door open to anyone on the streets

okay that bathtub is WAY too small to allow for klaus to be moving his elbows about like that underwater smh

“how is HE useful on mission??” my roommate about klaus

where is the SECURITY SYSTEM??? luther LITERALLY said that reggie was more paranoid and yet some assassin can just bust down the door and have unrestricted access????? he built a whole ROBOT but no security system????????

“maybe it was like,, practice for the kids? someone breaks in and they take care of it? wait no that doesn’t explain the thirteen years they’ve been gone?”

“why WAS he on the moon?” - about luther

“I want to see what she’s embroidering!!” about grace during the gunfight in the living room she’s absolutely ignoring diego getting shot at

what is a rope-a-dope,,,, diego yells “EVER HEARD OF A ROPE-A-DOPE???” at luther but like. no i haven’t. what does that MEAN diego

aww i forgot they played sinnerman, love that song

“what are you doing dude, rumor has it you’re not shooting at me that’s all you need to do” i mean. the roommate is not wrong. allison could just end the fight with a yell. i understand she’s pissed off and has rumor trauma but like cha cha is actively trying to murder them

how is luther not winning he literally has super strength. does hazel have super strength? just punch the man and knock him out jesus y’all suck at this smh

why is there such intense music we all been knew about luther’s strength - oH HIS BODY

forgot about that

is it allison’s fault that klaus got kidnapped because she didn’t literally just rumor them to give up?? like she literally has that power. she could have been like “i heard a rumor you left and forgot about us” it didn’t even need to be violent?? i understand she has rumor trauma but this i feel is allowable circumstances

diego showing his worry about vanya by getting angry which honestly i think all the siblings do that rip none of these idiots have even heard of healthy communication in their LIVES

you know,, i don’t think vanya can drive. she takes the bus. she took a taxi to leonard’s house. we see her walking a lot. does she know how to drive?? i imagine that the umbrella academy were taught bc of mission related stuff but,,, vanya wasn’t?? that’s just depressing tbh

[siren-virus]

ok, It's been a long while since I've sent an ask, and though that can be atributed to life being life, that can only go so far and these previeous 3 days I've been lazing around mostly XD So, in order to compensate, here's the asks for Free and SWUP that have entered my brain and I haven't filtered out yet that I'll send you. Answer as you see fit for I might send repeated questions or some that have already been aswered before in another form.

For SWUP, would SWUP (Does she have another name? I can't remember) ever try a work somewhere? She has to get money somehow if she wants to be able to buy food, clothes, a home, and pay for all the medical expences she might have to go through. What other friends would she have other than wine aunt and coffee barista? I remember you said there might be a third one who's not really relevant, but whos father is, and you were still unsure on wether to include them or not. Also, the humans in this Earth, how much do they know about aliens? The Unicorns and Dragons? I imagine that considering the amount of damage they can do when they fight, and considering that apparently their experiments on abducted humans that they leave on Earth for like a month before taking them forever, would make them fairly known, and have something like a world agency looking out for different cases or something, however succesful they actually are.

Now onto Free, Is there any chance that we could get to know of any of the friends that the rag-tag group would make along the way of the travels? Like, there HAS to be someone who they befriend without any shennanigans involved at the very least, or with minimal ammount of them, just as there HAS to be a friend made after a disaster of cataclismic proportions happens that inebitably onvolves the found family. Also, how long was Leo outside on his own before bird friend (forgot his name) found him and started to get them back to the Domes? Considering that they have a long adventure, I imagine that he spent at least a month outside without an idea of any direction he was going, and getting lost along the way because of course he gets lost, before he was found. Would the team find anyone else who was part of the Domes but left of their own volition too? Another traveler similar to Leo, but that doesn't want to return to those places for X or Y reason? Would there be anyone from the Domes that they meet that DIDN'T want to leave the Domes in the first place but got out regardless? This could be for whatever reason, from kidnapping to exhile to attack to the Dome to simply escaping from a bad situation.

oop sorry for taking a bit to get back to you,

youre questions make me realise how under developed my stories are wheeezee so i rlly appreciate your questions!!

