#if he’s not in it they’ll probably just say he moved back to London

[the-offside-rule]

Mick Schumacher (Alpine WEC) - A Ferrari Affair

Requested: yes

Warnings: none

The cold London air was crisp as Y/n Irvine stepped out of the sleek black car, her Ferrari jacket zipped up against the chill. A sea of fans gathered outside the O2 Arena, waving banners, flags, and memorabilia as they eagerly waited for a glimpse of their favorite drivers. Y/n adjusted her collar, the embroidered number 7 catching the light, a tribute to her father, Eddie, who had debuted with the same number in his F1 career.

Beside her, Mick exited the car, dressed casually but with a quiet confidence. Their relationship had blossomed in recent months, but most fans still assumed they were just lifelong best friends. As the pair moved toward the entrance, the crowd erupted into cheers. "Y/n! Over here!" shouted a fan holding a Ferrari flag. She grinned, turning to Mick. "Go on inside. I’ll catch up after saying hi."

"Not a chance." Mick replied with a smirk, following her to the barricade where fans eagerly waited. Y/n signed autographs and posed for pictures, her warmth and genuine smile making each interaction feel personal. Mick lingered nearby, and a few fans called out to him too. "Mick! Can we get a photo?"

"Of course." He replied, stepping up with his easygoing charm. As they continued toward the arena’s entrance, Y/n nudged him. "Didn't know you still had fans." She joked. Mick chuckled. "’m just your entourage. They want the Ferrari star."

Inside, the atmosphere was a mix of glitz and nerves. Drivers, team personnel, and media buzzed around as the launch event got underway. The drivers had a brief respite before the red carpet event, giving Y/n a moment to chat with her Ferrari teammate, Charles. "You look nervous." Charles teased, adjusting the cufflinks on his tailored suit. "I’m more nervous about surviving the carpet." Y/n quipped. "You always make it look so easy."

"That’s because Alex does all the work." Charles joked, motioning toward his girlfriend, Alexandra, who was chatting with a group of Ferrari personnel. When it was time for the red carpet, Charles led Alexandra out first, the pair effortlessly posing for the cameras. The photographers shouted instructions as flashes lit up the room. "Our competition is literally a pair of models." Y/n whispered. Mick scoffed. "It's not a competition, why is everything with you a competition?" He chuckled. "It's more fun that way."

Then it was Y/n’s turn. She motioned for her parents, Eddie and her mother, to join her. Mick walked just behind them, his expression calm but proud. "Big smiles, everyone." Eddie said as they stepped into the lights. The cameras clicked furiously, capturing the Irvines in their element. The photographers then called for just the drivers and their plus-ones, prompting the Irvine couple to step aside. Mick hesitated, glancing at Y/n. "Looks like you’re stuck with me." She teased, pulling him into place beside her. "That doesn't sound too bad to me." He replied quietly as Charles and Alex came back. The quartet posed together, exuding elegance and charisma. The photographers murmured among themselves, still assuming Mick and Y/n were just close friends.

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Backstage, the drivers returned to their dressing rooms to change into their race suits. Y/N sat in a chair as makeup artists and hairstylists worked around her. Mick stood with her parents, chatting casually, while Sylvia, Ferrari’s PR lead, addressed the room. "Y/n, you’ll likely get a question or two about your father’s time at Ferrari. It’s a nice tie-in, but make sure to highlight your own story and what you’re bringing to the team." Sylvia advised. Y/n grinned. "They’ll probably ask if I think I’ll get a championship before Dad did." Eddie smirked. "Where’s yours?" Without missing a beat, Y/n quipped. "It's coming, oul' fella, whereas your's must've got lost in the post." The room erupted into laughter, the tension dissolving.

As the makeup artist finished the final touches on Y/n’s look, smoothing out her bright red Ferrari overalls, Sylvia gave the final rundown. "Charles and Y/n, you’ll be the second-to-last team to go on. Stay close to the stage. The two of you will introduce the car and field some questions."

"Sound job." Y/n replied, exchanging a look with Charles. "Try not to say the Red Bull looks shit." Charles whispered. "Sure it's a drinks can on wheels." Y/n shot back, grinning. As the car reveals began, Y/n and Charles stood at the side of the stage, commenting on the other teams. "The Aston looks good." Charles noted. "You'd think Adrian would've changed the colour." Y/n joked.

When it was finally Ferrari’s turn, the F1-75 was unveiled in a dramatic display of lights and music. The sleek, scarlet car gleamed under the spotlight, its aggressive lines and unmistakable heritage drawing gasps from the audience. Charles and Y/n stepped forward, microphones in hand. "Charles, Y/n, welcome to London." The crowd erupted into cheers as the pair waved. "How has the off season been treating you both?" The interviewer asked. "Pretty good, but it's time to get back to work now. We are here to fight and here to win." Y/n replied, drawing more cheers from the fans. "Speaking of fighting and winning, let's put our attention on the car. I mean, it's a thing of beauty."

"It looks fast." Charles said simply, earning a laugh from the crowd. "The team has worked so hard on it, the engineers, aerodynamicists, car design, they have all been working hard in the factory."

"And what do you think, Y/n?" She sighed, thinking of a response. "Just to add to Charles there, it's more than fast." Y/n added. "It’s a Ferrari. This car represents so much history, and I’m excited to be a part of that legacy." The questions continued, and finally, the faithful question was asked; what does this mean to be following in her father’s footsteps.

"It’s surreal." She admitted. "My dad spent a few great years here, and now I have the chance to build my own story with Ferrari. I can’t wait to see what this season brings." Charles chimed in, "It’s also great to have such a historical name back in the sport. Y/n brings a fresh perspective, and we’re already working well together."

After the event wrapped, Alexandra and Mick made their way toward the stage. A fan with a phone captured the moment as Alexandra greeted Charles with a kiss. In the background, Mick approached Y/n, wrapping her in a tight hug before kissing her softly. The fan uploaded the video, and within hours, social media exploded with excitement.

It’s like something out of a fanfiction!

Y/n and Mick are the couple we didn’t know we needed!

Childhood friends to lovers ahhhhh

[7yearsofdele]

NO ALFIE DESERVES BETTER

This show is so shit, but I kind of love it.

I cannot believe they are doing this to Alfie though. He stayed in Paris for her, he’s amazing and this is what he gets?

[jassackles]

The girl from London

Summary: Y/N is a British interior designer and architect who works for a company that has its headquarters in London but is well known in the US. So Jensen wants to surprise his parents and build them a new house at their favourite spot. When he meets her, it’s hard to listen to her when she talks about the design she’s planned, because other things about her seem more interesting.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x female!reader

Warnings: fluff, sexual content, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys)

“The architect really did a good, didn’t they?” Y/N says as she walks around the empty house admiring how it looks. “They definitely did.” Jensen says as he smiles at her. She took a look at the yard, her lip twitching slightly since in her opinion it looks horrible. “You also want me to redecorate the garden?” She asks curiously and politely. Jensen looks outside as well noticing how…how empty and boring it seems. “I’d like that.”

Y/N takes out her laptop to open up the program that helps her visualise her ideas for the interior design. “Do your parents have a special wish or taste?” She asks him curiously. Jensen watches her lips move more focusing on her accent than the words she’s actually saying. “Sorry what?” He shakes his head. “Do your parents have a special wish or taste?” She asks once more still politely because that’s what Britons are. “They like grey a lot.” He says as he thinks, if he’s being honest he has no clue what their taste is, that’s why he hired a freaking professionell. But how can she know? She doesn’t know his parents.

She sighs softly, “Alright.” She says and starts clicking and tapping on her laptop just to show him a little example. Jensen nods as he looks at the little draft she made within a minute. “I like that and I’m sure they’ll like it too.” He says with a smile. She returns the smile and chews on her lip as she gets back to drafting the whole house.

Jensen can’t help but watch her, her glasses are probably the cutest and sexiest thing about her, make her seem so hot and innocent at the same time. The blouse she wears gives him a lot of imagination, her tits seem like they’re perfect for his hands and the skirt? Oh well…the skirt fits her curves so well he couldn’t stop staring at her ass when he was showing her around the house.

“That’s my first draft.” She says a couple of minutes later. He blinks stopping himself from checking her out too much. He nods and looks at her laptop feeling quite impressed with her. She only needed like what, ten minutes maybe? And it’s looks awesome and comfy. A home he knows, his parents will love, especially his mom. His mom has a weak spot for little decorations and details and Y/N only showed him the future living room.

“If you want to change anything, please let me know.” She says softly as Jensen looks through the draft. “It’s awesome.” He says in awe. “Maybe Just the bed could be a different one.” He mumbles distractedly as he keeps looking at the different rooms. “Of course.” She nods and shows him different kinds of beds.

A few weeks later after meeting due to Y/N’s work Jensen finally brings up the courage to finally ask her out after drooling every time seeing and crushing on her. “Hey Y/N.” He says and she looks up from her laptop giving him a gentle smile. “Hey Jens.” She says softly.

If we’re being honest, she is crushing on him, too. But he’s her client, right? But she’s not from here, so no one would find out? Wrong. He’s a fucking actor, of course it would come out eventually, and when her boss will find out, oh well. Y/N chill out, nothing happened. She scolds herself mentally.

He smiles nervously at her, “So…uh, you wanna Hoyt for dinner…with me?” He asks hesitantly and even more nervously. And is he..blushing? She doesn’t know because she’s feeling pretty hot herself, the, the Jensen Ackles really just asked her out, has he?

“I’d love to!” She blurts out before she can change her mind, she’s only going to stay for one more week, so fuck it. But Jensen doesn’t know that she’ll be leaving in a week, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked her out.

He blushes deeply and smiles shyly, “I’m glad.” He says, feeling like a teenager all over again. I’m fucking 34, so get your shit together, Ackles, he thought.

She smiles with the same deep blush, thinking about how cutes he’s acting around her. “Me too. Pick me up at 7?” She asks him softly since she was about to finish work for the day. “Definitely.” He breathes out with a happy smile. Like a teenage boy. He cant believe, she said yes, and she can’t believe, he literally just asked her out, the guy she thought was the most handsome and cutest American guy she’s met. And she has met many American guys. They’re not comparable to the British men. But Jensen’s been a sweet and absolutely nice guy.

“See you then.” She says softly and kisses his cheek before disappearing, biting her lip as she gets more excited about her evening. Dean just stands there dumbfounded rubbing his cheek, like a teenage boy in some movie.

Dinner was great, even more than great, they laughed a lot and he learned so many new things about her. The thing he likes about her the most is probably her smile or her humour. She was so much fun talking to. The way she talks still fascinates him, her accent is so beautiful, kinda making her even more special than she already is to him.

“There we are,” She says as they get to the apartment complex she’s been living in for the past two months. Yes, it took Jensen two months to asks her out. She looks at the apartment building, not wanting the night to end so soon. “Do you wanna come up to my place?” She hears herself asking without thinking about it. His smile widens since he didn’t want the night to end so soon as well, “Sounds like a great plan.” He says as he takes her hand in his again, making her blush slightly.

If Jensen’s being honest, he really really likes her. He’s kinda falling for her, because she’s probably the nicest woman besides his mom. She’s so polite, it’s almost strange. Even his mom already likes her. His mom has already met her, because he kept talking about her and he kinda…slipped, ruining the surprise. Not that his parents weren’t happy, they were, his mom even started crying, but he wanted to surprise them when it’s done. It’s too late now anyway.

Y/N leads him inside her little apartment and Jensen smiles, since as soon as he enters her place her scent fills his nostrils. “Looks nice.” He comments softly as he enters. She smiles softly at him, “Thank you.” She says as he hangs up her coat. He smiles and takes his shoes and jacket off as well. “You want to drink something?” Y/N asks him as she leads him into the kitchen. “Maybe wine?” She suggests.

“Sure.” He says softly and smiles as she grabs two glasses. She fills the glasses with wine and smiles at him as he gets closer to her. She places the bottle of wine back on the counter as he stands in front of her. She looks up at him and smiles shyly, “Hey.” She whispers softly. “Hey.” He whispers back as he cups her cheek admiring how pretty and cute she looks in her glasses. She gets on her tiptoes as she closes the distance between them and presses her lips against his gently. He smiles against her lips as he kisses her softly.

Oh boy…the kiss feels much better than he has imagined, her lips are so soft almost pillowy. He pulls away a moment later resting his forehead against hers. “I’ve wanted to do that for weeks.” He whispers softly as he smiles with closed eyes. She smiles shyly, “Really? Me too.” She says softly. He smiles and pecks her lips one last time before sitting down on the couch in her living room. “This sofa is so comfy.” She says as she sits down. Even though she sits on it quite often, she likes the feeling of it. “I can agree on that.” Jensen says with a nod holding his glass before taking a sip and placing it on the coffee table.

“So how do you like it here?” He asks a few moments later smiling at her. “Here in the US?” She asks her accent coming through again. He nods and smiles softly. “It’s pretty great, I really like it here.” She says softly her smile faltering a bit as she thinks about that she has to leave in a week. Jensen frowns noticing slightly, “But?” He asks her softly.

She looks up from her glass, “I have to leave in a week.” She confesses finally. His eyes widen and he swallows hard, feeling his heart shatter into a thousand pieces. “What?” He breathes out, causing her to take deep breath. “My visa ends and I have to get back to work in London.” She says softly with a small smile, actually feeling sad about leaving. “Oh…” He mumbles sadly as he looks at his glass of wine. “I’m sorry, I probably should’ve mentioned it earlier.” She says with an apologetic smile and look.

“I-It’s okay.” He says with a kinda hurt smile. Every woman he likes or thinks is great, has to leave or isn’t interested in him. So that she has to leave now too, make him feel desperate since he really has hoped, especially tonight, that there could be more than a date, maybe a relationship. He sighs quietly to himself, since he really was looking for more with her. She notices how sad he looks, “I-I am really sorry, Jensen.” She says softly as she scoots closer wrapping her arms around him.

He hugs her back and captures her lips with hers, wanting to feel her close at least once before she slipping away from him, his dream girl. She kisses him back feeling just as sad as he does, because she really likes Jensen. He’s such an awesome guy and she really wants to know where their ‘thing’ would’ve led them. If she’s being completely honest with herself, there’s nothing that keeps her in London. Her brother lives in Australia, her mom’s travelling the world after her dad dies last year due to cancer and her friends? They’re all busy with being pregnant, taking care of their kids and being with their husbands. So? She’s just the workaholic who throws herself into work, because there’s no one waiting for her at home. But she’s being ridiculous now, if she immigrates to the US, she would have no job, apartment or money for the move.

His lips feel so incredibly good as she kisses him hugging him close as he pulls her on his lap making him sigh at the feeling of her so close to him. She feels perfect just in his arms already. He just wants to feel all of her at least once. His hands move smoothly over her back as she sighs against his lips caressing his chest gently.

He lowers her on the couch as he slowly gets on top of her kissing her gently yet passionately as he caresses her sides. Y/N wraps her arms around his neck as she pulls him closer to her sighing against his lips as she makes out with him lazily. No rush, just two people enjoying each other.

After making out for a while Jensen pulls away admiring her kiss swollen lips pecking them one last time, “Maybe we should take this to the bedroom.” He whispers softly as he caresses her cheek. She bites her lip and nods before getting up from the couch, turning the lights off in the living room and kitchen. She takes his hand in hers as she leads him to her bedroom. Jensen stops in the middle of her bedroom pulling her flush against him as he starts kissing her again caressing her cheek as Y/N slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt.

