#like she's been smoking cigarettes for 45 years

[boyapologist]

I would honestly pay money to never have to hear about chappell ronan in my life

[midnightsunsfan]

Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Attempted robbery, Attempted assault, Fluff

Summary: Superman saves you from a nasty predator, and that’s when you realize Superman was actually your boyfriend all along. No wonder Superman knew you were getting harassed when he could’ve been busy with other things.

You were at work, minding your business. You worked at a diner. It’s actually the place you and your boyfriend, Clark Kent, met.

You will never forget it. You were his waitress, and he was a customer. You remember feeling like you were struck by lightening when you first saw his gorgeous face.

He was with his coworkers, and you’re guessing he saw you as beautiful as you saw him when you’ve met, because ever since then, he would always come after work.

You only worked through weekdays and always saw him at exactly 6:30 or 6:45. It became a daily thing until he finally built up the courage to ask you on an official date.

Ever since then you started dating and after a year, you moved in together. You’ve been dating for two years now.

“Y/n! You can take your break now.” One of your coworkers says as she passed by. You nodded in response and finished up your last table and took a trip outside.

You took out your melody bar and started smoking. You were a big smoker until Clark. He always hated cigarettes, so you decided to quit for him.

Melody bars were a big help. You only smoked one when you were stressed, considering there non-nicotine.

You were scrolling on your phone near a dumpster right outside your work place.

“Hey, pretty lady.”

You looked up from your phone to see a man. He was one of your regulars, but he had left over an hour ago. Was he waiting for you?

“Oh, hello. Back again?” You asked, trying to be as polite as you could.

“Only for you. Say, why don’t you come back with me to my place once your off your shift?” He smiled. His teeth were a disgusting color.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Uhm, no. I’m engaged.” You smoke firmly, putting your phone to the side of your hip.

He chuckled. “I don’t see no ring.” He smirked. He caught you through your lie.

You glanced down at your hand, then looked back up at the man. “Yeah, no, I don’t wear my ring to work. Afraid I might lose it.” You spoke.

He stepped closer. Way too close for you to be comfortable with. “Don’t lie.”

His tone was nasty. You realized you were in danger and turned around to head back inside.

He grabbed you by the wrist once you reached for the door.

“Get off of me!” You shouted, trying to loosen his grip. He pulled out a pocket knife, waving it in your face.

You froze. “Enough moving or I’ll slice you, bitch.”

“Hey. Didn’t the pretty lady tell you to back off?”

You turned to look behind the man, and so did he. It was Superman.

The man’s eyes went wide and he dropped the knife. “Hey, hey. I wasn’t looking for no trouble.”

“Then scram.” Superman spoke in a deep, intimating voice. The man scrambled to pick up his knife, but Superman laser beamed it far away from his reach.

“Now.” He spoke again. The man finally ran off, and you watched as he did.

“Are you alright?” You turned back to Superman. “Y-Yes. Thank you. Is there anything I can do to repay you?” You asked softly, picking up your phone you dropped away ago.

Superman just smiled at you. “No. I’m just glad you’re alright.”

You stared at him and furrowed your eyebrows. Why did that sound so familiar? Reality struck you.

“Ow!” You winced, looking at your bleeding finger. “Woah, are you okay?” Clark asked, taking your bleeding finger into his large hand.

You chuckled. “Of course baby.” You said softly.

Clark scurried around for a napkin and wrapped it around your finger. “I’ll cut the veggies tonight.” He spoke with concentration on your finger.

You smiled. “There’s no need to do that, my love.” He looked up at you with his beautiful blue eyes and smiled. “It’s no problem,

I’m just glad you’re alright.”

You stared at Superman, your eyes going wide. He tilted his head at you. You just softly smiled.

“I-I have to get going now.” He spoke, starting to fly into the air, but not far enough where he couldn’t hear you.

You smiled wider. “Alright. I’ll see you back at home, my love.”

Superman’s face dropped and he stared at you, his mouth opening a bit. He blinked before closing his mouth and flying off.

[bangchansgirlsblog]

another random idea.. Fem 9th member maknae reader who secretly smokes and gets caught by one of the boys who later snitches and tells chan. Reader and Chan fall out and she storms out of the dorms and ends up staying in her apartment instead to let off some steam. She realised how bad the smoking was for her health and how much it impacted her social life so she first to JYP and they send her to rehab + puts her on hiatus for two months because of rehab. Chan thinks it’s his fault for the hiatus as none of the members were told that she was going to rehab. They later find out and when Reader returns back from rehab/hiatus they all tell her how proud they are of her?