SWUP aka Vicky her human alias. or I guess the unicorn is the alias. AH SHIT I DIDNT EVEN THINK OF THAT!! Originally when i made SWUP she was supposed to be in high school. But as i grow I also like my characters to grow with me. Maybe I'll get her a job as one of them gym buddies (it has to be a job that allows for some form of freedom, enough to like be able to do th vigialnte thing- (i forget the name) Medical expenses aren't too bad, I'm basing it off aus medical- which means medicare! Plus she doesn't need the hospital all that often, she can regenerate.

In terms of friends she doesn't have many not because she socially inept (like myself)- she was very popular in highschool, but there isn't many people she can relate to. Her best friend James (pending name) comic book nerd that loves super heroes is all she's got. And some gym bros, but they're just friends at the gym, outside complete strangers. I really do want James to be relevant to the plot and not his dad and daddy issues, but he's a bit hard to squeeze in. Maybe if I sat down to actually do some writing, maybe--- ALAS I am but a creature of laziness, and poor attention span. (im barely focusing on Flee atm and I rlly wanna try developing GECKO again fml)

Humans know little to nothing about aliens (excpet for like the government and so wackos who a really into scifi) So even though SWUP is doing her best to help ppl, she's seen as a horrifying villain that is stage one to an alien invasion. (the scifi wackos play a part in that.) Although most Police officers appreciate the help... most.

Suprisingly no, most humans who were mutated into unicorns almost seem to disappear, SWUP is an exception. Why is that hmmmmmmmm? this is kind of a big moment, if I ever plan to push this idea to the webcomic/animation stage, youll see.

There's not really an official .org agency or anything like that, but some wackos who love space, and an actual scientist or 2. So far they have deducted that unicorns are evil space creatures who prey on humans and consume their flesh to get stronger so they can lay eggs and take over the world. There's not a lot of truth to that. Some parts tho... but which part? At the moment I'm really into mystery- so maybe I'll add some mystery elements, or I'll give it to GECKO. first i gotta redesign Mac, poor lad is not a looker I'l tell you that.

FLEE I barely know their friends either- haven't gone about developing them. HOWEVER. I do have a villain in mind. I remember making him for my illustration class back in uni (sigh uni days...) I dom't have a name, but I have a face. He's a big leader of this village known for killing the hybrid/mutants. He and his crew, a rag-tag gun loving, truck driving, share-a-brain-cell, lot. How they've managed to become successful hunter bunch is unknown.

But one the friends I have developed enough is Bolt, who also comes with their own shennanigans and an old rusty bus. Techincally they don't need it because they're fast as fuck, but it helps to have around incase you get a goliath sand bobbit on your hands.

Tristian is the human, Leo is the bird friend. Actually Trisitian was out on his own for three days, he didn't cover much ground when he finally met Leo either- dumbass didn't bring enough food and water to last. He didn't even have a plan, just wanted to go out. The only reason Leo didn't send his ass running home was because something- or someone- pushed them far. far away. Oh my who could it be?

Tristians kind of a rarity, not many people leave the domes unless it's through underground passageways to other domes. Most people are blissfully unaware of the outside world. Not to say Tristians the only one who escaped, but he's the only one who's survived outside for so long. (dome people don't have any survival skills) The only reason Tristians gotten so far is dumb lucks and a hot headed bird friend.

[freddiesaysalright]

Just Like a Woman - Part 4

A Roger Taylor x Reader Fic

Summary: You and Roger were once in love when you were young. Only, he went on to be a rock star, and you went on to be a lawyer. Now, quite against your will, you’re representing him in his divorce.