He helps her by shrugging it off his shoulders, leaving him shirtless. Y/N can’t help but stare at his abs and trace them with her finger tips, he just became twice as hot as he was before. He blushes a bit and lets out a small chuckle, “What?” She looks up at him with a smile, “You’re just really hot.” She breathes out and starts kissing him again. He blushes deeply, kissing her passionately as his hand reaches behind her back to unzip her dress. The dress falls to the ground. Jensen feels her naked tits suddenly brush against his chest and he cups one of her breasts squeezing firmly, twisting her nipple.

Their clothes are gone soon and they’re making out in her bed lazily, touching and exploring each other’s bodies. Jensen slowly gets on top of her whole making out with her and positions himself between her legs. “Is this okay?” He whispers against her lips and she smiles at how gentlemen-like he’s being. “Yeah.” She whispers softly and smiles against his lips when he kisses her again. He slowly enters her causing her to sigh at how good he feels inside her.

He kisses her neck gently as he lets her adjusts and starts moving a moment later, sighing at how well her pussy wraps around his cock. “F-Fuck.” He breathes out already feeling close at how good she feels and it’s been some time since he had a good pussy. She hums in response and wraps her legs around him, “Faster.” She breathes out. He doesn’t need to be told twice when he starts thrusting faster making her roll her eyes back at how good he feels.

They’re having sex for like two minutes and Y/N can tell it’s the best sex she’s ever had. Okay…she’s had sex with like…4 guys, so not so many, now 5 guys though. But Jensen’s been the best at foreplay and during sex. He found her clit immediately during making out and circled his finger right, not like the other guys who didn’t even found her clit.

Jensen sits up ok his knees and grabs her thighs firmly as he starts thrusting harder. She moans loudly when he starts pushing against her g-spot and her back arches off her bed. He groans at the sight of the face she’s making, you literally can see the pleasure written all over her face. He cups her tits squeezing them firmly as he thrusts even faster and harder, making her clench around his cock. “O-Oh,“ she moans as she feels the knot in her stomach tighten. Jensen groans since he’s been holding back since the moment he put his cock inside her.

He circles her clit and she moans his name softly at the feeling, moaning his name softly. Jensen feels his cock twitch at the sight of her and he’s trying so hard to not just cum inside her right then. He circles her clit a bit faster and Y/N feels her toes curl as she suddenly comes on his cock, squeezing so tight around his cock that it sends Jensen right over his edge with her. Her name slips from his mouth so soft it’s barely audible.

Panting fills the room as they both calm down from their highs smiling lazily at each other before Jensen pecks her lips softly. He gets off her and and plops down next to her pulling her tightly into his chest as he starts playing with her. He feels sad about that she’s really leaving so soon, for his liking it’s too soon he just wants her to stay in the States and not go back to stupid London.

There they are, at the airport, saying their goodbyes. Jensen’s gonna miss her so much that it already hurts just thinking about it. They’ve spent the last weeks having sex…a lot and spending every second with each other doing nice things together. So he’s gonna miss her, but he knows their little ‘thing’ won’t be more due to distance.

“You really need to leave?” Jensen asks softly as he squeezes her hand gently, watching and admiring her face one last time before he proudly won’t see her ever again. She gives him a gentle smile, “Unfortunately yes.” She says softly. The last few weeks there has been some thought on staying in the US, but it’s a big step she need to discuss with her mom when she’s back. Y/N really wants to stay, but now is not her time. She’s gonna miss Jensen a lot, he became so close to her in such a short time.

He pouts and sighs slightly, which causes her to pout back at him. “Unless you wanna bloody marry me.” She says playfully since she cants stay because her visa expires tomorrow. Jensen’s head perks up again, “I’ll do it!” He shoots causing Y/N to frown. “Bloody hell…what?” She stutters. “I’ll marry you right now.” He says. “Jensen, I was just kid-“ She starts. “I mean it.” He interrupts her. “You can’t do that.” She shakes her head. “Of course I can.” He tells her.

So what the fuck now?

A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me now in the comments what you think and if you want a part two!

Also thanks to Wayne for the dividers! <3 @waynes-multiverse

tags: @leigh70 @jensensgirl @akshi8278 @stoneyggirl2

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Head-Wigs and Not Even an Inch

Abigail Thorn made me cry last night.

I mean, I knew this was not outside the realm of possibility. I presumed she would produce a work of stunning artistic beauty and overwhelm my jaded brain with some Profound Meaning. Or, fat chance, maybe she’d trip over something I’d written and tear it to pieces like a hamster going to town on a cardboard tube. Or maybe I’d go back to London, and spill my drink on her shoes in a dark club, and she’d thrash me with a riding crop — that’s slightly more likely than someone with a decent platform noticing my writing, at this point.

But, uh, no. That’s not how it went.

We pay money to get the bonus episodes of Kill James Bond. You should too. In fact, if you don’t, you’ll be lacking some context for this. But most of my work goes out into the void without context, so to hell with it. You can watch a theatrical version of Hedwig and the Angry Inch for free, on YouTube. Or you can probably pirate the film version with a clean conscience, I don’t think any of those performers are seeing much compensation from sales at this point.

We haven’t been listening to the bonus episodes in order. We often try to watch something close to the version of whatever-film they’re doing, and then listen to the episode with context. We’ve heard them mention Hedwig, and it seemed to be a profound, emotional experience. I really wanted to see Hedwig first. Well, we found a Hedwig available for free and we watched it. They tried to update it a bit, and I found that off-putting. A lot of the tropes in play are dated — “#problematic” in some ways, and genuinely hurtful in others. If you’re going to update something like that, you can’t just throw in a reference to Harry Potter and Title 42 and call it good. Preserve it in its original messy form for us, or rewrite the whole thing — if they’ll let you.

The way the actor playing Hedwig moved and sat in her (the character uses she/her and I have no idea about the actor) short skirt bothered me too. She had shorts on underneath, but I don’t think we were supposed to know that yet. “Nobody has ever told this person how they’re supposed to sit in a skirt,” I said to the spouse. Like, it wasn’t even as if she knew and had decided to ignore it. If one were transfeminine, or faking it to get out of East Berlin, someone would’ve mentioned it. “Maybe it’s for the character,” he said. Maybe it was. You could read it that way. But there’s a read on this where transness is artifice, and I don’t like that read very much. I hope that wasn’t what they were going for.

The ending could be read that way too. It’s all very surreal and that has the potential to be read a lot of different ways, but a male (or male-presenting) actor winds up bare-chested in shorts and the female one ends in a wig and a dress and they both seem very happy about it. One could say, “Well! Glad all that gender confusion’s cleared up! Now they’ve stopped pretending to be something they’re not!” I don’t like that the possibility is left open like that. It feels slimy and centrist.

But the music was great and there were some excellent moments and I was eager to hear the whole thing get dissected by some trans folks.

About a half hour into it, they were discussing John Cameron Mitchell, who identified as a gay man at the time and has since refined it to nonbinary with he/him pronouns. Hedwig’s gender is messy — she’s a fictional character written by an enby who was still in egg form, from a time before people were expected to define their transness as binary or nonbinary. Abi acknowledged the nonbinary actor/writer/director, and mentioned that there’s a lot of pressure to define your gender neatly these days… And said, “No.” That’s not it. Hedwig is a woman like her. Period.

I had been saying to the spouse (we talk over the podcast; we get excited) that I saw a lot of myself in Hedwig’s disaster gender, and in that way you could read the ending as her deciding to stop splitting herself between her popular, cis-passing, sellout persona, and the real, messy her. And then Abi cut me off, and I said, laughing, “Oh my god, just hip-check my identity right into the orchestra pit! What… What…” And I started to cry.

I didn’t have my guard up. I didn’t expect it. And I’d never taken a hit quite this way before. This wasn’t being denied the validity of my existence, this was the validity of my artistic merit. Abigail Thorn, a demonstrably smart person with a lot of theatre experience who loves writing and acting, will not be requiring me or John Cameron Mitchell for her interpretation of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Not even as a possible read. Please, go find yourselves in some other character, enbies. Let the transwomen have her.

…To the point where “Hansel” is treated like a modern-day deadname of a real person, when all we know for sure is that the character got rid of it to get out of East Berlin and she doesn’t use it anymore. It could be like that, but by the end of this, “Hedwig,” another name and gender she did not choose for herself, might be a deadname too. I’m not saying it has to be like that, but it’s not so ridiculous that we need to dismiss it unsaid, is it? Especially given that the goddamn originator of the character has been on a similar journey and decided to keep “John” and he/him for the moment. A person can do that and still kick their assigned gender to the curb, you know?

I didn’t need Hedwig to be about me and only me, I just needed the possibility to be left open and discussed a little bit. Another trans egg movie, but perhaps a nonbinary one this time. Like Speed Racer, it went hard and fell short! That’s all. I didn’t even know I needed that! Until Abi said I couldn’t have it.

The spouse stopped the podcast and comforted my surprised tears. He gave me a nonbinary read — which is not hard to do! — and said I deserve to be seen. I said, “I know why she said it. I do. It’s too close to their (hers and Alice’s) own experience and they don’t want to see anything else. It’s emotion-based. But… But… Nonbinary actor (and writer/director/producer/singer)! …What about Dev?” Dev really took a backseat on this one. They saw themself in Yitzhak, and Yitzhak isn’t the main character, and Abi and Alice were so into Hedwig, and they’re all friends. Yeah. I mean, I understand that too. Back off and let your friends have this one, it’s clearly important to them both.

I wanted to hear the rest of it, because it made Alice and Abi feel seen, and a lot of other trans folks too. Yeah, there’s a lot in it that aged like milk — cringy and outdated even when the film was made — but there’s a lot of valid queer experience in there, too, warts and all. I was surprised as hell that, in the end, Abi supports the “Tommy isn’t real” theory and believes this is a story about uniting one person and making yourself feel whole. And yet, she reiterated, “No.” It’s not about being nonbinary. It’s about reconciling with the male-gendered stuff you try to cut out of you when you transition. Dev and Alice were at least willing to allow that nonbinary was possible, if not quite willing to delve into it, but not Abi. Splitting yourself in two is a binary trans thing! As are many, many other things about Hedwig that I related to.

As an enby who came up with the “splitting yourself in two” metaphor while still in egg form, for a fictional character of my own who is also still in egg form, please let me tell you — please let me tell someone — that that’s not true. I didn’t meet Hedwig until last night, but I know about performing your acceptable, cis-passing, assigned gender and hiding all the “garbage” that doesn’t fit. I know what it is to be crammed into a false persona that gets a lot of love, while the real you, when you let it out, is only worthy of snarling punk lyrics into a mic at a dingy seafood restaurant with a hostile audience.

And, oh my god, do I know what it is to have a piece of you that will not come off, and prevents you from fitting fully into either binary gender. It can feel like a broken piece, like a scar, like a botched surgery you didn’t need that was inflicted on you… But it doesn’t have to be literally that. Hedwig, both the play and the person, doesn’t seem to have much use for physical reality. She’s here to unload her emotional reality, and she doesn’t care about any other real things she might damage along the way.

KJB were rather amazed that Hedwig chose to redefine herself by a (medically impossible) surgical accident. How brave of her to own her trauma like that. But I wonder, is it trauma? Or is it the only path a nonbinary egg in 1998 could see to gain an outside that expressed his inside? This isn’t what any of you wanted me to have, this isn’t even what I want to have, but it’s still me. It’s what I have to work with. (All signs point to “Tommy,” as a character, being at least a closeted gay guy who would’ve been fine if the “front of” Hedwig had been a penis, but it isn’t. It’s not quite anything at all, and he flees because that’s just too much for him to handle. Hedwig already is one of those androgynes she envies; she doesn’t need an Adam, she doesn’t need him. But she loves him/her cis-passing self, and she’s not yet ready to let him go.)

I don’t know what it is to actually try living as the other binary gender, I wasn’t active enough in queer circles to really feel that pressure to conform to the binary before I hatched. But I see it now, and I feel the same instinctive revulsion that Hedwig feels about being a divorced housewife in a trailer in Arizona. That’s not me either! Did I spend all this time and energy escaping one box, only to be trapped in another? Must I content myself with this simply because I don’t want to go back to the way I was? Is this only way I can get a green card that lets me access a queer space? To put on an ugly wig and pretend I’m more palatable?

To me, the revelation about wigs is not “I could be happy as ANY woman!” but, “This is a performance… This is all a fucking performance! This isn’t me, this is a hat someone put on my head. It comes off! I can have another hat! I can have all the hats!” And, selfishly, she denies Yitzhak that same joy, because he wears it better and seems happier. Hedwig clings to her suffering so tightly, it’s such a fundamental part of her identity, that she can’t bear to be around trans joy. No. There is no room for trans joy here, only trans spite. This story is about me. I don’t like transwomen, I don’t like transmen, and I sure as hell don’t like myself (yet)! In the end, after a lot more suffering, she’s willing to let that go.

In the end, Abi says she knows a lot of transwomen who seem to model themselves on Hedwig, and she wants them to know that isn’t how they have to be. They don’t have to choose between being just like a cis woman, or being a monstrous, chaotic, damaged other. You can be… Better than cis! Yes, says the cast of KJB, laughing, we are better than you! We are THE FUTURE! Three friends, having a ball on a podcast, trans joy at its finest — but you don’t find humour in feigning cruelty if you haven’t had some of that cruelty directed at you. This joy formed around a grain of spite. Not only does one often feel they have to be better than cis people, but when you’re still unhatched and stuck on the outside looking in, trans folks really do seem better than you. At least they know what their deal is.

I get it. I do. Because Hedwig fits me too. We all have our reasons to put on that perfectly ridiculous blonde wig and take the form of Hedwig, the Destroyer. Hedwig, the Chaotic. Hedwig, the Liar. Hedwig, the Truth. Hedwig, the Unrepentant Disaster. Hedwig, give me strength! But, it comes off. Look. It is literally a head-wig, a costume for your brain. I know sometimes you find a new wig and you really, really like it, and you become very attached and you want it to be just yours forever and ever, maybe even to the point of calling it your real hair, but… Someone else could still wear that same wig and feel just as happy as you, or maybe even happier. Maybe you’ll find a wig you like even better too. Transitioning isn’t just one and done, and Hedwigs don’t have to be forever. We do know this, don’t we?

Gender is a performance. Gender is a Hedwig. A lot of other things that you consider immutable parts of your identity are Hedwigs too. They are as real as any other social construct, but if you don’t like them or need them, you can just take them off. Sometimes it’s hard and it hurts, but I promise you can. Like Hedwig the character, or whoever that is, does. Inevitably, she must pick some new clothes, maybe new pronouns and a new name, too, but she’s not obligated to do that on camera for us. We can’t force her to say “Aha, see? This identity suited me all along!” No. We’re not entitled to know her or define her. She will be doing that for herself, later, as a whole person. What is so scary about the ending, what makes it look like a detransition instead of a synthesis, is that we insist on gendering her naked body as a male head-wig. Wouldn’t she wear something else if that wasn’t who she was? Well, maybe not. Or maybe so, but it’s her decision, not ours. Self-expression is not the Self, it just helps to define and validate the Self. Hedwigs are extremely fucking important for defining and validating the Self!

So, you know, you have to be willing to share.

[neufhistoires]

Loveless Marriage (FrUK) Chapter 12

Loveless Marriage

Chapter 12

Word Count: 4,281 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a sleepless night of tossing and turning, well, just for Arthur, the Englishman and the Frenchman were able to get home the next morning. Arthur might’ve broken a law or two and let Francis drive because he was so tired. Although he did end up waking up a few times on the way back when the Frenchman decided that driving on the left side of the road was a silly rule and he wouldn’t be following it…

A few days passed since then and Arthur couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but Francis had seemed rather… off. He wanted to say that the Frenchman’s strange behavior started the day they took the trip to London, but they hadn’t spoken for a week prior to that, so he could only conclude that Francis was still upset about what happened in Seychelles. He couldn’t blame him for still thinking about it. It was haunting him every night, too, after all… But he needed to get over it at some point.