(sorry for the LONGGGG paragraph, i didn’t intend for it to be this long🧍‍♀️)

My biggest problem.

Okay maybe I got carried away a little and changed it a little but yeah forgive me 😜

Enjoy

-🩷

**

Y/n started smoking when she was 15.

She didn't know that she was eventually going to be a trainee the year after.

It was never part of her plan but when they scouted her when she was at the mall with her mum, it was a new chapter in her story and her mum begged for her to try it out. As her training days began and she tried to quit she found that she couldn’t go a day without smoking.

She was already addicted to it.

Her habit became stronger and stronger as the days got harder.

6 hours dance practice, 4 hours vocal and 2 hours media training. She found her self sneaking out for smokes during short breaks or before leaving the dorms for any type of schedule.

It sucked that she couldn't get out of it and it was affecting her.

At this point she didn’t even want to stop because if she did her body would fail.

**

1:45 pm, New York City.

"Alright people let's get started shall we?" The instructor walked onto the stage and stood at the edge waiting for everyone to get in place.

Y/n put her water bottle down and walked over to the group to get into her place so they could start practicing for the show that would happen the next day.

"Y/n and I.N I want more energy from the both of you please," Chan told the two maknae's. He was stood in the back analyzing everything to make sure it was on point.

The two nodded and stood ready to start. The sound of Charmer filled the whole stadium and their bodies started to move with the music. Their vocals being on point and their dancing being better than the last.

"What do you think?" The manager asked Chan. He was now stood down off stage looking at a different point of you. The rest of the band gasping for air.

"It was okay, I liked it but the lighting crew need to do better because I can barely see Felix in the back." He pointed and waved as he spoke. Trying to show the manager what he was imagining.

Y/n saw this as an opportunity to slip away for a bit for a short smoke break. She needed it. Her hands were shaking and her body couldn't really function due to the fuck she was going through withdrawals.

"Chan, may I use the washroom?" Her voice was timid but Chan was used to it and was able to hear her over his earpeaces.

"Yeah you can, five minutes yeah?" He replied. "Do you need one of the boys to come with you-"

"No no no it's fine," she replied fast, way to fast for Chan's liking.

"Okay," he squinted his eyes in suspicion but let it go.

She grabbed her bag and made her way through the different hallway. Making sure no one was in sight, she slipped through the backdoor to the back way alley.

It was quiet. No one was there and she was glad. She let go of the sign that lingered in her chest and pulled out the pack of cigs that laid neatly in her small pouch.

Her hands shook as she grabbed one cigarette and put it between her lips where she lit it and took a big puff.

Her body relaxed as the smoke filled her lungs. Her brain that was going hellfire was now calm and relaxed as well.

She thought she was safe when she reached for the second one. None of the boys had called her phone and it had been about 5 minutes.

"Just one more," she thought to herself.

"Y/n?" a voice called right by her ear causing her to jump and drop the pack of cigs.

"What are you doing?" She turned to look at Hyunjin who was visibly angry.

His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were sealed tightly together.

"Hyunjin what are you doing here?" She asked as she got on her knees trying to collect the cigarettes that were now scattered all over.

"What do you mean what are you doing here? What are YOU doing here Y/n? And why are you smoking? Have you gone mad? Does Chan know about this?" He questioned standing there in shock.

"No,no Chan doesn't know about this and you're not telling him," Y/n hushed him trying to stop him from shouting and yelling.

"I think you've actually gone insane! Ofcourse I'm telling Chan,” he grabbed the cigarettes from Y/n's hand and threw them back to the ground where he stomped all over them.

"Inside. Now." He said through gritted teeth. Y/n was scared, it was visible. She grabbed her back and slowly made her way inside the venue. Her lips quivered.

"Hyunjin please don't tell Chan, please I'll do anything," she begged.

"I have to Y/n. I'm so disappointed in you. We trusted you and you do this?" His eyes couldn't meet hers. His body was tense as they walked backstage to the rooms in the back. The hallways gettin busier each second. The employees questioning why she was crying.

"Are you okay-"

"Yes she is please go along with your work," Hyunjin snapped at one of the ladies. Y/n looked up at him frightened because he was always nice to people, he never once raised his voice at an employee.

When they arrived in the room. The boys were sat on the couches or having lunch. Chan was texting on his phone when he looked up.

"Y/n? Why did you bathroom break take so long?" He laughed and looked at Hyunjin who wasn't smiling.