Word Count: 3.7k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @moon-stars-soul, @im-an-adult-ish, @ixchel-9275, @jennyggggrrr, @zyanmaik, @mypassionfortrash, @a19103, @madeinheavxn, @beepbeephardy, @lizawritesthings, @qweenly, @blisshemmings, @seasidecrowbar, @internationalkpoplova, @ellystone, @takemetoneverland420, @coffeexcigarette, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @thatpunkmaximoff, @angelkissys, @rocknroll-stolemyass, @simonedk, @anotheronebitesrogertaylor, @peterquillzblog, @mrfahrenhcit, @joseph-mozzerella, @theprettyandthereckless, @flick-ofthe-wrist, @johndeaconshands, @rogerandhiscar, @queenmaracasandlove, @sunflower-ben, @cubetriangle, @amy-brooklyn99​, @scorpiogemini  If you’d like to be added, let me know! Also, I’m sorry the tags aren’t working for everyone? Tumblr is dumb and idk how to fix it :(

A/N: Okay, time for the full story of Y/N and Rog :) Also. I realize I posted the previous chapter yesterday, but I was in a MOOD today so I hope y’all enjoy!

Warning(s): mentions of abuse

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

Part 4 here we go!!!

“So, tell me about Roger Taylor,” said Dr. Tracy. 

You scowled at her. “Why, what does he have to do with anything?”

“From what Mark tells me, it has a great deal to do with your relationship,” she said. “I want the whole story.”

It was only your second therapy session, and you were already annoyed. It mostly felt like a way for Mark to spill his feelings about you to someone other than you, and have that person validate him to your face so you couldn’t argue.

You were also annoyed because you felt like the more people brought Roger up, the harder it would be to move on. It had been two weeks since you had confronted him outside the bar, and even though you showed a cool exterior during your meetings with him, your heart was still breaking over what you had learned.

“Y/N?” said Dr. Tracy. “Can you begin please?”

“Fine,” you sighed. “I met Roger when we were six. His father was an abusive and terrifying man, and before my family lived in the house next door, Roger would go to the shed and hide in there. After my family and I moved in, I found him in there on a rainy evening looking for a tool my father needed...”

The skinny blonde boy was sopping wet and quaking behind a large bag of fertilizer. He glared fiercely at you. It was almost frightening, especially with the blood dribbling from his lip. But, his own fear - so evident in those wide eyes - eased your own. 

“Are you okay?” you asked.

A large drop of water leaked from the roof and onto his face. He shook his head.

“D’you need some help?” you wondered. “You’re bleeding. My mum’s a nurse so she’s got plenty of bandages.”

“P-please,” he shivered.

“Well, come on, then,” you said, offering your hand.

He took it. It was frigid compared to your warm one, but you felt his need in his grip. Forgoing the errand for your father, you led the boy inside. You came into the kitchen, where your mother was making dinner and your father was reading quietly. They both looked up and saw you with the strange, helpless boy and they looked at each other.

“Who’s this, Y/N?” your father asked.

You faced the boy. “Oh! I forgot to ask your name!”

“It’s Roger,” he said with a sniffle.

Your mother disappeared into the sitting room and returned with a blanket, wrapping it tightly around Roger’s shoulders. He shot her a grateful glance but then looked resolutely at the floor.

“How’d you find Roger, dear?” you mother wondered.

“He was in the shed,” you said simply. “He’s hurt.”

Your mother knelt down in front of him. She took his chin between her thumb and forefinger and lifted his face to inspect it. She saw his split lip. In the light, she also saw the bruise forming along his cheekbone.

“Have you been fighting, Roger?” she asked gently.

“No, ma’am,” he told her. “My dad got angry at me because I didn’t pick up a toy, so he…”

His lower lip trembled as his eyes filled up with tears.

“Oh, you poor darling,” your mother cooed. “Stay right here, love, we’ll fix you up.”

She bustled upstairs to retrieve her things. Roger sniffled. Your father looked at him.

“Come here, Roger,” he said.