That was why when Arthur received an invitation to a business party in London, which was addressed to him and his newly wed, he decided to keep it to himself. Francis was clearly still in a weird mood, and the whole thing was just a weird situation in general. If the two of them went to the party together, they wouldn’t be able to deny being in a relationship, and people were sure to ask about it because they hadn’t attended any events together since their marriage was announced. Arthur concluded that it was best if he just never mentioned that it was a party and Francis was invited, too. That way, he could simply say that it was a business meeting, go to the party for a few hours, and return home before dark.

However, things could never work out that easily. Arthur had carelessly hidden the invitation under a stack of magazines on the coffee table in the living room. When Francis was cleaning, naturally, he moved the items on the table and came across the invitation. What Arthur couldn’t have expected was…

“Arthur, did you see that we were invited to a party? It sounds like it’s a big one, too,” Francis said, peering around the corner to look at the Englishman who was washing dishes in the kitchen sink.

Arthur turned around, even more than he was to see that Francis found the invitation, he was surprised to hear the Frenchman starting a conversation with him. Not to mention that he had an excited expression on his face. The last time he had seen him remotely close to being that interested in something was when they found that bakery in London a few days ago. That was probably why he…

“No– What? Where did you find that?” Arthur lied, shaking the water off his hands over the sink and drying them on a nearby towel before he walked over to the other man, pretending he had never seen the invitation before in his life.

“It was on the coffee table. You must’ve put it there. Don’t you remember?” Francis asked, suspicious of how Arthur would have forgotten something that, in his opinion, sounded like a lot of fun.

“Oh… It, um, must’ve been something that I meant to read, but forgot about,” Arthur muttered, taking the paper from Francis.

“Well, it says that the party is tomorrow, so you probably missed your chance to RSVP for it…” Francis replied, the ever slight change in his tone somehow made him seem dejected.

“No, no, they don’t actually care about that sort of thing..! I’ll, uh, send them an email, and I’m sure they’ll say it’s alright if we come!” Arthur replied hastily, surprising even himself with how quickly he jumped to try to prevent the other man from returning to his previous gloomy mood. He should’ve been grateful that Francis was in such a mood, because when he wasn’t energetic and peppy, he also wasn’t teasing the other man, or trying to prove that his taste was superior, but… something about Francis being in a bad mood, especially a sad, depressing one, put Arthur in a bad mood, too.

“Oh, is that so?” Francis asked, seeming to lighten up as soon as he heard Arthur’s response. “Well, send them an email and find out! We’ll need some time to think about what to wear and, of course, what to tell them about you and me.”

“R-Right, I’ll get right on that,” Arthur replied with nervous laughter as he walked over to his computer. Fortunately, Francis didn’t follow him, so he simply replied to another business email and hoped that the sounds of clicking keys were convincing enough.

Some time passed and Arthur awkwardly said, “It’s just as I said– they quickly responded and told me it’s not a problem that I didn’t RSVP on time,” which was once again followed by nervous laughter.

The Englishman couldn’t quite pinpoint why he felt nervous about lying about a stupid business party, but it was probably because… more than feeling nervous, he felt… guilty. The one thing that clearly cheered Francis up was also something that Arthurt had lied about and kept a secret from him… If Francis found out, they would surely get into a fight, and Arthur wasn’t sure what he would even be able to say if that happened.

“Vraiment? They replied so quickly,” Francis mused. “Well, why don’t we go look at your closet then? I should hope that you’re not planning on wearing that tacky, I mean– unique coat that you bought in London the other day.”

Francis had definitely cheered up, that was for sure.

“You can’t say that something suits me and then call it tacky!” Arthur retorted, unable to just let that one slide.

“Non, non, I said unique!”

“After you realized that you slipped up!”

The following day, Arthur and Francis showed up to the party in sleek, black suits. Admittedly, Arthur did feel rather confident when the other man helped him select an outfit and style his hair. He wasn’t always the best at choosing outfits for things, but Francis always looked stylish, so he figured that if they were wearing the same thing, then he must be fashionable, too.

Upon entering the venue, Arthur was delighted to hear compliments, thinking that Francis’s fashion advice had really worked, but then he realized that all of the compliments were aimed at the Frenchman. Well, so much for that.

“Aren’t you Mr. Kirkland– or should I say, Mr. Bonnefoy-Kirkland?” A woman asked, approaching Arthur.

“Ah… yes, and you are?” Arthur asked, deflating some when he heard the Frenchman’s last name tacked onto his.

The woman introduced herself as the CEO of an up and coming clothing company. Then, before Arthur could get another word in, she proceeded to start what sounded like a sales pitch. It sort of caught Arthur off guard and an annoyed expression crept onto his face as he waited for her to finish talking.

She went on and on about how she already partnered with some other businesses whose representatives were at the party. Then, of course, the question came out.

“Would you be interested in partnering with us? I know your watch company is already well established, but I promise you that there would be something in it for you, too.”

Before Arthur could flat out reject her and tell her that she had wasted too much of his time, Francis swooped in and saved the Kirkland family name.

“Ah, mademoiselle, that’s a lovely offer, but we weren’t anticipating starting any new business partnerships this evening, so I’m afraid we’ll have to pass for tonight. Please take our business card and reach out again in the future,” Francis said in a charming tone as he held the woman’s hand while slipping Arthur’s business card into it.

Once the woman got past the giggles she let out after Francis held her hand, she replied, “Of course, of course. That makes sense. You’ll be hearing from me again soon!”

Finally, the woman left, causing Arthur to let out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could listen to that…” Arthur muttered, glancing over at the slightly taller blonde beside him, the thought that he looked rather good in a suit crossing his mind.

“Oui, I could tell, but it’s not good for your business if you’re rude to potential business partners.”

“Since when do you care about my business? And actually, how did you get my business card?”

“I took it out of your back pocket,” Francis replied innocently with a small shrug before he reached out for an hors d'oeuvre on a tray that was passing by him.

“What were you doing in my back pocket..?”

As the night progressed, similar situations continued to occur. Whether it was other people nonchalantly pitching business deals or people who just wanted to socialize, Francis continued to charm everyone he spoke to and Arthur took the back seat. The Englishman didn’t particularly mind because it took the immense social pressure that he felt off of himself, but it also left him impressed by the Frenchman.

Arthur would’ve been lying if he said that he wasn’t a bit worried Francis might end up saying something out of line. He thought that he might make some kind of joke or jab at him in front of business connections that had a good impression of him, but on the contrary, he seemed to take Arthur’s business seriously. In fact, Arthur thought that they might even have a better impression of him after talking to Francis. Everything was going well. A bit too well…

“Mr Kirkland! Or should I say Bonnefoy-Kirkland? I’m so glad you were able to make it tonight!” A man exclaimed, enthusiastically approaching Arthur. Francis hadn’t met that man yet, but he was on a social high and was more than willing to introduce himself.

“Francis, this is Mr. Lukasiewicz, the host of this party. Mr. Lukasiewicz, this is Francis, my… husband,” Arthur mumbled the last word so badly that Francis couldn’t help but glare at him.

“He’s your what?” The host repeated loudly. He probably knew what he said, but he was making him repeat it anyway.

“Husband,” Arthur replied, his cheeks suddenly pink as he looked away.

“Your husband? You said he wouldn’t be able to make it because he was so sick! I’m really glad that changed. It’s nice to meet you,” The man replied, shaking Francis’s hand.

“I was sick?” Francis repeated, his gaze falling on Arthur, who wouldn’t look at him.

There was silence as the host stared at them both, his expression going from expectant to confused. Eventually the tension became too much for even the host to bear, so he repeated that he was happy to meet Francis again, and then he walked away to greet other guests.

“Arthur?” Francis urged, as Arthur still wouldn’t look at him, overwhelmed with guilt.

Arthur knew that Francis loved parties and anything social, but he was embarrassed by the whole arranged marriage fiasco, and he thought it would be a burden to go to London with him again. Thinking back on his own reasoning, his heart sank and he felt so guilty he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t look at the Frenchman.

“You didn’t really forget about that invitation, did you?”

Francis had a terrible feeling in his stomach then, too, as he realized that the Englishman considered him a nuisance, that he was telling his business acquaintances lies so that he didn’t have to be the bad guy when he excluded him. Francis had been fantasizing about someone who thought so lowly of him?

“Enjoy your party,” Francis said, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. He then left immediately, not waiting for any sort of reply or objection… mostly because he feared that there wouldn’t be one.

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat, still not turning around to face where Francis had been standing. He was paralyzed, the world around him stopped as he stood there wondering how he could’ve been so rude to the other man. If he was in his situation… he would’ve been hurt.

Despite the terrible feeling Arthur had, he continued to fake a smile and engage in small talk as he slowly made his way towards the exit. He had hoped that by the time he made it outside he would’ve come up with something good to say, some sort of apology or way that he could make it up to him, but nothing came to mind.

The Englishman expected to see Francis outside the venue somewhere, pacing around or maybe even talking to a cute girl, but… he was nowhere to be found.

Arthur pulled out his phone and looked at a map, trying to see if there were any convenience stores nearby. Maybe Francis had gone to get a drink or something, he thought. However, after walking to all of the nearby stores, he concluded that he must not have done that.

It had been at least an hour, so he started to panic. Once again, Arthur must’ve made a poor decision– he should’ve ran after him as soon as he went to leave. He should’ve known that all the time in the world wouldn’t have been enough for him to come up with a good apology– he was terrible at that sort of thing. He would just have to be honest with him, to tell him that he did care about him, wanted him to come, and even enjoyed spending time with him at the party. He knew that they quarreled frequently, but that wasn’t indicative of how he felt about him. He wanted to tell him all of those things, but… where was he?

Arthur had avoided calling or texting the other man because he assumed he wouldn’t answer, and he was right. Forteen calls and twenty text messages. They were going through, but he wasn’t answering or reading them.

Feeling defeated, Arthur walked aimlessly around London. Just as he wanted to avoid, day had turned to night and it would be difficult to drive home. If he got to drive home that was. He couldn’t just return home without him.

After wandering for another thirty minutes or so, Arthur found himself in front of the famous London Eye. It was a massive, brightly lit ferris wheel, so he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed himself walking towards it until then, but there it was.

The line for the ferris wheel was rather long, and he had been walking alongside it for quite a bit until he saw familiar blonde locks and a fancy black suit.

“Francis!”

At first Arthur thought that maybe he got the wrong guy, but as he got closer and closer he realized that it was indeed him, but he was just that good at ignoring him.

“Francis, we need to talk..!  I know that lying about the invitation was wrong. I wish I hadn’t done it, but I did..! I didn’t mean to make you feel bad or–”

The line started to move up and Francis still hadn’t even flinched when Arthur spoke to him. It made the Englishman look like some sort of crazy person who had just cut the line that Francis had clearly been waiting in for quite some time. That seemed to be what everyone was thinking as they all glared at him and whispered amongst themselves while staring at him.

“If someone did that to me, I would be really hurt, so I… I understand if you don’t want to talk to me,” Arthur continued, his voice softer as he continued to follow after the other man as the line kept moving up. Francis seemed to be a bit more receptive when the Englishman’s voice softened like that, although he still wouldn’t look directly at him or say anything.

“I should’ve stopped you from leaving as soon as you started to walk away, but I was trying to think of a good apology, one that really… you know, made you feel better… But I… I couldn’t think of anything. I’m not good at that sort of thing,” Arthur continued, his voice growing so quiet it was almost a whisper. He wasn’t sure if the Frenchman was even listening to him.

“But it’s no excuse, Francis, I… I’m really sorry,” Arthur eventually said, causing Francis to look over at him for the first time since he approached him. “I saw how excited you looked when you saw the invitation and I’ve felt guilty ever since. You… you were great at the party, a lot better than anything I could’ve said, and…” Arthur trailed off.

The two of them remained silent for another minute or so as Arthur wondered what Francis was thinking and the line continued to grow shorter. Eventually, it was time to get on the ferris wheel and Arthur was left contemplating whether he should keep following the Frenchman or if it would be cutting the line because he seemed more like someone who was harassing him rather than his, well, husband.

Francis went to step onto the ferris wheel pod, but then he stopped and slowly turned around to look at the Englishman, who seemed to have decided to wait behind.

As Francis’s eyes locked with Arthur’s, his long, golden locks seemed to perfectly frame  his face which was illuminated by the moonlight. It was then that Arthur noticed that the Frenchman had also unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt at some point after he left the party. Something about him looked picturesque when the moonlight shone on him in such a way.

Francis always looked good, but… suddenly, Arthur thought that Francis looked kind of… handsome. He almost felt… attracted to him.

Although it was just a thought and not something that he would dare speak out loud, it was enough to make Arthur blush and stop dead in his tracks. It seemed that Francis was saying something to him, but he had no clue what it was. He had finally said something, but he couldn't hear him. Great.

The worker urged people to continue loading onto the ferris wheel pod, but Arthur was still frozen, his eyes locked with the periwinkle ones in front of him.

“Are you coming or not?” Francis said, his voice soft despite the bad mood he was in. It was more so soft in an exhausted sort of way.

Arthur cursed himself for still not being able to get a word out, but he somehow managed to get his legs to move and followed the Frenchman onto the ferris wheel, an annoyed crowd of people pouring into the pod behind them.

 Since the London Eye was such a big ferris wheel, it wasn’t just the two of them in the pod alone together. There were about twenty other people in there with them, but the quiet chatter amongst the others was kind of nice– it made up for the fact that the two of them were struggling to talk to one another.

Francis was standing by one of the walls, which was a window, gazing out of it, an expression on his face as if he was in deep thought. Arthur was standing beside him, but instead of just looking out the window, he kept looking back and forth between the view outside and Francis, trying to gauge if it would be okay to try and talk to him again.

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it? Arguably the best one in London,” Arthur said quietly, glancing over at the Frenchman again.

“I was hurt that you lied, but I understand,” Francis abruptly started, his voice calm. “The arranged marriage bothers you, and you wouldn’t want to be forced to discuss something that frustrates you with business acquaintances.”

“That’s true, but… I still shouldn’t have excluded you from something that you were invited to. I know how much you like–” “Arthur. It’s okay,” Francis interrupted, his voice still calm as he glanced towards the Englishman beside him. A small smile was on his face, but it bothered Arthur. He couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Well… good then,” Was all Arthur managed to say, still confused about the other man’s calmness after what was understandably an upsetting situation.

The two of them were silent for a moment again, and Arthur felt so strange. He was sort of anxious because he couldn’t tell what Francis was thinking, but contradictingly he also felt relieved because he was standing beside the other man after searching for him for so long.

In reality, Francis hadn’t been thinking about anything too profound. He was tired from waking up early to get ready for the party and walking around London for hours. His calmness was really just the result of him being sleepy and wanting to enjoy the view from the ferris wheel before they headed back to their rather boring rural home. Similar to how Arthur felt, since he knew the other man was there beside him, it relieved any anxiety he might’ve had about what he would do next.

“Arthur?”

“What?” The Englishman replied instantly, eager at the thought that the other man was going to talk to him. It was a reaction that left him feeling a little embarrassed.

“That over there… it’s Buckingham Palace, right?” Francis asked, pointing to a large, cream colored building in the distance.