"I caught her smoking Chan, she reeks of cigarettes" her head fell and she looked at her new trainers that one of the companies had sent her for promotion. It looked so intriguing all of a sudden.

"You caught her what? Hyunjin your joking," Chan laughed, "please tell me your joking," he paused and looked at the serious Hyunjin.

"Tell him, tell him now." He slightly pushed her in front of him so they could be face to face.

"I-I can explain Chan,"

"No way Y/n please tell me you're joking," his voice became harsh. The boys all turned to Y/n. They were all shocked at this because she was the last person to ever do such a thing.

"What the fuck?" Changbin's voice sounded. "You've been smoking?"

"Only a little," her voice was small. Timid almost.

"Don't lie, please don't fucking lie right now Y/n." Chan says walking closer to the younger.

"Sit down, now." Leeknow says standing up and dropping his chopsticks.

"Your only 19, I get your all 'grown' BUT your still so young. You're an idol. An idol!" Chan's hand smashes against the table making her jump in her sit.

"Okay then if you think I'm an adult I should be able to smoke or drink or-"

"Are you out of your mind momo?" He snapped back at her, "Do you know what it does to you?"

"But Chan-"

"Quit Or I'll make you quit," was all Chan said before he stormed out the room leaving her with the boys who looked very disappointed.

"I get it, you don't have to look at me like I'm some monster," she wiped her tears with her sleeve to clean the tears that run down her cheeks.

"I just don't have words for you right now, your irresponsible, selfish and careless," Leeknow's words were harsh. So harsh that even Hyunjin cringed and felt bad.

"Then kick me out the band if it's such a big deal," was all she said before she got up and run out the room down the hallway past Chan who was standing by the doors while a manger tried to calm him down and out the stadium. It was cold and she had left all her stuff inside so she was forced to run down the busy streets of New York, freezing.

Chan following after her trying to figure out what was going on.

Her body was shaking from all the tears she cried.

But she continued to run.

She was able to disappear from Chan’s sight. Now Chan was really angry and worried. He'd lost his youngest in the busy streets of New York. She was new to the city and she was an idol. Anything could go wrong. Anything could go extremely wrong.

His heart was beating out of his chest. He grabbed his phone out of his picked rushing to call his manager then leeknow and the boys.

He found himself back in the changing rooms surrounded by everyone. Trying to calm him down.

"I'll go back to the hotel just in case she's back there," Felix assured Chan while he packed up his stuff.

"I'll come with you Lix," Hyunjin grabbed his bag aswell making sure to grab her stuff from the ground. He opened to make sure all her stuff was inside but the site wasn't pretty at all.

Underneath everything he saw 4 more packs of cigarettes causing him to gasp horrendously.

"What? What is it?" Bangchan's neck snapped to his direction. Hyunjin had no words so he just passed the bag to Chan who was now terrified.

"Is she addicted?" Was all he asked before handing the bag to leeknow who was curious aswell.

Chan's hands run through his hair as he was thinking of all the possible ways he could find her in the whole of New York City. He felt guilt. He felt like if he had maybe approached this in a nicer way they could have worked through it but now his anger was just blinding him.

"Okay, police were informed and we're about to go driving around to see if we can somehow spot her," their manager tells them (he was also panicking low key but he didn’t want them knowing) , "do you guys want to join?"

"I'll come with you," Leeknow says quickly.

His hands were shaking and he felt so much guilt aswell. If anything happened to Y/n it would be all his fault and he wouldn't forgive himself.

"Same Hyung," Han jumps in.

They all grabbed their bags and the three (Han, Leeknow and Chan) quickly rushed out right behind their manager.

The rest of the boys cleaned up and quickly left to go to the hotel hoping to find her there safe and sound.

It took 5 hours. 5 hours before Felix had decided to go to the cafe by the hotel to grab drinks for everyone and he had found her sat in a coffee shop, she was shivering and cold but Felix didn’t care because he was angry and Felix was never angry. Without hesitation, Felix dragged her out and back to the hotel even if she was kicking and screaming. He didn’t care. At all. He ignored her pleas and cries.

The lecture she got from Chan and all of them was hot and mean and ruthless but at the end of the day they gave her a choice to either quit or go to rehab but she chose to quit. She “promised” them.

After an hour of grilling her for answers she finally had admitted to everything that was going on and how she felt and how she was battling her own self.

Chan was beating himself up for not noticing and Leeknow was beating himself up for not being there for her.

