#just picked up some theatricity from old friends and family

[totem-trolls]

The Giantess Surfaces

It is rare for someone to intrude on your moon, your garden, your respite, your prison. Typically only pirates dive into the thick atmosphere of this aquatic rock, hidden in the shadow of a gas giant stripped of all valuable resources. But this interloper is no pirate. Its ship too clean, untarnished by the space dust in the void. It's gait too nervous, stumbling over its feet as it scans the dark waves for you. And the suit it wears is too perfectly fit over its gangly frame to be stolen. Ah, you notice the gleaming badge of a government worker. At least that is what you assume. The writing is far too small for your eyes, especially though the lapping waves. You are surprised, so many governments have fallen and risen. Empire to republic to corporatocracy. You had lost track of them many sweeps ago, and you expected them to forget about you. But, it seems, you are mistaken. No matter, they are here now. They expect an audience. You see no reason to deny them that at least.

Giantess: "Who dares tread upon this unhallowed land? Who dares stand before these forsaken waters? Who dares demand audience from the Colossus of the Abyss?"

It's been a long time, you deserve a little theatrics, you think as you whisper beneath the waves, the noise still resonating so that it seems the very oceans are demanding answers from the whelp. Your horns crest the waves like ancient pillars, crooked but standing still defiant against the starlit sky. Black and fuchsia strands are pulled from their drift as the top of your head rises. And now the water falls below your eyes, like great pools of rubellite, so you may gaze upon this - hold on. Is he dead? Shit. If whatever government is around right now finds out you killed their messenger boy you can kiss your safety goodbye. Wait no, just unconscious. Phew. You better take him to the guest quarters just in case. He can deliver the message when he awakens. Its not like you are going anywhere.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 2, Unwanted - Pt. 5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language,

Word Count: 1.8k

Previously On...: While on a mission with Steve, you two finally begin the process of healing and clearing the air between you.

A/N: This closes out Chapter 2! I have to say, I cannot wait to post Chapter 3; it's my personal favorite, and you'll see why soon enough! I hope you're all enjoying the story so far, and I'm so grateful for all the likes, comments, and reblogs-- you don't know how much they mean to me! You guys are the greatest! <3

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)  @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp

When the Quinjet landed back at the Avengers’ Tower, Bucky was waiting for you in the landing bay. You'd only been gone for four days, but as soon as he saw you start down the gangplank, he ran to you, picking you up and spinning you in circles until you squealed.

"Buck! Put me down before I throw up on you!"

"Can't, Pocket," he said, though he did stop spinning you. "Missed you too much. Physically impossible to let you go."

Steve followed shortly behind you, rolling his eyes at his best friend's theatrics. "No love for your old war buddy, Barnes?"

Bucky laughed, finally putting you down to give Steve a brief, one-armed hug. "Glad you're back safe, too, Stevie," he said. "And thanks for bringing my Pocket home in one piece."

Steve pulled you close in a side hug, the earlier tension that had existed between the two of you having faded since you had a chance to clear the air. "You should be thanking her for bringing me home in one piece. The girl's deadly with plastic explosives."

You shoved him away from you playfully. "Please, Stevie," you teased. "If you just learned the first thing about computers, you could have done the whole mission on your own, you wouldn't even have needed me."

"Always gonna need you, Pocket," Steve said, ruffling your hair. "You're family." You gave each other stupid grins before he hefted his go-bag over his shoulder. "I'm gonna go grab a shower and get some sleep. I'll see you kids later." He walked off into the belly of the tower, leaving you and Bucky alone.

"Ugh, I can't wait to get out of this tac-suit," you moaned. "I always feel so filthy after a mission with explosives, you know?" Bucky gave you a curious look as he leaned down and grabbed your go-bag for you. "Such a gentleman," you smiled at him as you led the way back to your room.

You went straight into the bathroom and unzipped the top of your tac-suit, pulling it down over your arms until it was hanging from your waist. With a sigh of relief at being freed from the confines of the heavy poly-carbonate blended fabric, you washed your face and started brushing your teeth.

"So, how was the mission?" Bucky called from where he was sitting on your bed.

"Goo!" you managed to get out around a mouthful of toothpaste.

"Good, good." He paused. "So, um, it's not really my business or anything, but did something happen... between you and Steve? While you guys were gone? Like, did you guys, I dunno... sleep together?"

You nearly choked on your toothpaste and quickly spat it out in the sink before coming out of the bathroom.

"I'm sorry," you said, pointing your toothbrush at him accusingly. "Did you just ask me if I had sex with Steve Rogers?"

He wouldn't look at you. "Like I said, it's none of my business. It's just that, before you guys left, you were always kind of, I dunno, angry at him? And then you get off the plane and you're hugging and he's got his hands in your hair and you’re calling him ‘Stevie’. So, I was just wondering if something happened."

"And your brain immediately jumped to us sleeping together?" You asked him, incredulous. He looked up at you. "Seriously? We just talked. Lanced some bad blood that had been festering between us since Berlin, so we can work on being good again, be a family again." You noticed he was staring at you, mouth slightly opened. "What?" you asked him.

He motioned vaguely toward your chest, and you looked down to realize your tac-suit was still hanging half off of you and you were standing in front of him in just a purple push-up bra.

"Oh for fucks' sake, Barnes. They're just tits." You stalked over to your dresser and pulled out a t-shirt and slipped it over your head. "Better now?"

He shook his head as if a spell had been broken over him. "Uh, yeah. So, you didn't sleep with Steve," he reiterated.

"No, I did not. To begin with, he's family. There's a major ick factor. And second--, no. That's really it. The idea is super gross."

"Good," Bucky chuckled. "I love Steve like a brother, but I didn't love the idea of sharing you with him."

You started shimmying yourself out of the pants of your tac-suit and tossed it into your hamper. "Yes," you deadpanned, "because you know how much I love being compared to an object that can be owned and thus shared among friends. Not emotionally triggering for me at all."

Bucky had the decency to look chastised. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Relax, Barnes," you teased as you stepped into and pulled up a pair of shorts. "I'm just giving you shit." You ruffled his hair. "I may be emotionally scarred and have more baggage than the cargo hold on an airplane, but at least I can laugh about it."

Bucky rolled his eyes at you, but there was a smile on his lips. "You're something else, you know that?"

You grinned at him. "I'd like to think so. Makes your life so much more interesting, don't you think?"

Bucky nodded in agreement. "Definitely. You're never boring, that's for sure."

You chuckled and flopped down on your bed next to him. "So, what about you? Any juicy drama while I was gone?"

"Hmmm, let's see..." Bucky thought for a moment. "I'm pretty sure Nat and Banner were fucking in the lab the other day."

"No!" you gasped, sitting up.

"Yeah; I needed some calibration done on my arm, and since you weren't here, I went down to Bruce's lab to ask him to help, but the doors were locked. I was about to turn around and come back later, when the door opened up and Nat came rushing out, won’t acknowledge me or make eye contact, and I swear her shirt was on inside out. I get inside and Banner's actively tucking his shirt back into his pants."

You cackled at the mental image, kicking your legs in the air with delight. "Oh, that's amazing. Finally, those two crazy kids got together. I'll have to find some way to get Nat to give me all the dirty, dirty details."

"Ugh, if you do, please keep them to yourself," Bucky moaned. "Last thing I need is a mental picture of Banner's mini-Hulk."

"Hey now, I'm sure Bruce is perfectly proportionate," you teased. Then you got serious. "I gotta admit, I'm a bit jealous."

"You have a thing for Bruce?" Bucky asked, eyes wide with astonishment. "I would never have guessed he's your type."

"What?! No!" You playfully shoved him. "Same reason I'm jealous of Tony and Pepper, Wanda and Viz, Clint and Laura. You and your left hand, Sam and whoever he's dating this week. It just must be nice to be in a relationship, you know? To have someone to share that part of your life with."

Bucky cocked his eyebrow, but nodded, understanding your meaning and letting your joke about his left hand slide. "So, what's stopping you from going out and getting one for yourself, Pocket? You're smart, funny, gorgeous. You could date anyone you wanted."

You leaned back, making yourself comfortable against your pillows and heaved a heavy sigh. "Oh, you know, just the usual: Trauma, trust issues, fear of abandonment. All of that fun stuff." Bucky gave you a look, and you knew he wanted you to take the conversation seriously, for once.

"Finnne," you whined. "After I... Once I started out on my own, I was... Well, I did everything I could think of to try to reclaim sex for myself, you know? It wasn't healthy, it wasn't smart, but I was young and stupid and I didn't know what else to do. I can fuck someone without having a panic attack now, which, trust me, is a vast improvement from where I started, but making myself vulnerable for that emotional connection? To transcend something from just sex to a real relationship? I have no idea how to do that. It's like, I can open up one way, or the other; I can't do both. It's too much. If there’s even a hint of an emotional connection with a guy, I shut down. Close myself off. Like, it’s not worth the risk of getting hurt.”

"I understand," said Bucky, softly and simply, and you knew that he did. Your traumas were different, but the scars they had left on you were so similar. "I haven't been with a girl, physically, since 1944," he confided. "I don't know if I can trust anyone to be that open with, to share that part of me with. Not after everything that's been done to me. And I worry that I can't trust myself to let go, not without hurting someone."

You let out a long, low whistle. "That's gotta be some kinda celibacy record." You clapped your hand over your mouth. "You're a reborn virgin, James Buchanan Barnes!"

"Reached your quota for serious conversation, have you?" Bucky asked with a piqued eyebrow.

"You know it's not my strong suit," you conceded. "But seriously, man? 1944? Oof. Your balls must be black by now."

He gave you a look of disappointment, causing you to sigh.

"I know, I know," you said eventually. "You're trying to have a meaningful discussion with me and I'm being an immature ass, again. I'm sorry."

Bucky wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your shoulder. "You're not an ass, Pocket. You're just... I wish you could talk to me without feeling like you have to fall back onto your defense mechanisms, that's all. I want you to feel safe with me."

You turned your head to look at him. "Buck, I feel safer with you than anyone else on this entire fucking planet. You're my best friend and you know all of my deep, dark secrets. You know me better than anyone, but I’ve spent a lifetime building those defenses; they aren't all just going to fall down in a day, so that means an inappropriate joke or two is going to slip through every now and then.”

Bucky smiled at you and squeezed you a bit tighter. "I know, Pocket. And I adore you for it. But if you ever want to talk about anything serious, know that I'm here for you."

"I know," you said, leaning into him. "And thank you, for being so patient and understanding with me. I get that I can be... a lot."

"No, you're just enough," he said. "Never think otherwise."

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

[natalievoncatte]

"In the end, you can only count on blood."

Lena stood there in Lex's stronghold, staring him down as best she could, and it was still pathetic. He wanted to tell her, to see her face crumble as he explained to her in exquisite detail how weak and pathetic she was. Good God, the woman had given herself a glow-up before confronting him. Who goes to their supervillain brother's secret base, intent on challenging him, in heels? With that shade of makeup? She was still playing the sexpot, unthinkingly using her "advantages" the way that their father had trained her to, when he'd first used her to distract a rival at the negotiating table. At the time, Lex had been disgusted, and confronted the old man privately, earning himself a few bruises.

Over a decade later, he wondered how he hadn't seen it sooner. So desperate for belonging, for approval. Beneath the power suits and fuck me pumps, she was just a little girl crying for her teddy bear, endlessly searching for someone to pat her widdle head and tell her it was okay, and she'd latched onto the Kryptonian of all people. He understood her proclivities, even if he didn't share them, or much interest in the act generally, and on an aesthetic level he knew why Lena was drawn to Kara Danvers, but how could she be so dense?

No, he had to play this properly. He'd written this little drama piece by piece, laying out the steps for her to follow, just as he'd manipulated her so many times at the chess table. All he had to do was pick up the remote on the table beside him and show her the truth, watch her crumble, and when she was reduced to rubble on the floor, rebuild her properly. She'd be his apprentice yet, be worthy. For all her faults, his half-sister was the closest thing he'd ever to know an equal, a worthy partner.

So worthy was she, in fact, that she smoothly swept back her jacket, and in a practiced motion, drew the revolver she carried in a basket-weave, FBI-cant holster on her strong side. Lex recognized it; he gave it to her. A Smith and Wesson J-Frame Ladysmith with custom ebony wood grips. The very one that Lex had gifted Lena on her twenty-first birthday, having already taught her to shoot on the grounds of the family estate.

"This is no time for theatrics, dear sister," said Lex.

Lena responded by shooting him twice, missing his heart. The pain was towering, enormous, and he was on the ground before he realized he'd fallen. Nothing had ever hurt this much.

In his usual detached way, he assessed. Gurgling when he breathed and copper on his breath: she'd hit a lung. When he pulled his hand back from one of the wounds, the blood was a rich, earthy red. Gutshot, then, too. Sadistic, if it was intentional. From the way her hand was shaking it probably wasn't.

"The world will never be safe with you in it," Lena choked out, still holding the gun in front of her as if it might shield her from what she'd done.

"Pathetic," Lex choked out. "Just as I thought." The gurgling came harder now.

He was going to die; that was inevitable. But he'd still get his licks in. They probably thought the Harun-El, or Red Daughter, or the Lexosuit were his master-stroke, but no, it was more intimate. More subtle. He willed himself to draw breath, commanded by force of will that blood keep carrying oxygen to his brain. Despite the agony ripping through him at every breath, he carried on. This made it worth it.

Oh, yes, she'd killed Lex Luthor, but he'd destroy her.

"What will you be without me? You have no one, and nothing."

She seemed confused. How had Lex ever thought that this bovine, dull creature could be worthy of ruling the world beside him? She had some low cunning and a technician's aptitude for laboratory work, but she was no peer of his.

"Go back and cry to your friends," he croaked. "All of them have been mocking you. Alex and Jimmy, your boyfriend, and that little alien runt, and her most of all. The truth was right in front of your face."

He managed to reach the remote and activate the monitors, relief flooding through him, cooling the heat of his dying. Lex slumped back, watching Lena watch her world unravel.

"They've been lying to you all this time, her most of all. Kara Danvers." He pronounced the name carefully, adding the proper Kryptonian inflection to Kara's name.

This. This was the thrust that ended the duel, the cutting stroke, the killing blow. He watched her eyes widen.

"Even your own mother has been lying to you. It's been right there the whole time."

Lena looked at him, the gun drooping in her hand. She looked at the monitor, back to him. Her expression hardened, twisting into a scowl. Perfect. She might even still be able to save him. He knew she was worthless now, of course, but she would be easily to manipulate and once she followed his instructions and healed his wounds, the guilt would take over and-

She was still looking at him. He met her gaze.

"Kara Danvers is Supergirl," Lex croaked out.

Lena's voice was heavy with sadness.

"I know."

Fuck.

Lena pulled the trigger. Lex saw a flash but heard no sound, felt no pain. It was simply over.

It was, but he wasn't.

Somehow, he did not hear, but sensed Lena leaving, not by the clack of her heels on concrete or the explosive rush of pressure as she stole his damned portal watch, but by some other means he didn't understand.

This was odd.

Lex hadn't counted on there being an afterlife. Nor had he considered that it would be so pedestrian and mundane, and that he'd end up staring down at his own body from above. The tunnel of light was probably next; going into said light was most likely, at least for Lex Luthor, an amazingly terrible idea.

This was truly strange. He supposed he should have been in shock and awed at the entire situation, but all he could really feel was a kind of confusion. Looking at his body was like walking the halls of the first boarding school he'd attended, trying to reconcile the memories of a child with the physicality and perspective of an adult who felt too large for those spaces.

In other words, had he really been that short? Had no one had the fortitude to tell him how silly that beard looked?

Lex waited, and started to wonder. Now if this was the afterlife, staring at his own corpse, that would be oddly fitting, in an ironic Greek hell sort of way. He could appreciate the poetry.

Out of of the corner of his eye -or the fringes of his bodyless, formless perception- Lex spotted movement and turned towards it instinctively. A wisp of thick vapor was snaking under the door, curling through the gap. Tendrils of the mist slithered along the floor, spreading and flowing until it surrounded the corpse, which Lex was now more comfortable thinking of as the body rather than my body.

Said mist was filling the room, rising higher and higher. Lex felt a peculiar tug, a nonphysical pull, a kind of involuntary lunge back towards his fallen body. As the mist grew heavier, it reduced the looped footage of Kara using her powers at L-Corp to a glowing blur behind the swirling fog.

Had Lena set the bunker on fire before she left? Perhaps she'd meant to giving him a Viking funeral. He rather liked that.

What he did not like was the jarring sensation of gurgling, pain swelling in his lungs in a molten wave that climbed up his throat, burning its way into a ragged, wet cough that filled his nostrils with metallic stink as surely as if he'd shoved pennies up his nose. He took another breath, or tried to.

Pain rocketed through his body. It felt as if invisible fingers were crudely ripping his wounds closed, knitting the flesh not only carelessly but with deliberate, sadistic glee. Lex cried out and tasted blood on his tongue.

There was a cold floor, hard beneath him. He blinked a few times, the world coming into blurry existence before his now-functional eyes. When he took another breath, the pain had abated, but the memory of it was a non-physical ache, a drag on his lungs nevertheless. As his eyes focused, he realized he was staring up at a new ceiling, in unknown surroundings. The arched stone above his head made him think castle. Maybe he'd been somehow carried off to a bunker in Kaznia, and was about to be interrogated.