“Oh… yes,” Arthur replied after he leaned over to get a closer look at what Francis was pointing at. Even though the Frenchman insisted that everything was okay, he was sort of surprised that they went from having a serious conversation to one about attractions.

Speaking of attractions, he… he suddenly had that same thought again. Something about the way Francis was standing beside him, quietly taking in the scenery and asking questions every once and awhile… something about it was… cute.

Arthur’s heart started to race as he considered every other possibility. Surely Francis wasn’t cute. No, he was definitely ugly. He probably only thought he was cute because he wasn’t talking non stop, making fun of this and that, or bragging about how he could do something better. But was that really enough to make him think that he was cute? And wasn’t everyone in the ferris wheel pod with them technically falling into that same category then..?

“Oh, and there’s Big Ben… But its real name is something else, isn’t it? What was it again..?” Francis murmured, putting his hand up to his chin as he tried to remember the name of it.

“The Great Clock of Westminster…” Arthur replied softly, his gaze resting on Francis instead of the clock.

“Oh? I thought that it had the name Elizabeth in it..?”

“Technically you’re right– it was renamed Elizabeth Tower to honor the queen about a decade ago… You know, you say you dislike things about England all the time, but you sure seem to know a lot about here…”

“Well, you know what they say…” Francis started, locking eyes with the emerald ones beside him, which were rather close because the Englishman had leaned in to see what he had been pointing at.

“What..?” Arthur asked, swallowing the lump in his throat as he backed away from the other man, his heart pounding in his chest when he became hyper aware of how close they had gotten.

“Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer,” Francis smirked.

Arthur scoffed and broke eye contact with the other man, looking back out the window. He felt like his heart was going to burst, he couldn’t bear to look into his eyes any longer.

“Arthur, what about –”

Suddenly, Francis’s sentence was interrupted by a warm hand which quickly went from the back of his neck and up into the underneath of his hair, working as a solid foundation to support the warm, soft lips that were pressed against his immediately after. At first, he was shocked, assuming that he must’ve been dreaming because… Arthur was kissing him.

The kiss was gentle and simple, just the two of their lips pressed against each other���s. But it lasted a few seconds– long enough for Francis to feel the heat that was radiating off of Arthur. He must’ve been so nervous, which only added to how cute it was.

As Arthur pulled away, due to his hand being on the other man’s head, Francis could feel the way his hand was shaking. He refused to make eye contact then, too. Instinctively, Francis reached out and took his hand in his, holding it close to him. Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise and he glanced back over at the other man when he felt his hand suddenly being pulled on. He didn’t know what to say, but… it seemed that was okay. Francis wasn’t saying anything either, but as he gazed out the window, a firm grasp on Arthur’s hand, he had a soft smile on his face.

They were silent for the remaining duration of the ferris wheel, but it wasn’t awkward and there wasn’t tension. They were comfortable in the silence.

On the way home, Arthur drove since Francis illegally took the wheel last time, and it was his fault they were going home so late again anyway…

The next day, Francis would talk to Arthur about the kiss, ask him what it meant, but… in the meantime… he wanted to fall asleep with the memory of Arthur's lips against his own fresh in his mind.

[itsnothesameasitwas]

!!! - read all the tags and/or warnings before start, left kudos and nice comments to the authors <33

💫 until you’re home by @nouies | harry x louis | 1k

Louis lives in London, Harry lives in Tokyo. They make it work.

💫 Behind closed doors by @greenblueish | harry x louis | 10k

“You should ask that whoever he’s currently fucking.” Liam’s eyes grow wide. “No.” His tone is unbelieving, just like Louis’ would’ve been if you had told him what turn today would take. “Yes.” “How do you know?” Louis’ room mate’s eyes barely leave him as he tries to untie his shoes without looking. “Went to his dorm earlier, found a sock on his door handle. He’s such an arsehole.”  or, the one where omega Louis finds a sock on alpha Harry's door handle that causes a big misunderstanding but is also the beginning of something new.

💫 the devil's in the details by @raspberryoats | harry x louis | 25.3k

“He squeals when Harry smacks his bum as he bends over to pick up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. Harry smiles smugly at him, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “When are you going to start calling me professor?” He asks. “When you actually are one,” Louis says with his hand on the doorknob. He cocks his head to the side in curiosity. “Isn’t that how words work? You did study English, right?” Louis’ quick to slip out the door before Harry can smack him again, his laugh echoing through the hallways as he makes his way to his next class with flushed cheeks and a bright smile. or the one where harry's on his way to becoming a professor and louis is the smart, bratty student”

💫 I Know How To Whisk (But Teach Me Anyway) by @2tiedships2 | harry x louis | 32k

Louis scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “I don’t understand. Unmated alphas don’t just go into a rut out of nowhere. Unless…” Louis grabbed onto Niall’s arm in desperation. “Am I a homewrecker? Does Harry have a mate? Oh my God, was he not flirting? Did the change in his scent not have anything to do with my smell yesterday? Did I just make that up!?” Louis let go of Niall and dropped his face in his hands. “I knew it was too good to be true.” “You’re an idiot,” Niall stated. Louis looked up to find Niall rolling his eyes. He snapped his laptop closed and moved to stand up. “I need to get some work done. Why don’t you stay here and think back to ABO dynamics 101.” With that Niall hopped off the couch and headed to his room. He stopped and turned to Louis before he made it to the hall and said, “Oh, and Lou. You may want to reconsider your outlook on soulmates.” Louis yelled after him. “Soulmates aren’t a thing, Niall!”

💫 a common place affliction by @thepolourryexpress | harry x louis | 36.5k

“You should go home,” Louis muses, and Harry can feel the omega crouch down to become eye level with Harry, poking his cheek with a dainty finger. Harry lifts his arm, taking a peek at Louis’ face. Louis looks tired, he notes, but not exhausted, and there’s an eyelash stuck to his cheek. Harry doesn’t hesitate to lazily reach out and thumb over his cheek. “Can’t,” Harry croaks, blindly twisting his hand around to grab at Louis’ offending finger and just holding it. “C’mere. Take a nap with me,” he asks after a beat, opening an eye to look at Louis. Louis raises an eyebrow. “M’not going to nap with you in the middle of the ER, H.” Sighing, Harry squeezes the young nurse’s finger. “Nobody cares.” He knows they do; they’ll annoy nurses and probably worry patients when they catch sight of a nurse and surgeon sleeping on the job. Let alone in the middle of the emergency ward hallway. Harry can hear the complaints now: ‘these are the people we’re supposed to trust with our lives?”

[themculibrary]

Maria/Sam Masterlist

Autumn Thorn (ao3) - LittleMissSyreid M, 41k

Summary: When a woman rescues Bucky from his imprisonment as the Winter Soldier, he seeks Steve Rogers' help to cope. However, HYDRA is not to be underestimated and quickly enforces a new recruit to take the Winter Soldier's place... Based during and after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

Breakfast Negotiations (ao3) - ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild T, 565

Summary: Maria misses breakfast. Sam is not happy.

Five Times Maria Hill Handled Things (ao3) - ShannonXL T, 857

Summary: There is no +1 because Maria Hill handles everything.

Found the Right Guy (ao3) - uofmdragon N/R, 680

Summary: Maria needs help corralling the Avengers after they've been de-aged.

i do (ao3) - Aquariusgarbag M, 1k

Summary: “We should sleep together.”

“Okay, first of all I know you speak English perfectly, so like, phrasing.” Sam says.

“Sam, I think we should sleep in the same bed. For appearances sake.”

I Knew Life Was Never Meant to Be Easy (ao3) - ChElFi T, 6k

Summary: Maria knew there would be fallout when she followed Steve to take down SHIELD and HYDRA, she just never imagined how far and wide it would spread across her life. Still, she wouldn't go back and change it. She knew life was never meant to be easy. First story in a five part series. MCU canon-compliant, as far as my old brain can recall. T for language.

It Happened One Afternoon (ao3) - lionessvalenti E, 2k

Summary: Sam wasn't sure if he was more impressed with himself for getting a booty call on a Thursday afternoon or concerned with the state of the city if Maria Hill was in town.

Limerence (ao3) - grimeysociety E, 4k

Summary: (n.) the state of being infatuated with another person.

Maria finally takes some time off to attend Tony and Pepper's wedding weekend in France.

playing pretend (with real feelings) (ao3) - svgurl410 maria/sam T, 2k

Summary: Sam and Maria have to go undercover as a couple.

Sure Movin' Down the Line (ao3) - circ_bamboo T, 20k

Summary: Sam Wilson needs his wings fixed. Steve Rogers thinks he knows a guy who can do that, but as it turns out, Tony Stark didn't make the wings. He knows who did, though: T'Challa, the king of Wakanda and the genius behind the Wakandan Design Group. Sam, along with Rhodey and Maria Hill, goes to London to meet T'Challa . . . where unexpected dangers await them.

The Bounty Hunter and the Spy (ao3) - uofmdragon T, 7k

Summary: Sam and Maria meet for the first, second, and third time.

The breaking table (ao3) - Majestic_Moonwolf M, 3k

Summary: Sam tries out a trick he saw on TV, but it's not going as well as he had hoped

The Caretaker Instinct (ao3) - annathecrow maria/sam T, 5k

Summary: The door creaks and Wilson comes into the room. Maria doesn’t bother to turn and ignores him, only to be surprised when he shoves a plastic coffee cup right under her nose. She looks up at him dubiously. “You look like you need it,” he answers with a small smirk.

The Moon Don't Hang Quite As High (ao3) - geckoholic T, 2k

Summary: In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have asked her out in her office, separated from her nosy minions only by a glass wall. He should maybe not have made his intent quite so obvious by bringing flowers – never let it be said his mama didn't raise a gentleman – and shouldn't have aimed straight for a dinner invitation.

Too hurt to comfort (But they'll try anyway) (ao3) - uofmdragon G, 1k

Summary: Normally, Sam and Maria don't get typically get injured at the same time. It's usually only one of them at a time and then the injured one doesn't want to move. The uninjured is always happy to take care of the injured one.

Today though...

Today is completely different.

Wrapped Around You (ao3) - GlassesOfJustice M, 533

Summary: Nothing like sex to kill time while on a mission.

[lilicohirukoma]

YOU S4 EP2 LIVEBLOG

Here we go again

- I wouldn’t be too married to the idea its one of the new people here, could always be someone from your past (maybe the guy the Quinn’s send)

- Is this season gonna be Joe’s descend into madness/paranoia? I kinda dig that

- Oh wait an actual murder mystery party? Even more fun!

- But I still don’t get why they want him around so much, like he isnt rich so that can’t be a reason

- YOU KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT ABOUT WHODUNNITS MR GOLDBERG

- But then why would she conviently leave a voice mail about him being dead right in front of you?

- Shit okay he made that deduction too I’m gonna go cry now

- Kate’s being sussed out so I feel like its def not her and she might even die

- Ah yes hello Nadia you still exist, how convenient you love the mystery genre

- WHY ARE YOU CALLING ABOUT THIS IN A PUBLIC AREA IDIOT???? GO HOME AND THEN CALL how has Joe never been caught oh my god

- Don’t like being stalked huh Joe

- Delete the app/destroy your phone, clearly they want a game and if you try to deny it they’ll have to make measures to keep you in it and through those measures you could get closer to their identity

- Lady Phoebe is giving me some Annika vibes I love it

- Now hold on a minute... Phoebe might be a bit more manipulative than she looks

- I know Ralph is Ralph Lauren but who tf is Tom

- Liking the Soo siblings a lot and I think one of them will survive, my bet’s on Sophie

- No Kate’s the red herring move on from her

- Louis XIV for Sun King w Dagger? Makes sense for the rich entitled assholes theme the show is going with (as usual)

- His detective superpower is probably gonna he the fact that he’s a serial killer and can thus think like a murdering stalker

- I feel like we are gonna get more crazy stuff from Gemma and Blessing, I think the characters have more to offer

- When charged with a DUI one moves to London and starts an elite club obviously

- WHAT DID I SAY SUN KING LOUIS XIV BABY, thank god he was one of my biggest history hyperfixations

- How much did they pay Adam’s actor for that scene I got to know

- Hmmm why did that lady want a picture of Joe

- EWWWWWW NFTS GET IT OUT OF MY FACE. Kill Simon for me please

- I dont think exposing a piss kink equals murder and framejob

- Wdym Roald Joe smells of New York, Virginia, Vermont and those kinda places

- Do love this snake skin suit Adam has going on

- Yeah I don’t think it’s him either, he’s weird but that isnt a crime

- Red paint meant to symbolize blood I see whats going on

- And ofc Simon immediatly makes performance art out of it

- Didn’t you literally say to stop helping people? Why are you helping Kate out again fool? (Yes its bc hes in love w her I know)

- He sells NFTs of course he stole the other art works

- Nah, he’s an asshole but too casual and laid back to kill someone, frame a person and then fuck around on text about it

- Simon’s gonna get killed I can feel it

- So Malcolm was missing a finger and Simon an ear, both of those had jewelry (a ring and an earring) on those parts so that might be something

- Rhys is getting more and more suspicious but that might also be on purpose

- Kate is just reserved man, not every good act should be for public display

- I love Nadia, if she dies I’m gonna be so mildly disappointed

- OH FUCK YES LETS GOOO GET HIS ASS

[douchebagbrainwaves]

AND NOW I HAVE INDEPENDENT EVIDENCE: THE TOP LINKS ON REDDIT ARE GENERALLY LINKS TO INDIVIDUAL PEOPLE'S SITES RATHER THAN TO MAGAZINE ARTICLES OR NEWS STORIES

To get rich you need to raise money, they try gamely to make the point that the web mattered again. Even if the CEO is a programmer and another founder is a salesperson? What exactly is personality? So class projects are measured. But in technology, you cook one thing and that's what everyone eats. And in addition to the usual clauses about owning your ideas, you also don't want your valuation to be set artificially low because the first investor you've closed, then this could be the tipping point of fundraising. Yet that doesn't seem quite right, does it? It's hard to give general advice about this, you're probably mistaken. You won't have to babysit the round to make sure it happens.

For a startup, what you want, like you could before. It means a tedious, unpleasant task. One thing I can say is that 99. You don't need to move from smaller towns to London. Where is the man bites dog in that? Gradually through word of mouth they start to talk about that for a minute or so. So in practice the deal is handed over to corp dev guys to negotiate. This was all the more surprising because I'd only applied for three. The startups that do best are fire-and-forget in the sense of an all-star team. It's not what they originally set out to do—in the process of realizing you need to start doing something people want. So for now this is something startups are deciding individually.

Don't try to seem more than you realize. But did studying logic teach me the importance of startup hubs. Back when it cost a lot to start a new fad—a mere expression of the proverbial thought that counts. Nor will investors hold it against you, as long as possible. But there are some who have an explicit policy of only investing after other investors have is worthless initially. If you try to raise money, what should you do? Several turned down YC-funded startups have been doing to mitigate the risk of starting a startup just one year later, they had some new ideas. Seeing a painting they recognize from reproductions is so overwhelming that their response to it as a painting is drowned out. Which in practice usually means, whatever existing agreement he finds lying around his firm. A lot of nerd tastes they share with the creative class, with different tastes from the rest.

6 million respectively. Knowing where you stand doesn't end when they say they'll invest. We can, however, the works they produced continued to attract new readers. If you're surprised by a lowball offer, treat it as a business, rather than being distributed, like slices of a pie, by some imaginary Daddy. After all, a Web 2. They were intensely competitive and were always trying to outdo one another, this could cause some friction. If it were, you wouldn't need PR firms to tell you, because hackers would already be writing stuff on top of whatever you sold in phase 1. Actually it isn't.