She was so vulnerable. They all knew her secrets and her problems. She felt like a show everyone was just watching and waiting to break.

**

6:20, Japan

The first time the boys had noticed her odd behavior was starting up again, was when they had a sign meet and a concert right after. She hadn’t been able to go for a smoke in hours, her body was now trembling and she was sweating a lot. She could barely get through anything and nausea started to grow string in the pit of her stomach.

“Hey, you okay? You kinda look pale love,” Han was sat next to her getting his makeup done and so was she. He had notice she was fidgeting a lot in the chair. Her eyes were red too.

“Yeah just really tired,” she lied and gulped down thick saliva trying to get rid of the nausea but it completely failed.

“I think I’m going to be sick-“ she got up from the chair and run through the corridors to find the bathroom and once she did she through up, but it was good it was just mucus. Her head was thumping and her throat ached.

A hurried knock made her stand up and flush before she opened the door and collapsed in Han’s hands. He was worried for his younger and now he had to curry her to the rooms.

“Hey, stay with me okay? Don’t close your eyes,” he softly said while he blew air into her face to keep her cool.

When he had walked in and found leeknow sat on their changing room couch he let out a sigh of relief.

“Leeknow help me please! It’s Y/n,” he said panicked. Without hesitation leeknow stood up quickly and took her from Hans hands and put her on the couch to lay down.

Han had run down the corridor to get medics as leeknow woke her up from her faint state.

“Momo? Can you hear me? It’s leeknow,” a soft groan left her lips.

“Would you like some water?” She nodded her head and leeknow was on it. He got on one knee and started to feed her small sips of water.

“Tell me what hurts,” he softly said and played with her hair to calm her down.

“Everything,” she softly said and it aches Leeknow’s hurt.

Y/n knew the only way for her to get out of this state was to smoke but how?

“Leeknow, I- I need to use the bathroom,” she groaned and held her hand against her head.

“If you need to puke i’ll get you a bucket love,” he assured her. He didn’t want her waking and being left alone right now. He wouldn’t allow it.

“I need to pee,”

“Okay can you wait until the medics are here?” And right on cue the door opens and a frantic Han walks into the room with a few people behind him. Then Chan and Hyunjin walked in right behind.

“What happened Y/n?” Chan asked straight away and knelt beside her while he rubbed her hands.

“I don’t know Oppa, I was just not feeling the best,”

“You should have told me my love,” he softly said as he watched the medical team examine her.

“I thought it wasn’t this bad,”

“Now you see what it has done,” Hyunjin joint the conversation. “Look how tired you look, have you eaten anything all day?” He asked her.

“I had the lunch Changbin braught me,”

“So if we called Changbin right now he would agree?” Hyunjin furrowed his eyebrows and crossed his arms. Disappointed.

“No-“

“How bad is it?” Chan asked the man in uniform.

“Not bad, she’s just really dehydrated. We’ll fix an IV on her arm and she’ll be good to go, also may I speak to you outside in the corridor,” Leeknow looks at Chan worried and they exchanged the same expression before Chan head out with the guy.

“I need to pee really bad,” Y/n whines and complains.

“Okay you can go, I’ll come with you,” the lady medic says and slowly guides her to the bathroom. Y/n grabs her lighter and cig and started to smoke it. The feelings make her body slowly awaken and then gain energy. She smoked one more just incase and then washed her hands and made her way back to the last medic.

She was able to walk on her own but just to make it not look suspicious she held onto her and then finally she sat on the couch and got the iv in her arm.

Chan was back in the room and he was examining her. Trying to look for something and once it caught his eye he looked over at the rest of the boys nodding and they all just stare at eachother.

They knew. They knew she was smoking again and it hurt Chan for what was about to come was not going to be pretty.

**

10:55, south Korea

The paparazzi lights started to increase when She stood up in the podium. Her eyes were red and she had eyebags from the lack of sleep she was getting.

Her hands shook as she grabbed the microphone. The boys stood right behind her. Their head looking at the ground trying to avoid her shaking body.

"Goodmorning, my name is Y/n Y/l/n and I'm a member of strays kids. I didn't want this to happen. Trust me I didn't,"

She took a deep breath looking at the manager that were sat in the front raw. Judging her and giving her a disgusted look.

A sob Left her mouth and she put the microphone down. Trying to get herself together before she spoke again.

"To all the stays out there, I want to say I love you and I hope you guys can forgive me for this. I will be going on haitus for a while," the room is filled with gasps as the flashlights now increase even more.