Lex sat up.

He was in a castle, indeed. There was a thick carpet under his backside, doing little to protect him from the bitter cold of a hard stone floor. Elaborate tapestries hung on the walls, and in front of them stood heavy, solid bookcases that showed deep age in the wood and craftsmanship, the shelves packed with a vast number of volumes, all of them finely bound. Lex took a few tentative steps and looked over the spines. Most were unmarked. One had a cover of a strange, pale leather that felt loathsome to the touch.

Scanning the room, Lex decided he need to figure out where he was, who brought him here, and attempt to deduce why. It was important, even vital, to project a constant air of control, even if he had no idea what the hell was going on. He'd feel out his captor and find the best posture to start influencing them and guiding them down paths he had already calculated, towards the inevitable goal of escape, and if possible, control. Master of circumstances was Lex's central drive. He didn't play his pieces, he played his opponent; the game itself was merely an exercise in satisfying his intellectual vanity by minimizing the number of moves between opening and checkmate.

So, he assessed.

Wealth. Power. Aristocracy. Those were his first thoughts. The person who owned this place had vast resources and considered themselves vastly important, and to some degree they were right. On the wall opposite the bookcases, Lex found an assortment of arms and armor, full suits of plate on arming racks and heavy longswords and axes, all lovingly cared for.

The room was dominated by a painting. Lex paused to study it; the faded oils depicted, as through a dark glass, a striking young woman of great beauty, dressed in rich regalia. The artist had given her a lively visage, with curious, expressive eyes that were somehow full of mute appeal. She seemed familiar, though the aging of the painting made it difficult for Lex to say how.

Lex heard a scuff of leather and realized he wasn't alone.

At the far end of the room stood a tall man in rich, elaborate, and very antiquated robes and a heavy cloak. Very pale, he had an aristocratic look about him, with jet black hair worn long, swept back from a pronounced windows peak. In one hand, he delicately held a fine golden goblet, and in the other, he regarded some kind of elaborately decorated card; Lex at first thought of the tarot, but it wasn't part of the major or minor arcana, and he didn't recognize the design at all.

He turned and met Lex's gaze.

Lex flinched back and immediately loathed himself for it. He hadn't reacted like this to anyone in years, not since the first time the Kryptonian had paid him a visit. He held the stranger's gaze firmly, though it felt like nails pulled across his skin.

There was an expectant pause. Lex remained still, schooling his features.

"You are Alexander Luthor," the stranger said, gently placing his cup on the broad desk in front of him, settling in a rare open space amongst books and papers.

"My friends call me Lex."

He looked up, considering Lex briefly.

"I have brought you here, and raised you from death at great expense, for a singular purpose, Master Luthor."

Lex spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"What purpose is that?"

"You will tell me everything you know about this woman."

He held something out, clearly expecting Lex to cross the room and accept it. Lex briefly weighed which option was best- to appear obedient and begin his manipulations that way, or force the other man to move from his position of presumed authority and reframe the conversation between them as an exchange between equals.

The moment stretched too long. The stranger's expression darkened slightly. Lex crossed the gap and accepted what turned out to be an eight by ten photograph. He looked at the familiar face.

"Her name is Kara Danvers," said Lex. The photo was her headshot from the CatCo Media website.

God, had no one ever put a picture of Supergirl in Google and done a reverse image search? It was so obvious. She was even more careless than Kent!

"This I know," the man said, taking the picture back. He studied it, lovingly dragging one finger down the edge.

"You seem rather taken with her," said Lex.

The stranger looked up, and carefully slipped the photograph between the pages of one of his books.

"She is important to my plans. I must bring her here, safely and securely, to my home."

Lex couldn't help it, he really couldn't. He barked out a laugh.

"Do you have any idea what you're dealing with? Kara Danvers is Supergirl."

The stranger's eyes flashed with fury, and for a moment, there was something absolutely bestial in his face, his features flowing and changing, twisting into something monstrous and carnivorous.

"It is you who have no idea what you are dealing with, little man," he said.

This wasn't going well.

"I'd be glad to help you, if you help me. I'm sure we can work out a-"

The man moved as fast as a damned Super. He blurred around the desk, suddenly just there, and whipped his hand across Lex's throat. At first, he thought he'd been slapped, but the pain was too sharp, too vital. A hot gush followed it, and Lex realized he was about to die. Again. His throat had been cut.

His knees hit the stone floor and he clutched at his neck, desperate to staunch the flow, but it sluiced between his fingers and spattered on the floor.

The stranger murmured a word, and the air itself seemed to twist around him, bent and mangled by the sound he made as a faint light twisted around his fingers as he bent and curled them in impossible configurations.

The pain of the wound closing was worse than its making; that had been quick, the edge sharp. This felt like someone was grasping Lex's parted flesh with greasy fingers and reshaping it like so much clay.

The stranger looked at the blood splattered on his fingers and hand.

"It is unfortunate that the offal that pollutes your veins is too poor a vintage, Luthor. I would not soil my tongue with it, but perhaps there are others that might be sated by lesser stock."

A hand closed around his neck, and Lex was hauled up, his toes kicking six inches above the floor.

"I could crush you like an insect, remake you, and crush you again," he said,  with a strange, mirthless joy in his voice. "You think yourself your world's smartest man. Next to me, you are nothing. Your world is nothing. I have ruled this land for a thousand years. I am beyond your comprehension."

He let go, and Lex fell, rolling with the impact, lucky not to pop something in his knee. He fell onto his side, gasping and struggling to breathe, unsure he still could.

"You will do as you are commanded. You will tell me everything you know of this woman, and hold nothing back. Her origins, her ways, her home, her family, everything you know, and if I am satisfied that you have been suitably forthcoming, I shall reward you by allowing you to live and serve me."

"Who are you?" Lex choked out.

The stranger stared down at him, smiling for the first time, a cold smile without a hint of anything human in it.

"I am the Ancient. I am the Land. I am Strahd."

[advanced-imbecile-art]

Elias Ables

About

Full Name: Elias Elwood Ables

Nickname(s):

Kenworth - His go to alias. A roundabout reference to Mad Max

Truckie

Age: 38

Gender: Male

Place of Birth: Fort Sam Houston, TX

Date of Birth: February 15

Star Sign: Aquarius

Species/Race: Human

Occupation: Trucker/Smuggler, Barkeep, Mechanic

Faction: Black Dragon

Status: Alive

Appearance

Height: 5'8"

Weight: 175 lbs

Skin Color: Limestone with significant redness on his cheeks/neck

Hair Color: Dirty Blond

Eye Color: Amber

Prominent Features:

Stocky worker's build

Deep surgery scar on the right side of his forhead surrounded by burn scars

Dirty. Grimy. Unshaven. Unkempt. He does not care about his appearance.

Missing half of his right hand. Pink and ring finger are completely gone. Only has the first knuckle of his middle finger.

Attributes

Abilities:

Generic Army training as an MP.

Last Resort:

Mad Max: He hits you with his truck.

Skills:

Path-finding

Getaway and Pursuit Driving

Smuggling

Repairman

Strengths:

Unnoticed - Looking like a nobody average trucker spending most of his days on the road has its perks. Most authorities ignore him and it allows him a certain amount of longevity with Black Dragon. Hard to get stabbed in the back when you're out-of-sight out-of-mind most of the time.

Looks are deceiving - He wrestled in high school and took up boxing in the Army, making him more agile than his stocky build would lead one to believe.

A Regular MacGyver: Despite a lack of general intelligence, he can fix just about anything provided it's not too sciencey.

Weaknesses:

Passive - Not really a go-getter unless there's some outside influence pressuring him.

Lack of impulse control from undiagnosed mental conditions and a traumatic brain injury.

His family. Despite his poor track record and lack of contact with them, he does care about them.

Weapons:

Delilah: His big rig truck.

Big Wrench

Double Barrel Shotgun

Personality

Traits:

Gregarious

Aimless

Country Boy with Trucker Hats

No Filter, often just says what he is thinking

He's dumb, but he's not stupid.

Polite, but in a crass way.

Relationships

Enemies:

Special Forces

Whoever Black Dragon pissed off today

Family:

Mother and Father that disowned him.

Bailey Ables nee Richards - Ex Wife

Martin Ables - Son

Tilly Ables - Daughter

Bethany Ables - Daughter

Friends/Allies:

Kano

A few guys from his Army days

To Be Determined

Other Information

Dislikes:

Lawyers

Therapists

Thinking about himself

Goals:

Stay a part of his kid's lives.

Not much else beyond that. He is incredibly aimless.

Hobbies:

Working on his truck/cars

Restoring/customizing old cars

Birdwatching, he says it kills the time when he's stuck waiting at drop off/pick up points

Likes:

Older action movies

MMA/Boxing

Theatrical Wrestling (WWE Style Stuff)

Habits:

Chronically scratches at his scars on his forehead. They get irritated and itchy easily.

Heavy drinking/drug use when he isn't working. He's not about to spend his down time on a single bit of introspection.

Bites his nails.

Regular patron of sex workers.

Fears:

Losing what visitation rights he does have to his kids

That there was something wrong with him from birth. The idea that the deck was stacked against him from the start fills him with dread so he insists that he's fine with the way things are.

The things he sees when he closes his eyes at night. Memories and trauma from his deployments.

Trivia

An Army brat that was summarily forced into the Army by his officer father after his teenage years were full of all sorts of delinquency. Poor grades, sleeping around, nearly getting involved with drugs and gangs.

Only served 6 years in the Army. Spent most of it on deployments away from his family and got deeply involved in a drug smuggling ring ran by his fellow MPs. Only dodged a dishonorable discharge because a munition exploded next to his head and his last daughter had just been born. His leadership opting to quietly medically discharge him while they focused on the ringleaders of the operation.

His parents still managed to find out about the 'real' reason he got discharged when Bailey divorced him 3 years after the event. Citing irreconcilable differences, infidelity, and absentee behavior towards his family. They took her in and helped her get back on her feet, eventually disowning and cutting contact with Elias as he continued to let opportunities to improve or get help pass him by.

Did not immediately join Black Dragon. Shortly after his divorce, one of his Army buddies and fellow member of the drug ring reached out to him. Encouraging him to transport goods for the clan along with his legitimate cargo. Was eventually upgraded to actual member when he impulsively rammed his truck through a checkpoint and managed to get away, creating a big enough distraction for a more important delivery to sneak by.

-

Like all the cool kids, I borrowed @bdfightclub's profile outline. It's just really good.

Deleted Elias' original post on my main blog because I made a few tweaks to his design and background.

[mizunosuzuka]

Okay, so I've been having some brain worms/thoughts about Shadowbringers/Endwalker Emet-Selch, Warrior of Light, and lastly, Azem that keep me up at night and I'd like to just theory-craft/spew these thoughts before they take over my brain.

BEAR IN MIND THERE WILL BE SPOILERS PAST THIS POINT!!

Alrighty so, during Endwalker's Elpis questline, the WoL is initially teleported into the hub/entrance to Elpis, and is transparent , unable to be seen by those around them, nor are they able to interact with anything in their environment, and all seems pretty hopeless until a pleasantly familiar voice reaches their auditory sensors and lo and behold, the younger, far less theatrical Emet-Selch and their old-new friend Hythlodaeus have arrived to Elpis to conduct their business, and who is the first one to glance in their direction, obviously noticing the WoL despite how small and transparent they seem to be?

Emet-Selch. The WoL is perceived in these cutscenes, at least from my perspective, as being both shocked and very aware of the presence of this man, who, by all accounts, looks identical face wise to the Emet-Selch they are familiar with. Younger, less jaded and maniacal, sure.

And he notices the WoL almost immediately.

Now where the brain worms begin... Or continue. Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus can "see" the color of the soul, perceiving it in a way that allows them to uniquely pick out different people based off their soul alone, rather than their physical appearance, something that the people of present day Eitherys are unable to do.

Because of Amaurot's policy against individualism whilst about in public spaces, most Amaurotian are regarded by their job or station, with little that defines them from the next, save from the Convocation, all of whom are recommended for their office by a prior seat., Thusly, their people avoid conflict, as they are all found to be essential, and on equal footing.

Except... For those that have the soul sight.

It's considered a valuable gift even in Ancient times, and while Hades imparts that his is inferior to Hythlodaeus, whom he feels should have taken the seat of Emet-Selch, he yet still is able even while focused on other tasking and conversation, to immediately take note of the thin speck of a soul that is, by all accounts, identical to Azem's. (Because they are, in fact, an 8 times rejoined Azem)

This sets up for the inevitable question of, exactly how close is Emet-Selch to Azem? How intimate a relationship must they have (and not necessarily in a sexual way, this can be kindred spirits, familial, platonic, or romantic, however you feel to justify it) that his peripheral senses caught onto the Warrior of Light before Hythlodaeus had a moment to push Emet-Selch into slipping them some aether. Because I don't know about you, but when I'm out and about I don't always take full stock of everything, unless something or someone feels or looks familiar to me, in which I might do a double take, but this man straight up ZEROEs in on the WoL and you have to think... Was he expecting Azem? Was he hoping for Azem?

Now, let's dissect this from another standpoint.

When first it's spoken about the WoL's soul on the first Emet-Selch has just finished observing them just after Ryne's (then Minfilia) rescue and subsequent escape from Ranjit and from Eulmore. He notes its curious quality from afar and states that it may be of use after all. At this point in Emet-Selch's very extensive life, he's already experienced the Final Days, then the destruction of Amaurot, lost one of his best friends, as well as was [betrayed/left] by his other best friend, who was then sundered before they could even attempt to reconcile. Additionally, he has witnessed the fall of man and been tempered by a God beyond that of which we have any understanding of to this point, because it's a creation of and manifestation of the very "Will of the Star", whose heart is literally his youngest, and most innocent(to a degree that we understand) coworkers.

In other words, he is in the full throes of trauma, depression, and the hopeless burden of a life led too long.

Now, I believe somewhere in the questline, Emet-Selch reveals that once his duty is complete, his plan was to return to the star. This insinuates that, upon reviving all those lost and sundered, bringing everyone back that had been sacrificed etc, he would seek to end his life, despite finally having those he loved returned to him. The true burden of grief indeed. But I think, that he realizes that the man he has become, what he has done to bring back his people, the ones he cared about? No longer has a place in ancient society. A peaceful society, that by all accounts abhorred crass terminology such as death and disapproved of violence and hurtfulness, instead focusing on healthy debate and being "stewards of the Star". But Emet-Selch here, he has been warped by millennia of despair, by the aching of his heart, of Zodiark, who has been a voice in his ear so long it may as well be an extension of himself. He's endured so much loss, so many horrors, that he cannot conceive of that peaceful place anymore where he can peacefully coexist. He cannot resolve a place in his perfect society for himself any longer, and I think deep in his heart, it may even be shame for the deeds he had to commit. Despite his repeated attempts at degrading the Scions for their existence, calling the residents of this first "half-men" and denoting that he doesn't see any of them as "truly alive", this comes into question when the Scions and the WoL arrive in Amaurot, and the shades do not call them familiars, or wonder what type of creatures they are.

No, they are called children. They are the precious lifeblood of Amaurot. They are the innocent, the curious, the lives that must be taught and protected.

And who made this version of Amaurot?

Emet-Selch.

Now by this point you might be wondering, Suzuka, what do you mean, that's super irrelevant, Emet-Selch merely created Amaurot to be as it was in the final days, the only distinction being Hythlodaeus. And I would offer you this.

So why would this not present the same in Emet-Selch's recreation of Amaurot? Unless... Unless he knew. Unless he felt it, deep down in his own soul, after so very long, that they were his people. Broken they may be, small, and far thinner in the aether than before, but they were trying, and actively pursuing the strengths that his people once embodied.

When the WoL is in Elpis, what is everyone's immediate assumption? That they are a familiar. A non-human entity, something of the arcane, not alive, not truly, and merely a representation of their creator's imagination, knowledge, and creativity.

Which brings me to my final point, and I thank you for even reading this far because my brain has been so warped by this it runs around in my brain rent free.

Emet-Selch of ShB timeline would not have been able to allow himself to try and be with a restored Azem of his time. Azem's innocence and attachment to the people, their care, their mischievousness, their tenacity, Emet-Selch himself was too broken to reconcile with the though of that. If you are an EmetWoL shipper like myself, then you've probably approached their dynamic like this once or twice before, even if you never wrote it down, or drew it up; that only the WoL in their only seven/right times rejoined self, could possibly understand or even think to care for him with all that he has done. Because they have done things too, no? Killed hundreds, or perhaps thousands in war for freedom, watched their loved ones perish before them. Lost friends, family, perhaps even tasted death themselves. Yet, they are not alone, as he feels he is. As in reality, he is, before WoL strikes him through the chest with the axe of Light. And the only one who might even have the most basic of understanding as to why he is the way he is, is the Warrior of Light. The same soul that he saw that day in Elpis and thought was his friend, his love.

Even for just a moment.