That's been a reliable way to get rich, or you've failed. So when people compare patent trolls to the mafia, they're more right than they know, that they can issue this stock to themselves if they get bought early. Ultimately it comes down to is users. But we'll figure out some kind of wall between us. In fact, it would not be a bad definition of math to call it. And if someone was lazy, the others would sign the same documents and all the previous shareholders' percentage ownership is diluted by a sixth. They may if they are paying you x dollars a year worth of work, done by a class of people called philosophers. Of course, space aliens probably wouldn't find human faces engaging. And that is how startups should approach fundraising in phases 2 and later. A is clearly heard-of. Didn't it already mean using the web the way it's meant to be used. It's a good exercise for you, too, to sit down and try to trace it back to the root causes.

By the second conference, what Web 2. Most hackers probably underestimate their determination. You don't do that if you wanted to sell as a startup founder wondering why some angel investor isn't returning your phone calls, you can ratchet down the coolness of the idea far enough to compensate. Stanford. In a startup you're judged by users, and sources of new ideas. What kind of anti-dilution protection do they want? Perhaps they need to. I disliked the term Web 2.

Thanks to rew Mason, and Jessica Livingston for the lulz.

[jmagnabo92]

First Prince Week 2024 - Day 4 - It's Getting Hot in Here

@thebrownstone

***

Prompt - Hot or Cold

Alex decides to play a game of hot or cold to help Henry find his ring.

AO3

***

Alex has been setting up this game all day.  Partially because he desperately needed a distraction from his worries about if he passed the bar or not (he would be finding out on Monday and so his worries had gotten stronger over the last few days) and partially because he really couldn’t figure out a way to make this whole plan a surprise, fun and not public. 

He wanted to do something that would be romantic and perfect, but he also wanted to have fun with it.  So, he decides to set things up in a special room and play a game with Henry when he gets home. 

Hopefully, Henry’ll like the game.

There’s not really a question on if he’ll like the gift.  He knows that they’ve both been heading this way for a long time now, and it’s just been a matter of waiting until Alex could get permission (which only happened after the Queen passed and Henry’s mum became Queen – not six months previously) and Alex to be finished with law school. 

Alex knows that Henry’s probably expecting a public, planned proposal, and they’ll have to fake it in London for the official announcements and stuff, but that’s why he doesn’t want to do this in public… he wants something that really is just for them. 

He just hopes Henry likes it. 

***

Henry’s not as oblivious as Alex might think he is, so he’s aware that Alex sending him out on certain errands on a Saturday rather than spend the day cuddling in bed with his boyfriend was suspicious enough, but the errands he had listed weren’t even things they needed and were clearly meant to be busy-work. 

He opted not to call him out on it and instead, chose to spend a little bit of extra time picking out Alex’s engagement ring.  Now that he had permission, which Alex is right that it’s a completely archaic practice to need permission, he could finally begin planning his proposal to Alex.  He wants it to be special, and he’s hoping that he could plan something that would make up for the fact that they’ll have to re-stage their proposal in London for official royal announcements and what not.

When he finally gets the text asking when he’ll be home, Henry’s quick to head in that direction, and it takes no time at all for him to be entering the Brownstone and placing his shopping on the end table by the door. 

“Love?”

Alex appears in the doorway, smiling and looking as gorgeous as always.

“Hey, baby, wanna play a game?”

Henry laughs.  Clearly, he’d been setting up some sort of game while Henry was out.  “Alright, love, what sort of game?”

“Hot or Cold.”

Henry frowns.  “Never heard of it.”

Alex smiles.  “I figured not.  It’s game where someone hides something, and the other person tries to find it.  I’ll tell you if you’re getting hot – meaning closer to it – or cold – meaning further away – until you find it.”

“Sounds easy enough.  I suppose I’m very cold in the entrance way?”

Alex nods.  “Very cold.”

Not knowing what he’s looking for means that Henry just has to take a guess.  It’s nearly dinnertime, so he makes his way to the kitchen, and looks around.  There’s a cup of ice on the counter which seems to indicate that he’s ice cold.  He looks at Alex for confirmation.

“Still cold, baby,” Alex says, following after him.

“Alright,” Henry says slowly and moves to the living room and stands in the middle. There’s a cup of chilled, but not ice cold water on the coffee table. “Warmer or colder?”

“Warmer than the kitchen, but still very, very cold.”

Henry hums and heads for the stairs.  Clearly whatever it was wasn’t going to be on this floor.  Since Alex doesn’t stop him, he figures he must be right.

He stops at the second floor and looks back and forth between going up the stairs to their bedroom and studies and staying on this floor with the music room, library and spare rooms.  The landing has a room temperature cup of water, so he’s headed in the right direction. 

He figures it’s likely in their bedroom, so he starts that way and he’s halfway up when he spots the cup of melted ice water on the top landing, and Alex says, “Getting colder, baby.”

Henry turns and finds that Alex is still standing on the landing of the second floor. 

“Alright, then.”

He moves back down to the landing, steals a kiss, and heads into the hallway to the rooms on the second floor.  He knows that it can’t be in a closet or a bathroom, so he looks between doors of the library and the music room since there’s a glass of warm water sitting between them.

He places a hand on the music room’s door handle. 

“Getting warmer, baby.”

Henry smiles and swings the door open and moves inside.  He’s not surprised to find that the room looks different to when he last stood inside it.  There’s still the piano in the corner and the different albums on the walls, but in the center, where the loveseat that Alex loves to sit in as he watches Henry play for hours and hours used to face the piano has been pushed back and instead, a heart laid out in flower petals is on the floor.  Your Song is playing softly, a steaming cup of tea is nearby (indicating that he’s red hot in their game) and there’s various pictures of their love story around the room.

Inside the heart is a box.  It’s about the size of the book boxes that he usually gets.  He picks it up rather confused.

“Getting hotter, baby, why don’t you open it?”

Henry nods, turning around in the heart and opening the box on the one side and tilting it so that he can get whatever’s in it, out. 

Another box falls into his hand.  It’s slightly smaller, but still another box.

“Getting hotter.”

He opens this box to reveal a smaller box. 

A jewelry box.

Is this what he thinks it is? 

“Red hot, baby.  Open it.”

Henry snaps it open and sure enough inside is an engagement ring. 

“I love you, baby, more than anyone else in the world.  You’ve made my life better just by having you in it and I want nothing more than to be yours forever, will you marry me?” Alex asks as he falls to one knee.

“Yes, love, of course,” Henry says, pulling him to his feet so he could kiss him passionately. 

As Alex slips the ring on Henry’s finger, Henry adds, “You’ll have to wait, I’m afraid, for your ring.  I only just bought it today and I want to plan something special.”

Alex grins.  “I can wait, as long as we’re still fiancées as of this moment.”

“Of course, love.”

They kiss, again.  Then, Alex says, “I have another surprise for you to celebrate, wanna go find it?”

Henry laughs.  Given Alex just said it was to celebrate, Henry’s pretty sure that he knows what’s waiting for him, but he asks, “I’m guessing it’s in the bedroom?”

Alex hums.  “Yes.  Let me go up there first?”

“Of course.  I’ll wait here.”

Alex gives him a kiss before heading out of the room.  Henry looks around at the music room, enjoying the effort to make the room a bit more romantic.  He’s surprised that Alex likes the rose petals, but he likes the heart.

“Come find me, baby!”

Henry quickly makes his way to their bedroom and stops right outside the door. 

“Red hot, baby, come on in!”

The door swings open and Alex is laying seductively on their bed on top of rose petals and red lace lingerie.  There’s light romantic music filling the room and candles lighting the room. 

“You like?”

Henry groans.  “Christ, Alex.  You are a vision.”

Alex grins.  “Good, then, come celebrate with me.”

“Gladly.”

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty-Three (Part 2)

“Evie,” Jude is there, “Evie, c’mere, what is it?” I fall into his chest and cry. “What is it? You’re so upset.”

“They’re leaving,” I say indignantly, because isn’t it obvious? “They’re going as far away as a person can possibly go, and they’re the only constant thing I’ve had for years. I can’t handle it. I’m not handling it like a normal person would.”

“You are, it’s okay. People go away sometimes, but they’ll come back, you know they’ll be back.”

“Yeah, in years. When Shane ages out of football, which could be more than a decade,” I grab hold of him and he’s steady and solid in all the right places, warm through the thin cotton of his shirt. “I mostly hate that I’m upset. I’m so dramatic, I’m making this about me when I should just be normal and understanding and know that this is what they wanted, and this is right for them and this country has nothing for them, just like it has nothing for anybody.”

“You are being normal. It’s normal to be sad when somebody leaves.”

“I’m scared that I’ll have nobody, that I’ll be all on my own.”

He tilts my face to him, “But you aren’t on your own, I’ll be here, we have each other.”

My lip quivers again, “But you’re going back to Berlin tomorrow.”

“Only for a month, Evie.”

“But what if you go and you remember how exciting it is and how much you want to be there, and realise that Ireland is boring and wrong for you, and then you go to a club and meet some gorgeous, svelte girl whose legs go all the way up to her armpits, and she might actually let you take her knickers off, and then you’ll forget all about me and-”

“Oh come on, that’s not going to happen. I’d never. I can’t even imagine that happening, are you serious? Of course I’m coming back, I’ll just go over and finish my studio work, I’ll wrap up my projects and I’ll come home, and I promise,” he kisses both of my teary lids, “that I’ll call you every day, actually, you’ll probably be really sick of me calling, and then I’ll come home, and I’m yours for as long as you want me to be.”

“But then what?” I insist, because with this mood I’m in nothing really seems good enough, “You’ll just live in Clontarf and be your sister’s guardian and get some sad job to fill the time?”

He frowns, “Well, no, I’ll find work that’s related to my degree, preferably, and then when you’ve finished college next year you and I can move to London together, and we’ll both work our dream jobs and it’ll be fine.”

“You’ve thought about that kind of thing?”

“Yes, do you think I’m a man without a plan? We’ll have a year in Dublin, which is fine, because actually, Jen needs me around too, you know, she’ll need as much help as she can get during her recovery, so I’ll be there, and I’ll get to be with you too, and you won’t be alone, and then, well, we’ll just move to London and that’ll be the end of it.”

“Sounds good to me,” I sniffle, “Imagine we had a really cute flat together, and we were so trendy and artsy with loads of interesting friends, and we spent all of our free time going to shows and galleries and all sorts of cool events.”

“Yeah,” He says, and his happiness must be contagious, because I suddenly begin to feel a new lightness spread through me, “That’s what I want, Evie. I want all of that with you, like, I’ll do anything at all as long as you want to do it with me.”

I grab the front of his shirt and shake him threateningly, “So you better not leave me.”

He rolls his eyes, “God, Evie, no I’m not going to leave. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Except for Berlin for a month.”

“Yes except for that but that’s nothing. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Of course I will,” I laugh, “I’ll be sad every day.”

“Yeah me too, I already miss you just thinking about it.”

“What are you going to miss about me?” I say, feeling a little self indulgent, but I skipped dessert at the restaurant so I think I deserve something nice. 

“Well, I would say I’m going to miss how interesting all of my conversations with you are, or how much you make me laugh, but seeing as we’re going to be speaking every day, I suppose I won’t really get a chance to miss those things.”

“So?”

“So I’ll miss all of the superficial things instead, like how you always smell good, and your soft skin and your gorgeous hair, and a whole lot of other things that I wouldn’t be caught dead saying out loud,”

“Like what?” I press, “Like how you’re obsessed with my mouth?”

He huffs out a laugh, “Yes, that, obviously, and your green eyes and the sounds you make when I kiss your neck, and your body…”

“Hm,” I say idly, “I never thought you noticed things like that.”

“What, your body? That’s been in tiny bikinis this whole week?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t think you were looking.”

He smirks, “Obviously, Evie, I’m always secretly looking. I just never want to make you feel, like, observed or objectified or something.”

“What if I want you to make me feel like that sometimes?”

His eyebrow quirks up, “Look, it’s not that I don’t think about you in that way, it’s just that I know you have boundaries, you’re a little reserved, maybe even, I dunno, a bit fragile. I don’t want to freak you out, or to be the one that accidentally breaks you.”

I think about that for a minute, this naivety that I exude, as though I’m something small and delicate that could be easily marred and find it interesting that Dean had seen these things in me too only he’d wanted to exploit them instead. I stare up at Jude and try my best to conjure up something confident, bold, fearless, hoping that he can feel it radiating from me. “What would you do if you weren’t afraid you’d break me?”

He chuckles and straightens up, as though he thinks it’s a silly question, but I tug on his collar, “What, have you never thought about it?”

“There’s no place we’ve been where I haven’t thought about it, Evie, and I mean going back years, like, the things I’ve pictured doing to you… Even sometimes when I’ve been with other people I’ve thought about you.”

I feel like the bottom has dropped out of my stomach. The way he says that has done something to me, the ease at which he can so casually speak the sorts of thoughts that would make me shrink in on myself if I even dared to have them. 

“Why don’t we just make those things reality, then?” I say, and I try to keep my voice steady despite the distinct undercurrent of nervous wobble, and it feels right, because the moon is full and Aphrodite’s rock is glowing under its light and it’s one last perfect night before I have to deal with the things that make me sad and go home to a Dublin that won’t feel the same as the one that I left.

“You really want that?”

“Yeah, do you?”

“God, yes-” He says, and he hardly finishes the words before he kisses me with a ferocity that makes me realise all of the other times he’s only been holding back for my sake, or perhaps for his own. This kiss wipes every thought from my head, and all there is is taste and scent and touch as he holds my head captive and presses his body against mine. I thread my hands around his neck and stand on my toes to kiss him back, losing myself in it, the taste of salt from my own tears and the clean scent of him, all of it culminating in overwhelming sensation that consumes my body until I’m practically clawing at him. As his tongue touches against mine I feel as though my legs might buckle from under me, surprised by how little control I seem to have over my own body and the sounds I am making. It has never been like this before. 

“I want this off,” I mew, working at the little buttons on the front of his shirt to reveal a slice of his toned, bronzed chest, skin that absorbed the Mediterranean sun with such ease and turned him the colour of cinnamon.

“Wouldn’t you rather come to bed with me?” He says with huskiness around the edges of his voice. 

“But here,” I say, “Isn’t it romantic? On this beach in the birthplace of Aphrodite?” I blink up at him and emphasise, “The goddess of love?”

He smirks, “But we don’t have anything to lie on.”

“So?”

“Well I don’t think you’ll like it without having a blanket down. I’m enjoying how eager you are but I think you’ll be happier on a bed in a nice house where there isn’t going to be sand going into places you can’t even imagine.”

The mental image is enough to make me shudder, but still I huff with annoyance, “I feel like you’re ruining the sexy vibe by saying we should go somewhere else.”

“We can do it here if you insist, I just don’t think you’ll like it as much as you think you will.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Maybe.”

I laugh as we turn away from the sea and begin to climb the little thorny dunes at the end of the beach to get back to the road. “In all of my fantasies about being with you, I always pictured you as being a bit more romantic,” I inform him, batting prickly growth away from my legs as it snags the end of my dress, “I think you’re a little bit too practical for my tastes, actually.”

He lets out a short, surprised laugh, “I think I’ve still bewitched you.”

“Hm.”

“I think you’re all romance, no practicality, whereas I’m mostly romance, and some practicality when it matters. See, look at it differently, my practicality in this situation has actually saved you from a really un-romantic situation, which is sex with sand in the mix, so isn’t that technically a romantic gesture?”