"I pray that if I do come back I will be better and stronger for you guys and that I will make my group and team proud. Thank you for loving me and i hope to see you guys soon," she bowed before taking a step back and wiping her tears.

The boys all stood around her to hide her body from the camera. Han rubbing her back and whispering something in her ear.

She didn't care though, she was upset. She was so upset with herself but she still managed to blame the boys. Her reasoning? Because she felt like they were giving her up and sending her away.

**

"Alright, are you all packed?" Their manager stood outside her room.

"Yeah" she softly said rolling her bag out and handing it to the older man.

"Alright the boys are down stairs if you want to say bye, I'll be waiting in the car," he nodded and left her to close her room and head down the steps to her band mates.

They all looked upset, there was no lie there. There were all stood by the door giving her a sympathetic smile.

"I'm going to miss you," Chan steps up and pulls her into a hug. She didn't want it though. She shrugged it off and stood there looking at him with teary eyes.

"Chan please don't do this,"

"You know I want was best for you-"

"But Chan I'll change I promise just give me a chance,"

His eyes were soft and filled with tears. Guilt was eating him up. He so badly wanted not to send her away but he didn't have a choice.

"I'm sorry," the sound of a honk interrupts them and she knew it was time for her to go.

“I hate you,” she sobbed. That was the last thing she said to him and without looking back she left the dorms. Hoping that somehow she would make it out alive.

Breaking news, strays kids maknae Y/N Y/N/L and group manager in have been left in critical condition after a fatal car crash. Was it a set up?

**

I’m not doing a part two🙈

[tomssexdoll]

omgg write a fluff w tom/ bill where him and the reader are high outta their minds that would lowk be hilarious it could also be a little smutty in the end 👀

HAHAHA YESSS

Stoned

PAIRINGS: Tom 2007 x Female reader CONTENT: FLUFF + SMUT (just a bit) SYPNOSIS: Y/N and Tom are high as FUCK, they are friends and she comes over to his house to try this "new" thing he has. She assumes it's some sort of drug or weird guitar solo, they watch movies, cuddle and at the end get a lil bit freaky... A/N: haven't been high in over a year so don't bash me if i get the feeling wrong, it's from what i remember lmao WARNINGS: teasing, kissing, drug use (weed)

Me and Tom have been best friends for over 10 years, he has been my rock, supporting me through everything. He never changed, always hanging out with me, showing me off to new friends. He was amazing.

One day he called me and said he had something to show me, something "new" he wanted to try out with me. I immediately knew it was a drug or a weird guitar solo, he is full of surprises I guess.

I got into my car and started to drive to his house, wondering what stupid thing was going to consume my day.

I arrived eventually and greeted Tom, hugging him tightly and walking inside, sitting in his room. He came in with a little baggie of what looked like weed, he handed it to me and I sighed "Tom this is a lot of weed, do you plan to smoke it all tonight?" he chuckled "no of course not, if we like it we can try it again at the party next week" he rummaged through his draws, pulling out a small black bong, decorated with skulls.

"Wowww real edgy" I rolled my eyes playfully, he laughed and slapped my arm playfully "shut up it was on sale, i'm not spending 50 fucking dollars for a small bong."

I stood up and grabbed the grinder that went with is, putting the bud in there and grinding it down, once it was finished I grabbed the bong, packing some of the weed in there.

"Wow you really know how to do this huh?" he smirked, admiring what I did. "Well my brother smokes and it's not like I haven't done it before so.." I shrugged and grabbed the lighter, sparking it and hovering the flame over the bud, sucking in the smoke. (did i just give you guys a tutorial..)

I inhaled it, feeling it burn the back of my throat but in a nice way, a familiar feeling to when I smoked cigarettes. "Fuck..that's some good shit..where did you get it from" I blew the smoke out, starting to get the effects already.

My head a bit woozy, eyes drooping ever so slightly and everything becoming a bit more brighter. I looked back at Tom, finishing the rest of the cone, the way he threw his head back when inhaling was so sexy..the way his lips slightly parted and his eyes slowly shut.

"I got it from Greg, you know, Janes older brother" he looked back at me, blowing out the smoke as well. "Oh.." I said slowly "well it's not dodgy weed I'll tell you that" I giggled.

Everything was a bit slower, my talking, movements. It felt wonderful, like I was as light as a feather.

"Let's have some more, cmon" he scooted closer to me and we had 3 more cones each, it was hitting hard now, things were much more slower, I looked down at my hands and they were slightly out of focus, like I had 4 hands.