TL;DR Emet-Selch of ShB and the WoL are meant for each other and there's a reason that crotchety old man loves them see essay above lol

[gorbalsvampire]

Essentials 2, 3 and 7 for Penelope, and Life 2, 3 and 8 for Sorcha? 😁

The Essential Penelope

What year were they born (or how old would they be in life), and what age do they appear? What age do they feel?

Penny was born in 1909, ghouled in 1948, and Embraced in 1959, just shy of her birthday. She looks late thirties - it's hard to imagine her not looking late thirties, in theory she must have been a child at some point, but she gives the impression that she plopped into the world at Cambridge aged twenty-two and nothing that came before particularly mattered.

She feels no age at all. Penelope is Penelope. Her sense of self is a bit ragged, underneath the iron confidence she projects, and she could be ninety or nine hundred: it wouldn't matter. She'd still be her. Whatever that means.

Which Clan do they belong to? How do they feel about their Clan?

Lasombra. Nominally, Lasombra antitribu, but which sense of the word is... up for debate. In the Sabbat, she was very much a "pack first, sect second, clan third" thinker - as far as she's concerned, all True Sabbat are antitribu and should be working on transcending the limitations of their bloodline, and the Panders who rise from mass Embraces are lucky to have a head start.

But... she still has a chip on her shoulder about it. She is of the bloodline of Montano, and she's been thoroughly taught what that means. An outcast's outcast, choosing the high and noble road, and she can't have that without being Lasombra, and she can't really dine out on it in the Sabbat either.

Which Disciplines do they possess, and which do they favor using?

Oblivion 3, Dominate 2, Celerity 1, and if I re-use her as an antagonist for another story, she'll have picked up some Potence and Animalism to go (and probably a bit more Oblivion). In her role as priestess and interrogator, she finds the applied theatricality of Oblivion suits her down to the ground, but in the field, she's more reliant on her Celerity and talent for stealth.

Getting a Life with Sorcha

Do they still have mortal family or friends, or descendants of those people? Who were they closest to during life, and is there anyone they’ve contacted after their Embrace?

Hell yes she does - she's a Dunsirn, she still lived with her folks for the first six months after she died. Besides her vampire da, Sorcha is still in touch with her mother in Venice, and most of the cousins she grew up with are at least on Instagram-commenting terms. Schoolfriends are fewer and further between - she's sold drugs to a lot of them but that doesn't mean they're friends. She has stayed in touch with Wee Tam, her tenant and bestie and Touchstone, and she rooms with a little gang of medical students who know her as their weird RA who lives in the cellar and can't go to lectures 'cause she's got Schere's Disease. On top of that, she has a lot of acquaintances - she's distinctive, she's out on the town at least three nights a week, and she's got the good molly.

What were their hobbies, skills, and interests?

Hmm, this is trickier - Sorcha tends to monetise anything she's good at - but she never figured out how to make money out of dance, or gymnastics. Her form's not great, but she's surprisingly bendy and she has a good time with it.

Her school reports indicated she had a prodigious knack for chemistry and design - the subjects she ended up taking to Bacc. level and walking out with a Distinction, thank you kindly.

She likes karaoke, but she has an awful singing voice, and has been gently dissuaded from participating.

When they were Embraced, what was the aftermath like? Did they fake their death, do their loved ones think they went missing, etc.?

Oh, Christ. Sorcha's Embrace was one of the events that kicked off a whole chronicle. She bled out on her junkie "boyfriend's" mattress, and was rescued by her dad, and she doesn't know which of them Embraced her or why she came out thinblood. All she knows is, Jimmy's very dead (he copped a hatchet to the back of the head two nights after she died), and to all intents and purposes she is Alistair's childe.

Her family knew, of course they knew - Hecata, remember? Most of her casual acquaintances have heard that she OD'd, and suspect that her dad had something to do with what happened to Jimmy, and that's another reason people from school don't stay too close to her - nobody wants to be next. She was back on the dancefloor by the end of the month though, bragging about her results and dancing her ass off... and then she really disappeared, leaving Glasgow for the best part of three years.

Her social media was deleted and remade a couple of times in there, she was posting from LA (except when she wasn't) and she went very #desertaesthetic for a while, then off the grid completely, but she seems to have come out swinging in the last eighteen months.

The thing is, people who know Sorcha know she's a freak, and a dealer, and that her dad's some sort of gangster. They're kinda used to weird shit happening around her. It's a big part of how she gets away with being like she is.

[elysia-nsimp]

OC introduction: Prince Jonah Cainwell (Twisted Wonderland)

(featuring comet!)

Basics

Jonah (he/him) is the Student Council Vice President (replacing the faceless character from glomas) of Nobel Bell College, based off of Prince Hans from Frozen. He is a cishet man 😒😒 (I’m kidding he’s bi he just doesn’t know it yet), and 18 years old.

Jonah’s around 6’1, so just a tad shorter than Rollo himself. He’s a pretty average build and weight for his height. He’s not super athletic, but he stays in good shape.

So, we don’t really know a lot about NBC’s classes, so I’ll be going off the idea that it has similar classes to NRC’s roster. That being said, Jonah would excel at ancient incantations and curses, as unlikely as it is for those to appear in NBC. He enjoys mythology, and excels at history and art. He’s likely in some kind of business class as well, which he’s also good at. He’s shockingly good at a lot of subjects, but

Hobbies, Talents, Preferences

As stated above, Jonah loves art. He makes glass mobiles and wood carving kits in his free time, and sells them in the markets when he’s not in school. He’s started many small businesses to get money here and there, including a cardboard cheeseburger stall in the school cafeteria because they don’t sell those and apparently people wanted them.

Jonah is known campus-wide for his ability to bend rules to his will through malicious compliance. He has never broken the letter of any law, but he does find workarounds for any rules he doesn’t like or approve of (usually if it’s unjust in his eyes or it’s for the betterment of the student body (this is where the cheeseburger thing came in, the school itself is not allowed to sell them nor are people allowed to sneak off campus to get burgers.))

There’s an on-going joke that Jonah is a boat enthusiast because he mentioned ONE TIME that he thinks boats are a cool way of traveling the soleil. He likes them a NORMAL amount, but all his peers tease him and blow up how much he likes boats. He thinks this is funny, and plays into it with theatrics.

Backstory

Jonah is the youngest of a total 7 siblings so, although a prince, he will never make it to the throne. Jonah doesn’t particularly care about titles, he kind of disregards the Prince title as is, but what he DOES care about is power.

Throughout his childhood, he was very much emotionally neglected due to him basically being backup to the power of 6. This led to his siblings picking on him for most of his life. As soon as he was accepted into Nobel Bell, Jonah packed his stuff and left ASAP.

He’d cut his family off, but he “wants a backup source of income” in case he runs out of money from his little spur-of-the-moment business ideas. That being said, he does not like them at all. None of them.

Due to his not great upbringing, he’s kind of cynical person. He speaks mostly through sarcasm and backhanded compliments, though it’s for the most part just intended to be teasing. Jonah actually is a genuinely nice person… he just… has a power complex.

Actually, that’s why he’s vice SC president. He wants nothing more than to be in power, because he never had that growing up. He does want to rule a kingdom or country or something, but he can settle for a school for now…

Jonah is also a hopeless romantic. He’s been searching for true love’s kiss for years, hoping some beautiful princess will whisk him away from the trials and tribulations of life… one day, he hopes to travel the world with his future partner. Until then, he waits for the door to open. /ref

Unique Magic

I haven’t decided on the incantation yet, but Jonah’s UM is called Frozen Heart and it can create and fix inanimate objects with ice (think Elsa’s ice dress). Jonah specializes in ice magic!

Relationships

Rollo Flamm

Jonah has conflicting feelings about Rollo. On one hand, he considers Rollo a friend and a peer, and someone he respects greatly. On the other hand, MAN is he jealous of Rollo’s position. This ends up coming out as Jonah constantly pushing Rollo’s buttons (see the cheeseburger thing, it pissed Rollo off but he couldn’t do anything because it was barely in the rules) and messing with him for fun.

…he’s also very obviously in love with Rollo but HE DOESNT KNOW HES BI YET anyway you didn’t hear it from me /j

Azul Ashengrotto

They met during glomas. They became fast and frankly terrifying friends. Keep them away from each other they WILL plot and scheme together.

Other Works

Playlist!! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3HW7AeQ3rzvyrHsqGwXTSA?si=g2hc2RJySEK3BXmUjWIM0g&pi=u-T0kdIKb9T1q0

Media

no he will not wear the hat it messes up his hair :(

[laramiehunt]

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Laramie Hunt

NICKNAME(S): Mimi

BIRTH DATE: October 30, 1990

AGE: 34

GENDER: Female

PRONOUNS: she/her

FACECLAIM: Tanaya Beatty

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: demiromantic

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: hetereosexual

LIVING CONDITIONS: three bedroom old ranch house

HOMETOWN: Oxbow Ridge, MT

EDUCATION LEVEL: Equine Orthopedic Surgeon

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: Equine Veterinarian

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: Showing horses

TERTIARY SOURCE(S) OF INCOME: Horse trainer

APPROXIMATE AMOUNT PER YEAR: $160k/yr

ACCENT: Generic country accent

HEADCANONS

She introduces herself as Laramie, always. Despite being a damn good equine vet, she doesn’t like the weird pretentious nature that comes with being called “Doctor”.

She was a cheerleader in high school, but made extra money by writing term papers for other students and taking the SATs for them. She was a nice, yet popular girl. She made friends with everyone.

She made a 35 on ACT, and always wonders where the extra point went, which is a weird thing that tends to come up like an intrusive thought. 

She had a good family — both of her parents are indigenous and her siblings were other adopted indigenous kids. Her parents were a lot more trusting and lax which allowed her to be a teenager more freely. Her father was a horse trainer for reined cow horses, and her mother was the barn manager.

Given her work, she’s close to the Walkers. However, she hasn’t really picked a side. She’s not supportive of turning Oxbow into some sort of city slicker paradise with new land development. That being said, she does wish the city had a frozen yogurt place.

TIMELINE

tbd

WANTED PLOTS/CONNECTIONS.

tbd

BIOGRAPHY.

tw cheating

She’s always been a matchbox sort of woman, she imagines she was brought into this world during a thunderstorm. Truthfully, she’ll never know what the weather conditions were like when she was born. Her biological mother passed away when she was little, which placed her into the loving arms of her mother and father. They’re the only parents she knows, and she routinely raises her chin when people try to challenge her on her parents. While they’re down to earth, hard working people, they have their flaws, however it was nothing that didn’t make her a better person in the end.

Laramie had a wild streak a mile wide, in their defense. Smart as a whip, energetic, she was popular in school but never mean. It was rare in a small town like Oxbow, where all the teenagers were just trying to find themselves, but Laramie never felt lost. She’d always known the direction her life was going to go. Given what her parents did, she grew up around horses and the crippling vet bills. However, she loved to be in the barn and over the vet’s shoulder’s asking questions and learning.

It only made sense, that nature of herself was ingrained into the very fiber of who she was. She went onto University of Calgary where she also went to vet school and studied to be an equine vet. College and vet school was a breeze, she enjoyed her time there and even worked on summer internships to continue her education. From there, she went to the University of Saskatchewan to become an equine surgeon.

Somewhere along the way, and unexpected, she had that storybook romance. The agriculture world is small, and during some of her field work, she met a guy who also was a relay rider within the rodeo circuits. She didn’t really expect to hit it off with him, her father warned her about guys who raced. However, this one seemed okay, they seemed to mesh just fine. It was, for a few years. They managed to juggle their difficult schedules: with him always on the road, and her having to work long hours during her schooling.

One day, she decided to drive six hours away and surprise him at one of his races. She often says she wished the story was more theatrical, but it isn’t. After watching him have a rough dismount and get hung up, she went to meet him in the medical tent, and instead of him being happy to see her, she got confronted with the fact that there was another girl there. Turns out, it was his other girlfriend. And before you ask, she’d say, she was a beautiful woman, so at least his taste was still great.

Their relationship ended there, and from there, Laramie finished school in romantic peace. After finishing her residency, she moved back to Oxbow to take a place at Oxbow Vetcare as their equine veterinarian. As a “practicing doctor” — and yes, she uses the air quotes — she remains something of purposely ignorant to the going-ons between the town’s history. If you don’t look too closely, it’s easy to brush off.

[sneek-m]

Favorite Dramas 2023

I think I need to raise the grading curve on ratings over on MyDramaList and start relegating the "just fine" shows from a 3 star to a neutral halfway point of 2.5 stars. That goes to say this year I actually watched a good amount of "just OK"s, a lot of 3s as those currently stand. Which is fine! I mostly watch these to wind down after a day at work or get my mind elsewhere as I catch up during my lunch breaks, hence the easier pickings of comedies. (Though, crime, mysteries and hospital dramas never really interested me anyway.) But I did watch some memorable ones, and I jotted down thoughts on them below:

0.5 No Otoko (Sundays, 11 p.m.; WOWOW)

0.5 No Otoko is far from showy, very comfortable settling into its suburbia: it’s only in the last credit roll did the crew decide to flex, revealing the elaborate set they used to execute the one-shot takes in Masaharu’s home. Though, calling the show low-key would be to gloss over the huge attention to detail they put in to build the world. The episode that sold me on this was the one involving Bugranger, the fictional in-universe super sentai show. They filmed an entire opening sequence for the episode, and made up its own exclusive little dance — actually a key component to get Masaharu bonding with his nephew, and then eventually his sister’s entire family. The drama goes on ordinary yet never mundane, finding warm comedy in the most everyday scenarios, but also handling the heavy stuff plainly, like his niece reading back the sticky notes left by his mother in the past when he was a more severe recluse. In the spirit of the drama, I think it would be better said that it’s more than meets the eye. 

Kashimashi Meshi (Mondays, 11 p.m.; TV Tokyo)

There were quite a few shows that I watched this year about the hardships in trying to create new, meaningful friendships in your late 20s. While Kashimashi Meshi isn’t explicitly about that compared to the few others, it still brings attention to the fact that a relationship like the one forged (rekindled?) by the show’s main trio isn’t so easy to come by. Because as incidental as their meeting seems, it still goes to show a chance to create and foster a connection isn’t to be taken for granted, a fact of post-grad adulthood written home from the pilot on: I understand the desperation in trying to keep company from Atsuko Maeda’s Chiharu, who quietly breaks down over dinner in front of her newly reunited college mates, revealing to be suffering from a debilitating depression while living alone after leaving a hostile workplace. Their initial interactions hint that they may have not been the closest of friends when they knew each other in school, yet it only makes it more worthwhile to see them deepen their relationship in a new form. I only hope there will one day be a dinner table like the one in Kashimashi Meshi I can join after a hard day at work.

Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Fridays, 0 a.m.; TV Tokyo)

I recommend watching the 2021 theatrical release beforehand as a kind of prelude to the discussions that happen in season two. But even without the viewing, you get the point it’s trying to make pretty clearly as general anxieties about mortality looms throughout. These guys are entering their 50s after all, and the topics often comes up as mundane as Shiro’s own grocery-shopping and yet nevertheless just as crucial: I think about Shiro going out with his parents to check out cemeteries to store their ashes with the same demeanor as if they’re looking at apartment rooms for rent. The lightness actually makes it more real for me, especially as I have these thoughts kind of often. 

Sexy Tanakasan (Sundays, 10 p.m.; Nippon TV)

One of my favorite episodes of TV this year was the show’s 8th episode revolving around what it really takes for get one’s make-up to not only look good but simply work for their preference. Of course, 23-year-old Akari’s own style is not compatible with 40-year-old Tanaka’s — it’s never one size fits all. You have to really study your own face and then visualize how you want to look; if you’re doing make-up for someone else, as Akari does, you have to really get to know the other’s person from the outside in. That’s a lot of work on multiple levels, and as much as make-up seems very interesting, I frankly have not had enough energy nor confidence to start doing the self-assessment myself so I can even begin experimenting on my own face. But that whole process, confronting your own reflection and putting in work to make your visualization of self-beauty come true, is embedded in the whole comedy of Sexy Tanakasan — albeit in the form of belly-dancing, though the make-up becomes more adjacent as the show goes along — to the point the men really become besides the point. 

Nichiyo No Yoru Guraiwa... (Sundays, 10 p.m.; TV Asahi)

Nichiyo No Yoru Guraiwa.. maybe deals with the right amount of extremes and by that I mean it’s so extreme to the point the fiction becomes clearly obvious and you stop sweating about the details, like, say, the whole lottery-ticket wish fulfillment that drives much of the plot. Still, the show dumps so much misery to its main trio, and I am thankful to these three particular actresses for adding to their respective fatalistic characters a much needed levity. Because really, whatever they decide to blow their lotto winnings on, as long as the gang has an excuse to get together again and have a grand ol’ time, that’s all you can ask for. That anticipation to go out on a weekend after long days spent planning out the details with your buddies is almost too real, especially as the droning part-time grind can waste away the hope of a free weekend entirely. And of course, actually having available buddies to make those plans real after being robbed of the opportunity to befriend strangers in the past. It all started from listening to their favorite radio show partly as an escape from their humdrum lives; in the case of Seino Nana’s Sachi, being roped into attending the show’s fan event as a sub for her mother, the real fan. You never know what can happen.