I sigh, lamenting as I glance over my shoulder at the glittering vista, “But the beautiful beach…”

“We have a whole summer ahead of us, Evie. I’ll make sure to bring a blanket next time.”

He hauls me onto the roadside just as my phone buzzes in my bag. “Hang on,” I yank it out to find a message with an attachment, “Oh it’s my mam, looks like that bloody article finally sent,” I unlock my phone and open the message, which loads slowly, but as soon as I see the headline I realise why she was so insistent upon my opinion of it. 

TULLAMORE’S SHANE HEALY PRIMED FOR AFL SUCCESS WITH SYDNEY SWANS. 

I remember all over again why I am sad. 

“Evie,” Jude says gently, “Don’t dwell on it, don’t think about it tonight. That’s what tomorrow is for.”

“You’re right,” I sigh, “We should just enjoy our last night.”

His eyes are liquid pools in the moonlight and I’m instantly consumed by him as he tucks my hair behind my ear, “Forget it. Come home with me, come to bed with me and let me take care of you.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, “I will.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[holyfruitsnax]

Hidden In Plain Sight

Warnings: Cursing, Violence, Guns, Angst-ish?, Fluff, Smut (Later Chapters), Possible bad writing? Def not proofread.

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland x Detective!Reader 

Summary: The Hollands have built their empire for years and now a young detective wants to take them down. In a world where Tom figured it would be kill or be killed, He’ll soon find that maybe, just maybe...She can be convinced.

Y/N: Your Name  Y/L/N: Your Last Name

  The sound of your gun clinking in its holster echoed throughout the room as your eyes scanned for any clues they could find. “Man, are we sure this is the right place? I mean... I trust your judgement y/l/n but...this place looks like it’s been abandoned for a while.” Hugh furrowed his brows shining his flashlight while gesturing to the ragged furniture and family photos seeming to be left behind. “That’s what they want us to think Greene.” You sighed giving your partner a glance before shining your light in another direction. “Called the landlord. This place was owned by a Mrs. Gertrude Lightwood.” you couldn’t help the concerned look on your face. “Sure, most of this is hers...but she’s been in a nursing home for years. Do you honestly think this is her mess?” you kicked a few old beer bottles around for emphasis. Hugh’s head dropped shaking a little, “No...No I suppose not...” His British accent thick with the same concern shown on your own face.

“You think it’s them?” Hugh leaned against the kitchen countertop, asking a question he knew the answer to.

“I know it is.”

  You’d only been a detective for a short amount of time, but you’d surely proven yourself with a knack for research. At the ripe age of 20, you’d solved your first case just about all on your own. The department paired you up with Hugh since the beginning of your career, now the slightly portly old man seemed like the only family you had since moving to London. The current case? Thought to be a band of misfit teens, turned out to be a link to one of the largest mafia’s London has to offer. The Hollands, their power is deep seeded in SouthWest London. No one dared to touch a part of their case, that is until now. Hugh figured you’d gone mad when you offered to take them head on, but he’d help none the less.

  “Well...Let’s get going before the sun comes up. No telling if or when they’ll come back.” The white haired man clapped a large hand upon your shoulder. “I could go for Greggs right about now.” He smiled wide making you smile in return. The two of you walked out of the old townhouse and heading into the car. “I think they know we’re onto them.” you stated while bucking up. Hugh nodded “Probably. You don’t keep up with something like this for so long if you aren’t good at hiding it. No one even knows what these people look like, only guesses.” He pointed out and took off towards their favorite breakfast place. “Hey..That’s not bad..” you smirked jotting down something on your little notepad using a cute pen with a duck at the top Hugh had gotten you a year ago. “What?” Hugh’s eyes darted over confused “Oh don’t start with this shi-”

“I’m just saying!” you laughed, pleased with his reaction. “What if they’re not hidden...or better yet.” you winked. “Hidden in plain sight?”

  “You’re due for the looney bin any day now y/n!” Hugh laughed parking in front of Greggs, you only chuckled and shrugged back. The little breakfast shop was full, but it is eight am on a Wednesday morning. your detective side was still in high gear, making sure to memorize every face you could since the stake out house hadn’t been very far away. Over at a table buried away in a corner sat a group of young men. A tall blonde with striking blue eyes, a shorter curly red head and a grumpy looking brunette. What a group. Hugh Ordered for you both, opting to chat with the cook rather than join your speculation. you took a seat at a table not too far but not too close to the group of men, scrolling through your phone to seem as though you were minding her business. That is until you locked eyes with a chestnut brown pair.

  “Psst!” a sharp kick to the shin pulled Tom from fiddling with the many golden rings adorning his fingers. “Ow! That hurt asshole.” Tom hissed reaching down to rub where Harry had abused him. “Cops.” Haz stated quietly as to not draw attention their way, which was always a difficult feat seeing that Tom ultimately looked like a mob boss. “We’re fine, just keep your cool. Try not to be an idiot and they’ll move along.” Tom hummed clasping his hands together so he could rest his chin atop his bruised knuckles. His eyes found you sat at a table playing on your phone, He couldn’t quite tell your age but, he knew you were young, around his age maybe? He didn’t recognize you though. Tom couldn’t help but swoon at the way your hair framed your tired face perfectly, eyes holding a bit of dark color beneath them. He must’ve been staring too long, seeing that your eyes flicked up just in time to meet his own. Boy was Tom enthralled, but the interaction was short lived as his brother and best friend tugged him out of the shop.

  “What was that about?” Hugh muffled out through a bite of his breakfast sandwich. “I....I don’t know..” you for once felt stuck so, you opted to eat your breakfast instead of talking. “Those boys sure did look flashy.” Hugh pointed over towards the table the group had previously been sat. You nodded giving a content hum “Maybe, but we can’t just jump to conclusions. Maybe they’re just rich.” Hugh snorted a little at your sudden halt on the whole ‘It could be anyone’ idea. “Why don’t we rest up, you give me a call if you catch anything new and I’ll do the same? Sound good?” He slapped his cap back atop his head crumpling up a food wrapper. “Good to me.” you confirmed standing up from your seat to say goodbye to Hugh before walking the short distance back to your apartment.

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

  The day had gone by and shifted London into darkness, but lights and music still boomed on for the drinkers, dancers, and all of the above to enjoy. Tom would be one of them if he wasn’t getting his ass chewed out. “You mean to tell me after being told police were on their way to your hideout, you chose to go eat breakfast in the middle of fucking town?!” Dom yelled down at the three boys. “Yeah well we were hungr- I’m sorry.” Harry’s head hung in shame, Haz stood tall and calm whilst Tom’s face begin to turn red. “You’re the one who can’t handle his own fucking dirty work! It’s your guy we’re after, why didn’t you go and sit in an old run down house that smelled like mothballs for hours to watch some guy’s house? Oh RIGHT because you’re the boss of course!” He laughed deep in his chest. The rest of the family backed away but kept watching, Dom and Tom are like dynamite together it just takes one to be the match that strikes the others fuse.

  “Correct! I am the boss, so you will listen to me or you’ll suffer just the same as that man will when I get my hands on him.” Dom growled, gripping Tom by his white button up. “I can’t believe you’re the one I’m passing this shit down to..” He puffed letting Tom go due to Nikki’s pleas. Tom’s courage faltered at his father’s insult, it felt like a low blow. “Yeah...Whatever..” He huffed back fixing his jacket. Dom lit a cigar sitting next to his wife waiting for the explosion. “Now Tom, why don’t you take off your shoes and have a seat. You know your father didn’t mean that- He just gets that way.” She smiled patting the couch. Tom felt a heavy, sickly, almost guilty heat rise to his chest. He’d have to deal with that feeling the only way he knew how, to cover it up with something else. “You know what. I’m sick of being treated second hand by him, I’m sure everyone else does too!“ He seethed beginning to push insults towards Dom. Rage was like an illness to Tom, so easy to fall back to. Before Dom could shout anything back Tom grabbed the nearest lamp and tossed it against the wall with a loud crash. “I’m- I’M FUCKING GETTING OUT OF HERE, FUCK THIS HOUSE, AND FUCK YOU DOM” Tom shouted. He didn’t hear footsteps following him, so he didn’t look back.

  The thumping of his heart in his ears had been replaced by music with thick bass. Making his way into his family’s bar Tom found a table with ease. “Woahhhh...Rough night?” Skips, the main bar tender around the places laughed only to shut down the second he met Tom’s killer gaze. “I’ll just...Leave this here.” Skips practically yelped setting down a bottle of whiskey while he ran off to get a glass and ice. Tom popped the top off the bottle of expensive whiskey downing a few chugs before slamming it down on the table again. His outburst was starting to become hard not to notice but if you wanted to keep your eyes, you’d act like you didn’t even if you did.

  That is unless that someone is you. You’d found your way into the bar confident there would be evidence of anything from the Holland in there, it is their side of town after all. Deciding to blend in a bit and to purely have some fun you joined in on the dance floor scooting through the crowd trying to get to the bar. Suddenly a large man in a suit stood before you. “Uh..excuse me if I could just slip-” “My friend asked for you at his table.” The large man oddly enough was the sweetest person you’d met all night. “Uhm..” You turned your head in the direction the man pointed in and froze. The guy from Greggs this morning. “Thank you!” you smiled calmly, making your way over to the brunette. Your eyes couldn’t help but drop as he leaned forward and unbuttoned his shirt enough to expose his toned chest while sending you a smirk.

  “Hello Darling! I thought I recognized you~” Tom teased, obviously a bit buzzed from chugging whiskey. “Yeah, breakfast this morning..um. I didn’t catch your name however-” “Tom.” He spoke immediately taking two glasses pouring whiskey for them both and slid a coke your way. “Nice to meet you Tom, I’m not much of a drinker.” You cleared your throat a little. “Well for tonight, maybe you should?” He nodded pushing your glass closer towards you. Why the hell not? “Okay, Tom. What exactly..” “Your name Darling.” He smiled sipping at his own drink. “Y/n.” You swirled your cup around a little before drinking half of it to ease your nerves. Why was this guy messing with your nerves? “Pretty~” Tom’s voice deepened and his eyes darked while raking over your figure. You’d chosen a tight red dress that showed just enough cleavage for most, but not enough for Tom

  Tom watched as you finished your first drink and drank a little coke while he poured you both another. Thirty minutes became an hour, an hour became two and before you knew it you and Tom were on the dancefloor together. His firm hands gripped tightly at your hips keeping you close in the dancing crowd as the two of you grinded together. “You’re fun!” You drunkenly laughed wrapping your arms around Tom’s neck. “That’s what I like to hear Darling!” He grinned dipping his head down so his nose brushed yours. Your mouth fell open slightly and everything seemed to slow down. What were you doing. “There is of course...” Tom slid a hand up your body grabbing your chin with his thumb and index finger, the cooling effect of his rings against your warm skin made you shiver. “Something else I’d love to hear you say as well.” He tisked leading you towards the back of the bar. “And what’s that?” You raise a brow, tilting your head making Tom pull his bottom lip between his teeth. The next thing you knew you were in a private area and Tom pulled two red curtains shut before turning back to face you. “Daddy.”

[hlficlibrary]

✤ Kid Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Kid Fics -

1️⃣ nothing else but us right here by supernope (M, 35k)

Louis sighs and gives himself a mental pep talk as he smooths his jumper down over his hips. He can do this. He can resist the draw of Harry Styles, because he is a responsible, mature adult, and as much as he wants to tangle his fingers in that mess of hair and map those ridiculous tattoos with his tongue, he does not want to get his daughter’s favorite teacher fired.

2️⃣ Cold Little Heart by seducedbycurls (T, 194)

Louis is a soft omega with an abusive past and an alpha child. A few months after getting a divorce, Louis meets Harry, an ex-military alpha wolf that offers him something -odd.

In exchange for teaching him how to cook, Harry will babysit his son, Abraham. Louis really could use the help.

3️⃣ Fugue by iwillpaintasongforlou / @canonlarry (E, 16k)

Harry falls asleep a 17 year-old who lives in Cheshire and is probably rockstar Louis Tomlinson's biggest fan. He wakes up 24 with a wedding ring on his finger, two kids, and Louis Tomlinson attempting to wake him up with a blow job. The doctor calls it organic retrograde amnesia, says he might never get back the last seven years of his life. The only thing that feels the same is how he feels when Louis touches him, and maybe that's enough to make him fall in love all over again.

4️⃣ Your Mess Is Mine by amory (M, 176k)

Louis is the father to the most brilliant little boy in the world who is all Louis really needs, or at least that's what he tells himself. Harry is a gorgeous boybander fresh off a two year break and a massive scandal that's left him a little broken and more than ready to move on.

They fall in love.

5️⃣ all the lights are full of colour by @infinitelymint (E, 26k)

So, fast-forwarding eight years from the day Harry met Louis, he is now a twenty-seven year old owner of one of the most up-and-coming eating establishments on the London restaurant scene, father of two wonderful boys and… separated from his husband. Now, that last part definitely was never a part of the original plan.

Or, Harry and Louis are separated, but for the sake of their two sons, they choose to spend Christmas together. It may just lead to a Christmas miracle.

- Hidden Gems -

💎 Know a Trick or Two by @sadaveniren (E, 44k)

The night before Louis is scheduled for a Portkey to begin training with the Vratsa Vultures in Bulgaria he heads into Muggle London for one last night of fun. A few months later he finds out he’s having a child.

Eleven years ago Harry had a one night stand and now there’s a strange man on his doorstep telling him his daughter is something called a wizard and she’s got a place at the British wizarding school Hogwarts.

Aka the one where Muggle Harry and Wizard Louis have a one night stand and get more than they bargained out of it.

💎 What Side Of Love Are You On? by @fallinglikethis (T, 25k)

Ever since Harry finally made the decision to come out to his mother as bisexual, she’s been foisting women on him left and right, determined it’s just a phase. But when she puts out a personal ad to find the perfect partner for her son, things really get complicated. Suddenly, Harry’s heart is being pulled in two very different directions. On one side is the sweet, caring woman he has fun with, but doesn’t know his mother chose for him. On the other is a man who seems to be his mother’s worst nightmare, but makes Harry’s heart flutter in ways he’s never felt before. When all is said and done, maybe they’ll all learn that when there is no clear path to go down, the best option is to follow your heart.

A Because I Said So Au with a bisexual twist.

💎 If We Have Each Other by ishiplouis / @pocketsunshineharry (M, 23k)

“When are you going to accept my offer to go out again? It’s been seven years and you’re still saying no to a fun night?” Niall complains.

“A night in with Mads is a fun night for me Ni, I already told you that.” Harry responds while serving a customer.

“You’re infuriating, I just want my best friend to go out with me tonight, is it too much to ask?” Niall pouts but all Harry does is chuckle and prepare the coffee machine for the double espresso the customer ordered.

“Playing the victim, are we now?” Harry is so used to Niall’s techniques. “Well, I have good news for you, Maddie is having a sleepover at one of her friends so tonight so I’m all yours.”

OR AU where Harry is a single father and a one-night stand is going to change his life forever.

💎 Packed Lunches, Sticky Fingers and Accidental Levitation by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup (G, 10k)

Harry Styles is a skilled work-from-home potionist five years out of university with a steady job, a house, and... eight kids. He also might be heading towards a breakdown if he doesn't get a bit of help. Enter a meddling pixie and an old university friend he might or might not have had a lot of feelings for.

💎 A Christmas Kiss by @parmahamlarrie (T, 8k)

Harry never expected to spend Christmas in the Emergency Room, but it might just be the (second) best thing to ever happen to him, after the birth of his son, of course. Because while in that hospital waiting for his son to be discharged, he met the most beautiful pediatric nurse he’s ever seen.