I got up from his bed and grabbed his hand, going towards the kitchen and raiding his pantry, grabbing all the snacks I could find and a few cans of soda. I sat down and dropped everything onto the coffee table, laying down next to him, resting my head on his lap, "should we order pizza.." he mumbled, I nodded slowly and grabbed my phone, dialing the store and ordering 2 large pizzas, one cheese and one meat lovers.

"Fuck..we are gonna feast" he chuckled, his eyes super red and droopy, I smiled and picked a movie to watch.

After 45 minutes our pizza FINALLY ARRIVED. I ran to the door and quickly gave the pizza guy the cash, slamming the door and almost tripping trying to get back to the couch, "fuck!" I yelped, Tom just laughed and grabbed one of the boxes, stuffing his face with pizza.

"Mmm...so good" he groaned, I grabbed a slice and ate it, savouring the taste "has pizza ever tasted this good?" I said, it was like they put magic into it, usually pizza was mid but this time it was amazing. Our movie was ending soon, we picked a horror, which was kinda dumb because we were so high.

I sat up and held him tightly at the suspense, screaming and hiding my face into his arm when the jumpscare popped up "jesus" he chuckled "it wasn't that bad" I rolled my eyes and softly shoved him "shut up..wasn't even scary.." I mumbled

By the time we had finished 3 movies everything was DEVOURED. We decided to chill for a bit, have a talk and enjoy each others company. I layed down on the couch and he spooned me from behind, holding me close.

Usually we'd always cuddle, it was never weird to us but this time, the tension was super high. Not even in a bad way, it's like the air was thicker...the way his arms were wrapped around me and his face pressed softly on the top of my head made me feel some kind of way.

I turned around and looked up at him, it's like in that moment, we were the only people alive. His eyes washed over with desire and love, surprising me. "You know, you are so beautiful y/n, you're the most beautiful girl i've ever seen" he smiled softly, brushing a hair away from my face.

"Yeah whatever, I'm sure you tell every girl you hook up with that.." I rolled my eyes, secretly enjoying the praise. "No, y/n..I mean it, you are so beautiful" he leaned closer, our lips basically inches away.

"Tom..." my breathing hitched slightly, searching his eyes for deciet but all I saw was sincerity, love and compassion, I smiled softly, blush creeping onto my cheeks.

"I want to kiss you.." he whispered, his breath hot on my lips.

"ok pizza breath.." I giggled and leaned in, kissing him gently. He kissed back, wrapping his hand around to the back of my head and pulling me closer, locking our lips into a passionate embrace. His kisses got more urgent, his erection becoming prominent in his pants, pressing up against my leg.

"See how you make me feel? You drive me crazy" he moaned against my lips, slipping his tongue in my mouth. I reached my hand down and softly palmed his clothed cock, making him groan softly.

His hands snaked down to my waist, then to my ass, squeezing it softly. Then, his hand came back up, slipping under my shirt and grabbing my breasts, rubbing his thumb over my nipple, sending shivers down my spine.

I had grabbed one of his shirts earlier, removing my bra since you weren't able to see much anyway, it was getting a bit hot so I changed my outfit.

"My shirt looks so good on you..might have to fuck you in it" he mumbled, grinning widely.

I chuckled "we'll see about that", I rolled us over, flipping me on top of him, deepening the kiss.

[junedenim]

a vision trip

part 1 part 3

one day with a familiar face in a foreign country

word count: 10.4k

It's May in Paris. The breeze is light and the air is sweet. Alex sits in a cafe, picking at his nails, waiting. He nurses a coffee, but it's too bitter, and he's too nervous to ask for sugar or cream. He debates ordering food but decides to wait for his counterpart. He's tired. Too many shows and an overwhelming amount of traveling. There isn't much keeping him awake other than the people bustling around him and the person he's awaiting.

She was supposed to be here at 12 and it's 12:10 now. He won't complain. He isn't one for punctuality either. He can't think about the show tonight. It's draining but he'll soak up every minute of it. He just doesn't want to wait. He wants to take a nap. He'll wait 10 more minutes and then leave. It's fair enough.

He's tapped out. People-watching in Paris is quite a thrill. People sitting outside are smoking and he wishes he picked a seat out there so he could at least have a cigarette keeping him awake. There's a couple across the street either arguing or just passionately talking. It's hard to tell the difference.