Ranman (Every weekday, 8 a.m.; NHK)

I cried like a baby, internally, on the last episode as it delivered what the 6-month-long serial had been building up to practically since week one. As Sueko withers during her last days, Mantaro presents her with his lifelong gift: her name etched into history as the scientific name of yet another of the botanist’s newly discovered plant species. After pouring everything to support her husband’s dreams, she can now stay by his side forever, she says. You follow a man’s silly obsession, and he shows a life is defined by what we do with what we’ve been given, and, perhaps more importantly, what of us we leave behind and pass down to those who come next. It’s what started Mantaro’s whole journey: the memory of his dying mother, embedded eternally into her favorite flower, one of the few things he got to know about her while she was alive. I’m kind of weak for these kind of things, this want to preserve a loved one’s memory as pristine as possible. Mantaro did it for Sueko superbly.

Daga, Jonetsu Wa Aru (Sundays, 10 p.m.; Nippon TV)

If there’s anything to be gained from the life of the two comedians during their come-up, it’s that art — if you can classify the routines of Audrey and Nankai Candies as such — takes a painstakingly long time to perfect. And it takes even longer when their egos get in the way of the growth of their own craft: it’s hilarious seeing that both Masaharu Wakabayashi and Ryota Yamasato wrote themselves as the boke of their respective duo when they so clearly are the tsukkomi, and they stubbornly stuck to their desired roles despite floundering for several years all for the sake of being the star of their own comedy. But the dynamic only seems obvious in hindsight of the comedians they would eventually become, and sometimes you do repeat your mistakes over and over again until something spontaneously flickers a switch. 

More dramas:

Paripi Koumei

Maikosanchi No Makanaisan

Oishi Kyushoku Season 3

Ichiban Suki Na Hana

Watashi No Oyomekun

Kocchi Muiteyo, Mukaikun

Hayabusa Shobodan

Pocket Ni Bouken Tsumekonde

[heartniche]

For @brumiraforthesoul! A little pre-brumira (~700 words) set shortly after Casita's rebirth under the cut. This was fun.

Living Room of Rebuilt Casita

“Tonito, you stay where Bruno can keep an eye on you,” Julieta threw the frantic directive over her shoulder, two separate baskets balanced in her arms.

She propped the door of the living room with finesse and juggled the baskets through. Mirabel knew that this wasn’t a life threatening ordeal, luckily. Just some of her mom’s famous empanadas, now late to a ten year old’s birthday. 

Antonio sat on the floor with a ring of little brown lizards. His mop of dark hair hung into his eyes as he counseled them, no mind to the adults bustling around. Bruno was also at ease reading in an armchair by the empty hearth. But he leapt to his feet.

“Oh no, no, that's probably not a good idea-" Bruno waved his hands in front of him. Julieta’s harried expression intensified as he spoke, like she couldn’t take another setback. 

“We can both babysit,” Mirabel interrupted. 

She had been just out of her mom’s sight beyond the door to the kitchen. Julieta’s countenance unfurrowed- Mirabel had proven many times over that she could take care of her cousin. 

“Back in an hour,” Julieta called, letting the door close behind her and bustling down the grassy expanse that led to the village. It was a muggy summer day, and almost every Madrigal had chosen to spend it in cooler areas around the rivers and up the mountains. Mirabel didn't mind the heat.

Bruno sighed and flopped back into his seat. With his well worn ruana and untamable curls, he always looked like he was one pulled thread away from unraveling. Mirabel tucked herself around the arm of the chair, peering up into his face. 

“What, did you think Antonio would pick today to become a terror? For the first time in his life?” Mirabel gave Bruno a bemused smile. 

“I don’t even need a babysitter,” Antonio informed them both. He was such a serious six year old, Mirabel could almost believe it. 

Bruno chuckled, rueful. Mirabel basked in that laugh. She loved how it softened his face and made decades of worry lines melt away. 

“Panicked. It's been a long time since I had to be responsible for anything larger than a rat,” he said. 

“You do so wonderfully with those rats though,” Mirabel searched for a sign of the little friends that couldn’t bear to be too far from Bruno. Ah- a tiny face poked out of his hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Just don’t want another bad thing to happen on my watch,” Bruno shrugged. His eyes snapped over to Antonio who had started fidgeting. But the boy just resettled himself on the ground to talk with his lizards some more.

There was an odd quiet at Casita without the rest of the family to help liven it up. Mirabel fiddled with the fabric seam of the armchair, linen rough on her finger tips. 

“It’s a good thing I never had children,” Bruno admitted to Mirabel. “I’d have worried myself to death over them.”

“I think you’d be a great dad,” Mirabel meant it. 

Bruno flushed at the compliment, turning more and more red as Mirabel didn’t qualify the statement at all. 

"Really!" Mirabel insisted.

“Thanks, kid." Bruno tilted his head, wry. "That ship has sailed. Imagine wanting to start a family with the ‘most ominous soothsayer of the Encanto’,” Bruno allowed a foreboding tone to seep into his words and even wiggled his fingers above his head in menacing claw shapes, like Camilo had. 

Mirabel couldn’t help but giggle at Bruno's theatrics. But what he said struck her as totally wrong. She couldn’t articulate why. 

Later that day, washing dishes after another Madrigal family dinner, it occurred to her. I would, Mirabel thought. The conviction burned fiercely in her chest. I would want to. 

A wise part of Mirabel knew that this half formed thought was an offshoot of something enormous and important, and still undisturbed. There was a jungle of convictions growing wild in darker parts of her soul. It was something she was still realizing about Bruno, something that once thought, could’t be forgotten. Mirabel shrugged it off. 

Besides, it was too late to say it- for now, anyway. 

[fardell24b]

Quinn’s Code - The Geek’s Expose - Part 6

Back at the Leung-Bell's Keith watched as Jane sketched some game characters. “You're quite good,” he said.

“Thanks,” Jane said. “Art is my passion. It runs in the family. Although I'm more of a 'fine arts' kind of girl than the others.”

“I see,” Keith said. “What game character is that?”

“It's from the old Atari,” Jane answered. “It's quite obscure.”

“Look's interesting.”

“Well, it is a sci-fi game.” She drew some stars in the background for emphasis.

“Cool.”

“Jennifer,” Cindy said as the quiet girl followed.

“Yes?”

“We're doing more of the improve here,” Cindy said.

“Cool,” Jennifer said.

“It should balance out whatever Daria was trying to do,” Quinn added.

“Yes. It's clear she was doing something you wouldn't agree with,” Jennifer agreed.

“That's quite obvious,” Kristen said. “Hence why Mom didn't allow her in.”

Jennifer nodded.

“We're now at Kristen's,” Quinn said. “My sister was going to cause trouble, so she wasn't allowed in.”

“That's right,” Kristen said.

“That's something we didn't want,” Cindy said.

“And now we can do more improv,” Quinn said.

“Older sisters can be annoying!” Quinn said in exaggerated tone whilst leaning against the rail in Kristen's bedroom balcony. The sunset colors gave a rather good backdrop, Jennifer thought.

“I agree,” Kristen said from just outside the door, looking towards Quinn.

“You know how Daria can be,” Quinn said.

“Absolutely,” Kristen said. “Then there's Kelly. She's still running off most nights.” She shook her head.

“What do you think Daria's up to?” Cindy asked.

“No idea,” Quinn said with a giggle.

Back at the Hecuba's, Daria was impatient.

“These things do take time,” Andrea said without looking from the screen. “But you can wait in the kitchen, if you want.”

“Sure.”

Daria found that there was no one else home. 'Of course not,' she thought as she took a look in one of the cupboards. She did find some chocolate cookies in there. 'But how long will it take?' she wondered.

Back at the Leung-Bell's, they were continuing their improvisational theatrical presentation. “...We have journeyed through Lawndale today, friends,” Quinn said.

“From the suburbia around Glen Oaks Lane,” Cindy added.

“To the more interesting than expected business area,” Kristen continued.

“And to Lawndale High,” Cindy said. “It was a fun day.”

“Absolutely,” Kristen said. “If only Sandi didn't stir trouble.”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “I still don't know what is up with her!”

“Other than being jelous?” Jennifer asked.

“Yes!” Quinn responded. “She's totally green eyed!”

Jane completed another sketch. “Here you go.”

“Cool,” Keith said. “It's like you have captured the essence of the character.”

Jane smiled. “Thanks.”

“Uh oh!” Andrea said.

“What?” Daria asked.

“Something has picked up upon my intrusion. I need to concentrate!” Andrea responded. “I will tell you when I have found something.”

“Right,” Daria said as she made herself scarce.

“I think that should do it,” Quinn said. Given that she had got up early that morning, she was tired.

“You think so,” Jennifer said as she put the camera aside.

“Yes,” Quinn said.

Kristen yawned. “We're all tired.”

“You're right,” Jennifer said.

Daria was reading when Andrea entered the kitchen. The latter handed over a thumb drive. “Here. I have some recordings from the Leung-Bells this evening. Just don't ask me to do something like that again!”

“I won't,” she said as she took the thumb drive.

Andrea looked at her in disbelief. “And now I need to work on my own video for Mr. O'Neill.”

“Didn't you partner with someone?” Daria asked.

“I did,” Andrea responded.

“Who?”

“You don't need to know.”

“I'll be going then,” Daria said.

Andrea watched Daria walk off into the twilight. She hoped that Daria wouldn't ask her to do something like that again. Once was enough. 'Great! Now I'm all worked up about it!'

“Ready to go?” Cindy asked.

“Yes,” Quinn said.

“Cool,” Jen said with a yawn.

“It has been a long day,” Quinn said, with a look at a gothic styled wall clock.

“Daria, do you know when Quinn and the others will get in,” her mother asked, after opening the bedroom door.

“No idea,” Daria responded. “Maybe we should have dinner now.”

“What happened?”

“I wasn't allowed at the Leung-Bell's.”

“I see,” her mother said. “It's obvious that your attitude towards Quinn raised some concerns.”

Daria merely nodded.

“Dinner will wait until they're here,” her mother said in a tone that broked no discussion, before leaving to let her think on what she had just said. She was still angry. She went over to the computer and loaded the files Andrea had given her onto it.

[jupitersmoon167]

So it’s been a week since I’ve posted my Khonshu/Marc/Steven x Eternal!Reader idea (seen here), and my mind has been wandering, crafting scenarios surrounding this idea. And I thought, why not share? Especially since a lot of people seem to like this idea.

I would like to note once again that these ideas are free for anyone to write about, I’m not planning on writing anything about this (at the moment at least), so if anyone wants to write a Moon Knight fanfic involving an Eternal!Reader, go ahead! I highly encourage it!

Moving on to my additional thoughts:

So after the reader reveals herself to Marc/Steven (how does Jake factor into this I’m just realizing?) after the deviant attack, and when she reveals her purpose for being on Earth and her past relationship with Khonshu, how would the Moon boys react?

I’d imagine they’d both be angry, Marc more so than Steven (at least in my mind). They’d question whether or not their relationship with the reader was genuine, or if they were just being used as a means to see Khonshu? And there’s the fact that she isn’t from Earth, and that she’s a being more than 7,000 years old sent by some cosmic power to protect humanity and helped shape the history of the planet, while at the same time not interfering with the atrocities committed by humans. So I’d imagine they’d be quite angry with the reader. She of course tries to explain this to them, but a fight breaks out (the Moon boys aren’t as understanding as Dane), and harsh words are thrown at the reader (by Marc, Steven is mostly quiet).

And then she has to go.

“Marc, Steven, I need to take care of this.”

Marc laughs humorlessly. “Of course you do.”

“Marc-” she sighs.

“No, you know what? Go. Take care of your ‘mission’, or whatever the hell it is that you were sent here to do, and leave.”

“……I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“No, do both me and Steven a favor and never talk to us again.”

So the reader goes with Sersi, Sprite, and Ikaris to find the others. And as they progress along, she calls them when she can (they never pick up the phone) and leaves messages telling them about her journey.

“Hey, just landed in the States. We’re headed to Ajak’s place, I’ll call you when we get to her house.”

“Hey, um, so we got to Ajak’s. She……got attacked by a deviant and is…………Anyway, we’re flying back out again, probably going to find Kingo. Let me know if you get this, we’re in the middle of nowhere in South Dakota, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m not getting any service.”

“So, I’m realizing that you’re both probably ignoring me. Which is totally fair, believe me. I should’ve told you guys the truth from the start, and I regret not doing that. But regardless, I’m going to keep sending you updates. Though you’re most likely not going to listen to them anyway. We’re heading to Australia to get Gilgamesh and Thena. I’ll be sure to update you on our progress soon…….I miss you, both of you.”

“Hey, sorry I haven’t called in a bit, things have been…..hectic. A lot of bombshells have been dropped and things just got much more complicated. I don’t want to bore you with the details, I’ll uh….tell you both all about it when I come back. Hey uh, when’s the last time you called you’re dad?”

“Screw the theatrics, I don’t even know if you’re even going to get this. We’re in the middle of the god damn Amazon, because Druig thought it would be a grand fucking idea to place his cult here of all places. He’s a stubborn bastard, but if we’re gonna pull this off we need him. I meant it earlier when I said you should talk to your dad, you uh, never know when he’ll kick the bucket, so to speak. I miss you guys, I wish I could talk-”

“We were attacked by deviants, Gilgamesh is dead……..he died protecting Thena. I’ve lost two of my family members in the span of a few days, and my friend is giving me the silent treatment. Are we even friends anymore? I know you said not to talk to you guys again, but frankly, I don’t know what I would do without you two.”

“……..I think this might be the last time I call you. I get it, I’ll stop contacting you. I just……I guess I was hoping that we could put this behind us and move on. But that’s obviously not gonna happen, is it? And frankly, I don’t blame you guys for ignoring me, you both have every right to hate and despise me. Just……yeah. Have a good life you two.”

“I know I said you wouldn’t hear from me ever again, but I just have to say this before the world is inevitably blown apart by a newborn celestial. I love you both, so so much. I just wish I got to tell you that in person, and not over the phone when I’m heading towards a live volcano to put a celestial to sleep. Regardless, I just wanted to let you two know. I’ll see you when this is all over, that is if you even want to see me. And if we don’t fail, and Ikaris doesn’t kill us. I probably should’ve mentioned that previously-”

It’s past 5am when I’m writing this, and I’m shit at writing dialogue (especially about feelings), but I just wanted to get this out before I fell asleep. If some of what I’ve described isn’t coherent, let me know, and I’ll discuss it further in length when I’ve gotten some shuteye 😂

I also wanted to add this kicker. I’d imagine it’s when Marc/Steven try to call the reader after (finally) hearing all the messages she left (it only took until they saw the Celestial emerge from the ocean on tv to hear them), only to get hit with this when they try to call her.

“We’re sorry, you have reached a number that is disconnected or that is no longer in service…..”

So…..do with that as you will 😈

Once again, anyone is free to write anything regarding what I’ve given out. As long as I get a shoutout, I’m content with anyone taking what I’ve said and writing their own story.

[justforbooks]

Collectors can be withdrawn and secretive creatures, as jealously protective of their possessions as Tolkien’s dragon Smaug was of its gold. This was not Joe Bussard’s style at all. Over more than 50 years he built an exceptional collection of American vernacular music – old-time country music, blues, jazz – on 78rpm discs, and he enjoyed nothing more than sharing it with others. Joe, who has died aged 86, played the records on his Country Classics radio show, he taped them for fans and researchers at 50 cents a track, and he lent them to labels that were committed to reissuing the music of the past, so that enthusiasts all over the world could hear fabulously rare, sometimes unique, recordings for the price of an LP or CD.

In “Joe’s Basement”, the 30ft storehouse of shellac beneath his home, he entertained an endless procession of visitors, spinning records he wanted them to hear and telling stories about where he had found them: “This old stone house down the hollow … This old shotgun shack … This little old coal town, forgotten long ago …”

“Joe doesn’t just listen to his records, he actively participates,” wrote the fellow collector Marshall Wyatt when he reissued some of them on his Old Hat label in 2002, on the CD Down in the Basement. “He’s snapping his fingers, jiving, keeping time with his whole body, and smoking his cigar all the while. He picks up the record sleeve, fanning imaginary flames that leap from the turntable. ‘This is one hot record!’ Every record has a story, and every story is like a theatrical performance, with Joe playing all the parts.”

The exuberance of Joe’s interaction with his records is brilliantly captured in Edward Gillan’s 2003 documentary Desperate Man Blues, interspersed with tributes from performers and listeners whose horizons were redefined by the music he secured before it was lost. “When you stop at Joe’s,” his musician friend Paul Geremia said, “it’s like going to a museum.” Joe himself, no lover of museums, would simply grin. “You can’t say you don’t have fun when you come down here!”

Joe was born in Frederick, Maryland, to Joseph Bussard Sr (it was pronounced not Buzzard but Bersard), who ran a farm-supply business, and Viola (nee Culler). As a boy Joe liked Gene Autry, but when he was 11 he heard a record of the pioneering country music singer Jimmie Rodgers – it was a bombshell moment that reshaped the terrain of his life.

Having dropped out of high school, he financed his record-gathering by working in the family business and at other jobs; he also spent eight years in the National Guard.