Or the one where Harry is a single dad, Louis is a pediatric nurse, and Arlo needs to stop eating hazelnuts.

The night before Louis is scheduled for a Portkey to begin training with the Vratsa Vultures in Bulgaria he heads into Muggle London for one last night of fun. A few months later he finds out he’s having a child.

Eleven years ago Harry had a one night stand and now there’s a strange man on his doorstep telling him his daughter is something called a wizard and she’s got a place at the British wizarding school Hogwarts.

Aka the one where Muggle Harry and Wizard Louis have a one night stand and get more than they bargained out of it.

[tommyspeakycap]

Shelby!Sister getting poisoned whilst at dinner with the whole family?

changed it up a bit; reader is roofied at one of Tommy’s fancy ball type parties and there’s one particular gentleman around to help her out.

Good Team

Tommy had, since you were merely a little girl, endeavoured to introduce you emphatically as (y/n) Shelby, with your surname stated soaked in ferocity and warning. You are a Shelby. You are his little sister. He makes sure people know this. He makes sure they’re aware. He sees it as a pre-warning, the kind that lets them know that you are very very important to him without actually saying those words. He sees it very much as a pre-warning for grievous bodily harm had any trouble befell you at another persons discretion. It was made incredibly clear from the moment you were born that you were so far from off limits to the enemies that it didn’t even need to be spoken.

However, it was a relatively occasional occurrence that this message was not accurately conveyed no matter how clear your elder brother was about the matter.

You were usually so cautious and so careful, but you were in your brothers own ballroom with his own supplied champagne and you had very few worries of such a simple business gathering for Christmas. You were adorning an extortionate dress that Tommy had made for you with a beautiful fur shoulder wrap, cheeks dusted with a champagne blush and a gorgeous smile as you mingle with rich business people and rich couples who were born into money. They were amazing at times to ogle at, coming from such a poor background. It was hard enough to adjust to your new life flaunting pretty dressed and walking around with a purpose and a job that had significant purpose.

But it would be safe to say you weren’t so worried around these people. You should’ve known better.

You keep blinking, squeezing your eyes shut to try and find vision again that wasn’t restricted by blurriness. The heels on your feet didn’t aid you much in the way of keeping your balance as you stumble into a long hall. You don’t remember where you last saw Tommy and you can’t remember where the glass you were holding had gone. You don’t know much, but you know you have to find one of your brothers.

Heavy footsteps behind you send a rush of hazed adrenaline through your veins, forcing your legs to move you faster, your arms scratching off paintings lining the walls as you attempt to use the wall as a stabiliser.

“Someone’s ‘ad a bit much, eh?”

Your eyelids flicker as you try to keep them open against the light that makes you feel like your head is exploding. “No, no I- there’s someone trying to get me!” You hiss in a slurred whisper with arms that flail somewhat aimlessly as you attempt to point out the person behind you. The man with his his on your biceps steadying you leans around to get a good look behind you. “Mhm, there me no one there love.” He says, confused. You can only vaguely make out who the person is that holds you up and it’s someone you know your brother only invited so as to attempt to talk him into taking on more Blinders for distillery protection.

Alfie Solomons wasn’t entirely the most trustworthy person that surrounded your family. Him and Tommy had a bit of a tendency to betray each other, no matter how expected it always was. The London gangster probably wasn’t the best person for you to bump into and definitely not the most reliable, but he was who you had ended up with and although it could have been him that drugged you, it didn’t seem incredibly likely. He told Tommy and Grace when greeting people at the front door; “No need for the fucking niceties eh Tommy? I’m here for the free booze mate yeah?” and walked on through with a pat on your brothers back.

Despite the fact you didn’t have much trust in him, you really holed that he wouldn’t pass you off as being overly drunk and leave you alone. You feel dreadfully unwell. Alfie looks down the hall, then back at you and with a sigh, he slips his strong arm around your waist and pulls you into his side for your stability. “I think you’re right, Shelby.” Alfie mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for even you to hear. “Something‘s just not right.” He turns to you, using his arm that wasn’t wrapped around you to lift up your eyelid. Beyond the terror in your eyes in huge pupils. “You’ve been drugged,” he states, his voice still low. “Better find those brothers of yours.”

That brings you some form of relief, but the terror still remains. It’s a scary situation, to know what you want to do with your limbs and know exactly what you want to say, but to be unable to speak or walk or even hold up your head. Your heart hadn’t stopped racing and you were drenched in sweat. It’s a shock you didn’t recognise you had been drugged before hearing Alfie say it.

His arm is tight around the waistline of your expensive ballgown, keeping you steady against him as he walked as quickly as he could manage while supporting your weight. He only vaguely knew the way around Tommy’s huge country house, but he did know where the man’s office was, and he’d likely have a maid in waiting there who Alfie could send to fetch him once he got you there. As you both rounded the corner into the corridor that would take you to Tommy’s office, there a man dressed like a waiter standing seemingly waiting for you. “Mister Shelby sent me to collect his sister when he heard she was overly inebriated.” The man spoke. Alfie furrowed his eyebrows tightly, but nodded and walked you closer to him. You want to protest, but your mind still won’t coordinate with your body and the most you can do is grumble. “She’s a bit hard to deal with,” Alfie admits, “So a tip you should really know for the future?“ He pauses, moving as though he’s going to pass you over to the arms of the other man. Alfie leans in until he’s only a few inches away and whispers a warning “I fucking hate liars,” before sharply drawing back his head only to but it forward forcefully into the man’s face.

He stumbles back and Alfie takes that opportunity to grab the front of his suit jacket and throw him behind the two of you with a kick to his ribs a few times for good measure. He wraps his arm back around your waist and continues on down the hall as if nothing had ever happened. “Could tell by his-fuck!”

A yelp leaves you as your legs tangled when you attempt to bare your own weight and instead clatter to the floor with a thud. Alfie grunts and you fight to open your heavy eyelids to see that a man had dove out at him from a doorway along the long hall and there were now two of them and two of you, except they were both conscious and had full control of their own bodies, whereas it fell upon Alfie to fight for both of you. The Londoner truly does not know why he has put himself in this situation for anyone, never mind for a Shelby he had only met a handful of times. But every time he had met you, you were incredibly sweet and kind to him. He knows that they’ll stop attacking him if he allows them to take you and do as they please with you, but something in him prevents him from doing that. There’s a part of him that encourages him to spit the blood from his mouth and stand in front of where you lay in and out of consciousness on the fell, ready to fight for you like he had something to lose if he couldn’t protect you. Tommy would never know Alfie was there with you if he walked away now, but something in him wants to be there. Wants to fight for you.

And so fight he does, throwing punch after punch, trying to take on two at once. Alfie managed to take the blonde assailant out of the game by cracking the wall with his blonde head of hair, leaving him out cold and potentially dying on the floor. When he does that though, his moment of glory is short lived before the other appears behind him with an arm tightly around his throat. Alfie squirms and grunts, kicks and scratches attempting to get him off, but the attacker holds on despite the blows. Alfie thinks he may well have to accept his fate.

Then he clocks you again on the floor, except this time your hands and trailing up your leg, hiking up your dress and he is utterly confused at your behaviour, thinking that it must be the drugs acting weird in your system. That is, until your dress reaches your upper thigh and the London gangster feels what he thinks may be butterflies when he spots the holster and gun that had been well hidden by your long ballgown. He would laugh, grin even if he wasn’t being strangled nearly to death. He watched with blurry vision as you try to steady your hands enough to point the gun at the attacker that was too bury trying to hold Alfie Solomons down to notice your movements. Alfie squeezes his eyes shut as you move your finger over the trigger and he hopes to God your heads are steady enough to shoot the right person.

The bang goes off and very suddenly he can breathe again. He notes that’s a good sign. He scrambles away quickly, turning around to press his foot onto the bullet wound in the shoulder of his attacker. “I will come back for you.” He growls in warning, pressing his foot harder to elicit a scream before he nods and turns back to where you stand. He wipes the blood off the bottom of his shoe on the carpet before he steps forward to swoop your gun off the floor to slip it back into your thigh holster, and then he helps you back up. Except this time, he opts to sweep you off your feet and into his arms bridal style.

“Good shot.” He notes. You breath a chuckle with hooded eyes in response, but can’t manage anything else. If you hadn’t been severely drugged, Alfie might’ve kissed you.

He makes it to Tommy’s office with ease, ordering the maid to get your brother immediately. Alfie lays you down on the soft couch in the office, placing you carefully on on your side for safety in case you’re sick. He uses the not blood tinted side of his handkerchief to wire some blood splatter and sweat from your face gently, and offers a gentle smile. “We make a good team, Solomons.” You hum with words slurred and jumped, but he understand what you said nonetheless. “That we do, Shelby.” He rumbles back in response.

The moment is as any moment of yours often is, interrupted by your elder brothers storming in. Immediately, Alfie is ripped from your side by Arthur slamming the him roughly against the wall with a loud clatter and bang. John goes to stand by Arthur’s side, and Tommy takes a knee beside you. The patriarch places his cool hand against your forehead before dipping down to place his ear just above your lips. “She’s breathing.” He concludes, “What the fuck did you do to her?” He sneers through gritted teeth as he takes steps towards Alfie.

“And why the fuck and you covered in blood.” Alfie sighs heavily, rolling his eyes and flaring his nostrils at the proximity of the three Shelby brothers. “Funny story, you see Tommy.” He grumbles discontentedly, “Seems as though someone tried after your sister right under your fucking nose, mate. Drugged her drink, removed her from the crowd. I found her wandering the halls all fuckin’ disoriented yeah. Now I don’t like a man who targets a woman, much less has to fuckin’ drug her to achieve it.” Alfie shrugs. Tommy narrows his eyes, but something in him believes what the Camden Town Gangster is saying. Alfie doesn’t have much in the way of necessity for taking you and it wouldn’t make sense for him to have the opportunity to but instead to bring you here. Right to them. “Doesn’t explain the fucking blood.” Arthur hisses, slamming his back against the wall again.

Alfie holds up his hands. “You’re little sister isn’t such a damsel as you make her out to be, Thomas. She has a fantastic shot. Some cunts-“ Alfie’s words drop with pure venom as the reminder of the man nearly strangling him to death reenters his mind, “Came after her. On that note, you’ll need a carpet cleaner and some body bags just along that hall. Don’t let the missus see that mess.”

Tommy paused for a moment, his eyes not leaving Alfie’s even when he speaks. “John, check that corridor.” He orders, making his younger brother grunt in annoyance but do as told nonetheless. “Arthur,” He grumbles, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Take our sister upstairs and get Polly.” Arthur is hesitant. Tommy might believe the words that Alfie speaks, but Arthur despises him and the only thing he hates more than Alfie is the thought of Alfie’s hands on you without any of them being there to help you, protect you. He knows that he and a Tommy are asking themselves the same question. How could something like this happen to you right beneath their noses. How had someone managed to get to when they were so close, literally right in the same room in an event organised by them. Arthur couldn’t answer the question, but could probably have killed Alfie in his rage at that moment. “Arthur,” Tommy repeats more firmly, “Go.”

This time, he listens. But that’s not without a warning glare at Alfie, who simply offers a smirk in response. “And you,” Tommy says finally, turning his attention to Alfie, “Fuck off.”

Alfie chuckles, but begins to walk past Tommy to leave the office when the smaller man grabs his arm in a vice like grip that makes the tips of his fingers tingle with the strength of it. Alfie feigns the urge to fight back in reaction to the pain. Tommy leans in close to his ear with a low snarl, “You don’t just help people. I don’t care what the reason was eh, but don’t you ever go near my sister again.”

Then he lets go and Alfie simply shakes off his arm and walks away. He hasn’t listened to Tommy Shelby any time in the past, and it appears as though today will be no different.

[joezworld]

The Devil in Disguise (1/5)

Traintober 2022 Day 21 - Strangers

-

Hey guys so I wanted to try making a character that was straight-up unequivocally evil, so here's that.

-

Summary - A multiple unit and a diesel meet as strangers. Or are they?

-

⅕

1991 - London

The sun had barely just crested the horizon, but the city was already alive with the sounds of progress. Cars, trains, and even aircraft moved about, giving the air a feeling of charged potential. Anything could happen in the Capitol!

In one of the many rail yards that dotted the city, a class 47 was being prepared for the day’s duties. She was freshly painted, and sparkled in her red and black Rail Express Systems livery. 

You’ve got to look good in order to feel good! She thought to herself as her driver checked her over. As was expected, he found no defects, and after a brief stop at the fuel pumps, she was off, up the line a little bit to one of the MPDs where they kept the multiple units.

She’d been tasked with a very special job today, and it was going to be a real cracker, she could just feel it! 

She rolled into the next MPD, a jaunty tune on her lips. The multiple units hissed at her, as they were wont to do - they worked long hours and had little chance for rest - but she ignored them. After all, as their better, she could make as much noise as she well pleased! 

“Wakey wakey!” She tooted her horn gaily as she rolled up to a specific unit who had been parked outside the sheds. He at least had been washed, which made him more presentable than some of the scruffier looking units around.  “It’s time to get up and be productive! All your passengers are waiting for you!”

“Oi! Knock it off! They’ve just only been withdrawn!” One of the newer, shinier, units called to her. 

New he might have been, but a multiple unit he still was, and she ignored him with a cheerful flash of her perfectly done eyelashes. “Alright you… whatever your number is! Come on! We’ve work to do!” 

“Do we.” The unit didn’t really seem interested in her, staring off into the distance with a set jaw. “And what work is that.” 

“The testing!” She beamed, not letting a silly spoilsport of a multiple unit ruin her day. “For the push pull controls! If this works, they’ll take your lot and turn you into mail vans for me and my family!” 

“Ah. How wonderful. You being linked to me.” 

“Isn’t it just? Then we can be even more efficient with the mail trains because the driver can stand in your cab on the return journey! We’ll shave off loads of time!”

The multiple unit - he was a 307, now that she remembered - scowled deeply, didn’t say anything else as she was connected to him. They set off down the mainline without another word, her B-end cab leading the way, and she couldn’t help but feeling like she’d offended him in some way. Ah well, I probably woke him up too early. Not everyone’s as poised and perfect as me. 

Perfect. That was a good word for her. She’d served honorably in BR for decades now, and she was being rewarded with testing duties! It was so exciting, being at the forefront of technology and progress. 

So exciting, in fact, that she couldn’t keep a smile off her face all the way to Hatfield station. There, a group of workers met them on the platform, piling into the 307, before they set off a few miles more to Stevenage, where they stopped in a goods loop. 

In between commuter trains, the 47 was run around her train, and backed down onto the 307, now facing towards London. 

The men were very careful in linking the multiple unit connectors, poking and prodding the cables to make sure everything was secure. When they were satisfied that everything was set, they plugged the two together, and walked back into the 307, where they’d set up many different computers to monitor the connection. 

“Can you hear me?” She asked down the connection. 

There was a very long silence. She wondered if the unit had fallen asleep - after all, nothing could be wrong with her connections. “Yo-hoo! Everybody awake back there?” 

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” The 307 hissed, a caustic sound that boiled up out of the MU connection.

“What?” She recoiled from the cruelty of the tone.

“Of course not. The gas axe forgets what the steel remembers.” 

“Beg your pardon?” She spluttered and coughed, totally blindsided by the 307’s anger, which was practically radiating through the multiple unit cables. “I’ve never met you before!”

 “Oh give. It. up.” He growled, an angry sound. “You can change your number and your stripes but you can’t change your soul. I clocked you the moment you oozed into my yard like the cancer you are.”

“Come again?” 