For the first time, Roger released your hand. He stepped warily over to your father. Your dad lifted the boy up and placed him in his lap, caring nothing about the wet clothes dampening his work pants.

“There’s a good lad,” your father said gently, rubbing Roger’s cold arms. “Are you bad hurt?”

Roger shook his head. “S’just my lip, sir. I’m alright.”

“That’s not what I mean,” you father said. “Bad hurt isn’t something you feel on your skin. It’s something you feel in here.” 

He pointed to Roger’s chest. His heart.

“Are you bad hurt, Roger?”

Tears spilling out of his eyes, Roger nodded.

“You father scares you?” your dad continued.

Roger nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

Your father nodded. “You may call me Felix, if you like.”

Just then, your mother re-entered the room, fresh clothes and first aid kit in hand.

“And that lovely lady is my wife, Vivian,” he went on. “And of course you’ve met my daughter, Y/N.” He paused thoughtfully. “Roger, I don’t know how you found your way to our shed, but you’re welcome to come to the front door.”

“Can’t,” Roger said. “I live next door, he’ll see where I went. If I go through the back fence, he doesn’t follow me.”

“Come to the back door, then,” your father said. “I promise I’ll never lock it.”

“Really?” Roger returned, eyes wide with wonder which had replaced his fear.

“Really,” you father assured him. “So the next time something like this happens, or you’re feeling bad hurt, you can come here. We’ll do what we can to make it better for you.”

Gently, your father reached up and wiped the tears from Roger’s cheeks.

“There we go, there’s a handsome chap,” he said. “Ready to let Viv clean you up?”

You mother smiled warmly at Roger. He nodded. Your father eased him off his lap and then Roger took your mother’s hand and followed her into the bathroom so he could change and she could treat him. You looked at your dad.

“Is there anything we can do, Daddy?” you asked. “To make his daddy be nicer to him?”

“I’m afraid there isn’t much that would be effective, sweetheart,” he replied. “But what we can do is show him that there are good and kind people in this world. And we can remind him that he is deserving of kindness. That will have to be enough for now.”

He stood up, patted your head, and went into the sitting room to the piano. Your dad was a banker, but he was also an incredibly talented musician. He always said he played piano and did a little banking on the side as a joke. 

Roger emerged, looking much happier. He drew close to your father and looked at the shiny white keys. 

“Do you play?” your father asked.

Roger shook his head.

“Would you like to learn?”

Roger nodded and grinned.

“Well, climb on the bench, I’ll teach you some,” your father said.

Roger hastily obeyed and clamored onto the bench as your father took a seat beside him. Your mother sat on the couch and you went and crawled into her lap. The two of you watched as your father showed Roger the basics. He learned quickly. Music came easily to Roger, and you thought then that he would one day amount to something great. 

Your father then let you take his place and you taught Roger a few little diddies you knew. Felix and his wife started back toward the kitchen so they could finish dinner and fix a plate for Roger as well.

“What can we do, Felix?” Vivian asked. “Can’t we call someone?”

“We can try, but I’m afraid that will only come back to hurt Roger,” Felix replied. “Let’s wait for now. If things get drastic, we’ll step in. Until then, all we can do is show him as much love as possible.”

She sighed. “Alright, then. Oh, the poor, poor dear.”

They departed to the kitchen. You and Roger stopped playing the piano and looked at each other. Unbeknownst to your parents, you had both heard what they said.

“Roger,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” he wondered.

“I’m sorry is what people say to someone when they’re upset,” you said. “So, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “For the sorry.”

“Wanna learn a real song?” you asked. “Then every time you come over, we can practice it.”

He brightened at that and nodded. Thus began your journey together.

“I see,” Dr. Tracy said as you wrapped up. “And at what point did you two progress from childhood friends to sweethearts?”

“We were fifteen,” you said. “Roger was starting to sort of realize his appeal to girls and that boys were also interested in me. It actually started from a fight because he had asked another girl to a party…”

“I’m not mad!” you insisted, storming through your front door. “You are perfectly welcome to ask whomever you like!”