In the 1950s, he began to take long collecting trips into Virginia, West Virginia and Ohio, and down into the south-eastern states. He claimed he could glance at a house and tell, from how it was kept, whether there might be records inside. “I’d go from door to door, house to house, and it was nothing to go out and in one weekend to come back with four, five hundred records.”

In later years, the duplicates he acquired in these ventures became another source of income. He liked to tell the story of how the band Canned Heat, whose Bob Hite and Henry Vestine were themselves noted collectors, dropped in one day, flush from one of their hit records, with “wads of money, enough to choke an elephant! By the time they were done, they dropped $9,000. In cash!” So he bought a swimming pool.

Joe’s tastes were wide, but not limitless. Country music and blues of the 1920s and 30s were his passion. Jazz, too, but only up to the Depression; he would say bluntly that, for him, jazz died in about 1933. Of the music made since the second world war, he approved of bluegrass but scorned rock’n’roll (“the cancer of music”), and he dismissed all subsequent pop as inconsequential noise.

His response to the 45rpm record was to create his own label, Fonotone, hand-pressing 78rpm discs with a vintage record stamper and handwriting the labels. It lasted from 1956 to 1970, its catalogue embracing obscure rural musicians Joe had come across; himself, playing guitar, banjo or mandolin, with his friends, sometimes as Jolly Joe’s Jug Band; and collector-musicians such as Mike Seeger, Mike Stewart and the young John Fahey, whose first recordings were made for Joe in 1959. The Fonotone years have been lovingly documented by Dust-to-Digital Records, presented – a detail Joe appreciated – in a mock cigar box.

It was even through records that he met his wife, Esther Mae Keith, a bluegrass enthusiast. They married in 1967; she died in 1999. Joe is survived by their daughter, Susannah, and three granddaughters.

🔔 Joseph Edward Bussard Jr, record collector, born 11 July 1936; died 26 September 2022

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[wellsayhelloaagin]

Dirty little secret part 2 but bring Nat in 🤧🤧

Here you go anon, just what you asked for.

Part Two with some Nat thrown in.

Read Part One here.

Dirty Little Secret, Part Two

~1.4k words

(mentions of terminal illness)

You look at your reflection in the mirror, smoothing down the front of your dress and adjusting the straps to make sure they were sitting right.

You could feel the butterflies settling in your stomach, the nerves almost overwhelming you. If you had eaten anything today, you would surely be bringing it up by now. You close your eyes and take a deep breath to try and steady yourself, releasing it slowly as your hands tremble.

“Oh, will you relax already?” you hear from behind you and you open your eyes to see Natasha looking at you in the mirror, a soft smile on her face.

She wraps her arms around you from behind and hooks her head over your shoulder. You relax a little in her embrace, but the nerves still rattle through you.

“You look beautiful,” she continues, kissing you on the cheek. “They’re going to be so jealous of you.”

You roll your eyes at her, pulling her arms loose and spinning around to face her.

“You don’t know these people, Nat,” you tell her, your voice serious. “They made my life hell over something out of my control.”

She smiles in understanding, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and leading you out of the bathroom.

“Well, your life isn’t hell now,” she tries to reason with you. “You have a great job, your own house, a tonne of amazing friends and a smoking hot wife.”

You laugh at her as she throws you a wink, dropping her arm from your shoulder and walking over to lie dramatically across the bed.

“What’s this about a hot wife?” Wanda asks as she walks into the bedroom, smiling widely as her eyes meet yours.

She looks incredible in her dress, the material clinging to her in all the right places and you find yourself falling in love with her all over again.

“Nothing,” Natasha replies, faking innocence. “Just giving this one a pep talk about tonight.” She jerks her thumb at you, rolling over to get more comfortable on the bed.

“Are you still nervous, detka?” Wanda asks, looking at you with a frown.

You shrug in response, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth and chewing on it anxiously.

“I’ll be right by your side the whole night, I promise. I won’t let them touch you, not this time” Wanda tells you earnestly, pulling your lip free and pressing her own lips to yours.

You sigh into the kiss, wrapping your arms around her neck, hoping to forget about the upcoming night for just a few seconds. You’re just starting to lose yourself in the kiss when you hear a retching sound nearby, and the two of you pull back to watch Natasha pretend to dry heave.

“Jeez, you two do know you have an audience right?” she asks, feigning disgust.

You laugh at her theatrics while Wanda just scowls at her.

“Last time I checked, this was my bedroom,” she huffs out, resting her hands on your waist. “Can’t you go annoy my brother for a while?”

Natasha rolls her eyes, rising from the bed and walking toward the door.

“That poor bastard has a whole lifetime of me annoying him to look forward to,” she calls out over her shoulder. “But I guess I can start a little early.”

She closes the door behind her and Wanda grumbles under her breath about painful sister-in-laws’ while you just chuckle. Truthfully, you knew Wanda loved Natasha and she couldn’t wait until she and Pietro got married in a month. You were happy that Wanda would have someone like Natasha around.

You were all back in your old hometown for the weekend, staying at the Maximoff household together. Tonight was the night of your ten year high school reunion, and to say you were nervous about facing your former classmates was an understatement.

You had barely hung on until graduation and the second you left for college you had never looked back. College was a whole other world, one where Wanda was happy to be by your side. You still face the occasional backlash for your relationship with her, but both your families had welcomed the news of the two of you being together.

Your relationship only became stronger out of the shadows and ten years on you couldn’t imagine your life without her. The day you had stood in front of all your friends and family and shared your vows with Wanda was the happiest you had ever been. It was a memory that would stay with you until the day you died.

Wanda is still scowling at the door that Natasha had walked through, so you turn her chin with your finger and bring your lips back together. You can feel her smile into the kiss, her hands tightening on your hips. You want to drown in this moment, her lips making you feel heady.

Your eyes are closed and you start to feel a little lightheaded, swaying sightly on your feet. Wanda stops the kiss, pulling back to study you with worried eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her tone apprehensive.

“Yea, just got a little dizzy for a second,” you reply, trying to lean back in but she takes a step back.

Wanda grabs your hands, leading you over to sit on the edge of the bed. She crouches in front of you, cupping your cheeks softly in her hands, studying your face intently.

“You look pale,” she tells you with a frown.

You bat her hands away, crossing your arms over your chest like a petulant child and looking at the floor.

“I’m fine,” you pout, “I just forgot to eat today that’s all.”

You hear her sharp intake of breath and you don’t have to look at her face to know the concern that would written across her features.

“You have to look after yourself, detka,” she whispers, her hands resting on your knees as she tries to get you to look at her. “You know what the doctor said.”

The doctor had said a lot of things.

You had gone in for a simple check up but a few tests later and you were sitting in front of the doctor, your hand gripped firmly in Wanda’s as they rattled off a diagnosis. Most of the words went straight over your head, too technical for you to wrap your mind around. One however had stuck, replaying over and over in your mind as Wanda’s grip started to turn painful.

Terminal.

“I know,” you sigh, meeting her eyes. You see the tears she’s trying to blink back and you feel guilty for making her worry about you. “I was just nervous about tonight, I promise to have something before we go.”

“We don’t have to go,” Wanda offers with a shrug of her shoulders.

“But you wanted to go spend time with your old friends,” you reply, frowning at her.

“I’d rather spend time with you,” she counters, her hands cupping your cheeks again as she brings you into a gentle kiss.

The rest of her sentence is left unspoken, but you know what she’s thinking.

She would rather spend her time with you because there was so little time left you had to offer her. There would be time to catch up with old friends after you were gone; after you had left her alone to pick up the pieces and move on to a life without you.

So you don’t argue when she tells her brother that the two of you decided to stay home that night. Pietro doesn’t try and convince the two of you to change your mind either. You see the realisation in his eyes, the way he hugs you just a little tighter before he and Natasha leave for the old school gym.

Wanda leads you back up to her room and the two of you undress each other slowly before sliding under the covers. She brings you into her arms, holding you against her chest. You pretend not to feel her tears hitting the top of your head and just try to soak in the moment. You don’t know how many more nights you’ll get to be with her like this.

The doctor’s words swirl around your brain as you listen to Wanda’s steady heartbeat under your ear.

Two more months.

[queenshelby]

THE SECRET - part one of three

Featuring: Cillian Murphy x Virgin!Reader

Summary: You are a new cast member, playing Tommy Shelby’s love interest. During filming, you fall for your co-star Cillian Murphy.

Words: 6,556

Warning: Smut, Age Gap

Notes: For the purpose of this fic, Cillian is single.

Tag List: @lilymurphy03 @deefigs

@chrisevanshoeeee @desperate-and-broken

@weepingstudentfishhorse  @fookingshelby  @livinginfantaxy

@atomicsoulcollecto  @datewithgianni @mariapaiva13

The Scene

You were nervous. This was your first role in a popular TV show.

You had been on small production TV shows in your home country of France. But this was different. The show had international success and you couldn’t believe that the producers of the show had chosen you for the role of 27-year-old Yvette L’mare for the series’ final Season.

You spoke fluent French and English and had experience in scenes with extensive dialogue due to your theatrical experience since you were 12.

But, you were by no means as experienced as some of the other candidates they had casted. After all, you were only 19.

You read the scripts over and over again after your successful audition and made yourself small rehearsal cards for each scene. The dialogue heavy scenes didn’t concern you. But, there were some scenes which were out of your comfort zone.

Your script included two intimate scenes with the actor who played the main character of the show, Thomas Shelby.

The first scene was simple enough, not much more than a kiss. The second scene, however, was to be filmed under closed set. Neither of you were going to be clothed in more than underpants, which meant that only the director, one assistant and the camara man would be present.

Before the audition, you watched the last two seasons of Peaky Blinders and you re-watched them just a week ago as part of your preparation and to give you an idea what the director will look for when filming these kinds of scenes.

Before that, you hadn’t paid much attention to the show.

From watching some of the series, it was obvious to you that your co-star was experienced. He portrayed Thomas Shelby impressively well which was something that made you even more nervous.

Will you live up to the standards of the director? Or will you fail miserably with these challenging scenes?

It didn’t matter. It was all too late now. You signed the Contract and were on your way to England.

You arrived a day before filming started in order to settle into your apartment.

The apartment was located within a hotel residence that was booked out for the cast for the entire period of production.

You shared a small two-bedroom apartment with another new cast member named Emma. Emma was from France as well and, ironically, portrayed your sister in the show. Emma was 24, slightly older than you and quite attractive. You immediately got along. She was focused, didn’t care much about partying and was down to earth.

For the first evening, after everyone arrived, the producers organised a dinner to introduce the new cast and crew members to everyone. This was when you first got to meet your co-star, Cillian.

Since you had several scenes together, the director of the show took the time to personally introduce you to Cillian.

Cillian greeted you with a big smile and you knew immediately why so many women were smitten by him. You recalled that, when you told friends and family about your audition, they wouldn’t stop talking about Thomas Shelby and how insanely attractive he was.

They were not wrong. But, what impressed you the most about Cillian was that he was so easy going and funny.

You talked to him for a while, about the most random topics, ignoring everyone else for at least 20 minutes until it was time for you to meet the other cast members.

‘Looks like you two have a lot to talk about?’ Anthony said jokingly.

‘Talking about wine’ you smiled, rather shyly.

‘Yeah, I got carried away talking about the wine production in the province. Did you know that Y/N’s parents own Bessiux Wines?’ Cillian asked, catching Anthony by surprise. ‘His sister got married at your parents’ estate last August’ Cillian added, causing Anthony to nod.

You talked about your parents’ winery for a little longer before Anthony asked you to meet the other cast members.

‘I am looking forward to working with you Cillian’ you said as you walked away and he responded with a smile and comforting ‘Likewise’.

After your encounter with Cillian you were introduced to Finn Cole and Natasha O’Keefe. You heard about Finn from your new roommate but only just then realised that he portrays Michael Grey.

You talked to both Finn and Natasha for a while and, whilst you enjoyed their company, you wished that you had some more time to talk to Cillian. Unfortunately for you, he left rather early that evening.

The next day, you picked up your schedule for the week and noticed that the scenes you prepared for were to be shot completely out of order.

In fact, your most intimate scene was scheduled for 10am on Day 2 of Production. You couldn’t believe it. You were by no means prepared for that.

Your first day on set went well and the director of the show complimented your work on several occasions. But, when filming was finished for the day, your nervousness sat in.

‘Are you alright Y/N?’ Emma asked as you were picking on your salad and looked at tomorrow’s scripts.

‘Yeah, just a bit nervous’ you sighed.

Emma looked over your shoulder to read your script.

‘Wow, they are throwing you right into the deep end’ she giggled.

‘Yes, they are’ you said with a shy smile before listening to some advice from Emma, who had more experience than you acting on screen.

That night, after reading your scripts at least ten more times and letting it play out in your head, you could not sleep and your lack of sleep was evident on set the next day.

‘Are you alright Y/N?’ Cillian asked concerned, noticing your yawning and your hands shivering slightly.

‘Yes, I am fine. I am just trying to think how to act the next scene. From reading this, it isn’t very clear to me what exactly I need to do’ you said concerned.

‘These scenes are scripted in a way to allow for improvisation. From experience, actors often fail to act these kinds of scenes directly to script, that’s why’ Cillian laughed.

‘Right, so the script is lacking the details on purpose?’ you asked.

‘Correct’ Cillian said. ‘John and Anthony will tell us what to do and in which direction to face so that you are covered. You don’t need to worry’ Cillian said reassuringly, causing you to giggle.

‘I am not worried about anyone seeing my breasts or something. I just don’t know what do, where to put my hands, my face, any of that’ you explained with total embarrassment.

‘Well, I suppose you just pretend to do what you would normally do when you are getting down to business’ Cillian said with a chuckle, not knowing how else to explain it.

‘Well, my experience in this department is limited. So, I apologise in advance for any awkwardness’ you said, your cheeks flushing even through the dense make up.

‘Y/N, these scenes are awkward even for the most experienced actors. If it gets too uncomfortable, we can postpone it, alright’ Cillian said, keeping a relaxed approach.

‘Alright. Thanks Cillian’ you said just before it was time for you to get changed into your gown.

The next time you would see Cillian was on the closed set, pretending to make love to him on the large cedar bed.

Just as you were getting undressed in the change room and put on the skin-coloured panties and robe you were given by the set assistant, you topped up your perfume.

You were going to be so close to each other, at least you wanted to smell nice.

After you were done, the set assistant applied some more lipstick and fixed up your hair before you sat down on the large bed. You were nervous, your heart pounding.

Cillian was much more relaxed sitting next to you in black Clavin Klein briefs. There was no need for a robe, his intimate parts were well covered, unlike yours.

His freckled skin was highlighted by the light which had not yet been adjusted and you couldn’t help but look at him while you made an effort to keep your small breasts covered from him at this point.

The cameraman was angling the camera while the director discussed the scene with you and Cillian.

You knew that this was going to be a disaster. The issue wasn’t so much that you were naked in front of the camera and the director, but more the fac that, as part of the scene, another man who you felt somewhat attracted to was about to see you like this, completely vulnerable. He was about to touch your naked skin and kiss you, but not out of his own accord. It felt absurd to you, yet you knew this was part of the job.

Finally, after the director gave his instructions, you got yourself into position.

With some embarrassment you handed the set assistant your robe and lied down on the bed.

You were waiting for some kind of joke from Cillian to lighten up the mood, but Cillian was very professional.

He sat down right next to you and you could tell that he was trying very hard to look away from your breasts.

Before he climbed over you to get into position, he gave you a warning. Regardless of the warning, you stopped breathing for a minute as he positioned himself on top of you.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked as he could see the nervousness on your face.

‘Yes’ you nodded, taking in a deep breath. He was so close that you could smell his skin and the scent of his aftershave.

‘Sink down a bit on the left forearm Cillian, we want to keep the rating below R18’ the director said with a laugh because your breasts were fully visible on camera.

‘We do?’ Cillian chuckled, causing you to laugh just before Cillian adjusted his position as instructed. For a short moment, his chest brushed against your left breast.

‘I am sorry’ he said politely.

‘It’s alright Cilly’ you said.

‘I think we are good now guys, I will count to three and we start the first part of the scene’ the director said.

It felt like an eternity with Cillian on top of you by the time the director called action.

In this scene, Tommy and Yvette were having sex. It was to start with a kiss followed by the obvious act.

There was no practice for a scene like this and, as soon as you heard the word action, Cillian’s lips slowly met yours. You closed your eyes and caressed his face with your hands as you let him take the lead. The kiss lasted for what felt like an eternity until he pulled away from you.

His body was soon grinding against yours, but without your most intimate parts touching. He made sure of that. Regardless of this, you could feel his legs in between yours and his chest brushing against your breasts. The sensation sent shivers down your body and small little goosebumps began to cover your chest. How embarrassing you thought and, unfortunately for you, your embarrassment was evident on your face and the cut was called.

You attempted the scene again several times. You kissed over and over again and your hands moved from his face to his arms and chest, exploring his skin while his body was grinding against you.

But, this wasn’t enough for the director who picked up that the movement of your hands and the expressions on your face weren’t giving the viewers the impression that this was real. Your biggest problem was that you were attracted to Cillian and you realised this more than ever during this scene and tried very hard to hide it, making you look nervous and embarrassed.