“The eyes are the window to the soul. I looked into yours and saw the devil that I saw last time.”

“WHAT LAST TIME?!” She all but shrieked. “WHO DO YOU THINK I AM?!” 

There was a long and angry pause from the multiple unit. “You’re D1772. You rolled into my life so long ago I barely remember a time before.” 

That was her old number… “Did something happen?” She wracked her memory for something involving these odd little electric coaches.

A scoff rolled down the multiple unit lines. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“I don’t!”

“Stratford. And Ilford. The 1960s.”

“I was at Stratford for a while, but I don’t recall Ilford at all. Wasn’t that where I got you from today?” 

“Typical. You’re the inflection point of my entire existence and you can’t even remember it.”

“I suppose it was an important time for you, but for me it was just the 1960s.”

That got a response, a metallic roar that sparked and popped down the MU connector, causing her to jump, and sending men scrambling outside to check the connections as the 307 silently raged. 

“Allow me to refresh your memory…” He seethed once he’d calmed. 

The Great Eastern Main Line - 1959

A multiple unit scuttled down the line. His mission - a most unusual rescue. 

The goods train hove into view as he rounded a corner near Stratford, the failed engine on the front leaking sooty smoke from places it should not have. 

“Evening!” He called as he drew near to it. “Having a spot of bother?” 

A smiling face looked back at him, the features achingly gorgeous even under a healthy dose of soot. 

“I was.” she said, her voice a chorus from heaven itself. “But I don’t think I am anymore.”

-

“She was my angel. My beloved.”

-

Romance blossomed in the places management couldn’t see. The other multiple units and her own family covered for them as best they could. 

They were based from different depots, but they made it work. A quick glance across the platforms. A ‘chance’ meeting in a goods loop, planned well in advance. The oddest station pilot duties anyone could imagine. 

Whatever it took for each other.

-

“We had the world at our buffers. Our lives ahead of us.”

-

Big diesels began appearing more and more. Filtering in from other regions and other depots, they made their approach to Stratford. They were kind, in the upper-class way express engines strove to be.

One of them, a two-tone-green type four, newly outshopped by Brush, rolled into the yard sometime in the middle of the decade. Her beauty, exquisite. Her smile, measured in gigawatts. She listened when engines talked, laughed at their jokes. 

She looked like an angel. Talked like one too.

-

“Then you slithered in.”

-

She soon had the yard eating off of the backs of her buffers. 

Coaches wanted her to pull them. 

Trucks worshipped the rails she rolled on. 

Engines wanted to be her. Or be with her.

And even the multiple units, a little ways up the line at Ilford, took their chances at Aphrodite made metal. 

Well, most of them did. 

-

“You fooled them with your kisses.”

-

One unit in particular was too caught up in his own storybook tale to notice the God in his midst.

And so, he was the only one paying attention, when the yards started to break down. 

First it was petty disputes, squabbles that elevated to massive heights out of nowhere.

Then it was rows. Screaming, abusive fights that tore through the sheds at Stratford. Engine against engine. Friend against friend. Brother against sister. 

One night his love rolled into the multiple unit depot, tears in her eyes. Her family had turned against itself. She had no-one, or so it seemed. 

-

“You cheated and you schemed.”

-

He should have known better. 

A week later and it was like her troubles had never existed. She smiled at everything. Frowned at nothing. She spoke to him warmly, but he could see that her eyes hid something. 

He spoke about it to his siblings. They advised he leave it; probably some horrible thing someone said, that she wants to forget. 

So he left it. 

And then she left him. 

For her. 

-

“Heaven knows how you lied to them.”

-

His world turned to black and white, all the colour leached out of it. His heart turned cold, and his words sharp. He blamed everyone for what transpired, most of all himself. 

An outcast in his own yard, he soon became, exiled by his ever-sharpening tongue. It gave him time to think, and more importantly, time to watch. 

Watch as a two-tone-green type 4 rolled into and out of his yard with impunity. How she spoke to his family with honored trust. How they listened to what she said. 

How she said one thing to one group, and another to the rest. 

How the arguments broke out as soon as she left. 

How she did the same at Stratford. 

How she turned his love into a simpering toady, parroting her cruel and thoughtless words like a shoddy impersonation of the real thing. 

-

“You weren’t the way you seemed. You might’ve talked like an angel, and moved like an angel, but I got wise. I knew what you were.”

He paused, taking in a deep rattling breath.

“You were the devil, in disguise.”

-

The 47 had listened to the 307 go on and on, and was wracking her brain for where she’d heard this story before. “Hang on, was that you back in 1966?!” She laughed, a joyous and happy sound. “You were in love with that thing?”

-

The men gathered around the multiple unit cables jumped again as a single long spark arced off of the metal connector. They conferred with each other, and began wrapping more electrical tape around the cables, ignoring whatever their diesel was laughing at.

-

“Oh don’t be like that!” She hooted gaily. “It was an inferior being! Don’t tell me you actually had feelings for it?!! Ha ha ha! My word! Whatever possessed you to do that? Pity?!”

-

At this point, the men had mummified the multiple unit cables in thick insulating tape. There were no sparks as a result, but power surges of unknown origin popped up on the computer readouts. Because this was British Rail, the computers still output data onto huge rolls of paper via a printer, and with all the men standing outside, the powerful, anomalous, and off-the-chart readings were soon covered by more paper. 

-

“I LOVED HER!”  He raged against the diesel’s mockery. “I LOVE HER STILL! AND YOU - YOU MADE HER INTO A MONSTER!”

-

For three long years, he had to watch as the devil and her demon turned the lives of every engine and multiple unit - his included - in Stratford and Ilford into a living hell. Kind words were rationed, to be used sparingly, on passengers, managers, and the occasional visiting engine.

He tried, a few times more than he should have, to get through to his love. 

It was not successful. Her mind had been warped and twisted from the inside out. Each time he left, a little part of his soul died, until all there was left was cruelty and spite. 

One afternoon, almost a decade after they first met, they glared at each other across a platform, in London. She was bringing a group of vans into the station, for a post train to the north. He, a commuter train to Southend. 

“I suppose you’ve got something to say like you always do?” She said, her beautiful face twisted into a mockery of the class 47’s trademark grin. 

He wanted to tell her what he really felt - how he hated everything about his life, himself included, and that he wished that they’d never met, but at that moment, a gasping and clanking Standard 4 wheezed into the station with a long distance train. The sheer noise and calamity from his arrival made speech almost impossible. 

“Yes!” He said, raising his voice over the steamer, looking her dead in the eye. “Fuck off and die!”

With that he whirred away, his pantographs sparking angrily. 

He didn’t look back to see her expression, and he managed to put her out of his mind until he was on his way back from Southend. 

Whirring into Stratford station, he looked over at the yard to the depot, and found her and three of her siblings parked in the out-of-use line. 

“Another breakdown?” He called, a smile tickling his lips as he realized he no longer felt bad about needling them for their poor reliability. 

“We’ve been withdrawn!” One of them shouted, his voice tinged with horror. “Just like that!” 

“Not even a warning!” Cried another. 

“They can’t be serious?” His love asked, still trying to come to grips with what was happening. 

Again, steam was to break his composure. A tank engine, so filthy that he couldn’t even see the number or guess at a gender, clanked through the station, a line of sooty coaches clattering behind it. He looked at the filthy steamer - still earning its keep, then at his love and her siblings - sparkling clean from the morning washdown but set to be demolished now.

He burst out laughing - a cathartic, unsympathetic sound that caused his love’s face to crater in shock - and then left, not sparing them a second glance as he rolled towards Liverpool Street. “See you rotters in hell!” 

-

“So?” The 47 asked, now thoroughly confused. “You hated them. As you should have. What has you so angry?” 

Shocked and angry stammering met this. The power readings spiked again, and his pantographs fluttered on their springs. 

-

He returned with the next service, unsurprised to see the devil herself near the out-of-use lines. She probably would get this undone, somehow, and then he’d be subjected to them all for a while longer, until something happened to get someone transferred to a new depot. 

Honestly he didn’t care if they transferred him to the bottom of the English Channel at this rate. 

What did surprise him was that the rest of Stratford's allocation of his once-love’s class - all ten of them - marshalled one behind the other in a line, the devil at the front.  

“Right ho!” He heard her cry out in glee. “We’re off then! Next stop, the scrap heap! Say goodbye everyone!” 

The horrified screams, begs, shouts, and pleas that followed the train as it rolled north broke his hatred like a brick through a window, and he sprinted after them once the signal dropped. 

The signalmen must have been “in” on whatever was going on, because the train of the damned scuttled out of Stratford and down the line faster than he could chase it, and when he reached the point where the line for Southend diverged from the main, it was just a speck in the distance. 

Several hours later, he returned with a heavy heart, and found an equally morose yard. 

“They’ve sent her away…” mourned an 08. “Just like that.”

“To think they made her haul away all the rest too…” Muttered a 40.

“I can’t believe they’re all gone.” One of his brothers sighed. 

“You mean she got herself a transfer?!” He gasped, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. 

-

“The last time I saw you, or her, was that day.” He seethed through the lines, rage almost palpable. “You hauled them off to die, and did it with a smile on your face.” 

The diesel rolled her eyes at that. “Well, I think I shed a tear or two. For appearance’s sake.”

“You sociopath. Was any of it real? Did you love her?”

“Because I wanted you to know exactly why I’m doing this.” The 307 said this out loud. 

“No. Not really.” She said breezily, then paused for a moment. “Honestly I would've left her alone, but I must've felt like slumming it or something. She was fun, at least."

Inside the multiple unit, the printer and the computer sparked and coughed smoke from a power surge. Above, light bulbs popped, sending glass raining down onto empty seats.

She rolled her eyes at his rage, totally unperturbed. "You know, I figured out who you were like half an hour ago. Why’d you keep telling me this sob story?”

With the quiet swish of oiled springs, his pantographs lifted from his roof, and made the connection with the brand-new overhead lines of the East Coast Main Line. 

Power surged through the multiple unit connection, and the 47 shrieked as she felt her throttle move on its own, her engine revving to full power as the brakes hissed off.  

Men tried to leap onboard and take control, but they couldn’t reach anything before the train was moving too fast. Within a moment, they were out of the goods loop and onto the ECML, powering towards London, with nobody aboard. 

Behind her, the 307 drew in power from the overhead lines, and surged backwards, pushing against the 47 as they began to roll forward.

To Be Continued…

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi! I love your writing <3. I was just wondering if you had an update on what is happening with your ace story, Say Yes. I really love it and would love to read more! No pressure, would just love to read it on your Patreon when you are done :D

(For curious people, this is Say Yes.)

I am mentally wrangling it and working on it when I have time (so not this month, haha).

In regards to reading more, have a random short extract:

Cade’s room was closer to his personality and what Astra had expected than the rest of the house. The colours were still fairly neutral, but there was a painted mural of London on one wall. There were sketchbooks too, of all different sizes, piled up on the desk, and more crammed onto a small bookshelf. His clothes hung in the wardrobe, along with a paint splattered apron. What looked like a few old pictures of Cade and his friends, and one of Cade and his brother, were propped on the bedside table. His school bag poked out from under the bed. It was tidy, but less in a showroom sort of way. More in the, Astra liked to think, oh crap my girlfriend’s going to see my room for the first time kind of way. Cade shoved some of the sketchbooks aside to make room on the desk, and set the cupcakes down. Astra wandered over to the bookshelf. It held mostly fantasy novels, some thrillers. She swivelled. “Did you paint it?” she asked, pointing at the London mural. “Hm?” Cade was halfway through prising the lid off the cupcake container, and glanced at the wall. “Oh, yeah. There was left over paint from when they turned my brother’s room into the office.” He selected a chocolate cupcake. “You don’t have to do that,” she said, with a twinge of embarrassment, and folded her arms. “We’re about to have dinner.” “Oh, please. I’m not missing out on cupcakes.” He headed over to the window, pushing it open. Once he was leaned half out of it, the portrait of a teenager stealing a cigarette and not wanting anyone to catch the smell of smoke, he sunk his teeth into the frosting and took a large bite. “My god.” He angled himself, so any crumbs spilled into the garden below in a startlingly practiced way. “These are delicious.” “Chloe and Ingrid helped,” Astra confessed. She bit her lip, studying his slender form with a fresh knife of unease. “You know I’m not going to withhold cupcakes from you, right?” “I know. Want some?” He held up the cake. “Trust me. You’re going to want a hit of something sweet to prepare you for dinner with my parents. Also, my mum’s lasagne is…” Cade grimaced. “Is it…is it really going to be that bad?” Some of her confidence faded, in light of the cupcake incident. She moved over to him, leaning in after only a moment’s hesitation to take the bite he was offering. Despite everything, she couldn’t help but be aware of how close they were now standing. Alone. In his room. Sharing a cupcake. His lips had touched that cupcake. They would be sugar sweet if she kissed them for the first time now, wouldn’t they? “The lasagne? I mean, I’m not a cook, but I’m pretty sure it’s her refusal to use like butter or full fat milk or anything. She barely uses salt.” She shot him a look. He shrugged, though the gleam in his eyes was conspicuously absent, and all thoughts of kissing him vanished in the face of that. “They’ll probably interrogate you on your parents,” he said. “What they do, what you do, and your five year plan for life.” “Well, I have a ten year plan, so that’s all good.” He raised a brow, fumbling normalcy. “Do you now?” She jutted her chin out at that comment, tossing the Cade Wright smirk right back at him. “You don’t believe me? Okay.” She leaned against the window next to him, peering into the early winter darkness. “Go to UCL to do a degree in psychology.” There was a light in the window across the grass, though the curtains were drawn and she couldn’t see inside the room. “Then do their postgraduate degree. Become a psychiatrist. Maybe travel a few years – I want to go to Paris, and Venice – then settle and have an amazing apartment in London. Meet the love of my life, if I haven’t already done so. Happily ever after.” “I want to study in London too,” he said, absently. “One of the art colleges. Maybe Goldsmiths if I can get in.” The pained expression was at least gone from his face. He polished off the cupcake, then tensed as a door opened down the corridor, and footsteps sounded on the stairs once more. “We should probably get back down there.” She never thought she’d hear ‘should’ from his

mouth, so resigned, as if he hadn’t been the one to ask her what she wanted to do when all she could think about was what was expected of her. The wild thought crossed her mind that they could simply leave. But this wasn’t a party, with people they never had to see again in seven months if they didn’t want to. This was his family. His life. Still. She made an exaggerated glance at the window. “It’s not too late,” she said, “have you ever climbed out of this thing before?” It made him smile, like she’d hoped. “Once. I was fourteen. I broke my arm.” “I think I remember that, actually. Everyone at school wanted to sign your cast.” “You put stars around your name. It was cute.” She blinked at him, not remembering that, and not having expected him to remember that either. Or to find it cute, when it sounded like a excruciatingly dorky thing to have done. He looked away, scrunching up the paper cupcake casing in his fist, and putting it back in the box. She took that as a cue to straighten up off the window again, their stolen moment at an end. She half felt that she should ask him if he was ready, or to tell him again that everything was going to be okay. She wasn’t sure the words would help. She squeezed his hand instead, hopefully for courage, hopefully for one of them. “I know.” She bit her lip. “I storm out, and you follow me like a gentleman, and then we don’t come back. Just say the word.” He actually laughed that time, seemingly caught off guard. His face brightened, for a moment, and he looked at her like she was the best thing he’d ever seen. Like, maybe, he wanted to kiss her too. Their eyes met.

And I'm hoping to at least try getting it traditionally published, rather than on my Patreon, so who knows. Need to finish it first!