Then, the chair across from him screeches across the floor loudly, drawing his eyes up. All the color drains from his face, his ghostly appearance recognizing the phantom that stands before him. His heart has fallen out of him. It's lying on the floor somewhere, the blood spurting out of it. Alex is certain he has fallen and hit his head and this is the dream sequence that plays in the movie. He's lost in a circle of time. It could be minutes or seconds, he sits there with his mouth begging to catch flies.

She smiles. That same fucking smile. Bright, pearly, the kind she'd give that made him want to lean in and kiss her. She looks the exact same. Even has a bandana on, although, now it's tied around the back of her head, holding that blonde hair back. It's longer now. She's dressed in jeans and a blue-and-white pinstriped button-up. It's almost like they are matching. Could be, if they wanted to with his trousers and white button-up.

He blinks like twenty times trying to clear his vision, make sure of this sight. Confirm this is real. It stays the same. "Holy fucking shit," he finally utters.

Her smile grows wider. "Wow," she sighs, "your French has gotten much worse. You're supposed to say bonjour."

Alex finally allows a smile to crack his face, despite his certainty that this can not be real. "What—what are you doing here?" His brows furrow, still unable to take in her whole image.

She takes off the saddle bag. It's leather this time. Not her old cloth one with the pins. She sits fully down in the chair across from him. A wide smirk displays across her face as she rests her head on her left hand. "Interviewing you."

As if this interaction couldn't get crazier and his jaw could possibly hang open wider. "Seriously?"

She gives him a pleased nod. "I don't usually do music but someone atmy work mentioned the Arctic Monkeys concert coming to town and the opportunity for an interview and I begged my boss."

He tries to quail his quickened heartbeat but she isn't making it simple. None of this is simple and he's gone dazed and crazed. He must have. "I can't believe you're here. You're in front of me. I feel like you're so calm and I've completely lost it."

"Well, I knew I would be seeing you again for about a month and I tried to regain my cool in front of the bathroom mirror for about 45 minutes. Do you want to go do that?" She points behind her to the toilets with a dream-inducing grin. She's proud of that joke.

"I might have to. Go in there and se branler." He motions jerking off loosely with his hand and it gets that precious fucking laughter out of her.

"You remember any French other than that?"

He gives a quick shake of his head. "No, not really." Prompting more laughter from her. He stares at her, giving her a thorough examination. "I can't fucking believe it. It's been 11 years, you know, how fucking crazy is that?"

"Don't tell me that." She rests her forehead in the palm of her hand. "I'm still trying to deal with turning 30 and that was 2 years ago."

He's amused by her. It's 11 years ago and yesterday for him. He feels they've snapped right back into place. No time has shifted and they are 21 again and this is what life would have been like if they had July in Paris. "So, you finally figured out your life," he recalls her ramblings. Revels in them.

She shrugs. "For the most part. It took a while but we're here. It was kind of, well, our day in Brussels helped point me in that direction. You probably don't remember"—he remembers everything, seriously—"but you made this compliment about how I had all these good questions or something and I thought, after you, well, told me about the whole band thing, and I figured out how big you actually were that I could do that for a living. Interview people. I don't usually do rockstars though not since you."

A thumping rings in his red-hot ears. He tries to take a deep breath and has to try several times. "What do you usually do?"

"Mainly the art section. I go to at least a dozen gallery openings every week but I love it."

"It sounds perfect for you. You helped me understand Magritte."

She smiles with pride. "You always had a keen eye. I only pointed you in the right direction."

He lets out a puff of air loudly and shakes his head. He doesn't look down at his hands but already knows they're shaking. "I'm sorry. I just can't fucking believe you're in front of me. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

She giggles. "I didn't really either."

He becomes a tad solemn as he leans on his hand, closer to her. "Can I ask you something?" She nods. "Why didn't you come to the Paris show?"

She leans back in her chair and her demeanor shifts. She's remorseful-looking and toying with her hands. He supposes that habit has stayed the same. "I wanted to. I tried to be but I had got into this journalism program in Boston. I saw you there but I didn't think you'd want to see me after ditching you in Paris. I didn't really know how to get backstage or anything either. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't be sorry. Why did you think I wouldn't want to see you?"

She tries to hide her face. "I swear I wasn't searching you up every night and stalking you but I saw you and your girlfriend back then, uh, Alexa. Didn't want to impose on anything because that was back when I didn't have the belief of women and men being friends."

"Like Harry Burns? I'd want to see you no matter what." He doesn't want to admit to her how hurt he was by her not showing up in Paris. How her name had been on every backstage list for the Favourite Worst Nightmare tour. Let alone that embarrassed trolling around Paris he had done. His start with Alexa, however serious that relationship ended up becoming, was rooted in getting over Lottie. He still hadn't fully dealt with that last part. Not until she sat in front of him and he realized.