After a few more takes, the director suggested a break.

‘I am so sorry Cillian’ you said as you sat next to him in your dressing gown.

‘Don’t be. You are doing fine. These scenes can be tricky and really shouldn’t be scheduled for the second day of filming’ he said with a warm smile before excusing himself.

He was gone for about ten minutes while you had some water and waited for further instructions from the team.

When he returned, he informed you that he agreed with the director that the scene be postponed.

‘Cillian, I can do this, really’ you said upset about the postponement.

‘I know you can, but like I said, it’s the second day of filming and it would probably be easier once we had a few more scenes together’ Cillian suggested.

‘Is that not going to be a problem with the set up?’ you asked.

‘No, the prop can stay here for another month and one of the perks of being a producer is that I get a say in this stuff’ Cillian smiled.

‘I feel like such a failure’ you said embarrassed.

‘You are not Y/N, you are doing great, really’ Cillian said, his hands touching your arms.

‘Common, time to get ready for more scenes’ he said with a warm smile and you followed him to get changed, separately of course.

Mr Matchmaker

Later that night, some of the cast members were heading to the pub for dinner and you sat down next to Natasha and Emma when you arrived.

You told Natasha and Emma about what happened on set. You were still upset about it.

‘Oh gosh, don’t worry Y/N. Cillian is very easy going and Anthony is very impressed with your scenes from the first day so you have nothing to worry about. I remember my first sex scene with Cillian and it took nine takes and a lot of laughter to get it right’ Natasha said.

‘How do you know when it’s right though? It’s extremely awkward’ you said.

‘If it looks like you are having sex then it’s right’ Natasha laughed. ‘I actually think about the man in my life and just switch off throughout the scene. So, if you have a boyfriend, think about him. That might help with the comfort level’ Natasha said.

‘I am happily single’ you said with a smile just as Cillian arrived at the table.

‘You are late’ Natasha said, noticing the frustration on his face.

‘Sorry’ Cillian said as he sat down next to you.

‘Still dramas with Nadine?’ Natasha asked, causing you to wonder who Nadine was.

‘Yes’ he responded just before he ordered himself a drink.

Throughout the conversation you learned that Nadine was Cillian’s ex-girlfriend with whom he broke up as little as six weeks ago. Him and Nadine were together for three years and shared a house in Dublin until recently.

Your group was soon joined by some more cast members, including Finn Cole and everyone seemed in a pretty good mood.

You talked to Finn for a while until you excused yourself to get another drink.  

As you walked to the bar, you noticed Cillian following you and engaged in a conversation with him.

‘Just in case you haven’t noticed, Finn seems to like you’ Cillian said as he stood next to you at the bar.

‘Oh, what makes you say that?’ you asked.

‘I just know. My matchmaking abilities are impeccable’ he joked.

Whilst you felt flattered, you weren’t interested in Finn and little did Cillian know that he was the one you had your eye on.

‘Really?’ you asked.

‘Yes, really. You should probably consider him. He is a nice guy, down to earth, good looking, the right age’ Cillian said cheekily.

‘I have my eyes on someone else Cillian, but thank you for your efforts’ you said with slight embarrassment and a hint of humour.

‘Now I am intrigued. Who is it? Someone on set?’ Cillian asked.

‘None of your business Mr Matchmaker’ you laughed.

‘Well, if you ever require my services, you know where to find me’ Cillian said, causing you to raise your eyebrows.

‘Services as in setting you up with someone from the crew, discreetly of course’ Cillian laughed, realising that his comment may have been received by you in the wrong way.

‘Right, you got me excited there for a moment’ you said jokingly.

‘Did I?’ Cillian joked. ‘Now that makes me feel good at my age’ Cillian added.

You knew how old he was. You googled him, just before you came to the pub, because you were curious about him, his background, things he doesn’t talk about. But, to your surprise, the fact that he was nearing 45, didn’t bother you the slightest and it certainly didn’t dampen the attraction you felt towards him.

You also knew that, being 19 years old, you would have no chance with him. He wasn’t the type of actor who was chasing young models like many other celebrities his age.

You and Cillian talked and joked for another 20 minutes before he excused himself. He had a busy day filming ahead of him and needed to get some rest.

Over the next few days, Cillian and you had several scenes together and spent some of your breaks together. You enjoyed his company and he clearly also enjoyed yours.

On Day 9 of Production, you even went as far and asked Cillian whether he wanted to watch the Liverpool game with you and Emma.

He accepted your invitation and you were quite excited. Emma was confused as to why you invited him over but didn’t think much about it until there was a knock on the door and she opened it.

To both of your surprise, Cillian had invited Finn along. Was he really so oblivious to the fact that you were attracted to him that he had to bring a sidekick, you thought?

The evening went rather slow and with you sitting in between Finn and Emma, you felt somewhat uncomfortable.

The next day, on Day 10 of Production, you had another somewhat intimate scene with Cillian. It wasn’t more than a kiss and some touching. Regardless, you were nervous but not nervous enough to first ask him why he invited Finn.

‘He invited himself when I told him about it’ Cillian chuckled. ‘I told you, he likes you’ he added.

‘That’s just great because now Emma thinks that I have a thing for him’ you said laughing.

‘These Rumours. You got to love them. Sometimes I seriously feel like I am back at school working here’ Cillian laughed.

This conversation led to an interesting question from Cillian. After you had time to talk about your days at school, he brought up your upcoming birthday. You seemed to have referred to school as a recent event, so he couldn’t help but ask how old you were turning.

‘I am turning 20’ you responded, causing Cillian to look at you almost like he had seen a ghost.

‘You are 19?’ he asked.

‘You seem surprised. How old did you think I was?’ you asked.

‘Not sure, mid or late twenties maybe?’ Cillian said just as the set assistant called you both to the scene.

Your nervousness set back in as you took your position in Thomas Shelby’s office.

The scene started of with a dialogue between Thomas Shelby and Yvette which went smoothly, as expected. The next part of the scene involved Thomas lifting Yvette onto his desk and kiss her passionately while running his hands over the back of her body.

The first attempt resulted in Cillian and you both laughing as he lifted you up. It was awkward and it didn’t help that you were ticklish.

The next take went smoothly. Cillian lifted you on to the desk gently before his hands ran down your back while he kissed you. Your hands caressed his face as he did and the director had to call the cut on the kiss.

You enjoyed it, and to his surprise, so did Cillian. He felt uncomfortable about enjoying kissing you or even spending time with you outside of work. Not only were you a co-worker but you were also much younger than him.

A sense of guilt ran through his mind right after the scene now that he knew your age. Kissing you shouldn’t feel good, it was wrong.

The director was happy with the scene and you hopped back off the table before asking Cillian whether he wanted to have lunch with you.

Little did you know that your lunch date was going to be your last with him for while as Cillian was trying hard to keep his distance from you thereafter.

Birthday Surprise

But this all changed another week later, on your birthday, which was Day 17 of Production.

By that point, filming was getting to you and you were tired and, therefore, declined the offer from Natasha to organise a birthday party for you.

Instead, you and some of the crew and cast went for dinner at a nearby restaurant.

The food was amazing and you spent two hours at the restaurant after a rather long day of filming. By about 8.30pm half of the crew and cast had left and it was only you, Cillian, Emma, Sam and Finn who stayed.

Finn was going to meet some friends at a nearby pub at 9pm and invited you all to join him. Whilst Emma and Sam agreed, you and Cillian weren’t keen and made your way back to the apartment complex.

‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ you blurted out all of a sudden just as you were both getting into the elevator. This question took all of your courage after Cillian had been avoiding to spend time with you.

‘I think the hotel bar is closed already’ Cillian said.

‘Well, as it happens, I am holding a bottle of red wine in my hand’ you said cheekily holding up the birthday present from Natasha.

‘I am not sure Y/N, we have to be up early’ Cillian said.

‘Common, it’s my birthday’ you said convincingly, causing Cillian to laugh.

‘Alright, I suppose why not’ Cillian said as followed you down the hallway.

‘Your place. Emma is determined to pick up a date at the pub’ you laughed.

‘Yeah, I don’t want to be there for that’ Cillian joked as you walked further down the hallway. Your apartments were on the same floor.

You walked into Cillian’s apartment and took off your jacket before sitting down on the small lounge.

Just after Cillian poured two glasses of red wine and sat down next to you, his phone rang.

The display showed ‘Incoming Call from Nadine’ and he turned his phone to silent.

‘You should let me pick it up, it might solve all your problems’ you joked.

‘It just might’ Cillian laughed as he pressed the ‘Ignore’ button and put the phone down.

Just after the short interruption, Cillian and you began to talk about your work, travelling and some other things until he brought up an uncomfortable topic.

‘Do you remember two weeks ago when I tried to talk you into going out with Finn?’ Cillian asked.

‘Yes, Mr Matchmaker, I remember. Why?’ you said.

‘You said that you had your eyes on someone else…who is it?’ Cillian asked with a laugh, causing you to take a deep breath.

‘Oh god, are you still going on with this?’ you said with a laugh. This was the fourth time Cillian had asked you this question since you mentioned it to him.

‘Common, I have been pondering about this for weeks now. Tell me’ Cillian said.

‘No’ you giggled.

‘I promise I won’t tell anyone’ Cillian said.

‘Stop it’ you responded.

‘Alright, I will take a guess’ Cillian said before taking a pause. ‘Harry?’ Cillian asked, causing you to shake your head.

‘Daryl?’ he asked, causing you to shake your head again.

‘I don’t know then. That’s literally everyone who is around your age’ Cillian laughed.

‘Who said he’s around my age?’ you asked, causing Cillian to raise his eyebrow.

‘Paul?’ he then asked, causing you to shake your head again. Was he really that oblivious?

‘Everyone else is married, I think’ Cillian said.

‘You are not’ you said shyly after taking in a deep breath.

‘Me?’ he asked after taking a deep breath while his blue eyes looked at you, full of questions.

Your heart was pounding, your hand shaking again. There was no turning back now.

‘Yes, you’ you said nervously, looking at him almost fearful about his response.

He drew another deep breath while, in his mind, he was thinking about what to say.

‘Y/N, I feel humbled and it’s not that you aren’t a beautiful and smart woman, but I am more than twice your age’ he said.

‘Ignore the age difference for a minute and tell me that you don’t feel the same, that you don’t want me’ you said.

‘It is irrelevant what I feel and what I want, it still doesn’t make it right’ he responded.

‘But, are you attracted to me? It’s a simple question’ you asked nervously and, after drawing another deep breath, Cillian responded.

‘I’ve been trying very hard not to be...unsuccessfully so’ he sighed, causing you to smile.

‘Alright’ you said with the biggest grin on your face.

‘Alright?’ Cillian asked surprised by your response. This didn’t mean that he was going to give into you just like this and ignore his concerns, or did it?

‘So, what do you propose we do now? This will make things very awkward on set’ he said concerned.  

‘This’ you said as you leaned in and pressed your lips onto his. His lips were just as soft as the last time you kissed on set, but this time there was an intensity and urgency between you.

He gave into the kiss as if there had never been any doubt and, unlike previous kisses you shared in a professional capacity, this time, when his lips parted, you could feel his tongue slip in between your lips and it wasn’t long until your tongues moved in sync with each other.

The kiss lasted for what felt like an eternity and you wanted so much more than taste his lips.

‘This is wrong Y/N’ Cillian said as your lips finally drifted apart.

‘Do you want me to leave?’ you asked, caressing his face, staring at all of the freckles which covered him.

‘No’ he said, earning him a smile from you just as he reached beneath your shirt and pressed his lips back onto yours.

His warm hands ran over the sides of your abdomen, up and down, until he lifted your t-shirt over your head.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen you like this before, but it felt different. His eyes didn’t have to shy away from your breasts and the rest of your body this time.

With his hands cupping your breasts, which were still covered by your black lace bra, the kiss intensified. It became more urgent and more passionate.

Your hands soon found their way beneath Cillian’s t-shirt also and, this time, touching his skin didn’t feel awkward or inappropriate.

Within seconds, his t-shirt landed on the floor next to yours just before Cillian’s fingers had found the clip of your bra.

It didn’t take his skilled fingers long to unclip it and let it join the rest of the clothes which you had already gotten rid of.

He took a moment to look at your breasts, right there in front of him yet again.

‘What’s wrong?’ you asked concerned as you noticed him stare at them.

‘Nothing, just taking in the beautiful view without feeling guilty about it’ Cillian smirked.

‘You checked out my breasts when we were filming, didn’t you?’ you said sheepishly.

‘Of course not’ he said with a laugh before he guided you backwards and down onto your bed.

You both were quick to remove your jeans and, moments later, there you were again, on the bed together wearing nothing but underpants. Just this time, there were no cameras. You were free to touch and kiss each other the way you pleased. It didn’t feel awkward. To the contrary. It felt right.

Hoovering over you again Cillian began to gently kiss your neck while one of his hands ran over your firm breasts. Finally, he was able to touch them, feel every inch of them.

Cillian soon worked his way to the lobe of your ear, playing with it using his tongue. Lightly sucking on it as his hand moved to your other breast, squeezing your nipple gently.

You didn't want this to end, and with a soft moan, you signaled Cillian to continue exploring your body. And so he did. You had never been with a man before, but in the moment, this felt comfortable, felt right.

As he continued to cast his spell on you and work his magic, your body responded. Your lace panties were soaking and your muscles began to vibrate with an unfamiliar feeling.

As Cillian’s lips moved back to your mouth for another passionate kiss, one of his hands wandered further down your body. But he was in no hurry, taking his time explore all of your body.

Cillian’s tongue began to gently drift between your lips and you responded with yours. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him even closer to you as his hand reached the top of your lace panties.

Pushing your panties aside slightly, he ran his fingers over your wet entrance, slowly and gently while his lips never left yours.

You moaned into the kiss just as the tip of one of his fingers dipped into you slightly.

You took in a deep breath and broke the kiss for a brief moment.

‘Cillian, I never had sex with anyone’ you said, causing him to remove his hand from your wet mound.

‘It’s alright. We won’t go that far until you are ready’ he said reassuringly.

‘That’s so embarrassing, I am sorry’ you said.

‘What is?’ Cillian asked, slightly confused.

‘I am 20, it’s weird don’t you think?’ you said shyly, your face flushed.

‘Don’t be silly Y/N. There is no rush’ Cillian said as he ran his hand over your cheek. ‘If it is any consolation to you, I didn’t expect any of this, tonight, with you and I am enjoying every moment of it even if we don’t have sex’ he added.

‘So am I Cillian’ you smiled.

‘Good’ Cillian said before kissing you again gently.

The kiss soon became heated again but Cillian wasn’t taking it further, giving you the chance to set the pace at which you were willing to move.

But, you enjoyed him playing with you, teasing your most intimate parts and, after several more minutes of passionate kisses, you guided his hand back in between your legs.

Your actions earned you a chuckle from him as his lips moved from your lips down to your breasts slowly.

As Cillian was gently trailing kisses over your breasts, your hand made it’s way in between your bodies where it found the elastic of his Calvin Klein briefs.

Cillian moaned briefly against your breasts as you slipped your hand beneath the elastic, gently taking hold of his erection.

His cock was warm and firm and his tip slightly lubricated from the precum that had pooled there.

You moved your hand up and down his shaft, stroking him gently while his fingers began to circle over your clit, making you moan loudly.

Your panties were getting wetter and wetter with each stroke of his fingers and you were grinding against his hand, wanting more.

You were panting and moaning in pleasure as he kept stimulating you with his fingers, until, all of a sudden, me removed his hand making you squirm in protest.

His mouth soon wandered from your breasts down to your stomach, forcing you to let go of his hard cock.

But, as your body responded beneath his, your mind couldn't catch up to the events unfolding between the two of you.

You surrendered and let him take control and it wasn’t long until his lips had reached the top of your panties.

‘Oh god’ you moaned in anticipation just as Cillian took hold of both sides of your panties before slipping them down.

‘Do you want me to stop?’ he asked, unsure about your reaction.

‘No, please don’t’ you said, your hands falling onto the top of your head.

Admiring the view, Cillian let his fingers run up and down your slit slowly and gently, taking the juices leaking from it and spreading them up to the hood over your clit.

You moaned loudly at the sensation as, suddenly, you could feel Cillian’s tongue join his fingers, playfully darting closer to your opening, but not quite getting there.

‘Cillian, fuck’ you moaned as energy was coursing through your body, wanting to release, but not quite getting there. He apparently had received a masters degree in how to play your body.

Suddenly his tongue was there, licking up the sides of each of your lips. Inspecting the crevices.

Your head began to thrash, your hands flew out and grabbed the bedding.

‘Let me know if I hurt you’ was the next thing you heard but didn’t pay much attention to as you felt one of his fingers enter you.

With the mildest of discomfort, you arched your back while moan after moan left your mouth.

For several minutes, his finger went in and out of you gently while his tongue was licking you, circling over your clit.

He wasn’t sure whether or not to add another finger, but he decided to try his luck after reminding you to tell him if he hurts you in any way.

Moments later, he inserted a second finger while continuing to circle your clit with his tongue.