“Well, something’s wrong because you’ve ignored me all day!” he returned.

“What’s going on out here?” your mother wondered, bursting into the living room.

“Y/N’s upset with me,” Roger blurted out.

“I am not!” you cried, stamping your foot. “Mother, tell him I’m not upset!”

“I think I’d be hard pressed to convince him of it if you can’t,” she teased, nodding at your posture and deep frown. “Now, what’s this all about?”

“I asked Pam Davis to Mary Key’s party, and now Y/N isn’t speaking to me,” he explained.

“Y/N, is that true?” she asked.

You huffed. “I was just under the impression he and I would...never mind, I was clearly mistaken.”

Your face was bright pink and you looked resolutely at the carpet, toeing it with your shoe. Your mother looked knowingly between you and Roger, who looked equally embarrassed.

“Well, I don’t think I can settle this one,” she said. “You two will just have to work it out on your own.”

You turned on your heel and swept into the kitchen. Roger looked at your mother.

“Better go and fix it, Rog,” she said.

“On it,” he sighed, and followed you.

You yanked the fridge open and reached for a Coke. You tugged the cap off and took a swig, letting it cool you down. 

“Y/N, are you upset because you don’t have a date?” Roger asked. “Because I can get you a date. There’s plenty of blokes who’d be glad to take you.”

“I don’t want just any bloke!” you cried, exasperated. “Can’t you see?!”

“Oh, there’s someone you like?” he wondered, perking up. “Tell me!”

“God, you’re such an idiot!”

“Why am I an idiot?!”

“Because you are!”

“Tell me the reason!”

“I like you, you idiot!” you shouted.

You stared at each other, out of breath and both shocked at the words that had just come out of your mouth. You inhaled deeply, collecting yourself.

“I like you, Roger,” you said calmly. “And I don’t know how you don’t know it.”

“Well, Y/N, we…” he trailed off. “We’ve always been best friends. How was I supposed to know things had changed?”

“I dunno,” you said. “I’m just as new to this as you are. But when you asked Pam to be your date, I was hurt. Bad hurt.” 

“Y/N, I had no idea,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. If I had known, I...well, I wouldn’t have asked Pam.”

“Y - you wouldn’t?” you questioned.

He shook his head. “No. The truth is, I was afraid to change things between us because I don’t think I could stand to lose you. But, I like you too.”

“Really?!” you gasped. 

“Really,” he said. 

He stepped closer to you. You observed suddenly that he was much taller than you remembered. You looked up into his eyes. His hand moved to caress your cheek. Your heart pounded in your chest.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathed.

“Yeah,” you sighed back.

He pressed his lips tenderly against yours. It was a little unsteady and light, giving you the opportunity to stop him. You didn’t. You just kept right on kissing him. Your lips moved with his as gracefully as dancers moved through a waltz. Neither of you really knew what you were doing, but you didn’t care. It was the way you showed what you were both feeling.

“Y/N,” said Roger, pulling away for air. “Come with me to Mary’s party. As my girlfriend.”

“O-okay,” you agreed, a smile blooming across your face.

Not only did you just have your first kiss, but you got your first boyfriend. And it was someone you cared for more than anyone else in the world.

“Now, how long was it before the two of you made love?” Dr. Tracy asked.

“Oh, I’m not telling you that!” you returned indignantly. “That’s private!”

“How long?” she insisted.

“Why is that important?” you demanded.

“Your first experience with intimacy can be a contributing factor in issues in new relationships,” she said. “When did you do it and what was it like?”

You briefly imagined yourself opening your mouth and breathing fire onto this woman until she burned to a crisp. You cleared your throat.

“We were seventeen, and it was wonderful,” you said. “Of course it was awkward and unsure since neither of us knew what we were doing, but we eventually got the hang of it and we were happy.”

“So the sex was good?” she asked.