‘Oh fuck’ you moaned. There was a slight discomfort but it didn’t last very long before you felt nothing but pure pleasure.

Cillian’s fingers began rubbing inside of you as he placed his mouth around the hood of your clit and began to suck.

‘Holy Shit Cillian’ you moaned. You could feel him smile against your mound.

You began to squirm but he would not let up and your body began its final ascent.

Waves of electricity were crashing through you and your hips were grinding and bucking under his direct tutelage as your orgasm washed over you.

You were a shaking mess by the time he was done and, when you finally came down from your high, Cillian moved up and gave you a passionate kiss.

You could taste your juices on his lips and it was possibly the most erotic moment you had ever experienced.

‘Your turn’ you smirked before pushing Cillian onto his back against the stash of pillows.

You comment caused Cillian to chuckle just before you leaned over him to kiss him.

‘You know you don’t have to Y/N. There is no rush’ he said, running his hand over your cheek as your lips drifted apart.

‘But I want to’ you said with determination. ‘I might just need a little guidance’ you said shyly before descending down on his body, trailing gentle kisses over his chest and all the way down to his stomach.

You adored his body, it was perfect. He was the most attractive man you ever met.

As you were gently kissing his stomach, your hands moved beneath the rim of his briefs before pulling them down.

His erection sprung up almost instantly as soon as the briefs cam down and you couldn’t help but stare at him for a moment.

‘I think I will just go for it and you tell me if I do something wrong’ you said with a smile as you pinned back your hair into a bun with the hairband that was wrapped around your wrist.

Your comment made Cillian laugh for a moment until he could feel your warm lips on the tip of his cock, at which point the word ‘fuck’ was all that left his mouth.

Moans soon began to escape him as you used your hands to stroke him, up and down, while the head of his cock lolled uneasily on the top of your tongue.

You took him deeper into your mouth with every stroke and, as the third inch made its way into your mouth, your lips were being stretched.

You soon managed to take him in all the way, although it was a struggle.

‘Fuck, Y/N’ Cillian moaned as his length disappeared in your mouth.

His comment made you stop and ask whether something was wrong.

‘No, you are doing it perfectly’ Cillian reassured you just before you returned your attention to his very hard cock.

By this time precum had pooled on the tip as you took him back into your mouth. It tasted sweet but yet salty at the same time.

Your tongue began circling around him and then up and down his shaft before returning to the bopping motions.

Cillian leaned back and relaxed as you improved your technique minute by minute.

Each stroke of your tongue was now driving him crazy.

Looking up at him occasionally, you could see that he was enjoying whatever you were doing.

Your tongue was moving like a snake, coating every inch of his velvety soft, yet hard cock with a fine patina of sweet, warm saliva.

It wasn’t long until you could feel Cillian’s cock throb inside your mouth and his breathing was becoming laboured.

His hand was tangled up inside your hair as you continued to bop your head up and down firmly.

‘Y/N, I am close, you might want to stop’ Cillian said, trying hard to hold back.

‘Come in my mouth’ you said confidently before you continued your movements.

Your comment caught Cillian by surprise but he didn’t dare to argue and let go.

Just as your mouth bopped down on his hard shaft again, you could feel him pulsate inside your mouth and, with one loud groan, his warm cum spurted on the back of your tongue.

You continued to bop your head and collect all of his cum until he began to relax.

‘Did you just?’ Cillian asked, and before he could finish his question, you interrupted.

‘Swallow? Yes, what else do you normally do with it?’ you asked with a smirk.

‘I hate sleeping on dirty sheets and I was planning to stay the night, so that seemed like the best option’ you laughed before laid beside Cillian, his arms gently wrapping around you.

‘Hey, I am not complaining’ he laughed as he ran his hands gently over your arms.

‘Didn’t think so’ you said before kissing him again gently.

You fell asleep pretty soon afterwards, curled up against Cillian’s chest.

You both slept well and deep until, at 6am, Cillian’s alarm went off.

‘Oh goddam, what’s the time?’ you asked.

‘6am, why?’ Cillian said as you jumped out of the bed and collected your clothes, trying to put them on as quickly as you can.

‘Y/N, we don’t have a scene until 7am. There is plenty of time’ he said.

‘Yes, but Emma starts at 6.30am. She will notice me not being there’ you explained.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

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PART 1

Your feet dangled down from the stool, elbows on the granite counter when Jeff turned around. “Alright,” he said, lips in a thin smile when he revealed the plate of reheated lasagna that someone dropped off in the last few days. “Smells good.”

You looked up at him with an unimpressed stare. “It looks a little disgusting.”

“It’s vegan, I think.”

“Jesus,” you rolled your eyes. “You start one all natural skincare line and people think you only eat plant-based shit.”

He let out a small laugh, set the plate down and watched as you picked up the fork. One bite--mediocre. Not exactly hot enough, but after all Jeff had done for you the last few days, you didn’t have the heart to demand he put it in for another minute.

“So--do you think it went well?”

You laughed around the food in your mouth, picked up a paper napkin and let your head tilt to the side. “As good as a funeral could be.”

The lights in your kitchen were dim and the sun had already faded behind the trees, the house quiet after people finally filed out. Friends, extended family, strangers you’d never met had flocked to Los Angeles for the funeral of your famous father.

It’d been coming from a mile away. His health declined, an obvious result of the cocaine and the cigarettes and whatever else he’d ingested regularly in the 70s. A heart attack a year ago put him on a fast track to the afterlife, but he always joked that he’d probably end up in hell.

Being in the music industry ruined him, in a way--it ruined your parents’ marriage and it ruined a lot of the relationships your father had. Blow outs and big fights that left him exiled from a lot of social circles, sometimes never speaking to people again after one bad phone call. But it was never like that with Irv.

“Well, I’ve never seen my dad cry so hard,” Jeff smiled. “He really loved him.”

Another bite of the soggy noodles and fake cheese. “I know.”

A comfortable silence, the doors off the kitchen were open, a breeze from the backyard let the southern California warmth blow through the sheer curtains when you sipped at your left over wine.

Jeff was the closest thing you had to a sibling, his family was all you had left at this point. You were tossed in the bathtub with him and his siblings as a baby, shoved into family photos and tagged along for vacations.

Being closest in age to Jeff meant people always hoped it would be the two of you that would end up together. Happily ever after or having babies of your own. But when you saw Jeff wolf down a whole pizza at his bar mitzvah, any hope of a spark between the two of you had been permanently extinguished.

His older sister was the one who told you what it meant to have sex, and after your mom died, his mom helped you pick out a dress for your Sweet Sixteen.

She was the one who talked you off the ledge when you found out you were pregnant only a few years later, she was the one who threw you both baby showers and she was the one who helped you through your divorce only six months earlier.

So now that your dad was gone, too, you wondered where you fit into their family and what your definition of family even was.

Before the thought could cross your mind, the front door was pushed open and the sound of high pitched giggles floated in from the foyer.

CeCe’s tiny voice echoed down the hall. “Uncle Jeff?”

“Is that my CeCe?” He took a few steps forward and she ran straight into his legs, he hoisted her up onto his hip when Maeve rounded the corner with Tristan in tow.

“Hi honey,” you opened an arm so your ten-year-old could fit into the side of you. She leaned her head on her shoulder. “How was ice cream?”

The easiest ploy to get them out of the house while you hosted some kind of awkward afterparty.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But Tristan said that funerals are a selfish attempt by the living to hold on to someone after they’re dead.”

You blinked a few times and looked down at her, shocked by the words and apparently, her ability to understand them. You looked over at Tristan, arched eyebrows to communicate how displeased you were.

His eyes went wide when Jeff choked down a laugh. “I didn’t--I don’t know what you’re talking about Maeve.”

You kissed Maeve on the head. “Well, Tristan is wrong about a lot of things, trust me. But you two should go get ready for bed, it’s been a long day.”

You looked over at him again--younger by two years and easily one of the most important people in your life. You met him only a year after you started your business, he had a knack for brand management and eye for design that you couldn’t pass up. He was way too sarcastic and cynical to be your regular babysitter, but Jeff and his family were basically in the receiving line beside you.

Jeff let CeCe climb down and Maeve took her by the hand as they headed for the kitchen stairs to the second floor, leaving you alone at the island with two of your closest friends.

He waited until he heard the water turn on from their bathroom sink, then whispered in Tristan’s direction. “Great idea to say that to a ten-year-old and a six-year-old after their grandpa dies.”

Tristan rolled his eyes theatrically, “she asked why so many people came and why she’d never met any of them if they loved her grandpa so much.”

“Well, you can expect a bill for their therapy in a few years,” you laughed, forking more lasagna into your mouth.

Tristan made his way over to the fridge and pulled out the glass dish, helping himself to a piece when Jeff took a seat beside you. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” you glanced at him sideways, suspicious about any ulterior motive he might have.

“Okay, Y/N,” Jeff laughed, Tristan eyed you from over his shoulder like he didn’t believe you. “Let me try again. How are you feeling emotionally?”

You cleared your throat and swallowed the most recent bite of dinner. “Oh, you mean cause my husband left me six months ago and my dad just died and now I’m a single mom with two fiesty daughters who just inherited a giant house aaaaaand,” you drew out the word for dramatic effect. “I’m a business owner who barely gets any sleep?”

“That’s what I was getting at, yes,” Jeff nodded and fought a smirk.

“I’m alright,” you sighed. “Tired. Kind of freaked out about what the fuck is going on in my life, but, I’ll survive. I always survive."

You knew you would--in fact, you’d been waiting for this moment for the last few weeks. When Jeff’s mom called to tell you your dad needed to be put in hospice, you prepared. You talked to Maeve and CeCe and explained it all in a way they’d understand. His life on earth is over, but we can still talk to him and visit a pretty garden to remember him.

It was a lot to deal with only a few months after your high school sweetheart turned husband admitted he’d been having an affair and moved out, you saw on Facebook that he’d since bought a motorcycle and was spending most of his time at bars along the coast. That whole fiasco was harder to explain to your children.

And now suddenly everyone wanted to make sure you were okay. Frozen dinners, offers to drive your kids to and from their extracurriculars, a lot of attention was suddenly thrust onto you and your family, as if you hadn’t always hated that growing up.

But you knew the time would come when life would settle back down. Cousins and aunts and uncles would fly home, people would stop asking how you were doing post divorce. Dust would settle and the sun would set on this chapter and frankly, it couldn’t happen soon enough.

So here you were, the funeral was over, the dinner in his honor at Jeff’s parents, the media coverage was starting to die down and life could return to normal. Or, at least, a new normal.

Your dad had been a fixture in your life--weekly dinner dates with grandpa gave you a minute to yourself after working long days and answering endless phone calls. A glass of wine on the couch or even dinner with Tristan and Zoey was a nice escape from breaking up fights or figuring out how to reattach the head of a Barbie doll after someone shoved someone into a closet and tears and screaming ensued.

“You will definitely survive,” Jeff nodded.

Tristan came and sat, forked into the lasagna and made a face when he realized how bad it was. “Is this fake cheese?”

“Unfortunately,” you nodded.

Tristan made a face and then cleared his throat. “I, for one, think this is the start of a new chapter for you. New opportunities, new love,” he smirked.

A quick retort: “Yeah, that’s obviously the first priority right now.”

“He’s right, though,” Jeff said. “You have a fresh start, a totally new chapter.”

You nodded--they were right, but easing into a new chapter felt a lot better than trying to dive right in.

“Speaking of a fresh start, you know, changing things up,” Jeff forced a grin in your direction. “Can we actually talk for a second?”

You eyed him suspiciously, put your fork down to bow out from eating the world’s worst lasagna. “Yeah?”

“I have kind of a weird favor to ask. And--I know it’s kind of bad timing, with everything going on, but--just hear me out, okay?”

Instead of replying, you watched him, lifted your brows to encourage him to continue and tread carefully.

“So I have a client who isn’t from here, he bought a house but it’s in the middle of getting renovated. There’s kind of been a lot going on, it’s a long story.”

“Okay,” you nodded, unsure where he was going with it.

“He needs a place to stay, and I was wondering if maybe he could stay here for a little.”

“Here, like, here here?” You pointed to the floor of your kitchen, an elegant upgrade from the more modest house in Woodland Hills you’d occupied before the divorce.

Along with the death of your father came the inheritance of his Bel Air estate and all of the bedrooms, the four car garage, the manicured lawn and the pool out back. Some people thought you should sell it, use the cash to make trusts for the girls or save for college.

Selling it didn’t feel right, though. It was the house he worked so hard for, the house you called home for the later half of your teen years and the place you always came back to when things got hard. So instead of putting it on the market and closing that chapter, once again, you returned to the safe haven in the hills when you didn’t know where else to turn.

“Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but you have the room and it might be fun to have someone else around and--”

“I have two daughters, Jeff, I can’t just let a stranger live with us.”

“He’s not a stranger, Y/N, he’s my friend. We’re really close.”

“Who is he?” Tristan asked, waving his fork in the air to remind us that he was still present.

“Harry Styles.”

Tristan’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “The kid from the boyband?”

“No way,” you shook your head, dismissing it before you could even let his name register. “I’m not having a pop star boy band kid stay in my house.”

“Okay,” Jeff held up a hand to get Tristan to relax, then moved to point at you. “He’s 24, number one. He’s not a kid, he’s, like, only a few years younger than us.”

“Yes,” you nodded, “exactly. I don’t need a 24-year-old living with my daughters.”

“He’s not like that, though. He’s responsible and he’s a family friendly dude, and--”

“Then why can’t he live with you? Or with your parents?”

“I don’t have the room,” he said. “And my dad hates house guests.”

You rolled your eyes, it was obnoxious, but it was true. Irv hated having people stay over almost as much as he hated it when your dad beat him in golf.

Jeff took your silence as an opportunity to continue selling you on the idea. “He just finished his tour, he’s working on his second album. He’s probably going to be in the studio a lot, Y/N. Do you really think I would let some crazy party animal live with my nieces?”

Another eye roll from both you and Tristan.

“Is this like, just a few nights?” You asked.

“Like, two weeks. Tops.”

“Two weeks?!” You shook your head. “No--I can’t put them through that after all the shit that’s been going on this year. Why can’t he just stay in a hotel?”

“Cause that’s lonely and he’s a people person and--I don’t know, it might be good for you to have someone around.”

You rolled your eyes that, was it a jab at your new status as a single mom or new status as a fatherless daughter? Unsure.

Jeff stood from the counter and grabbed for his phone on the far end of the island. “Just think about it, okay? I’ve gotta run. A few weeks, built in babysitting, maybe--he’s great with kids.”

“I’ve already thought about it,” you told him, resting your chin in your hand and offering a sugary sweet smile. “No fucking way.”

“Mommy!” CeCe’s voice called from upstairs, you hoisted yourself up, ready to tuck them in and forget that Jeff had ever asked such a ludicrous question.

“I would owe you big time--it might be fun! You’ve got the room, he could be a positive male influence on the girls.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the end of his sentence--like that would really sway you.

“And I’m not that?” Tristan pulled his head back, offended.

“You’re the one who told them funerals are stupid,” Jeff said with a sarcastic smirk.

“And you’re the crazy one trying to let a stranger move in here like it’s an AirBnB,” you shot back at Jeff. “So maybe they do need a better male influence than both of you.”

“Mommy!” CeCe called again, more impatient this time.

“I’m coming!” You shouted. “You, let yourself out when you’re finished eating this terrible meal,” you pointed at Tristan and the lasagna. “And you,” you pointed at Jeff with a smirk. “Please never speak to me again.”

He was already heading for the door, keys in hand when he blew you a kiss. “Love you, see you soon!”

“Love you,” you called back, bounding up the stairs, mom mode activated.

**

A text message the next day when you were at work:

Jeff Azoff (1:43pm): 🙏😇🙏😇

You blew air from your lips, Zoey sat across from you at a conference table when you took a late lunch. She was the first friend you made when you started high school, your long time confidant aside from Tristan and Jeff and a sure bet to tell it like it is.

Now she regularly popped into the Luna offices and she loved nothing more than acting like she was a higher up at your business. She’d rather be doing that than admit she was a new mom with no clue what the next chapter of her life would look like. You had that in common.

Her two-month-old son, Benny, sat in a carrier on the ground, his eyelashes fluttered when Zoey put her feet up on the chair beside her.

“What’s the sigh for?”

“Jeff is being annoying.”

“What’d he do now?”

You looked over at her, nose deep in her phone when you took another bite of the burrito bowl she’d picked up for you. You didn’t know if it was worth it to explain it all. Zoey was excitable, never one to turn down an adventure and her aptly timed identity crisis that came with becoming a mom was sure to make her encourage bad decisions even more.

She looked up at you, suddenly aware of the wheels spinning in your mind.

“Spill it,” she instructed. She put her phone down and let out a breath, clasped her hands and waited for you to fill her in.

“He asked me to let a friend of his stay with us in my dad’s house.”

“Your house,” she corrected. “Deed’s in your name now.”

“My house,” you nodded. “And I feel weird about it.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“Some client of his,” you tried to wave it off as if the name didn’t matter.

It didn’t, really. You’d long been exposed to the rich and famous just because of the nature of your father’s work. He was one of the biggest managers in the music industry in partnership with Jeff’s dad, so you were no stranger to beautiful people with beautiful cars and beautiful homes. When Jeff took on the family business, you only grew more accustomed to it.

“So a celebrity?” she shimmied her shoulders in excitement. “Which one?”

“Harry Styles,” you said the name slowly, quietly, even though it was just the two of you in the second floor conference room and even though this was your office that you bought and you owned and you ran.

“He’s hot,” she nodded casually, less impressed than you’d expected.

“He’s also like twenty-something, so it's disgusting for you to say that.”

“Oh relax,” she dismissed your concern. “He could be your pool boy.”

Zoey--who also grew up in Southern California and spent plenty of time at your house as a kid--hadn’t yet grown so accustomed to the coming and going of celebrities. Her parents owned a florist shop in Santa Monica and in high school you had to tell her she could only come to a Britney Spears concert if she didn’t cry when you inevitably met her in the green room thanks to your dad.

“I have children,” you reminded her. “A ten-year-old who might as well be fifteen and a six-year-old who would think I literally bought her a human playmate.”

“But if he’s friends with Jeff I highly doubt he’s a serial killer,” she reasoned.

“Wow, you are completely missing the point.”

“What’s the point, then?”

“It’s weird--I can’t have a stranger move in with my kids.”

“Why not?”

“Because first their dad left us and now their grandpa died.”

“Sounds like they need a new man in their life.”

You ignored the similarity of her words with Jeff’s from the other night. “I just think it’s crazy.”

“Okay,” she sat up straight and suddenly looked like this was morphing into a business conversation. “How long?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh my god,” she turned her palms towards the sky. “Just do it.”

“What? No!”

“It’s two weeks--it’ll take your mind off of all the shit that’s been going on, it’ll be a fun distraction for the girls. You have so much space in that house you will never even know he’s there. And you’re helping a friend.”

She wasn’t wrong: Harry could likely stay in the bedroom all the way on the other end of the hall from where the girls slept. Maeve was thrilled to get her own room in the move and CeCe would occasionally run into your room after a nightmare, so the space was a plus.

He’d have his own room, his own bathroom. Hell, he could even park in the extra garage and enter from the back of the house. Maybe you wouldn’t even notice he existed.

You sighed, tugged at your necklace when you met her gaze. “I just feel really protective over them right now. I feel like Luke ruined their sense of family and now with my dad gone--”

She stuck her tongue out in disgust at the sound of your ex’s name. “I get that--but they have you. They have Jeff and his family and they have me and Shawn and now Benny.”

You offered a small smile at her reassurance. She was right in a lot of ways. The Azoffs were as much a family to your daughters as they had been to you. Shelli and Irv were like grandparents, they offered to babysit plenty of times and they always managed to get the girls the most amazing birthday presents.

But something in you knew it wasn’t the same. You’d dreamed of giving your daughters the sense of family you never had: a mom and a dad who loved each other. One house, not two that had two different beds and sets of books or toys.

Luckily and unluckily, your ex hadn’t made a huge deal about custody. Visits here and there were outlined in your divorce papers, but at this point in time he didn’t seem the most interested in maintaining a relationship with his daughters, even though he promised way back when that he’d never leave.

Getting pregnant with him during college wasn’t planned, but he swore you’d make it work and you tied the knot only a few months before Maeve was born. Things were good at first, you always knew you’d have more than one--if only to combat your own only-child loneliness--and then CeCe came five years later when you felt a little more prepared.

“I don’t think it’s going to traumatize them, Y/N. I mean, the least you could do is meet the guy.”

You watched her for a minute, blew air from your nose in a huff before you picked up your phone.

Y/N L/N (1:56pm): Fine. I’ll meet him.

Three days later you pulled up to a cafe in Brentwood and took a deep breath in the parking lot. If he was creepy, you wouldn’t go for it. If you got even the slightest weird vibe from him, you’d ex-communicate Jeff and only go over to visit his parents with the girls when he wasn’t around.

You’d already been leaning towards just doing it, especially once Tristan got a glass of wine in you and reminded you what your dad would have said: he who helps is one who prospers.

A few sleepless nights left you staring at the ceiling and wondering if you were crazy. You just now had the chance to let life settle down and here you were, mourning the loss of your biggest supporter, trying to piece yourself back together post divorce, and considering letting a stranger move in? Grief really did do strange things to people.

But when you walked in and found them sitting at a table in the back, something clicked.

Your dad was already fond of your possible houseguest, which you only knew from overhearing previous conversations between him and Irv about how proud they were of Jeff for picking up the family business, and now it all made sense.

A small part of you--probably the stupidest part of you--wondered if there was something cosmic about it. Your dad was always one to let his artists stay in the house, if they weren’t creepy, of course. You grew up with bands rehearsing in the backyard and going to shows at the Troubadour before you were old enough to drive, and you turned out fine.

“Hi,” Harry stood, offered a hand and introduced himself after Jeff gave you a kiss on the cheek. “Harry, pleasure to meet you.” Polite, maybe a bit of a kiss ass. Your dad must have loved him.

“Y/N,” you nodded, sat down when Jeff tugged out a chair for you. “Thanks for--uh--meeting with me, I guess.”

“Thanks for maybe letting me stay at your house,” he offered a sheepish smile, held your gaze for a second when Jeff adjusted the sunglasses clipped to his shirt.

“I’m actually surprised you guys haven’t met before,” he said.

“I’ve been a little busy this year,” you reminded him with a nod. “But--nice to finally meet you.”

Harry nodded, a dimple in his left cheek ignited a tiny spark in your chest, but you pushed Zoey’s words out of your mind. Two weeks, it wasn’t a big deal. He’d be in and out and this would be a blip on the radar.

“We can order coffee or something, but Y/N, I’m assuming you have like, a whole interrogation mapped out?”

You pretended to laugh at Jeff’s joke, turned to Harry and offered a no-nonsense smile. “I have two children, I got divorced earlier this year and my dad just died. So I don’t need any drama or anything. This is temporary and I’m doing this to help out a friend. Jeff, that is, not you.”

He laughed at your clarification and nodded. “Right. This is just me living in your house. No drama. Short-term.”

“And obviously my children will be there, so no guests.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay I’m not that much older than you,” you said it quickly, offered a small smile when he looked a little scared.

“Sorry--no, I didn’t mean that in a rude way.”

“No ma’am,” you added a rule, pulling a laugh from both of them when you lifted another finger in the air to count them off. “No drugs or alcohol, unless it’s like a glass of wine at dinner or something,” you shrugged.

“Look,” Jeff leaned forward. “Y/N’s kids are great, she’s got a great skincare company and she’s a kickass human. And you need a place to stay, so don’t fuck this up.”

“You both have my word. No drugs, no alcohol, no guests, no ma’am,” he smirked in your direction. “I’ve lived alone for a while, so, it’ll be nice to have some roommates.”

You nodded slowly and watched him for a second. A hoodie with the name of the management firm your dad and Irv had started, a backwards baseball hat and simple Ray-Bans. You ignored the fluttering in your veins from just looking at him, your own words echoed against the walls of your skull: he’s also like twenty-something, so that’s disgusting.

This was his brand, you were sure. Something Jeff had worked hard on--the looks, the smile, the exact formula that management firms drooled over was playing out in front of you. You sipped your drink once the waiter delivered three cappuccinos. Two weeks, tops.

**

Los Angeles afternoons were meant for playing outside, which is what your daughters did best if they weren’t busy pulling each other’s hair. You had dinner on the stove--enough for five--and a knot of nerves in your stomach when the wheels of his fancy car crunched atop the gravel.

The girls ran to greet him and Jeff showed him around the house. Now, Harry sat across from you at the table, Maeve to his left with an unimpressed look on her face when you cleared your throat. “Okay, gratitude time.”

Jeff set his fork back down, a guilty look on his face to admit he’d forgotten about your pre-dinner ritual.

CeCe squirmed in her seat, let out a sigh when Maeve protested with a flutter of her eyelashes. “I don’t have anything to be thankful for,” she informed you.

“That feels a little hard to believe,” you nodded, losing patience for her attitude over the last few days. “CeCe, do you want to go?”

Your younger daughter looked up at you, scrunched her mouth and thought about it. “I don’t have anything either.”

You tried not to groan aloud. After the week you’d had and the sudden changes in your life, disciplining your daughters felt like the last thing you wanted to do, if only they’d just behave.

“I can go,” Harry lifted his hand sheepishly as if he was sitting in a classroom and not in your dining room, a dimple on his cheek when he smiled sheepishly.

“Take it away,” you motioned towards him.

“M’thankful for being here, having a place to stay--and what looks like it will be a delicious meal.” By now he had a bit of smug look on his face, maybe proud of the fact that he’d broken the ice and stepped up to the pre-dinner prompt.

“Mom’s cooking is a solid six out of ten on a good day,” Maeve looked over at him, her fork now in her hand as if she was ready to dig in.

“Okay,” you leaned in and caught her gaze. “Drop the attitude or go to your room.”

“I’m thankful for Emma,” she named her friend, her quick submission after she rolled her eyes told you she just wanted to eat and get this over with. “She warned me today that Hayley was wearing a shirt I wore last week so I think she’s copying me.”

“Okay,” you nodded, you’d accept anything at this point. “CeCe? Last chance.”

“I’m grateful for pudding.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, you nodded and said: “Great. I’m thankful for you two,” you smiled at them, hopeful that this nightly tradition would hold some type of meaning, more than just eye rolls and pre-pubescent angst from Maeve.

Jeff looked over at the girls, “I’m thankful for my friend Harry getting to meet my other friends, CeCe and Maeve.”

“Aww,” Harry smiled, a hand clutched to his heart when he looked between them.

“Alright,” you were annoyed by how good your daughters were at turning on their charm for anyone but you. Jeff was often the fun uncle, just like your ex had been the fun dad, which left you forcing them to play this gratitude game every night after they finished their homework.

CeCe wasted no time digging into the spaghetti on her plate, leaving Jeff to ask Maeve: “so what are you going to do about Hayley?”

“I don’t know,” Maeve sighed. “She’ll die when she finds out that you’re sleeping over,” she pointed her fork at Harry.

“He’s not sleeping over,” you corrected. “He’s staying in one of the guest rooms, remember?” You’d already explained it a few times to them. A few weeks, he’s working on more music, he’ll be busy, he’s not here to play with you.

“Whatever,” Maeve said. “Maybe I’ll hold it over her.”

“Maeve,” you looked over, unsure what had gotten into her. “I thought we talked about this stuff with Hayley?”

“I know--but she just keeps annoying me,” Maeve explained.

“Dump pasta on her head,” CeCe suggested with a giggle.

“Don’t do that,” you looked at CeCe and poked her in the stomach.

“I personally am a big fan of that idea,” Jeff smiled over at CeCe. “But it’d probably be better to just forget about it. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Or the sincerest form of annoying,” she retorted.

Harry let out a laugh at that, caught your gaze when you wondered how soon it’d take him to get annoyed with your kids.

They were great--smart, funny, clever, definitely witty and sometimes dramatic. But they were good kids.

You remembered how tough it was to adapt to motherhood, even though they were your own. Something told you that Harry, no matter how short his stay would be, was not in the chapter of his life that entailed finding joy in playdates and pillow fights.

But he made it through dinner, quiet but friendly and as soon as Maeve was finished, she begged him to play squishball outside before sunset.

“Squishball?” his eyebrows dipped together. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s basically just baseball but with a softer bat and a foam ball cause mom doesn’t want us to break our skulls,” Maeve informed.

“I never said break your skulls,” you argued.

“But it’s what you meant,” she shrugged.

“I would love to play,” Harry laughed, unbelievably entertained by the back and forth he’d already witnessed. They yanked him outside and set up their tiny diamond, CeCe pulled on a tutu just for flair and you and Jeff were left to handle the aftermath of a family dinner.

Jeff put the final plate into the dishwasher after a little bit and offered a hesitant smile when he turned around. “So?”

“So what? It’s been like an hour and a half of him being here.”

Their laughter from outside was audible, CeCe shrieked when Maeve made contact with the bat and sent the ball soaring into the air. “The girls clearly love him.”

“Of course they do--they love anyone for the first two hours.”

“I think he’ll be good for you guys.”

You rolled your eyes, wiped the counter with the sponge when he continued.

“And you guys will be good for him.”

This got your attention. “How so?”

“He’s a people-person, never likes being on his own too much. Some structure and responsibility is good for him.”

“So I’m babysitting him?”

“Oh my god,” he laughed. “Relax, will you? This could be a mutually beneficial thing if you let it, that’s all I’m saying.”

You didn’t read too much into it, you figured Jeff was peppering you with reassurance only to calm your nerves or quell your concerns. When he was finished helping you clean, he hugged the girls goodbye and waved over his shoulder, leaving Harry alone in your house with you and your daughters and nothing but good intentions.

You left him downstairs at first, helped CeCe brush her hair and sat on the floor when Maeve picked out her clothes for the next day: hopefully Hayley doesn’t own this dress.

When you headed back downstairs an hour later, the girls were tucked in, the lights were off, and your usual plan would have been to check your work emails if it weren’t for the dimpled guy in your living room.

He stood at the bookcase, hands clasped behind his back when you found him.

“Hi, sorry--bedtime is always a--” you paused, not even knowing the right label. “A shit show. But thanks for playing with them earlier.”

He laughed, turned around and offered a smile. “No worries--they seem like great kids.”

“They are,” you assured. “Maeve’s been a bit snarky lately but I think that’s just the whole beginning of puberty thing.” You cringed a little when the words left your mouth, wondering if it was too much information for someone who likely had cooler things to do than talk about ten-year-olds and training bras.

But he smiled, shoved his hands in his pockets when you said: let me show you around.

He’d arrived at the worst time. Homework, dinner prep, CeCe crying because Maeve finished her homework first. You didn’t have the chance to give him a tour and you figured it would be better coming from you than from Jeff, that way you could remind him of all the rules.

You showed him the ground floor first. The library, the family room, the two offices and the three different remotes that all worked different TVs or speakers or lamps. He marveled at the pictures on the wall in your dad’s old office space, he was a legend, he told you.

He climbed the stairs behind you and whispered in response when you pointed out what was behind each door. Bathroom, Maeve’s room, CeCe’s room, guest room, another bathroom, master suite, guest room, his room.

You pushed the door open and stepped aside to let him in. Gray walls, a wooden four-post king-sized bed. Throw pillows you’d picked out when you moved in a few weeks ago, a dresser to the left. He looked around and nodded. “S’perfect.”

“Good,” you said, walking over to a small linen closet in his attached bath. “Towels are in here, should be soap and stuff in the shower--had our housekeeper stock it.”

“Thanks,” he nodded again.

“I don’t know where you parked, but there’s a garage in the back that my dad used to keep some of his sports cars in--there’s definitely room and that way you don’t have to leave yours out if it rains.”

Were you talking too much? You just wanted him to feel at home or at least welcomed.

“Amazing,” he said. “Thank you.”

A repetitive answer but it didn't stop you from rambling.

“Keurig’s on the counter--creamer in the fridge. Should be plenty of food but obviously feel free to stock what you like. Except like, weed.”

“Weed doesn’t go in the fridge...” he eyed you suspiciously, the same dimple appeared on his cheek and you rolled your eyes.

“I know--I know weed doesn’t go in the fridge.”

“Just the no drug policy,” he nodded.

“Right. Am I forgetting anything?”

He shifted his weight on his feet and shrugged his shoulders, a subtle shake of his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” you nodded, one final look around the room to make sure he had what he needed. His duffle bag was already in the corner, you’d told Jeff to put it upstairs and out of the way so CeCe and Maeve didn’t get nosy.

“I just have a question actually, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah?”

“When did you move in here?”

“Uh, beginning of August, so like, almost a month ago.”

He nodded, his eyes curious despite the fact that he didn’t ask more.

“We had to put my dad in hospice, I was looking for a place anyway after,” a quick motion over your shoulder to gesture to the girls. “My divorce, so--a lot of change, but it’s been nice to be home.”

He nodded thoughtfully, the quiet of the bedroom suddenly felt heavy. “S’a beautiful house.”

“Thank you,” you looked around the room again, if only to put your eyes somewhere other than his face. “I felt shitty about redecorating it at first, but--it was a little too much of a 70s bachelor pad.”

“Leave it to Walt,” he joked.

That piqued your interest. “Did you know my dad? Like, did you spend any time with him?”

He pushed his lips out in thought but shook his head when he sat down on the bed. “Not really--met him a few times at events with Jeff, but I never spent any quality time with him.”

You nodded--he was a busy guy, popular and well respected in his industry. “He was a good person, good grandfather, too.”

Harry smiled at that. “Always heard that Irv was the balls but your dad was the heart.”

You laughed, scrunched your nose at the saying you’d heard a hundred times. The two of them were partners in crime, two peas in a pod, yet they couldn’t be more different. He spoke again before you could reply, voice soft in the sleepy house.

“I mean, if you're his daughter he obviously did something right.”

He held your gaze just long enough for you to feel something, something you pushed out of your mind so quickly that your hand was on the door knob before he could even say goodnight.

Two weeks, tops.

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