“It was great,” you said.

“How is the sex with Mark?” she went on.

“Oh, come on!” you cried. “He’s right here!”

“Ah, so not good,” she observed.

“That’s not what I said!” you protested.

“Well, if it was good, you would have just said so,” she said. “And your resistance to talking about it in front of him implies that your opinion would insult him. So, I must assume it’s not good sex.”

“Let’s move on,” Mark interjected. “We can have that conversation at another time.”

“Alright,” Dr. Tracy agreed. “Y/N, tell me how things with Roger ended.”

You sighed. “Well, that was tough. I was still in uni. He had already dropped out and was becoming successful with the band…”

Your dingy little London flat reeked with the food you just burned. How your mother managed to make perfect meals, work, and raise a child was beyond you. Your only responsibilities were studying and work, so why was it so difficult to cook? With an aggravated groan, you tossed it in the bin and started debating what you wanted to get for take out. That was when Roger came in.

“Hello, darling!” you greeted warmly. “How’s recording going?”

“Fine,” he said shortly.

You looked him over. He seemed agitated and nervous.

“You alright, Rog?” you asked. 

“I’m fine,” he replied. He scrunched up his nose. “What did you burn this time?”

“Chicken,” you chuckled. “I’m gonna go for some Chinese. Wanna come?”

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” he said.

His tone made your heart skip a beat. You had a feeling that Roger might be about to propose. You had discussed marriage before, but you both agreed now wasn’t the time. But you had also told him you were not opposed to a long engagement. 

“What is it?” you wondered.

He sighed heavily and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Do you ever feel like you’re missing out?” he wondered. “On other people?”

“How do you mean?” you questioned, brow furrowing as the panic set in.

“Well, it’s just that our whole lives, we’ve only ever been with each other,” he said. “Don’t you ever wonder what it’d be like to...I dunno, kiss someone else?”

“No,” you said. “I love you, Roger.”

“I love you too, Y/N, but I feel like there’s more out there,” he said. “Now that I’ve gone on tour and seen other places I feel like there’s so much to be explored. And...I want to explore it. Don’t you?”

“No,” you repeated, darkly. “I love you, Roger.”

He sighed again. “I love you, Y/N.”

“What are you getting at, then?” you demanded.

“As much as I love you, I don’t want to be tied down anymore,” he said. “I know we’ve discussed getting married, so I’m sorry if this comes as a shock to you, but I’ve been thinking it for a while. The band’s getting bigger, and it’s only going to progress. And I’m not ready to settle down with just one person.”

“So...you want to break up?”

The question hung between you. You weren’t sure how you even managed to ask it with a lump in your throat the size of an ostrich egg. Your heart was cracking inside your chest.

“Yes,” he said.

With that one word, you felt your heart shatter completely. Your whole world was collapsing on top of you. The assurance you had always placed in Roger was an illusion.

“Well,” you choked out. “At least you’re telling me now.”

“That’s all you have to say?” he questioned.

You met his eyes and saw they were just as teary as yours.

“What else can I say?” you returned. “You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?”

“I have,” he said.

“Well, what do you want me to do?” you questioned. “Beg for you to stay?”

“You don’t want to fight for it?”

“Why should I? If I’m not enough for you, Roger, then that’s it. I won’t guilt you or force you to be with me.”

“I feel like you’re giving up,” he said.

“I’m not the one leaving,” you reminded him.

A moment passed where neither of you said anything. It was so heavy your knees almost buckled beneath the weight of it.

Roger sniffled and quickly wiped his eyes. 

“I don’t even know how to say goodbye to you,” he struggled to say.

“Maybe it’s best if you don’t say anything,” you told him. You felt a tear slide down your cheek. “That way we make it easier on both of us.”

“Y/N…”

“Go, Roger,” you ordered him. 

“Y/N, please.”

“Go.”

He took one last look at you. You were scowling, tears flowing down your cheeks, eyes red and puffy. Even then, he thought you were beautiful and he began to doubt his decision. Suddenly, he realized that he would no longer have his best friend, and it made him hesitate.

“Roger,” you said, drawing in a deep breath. “I really need you to go.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, resigning himself to the damage done. “I...I am sorry, Y/N.”

“Okay,” you said shortly.

He held your gaze again. Your bottom lip began to tremble as the reality struck you. Roger was leaving you. Roger, who you had given everything too, including your heart, was going to walk out of the door and out of your life. 

He broke away, crossed the room, and opened the door. You heard it squeak as he hesitated again. Then he sighed and left. The door fell closed with a soft click. That was it. No hug, no dramatic kiss, no screaming, no fight. 

When the door closed, you broke down with a wail. This was not the Roger you knew. Ever since the band became successful, you had seen glimpses of his desire for more, but you’d ignored it. You thought surely he loved you more than he craved that lifestyle. And yet, he proved to you he didn’t. It seemed impossible that time moved on when your heart was breaking so badly. If there were any justice, everything would have frozen so you could properly nurse it. But all you could do was crumple into a heap and feel the pain. 

“Life went on,” you said. “He became a successful drummer. I became a successful attorney, and I’m mostly happy.”

It was a lie. Just remembering the day Roger left you made you emotional.

“Mostly?” Dr. Tracy questioned.

“Well, I had hoped to be married and have children at this point, but Rog - I mean, I just never met the right person,” you said.

“Let me ask you this -” she began, but Mark cut across her.

“I think I’ve heard enough,” he said, getting angrily to his feet. “I can see now that you really aren’t over Roger Taylor and I don’t think you ever will be.”

“Mark, don’t be ridiculous,” you said. “Obviously, he was a big part of my life, but I -”

“Don’t, Y/N!” he shouted snatching away the hand you had reached for. “I can’t do this anymore!”

You stood up as well. “What? Are you serious? Just because Roger was part of my past! That’s crazy! I’ve found somebody else, and -”

“No!” he cried. “I’m a placeholder, Y/N, and I won’t stand for it!”

“You are not!” you argued. 

“Okay, then answer me this,” he challenged. “Do you love me?”

“I - well, I don’t know yet!” you insisted.

“Well, I love you,” he said. “And I know that because we’ve been together long enough for anyone else in the world to know! The problem is, Y/N, that love is wasted on you as long as Roger Taylor walks this Earth!”

It was like all the air was sucked out of the room. You felt yourself harden against the hurt of his words. His face fell, regretting them.

“Love is wasted on me?”

“I didn’t mean -”

“No, I think you did, Mark,” you interrupted. “That was the cruelest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Y/N -”

“No, I think you’re right,” you said, grabbing your things from the back of your chair. “Let’s say our goodbyes. After all, I wouldn’t want you to waste anymore love on the likes of me.”

You said nothing else, but swept out of the office. Hot tears stung your eyes. You never thought Mark capable of saying something so hurtful. 

As you walked, heading back to your firm, you looked at the ground, deep in thought about what had transpired. You paid little attention to your surroundings, and therefore, ran smack into a man who was emerging from a building you were passing. 

The collision nearly knocked you off your feet, but the man was quick to react and steadied you. You looked up to meet the eyes of the very man that started all this.

“Roger?” you questioned. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” he said, pointing to the building he had just walked out of. “This is the studio.”

“Oh,” you said.

You bit your lip to keep your emotions in check. You really needed to cry right now so you were eager to get back to your office.

“Y/N?” Roger asked, noticing your eyes welling up. “Are you okay?”

Too upset to bother with your pride, you shook your head. 

“No.”

“Bad hurt?” he wondered.

You nodded. You weren’t sure if it was that you’d talked about him for an hour or the sting from Mark’s statement, but suddenly you couldn’t contain the overwhelming feelings swirling around in your heart. You let out a sob and fell into Roger’s arms.