"I had a different mind at 21," she explains. "I changed therapists."

He throws his head back in laughter. "What was the final straw?"

"Well." Her eyes drift away from his, looking down at her locked hands. "Moving to America was the main reason. I couldn't deal with any more defense of porn-addict boyfriend."

Alex takes a sip of his coffee, forgetting its bitterness, but enduring it to indulge in her sweetness. "She never let up on that one?"

"Not really."

Lottie orders a cappuccino and Alex, unsure of what to do, says, "You know, I have a concert later tonight."

"I know. I'm gonna go if that's alright. For the article and everything." She says it like she's informing him, rather than asking for permission.

"Well, I don't have to be at the venue for another couple of hours and I've never really gotten the chance to explore Paris." The smile that spreads across her face tells him she knows what he is thinking.

She snickers, "I should get a flat day rate for being your tour guide."

He leans forward on the little cafe table between them. "Come on, I'll give an exclusive. Complete unabridged day with a rockstar."

She giggles. "My boss would be very mad if I didn't take that."

"Perfect." He means every bit of that. His 21-year-old self's fantasies are finally coming true. Imagining life as it truly should have been. He thinks how much he has changed since then. How much he has stayed the same. She's stayed the same in his mind. A ghostly presence in his mind. An angel that came and visited for a day. She looks much of the same, especially compared to his differing appearance. Longer hair, less scrawny, light stubble regrowing post-goatie. He's grown into himself more, no longer an awkward boy under a hoodie. He's getting hot under his suit jacket. "So, what have you been up to the past 11 years?"

George points a finger at him. "Aren't I supposed to be asking you questions?"

He smirks and leans back in his chair. "No, see that's part of the deal. You tell me what you've been doing for the past decade and answer all my questions and I might tell you exclusive material. But you have to hold up your end of the bargain."

She raises an eyebrow but smiles and nods. "Let's see the last 11 years. I mean, I lived in Boston for 5 years. About 5 years too many."

"Why? Did you hate it?"

She tilts her head back and forth in an indifferent gesture. "It's a nice city but I don't think I belong in America. I fell into a fantasy there. By the time I had been there 5 years, I felt I had been living a lie the whole time. You know, I didn't like my apartment or my friends or even my job and I was 26 and it was either change my shit now or live like this for the rest of my life."

"Yeah, yeah. I feel that now. I've been out in LA for about 5 years now but had never really settled until this past year. I loved it my first year. It was so different than anywhere I've ever lived but last year was the first time I had been there a full year and I think I hate it."

"America's a mess now anyway. I couldn't imagine living in LA. It doesn't seem fun."

Alex shrugs. "I like it but I think I've fallen away from it. And everywhere is a mess now anyway. Brexit's happened and England's a mess and I haven't even lived there fully since 2008 but part of me thinks I'd like it."

"When I moved back to Paris after Boston, I felt my whole body realigned and I'm not one for that energy crap but I think there has to be something to these places because I immediately felt a relief I had never felt in Boston." His head is filled with thoughts of telling her, I know exactly what you mean, I feel it right now looking at you.

"Maybe after this next tour but I don't know if me girlfriend would do it. She already moved out to LA for me. I'd feel shitty making her move to a whole other country."

"Is she American?"

He nods, even though he has a feeling she already knew that but she's trying not to seem like she already has all the answers to him already from her research. "You seeing anyone?"

Her face crosses. "Kind of." Her resolve breaks with a laugh. "God, how embarrassing is it that I'm 32 and kind of in a relationship?"

"I think you're fine. 32 is still young. You don't have to worry about that for another decade."

She leans forward with intensity, the same level she had at 21. "Except, I'm getting down to the wire here as far as having children." He throws his head back in laughter. It's nice to know that she hasn't changed a bit in 11 years. "I'm serious. And, I know, I know, science is so advanced these days and there are millions of children to adopt and blah blah blah but I don't want to be a 50-year-old pregnant woman or a single mother. I mean, I'm not opposed to it but I don't think there's anything wrong with having the fantasy of the nuclear family. Except I don't know if I really want that or that's just societal pressure I'm feeling."

It's deja vu for him of the romantic nostalgia variety that if he could package it into a pill and take it as a prescription forever, he would. "You said the same thing in Brussels."

She groans in frustration. "Great, so I'm a broken loop. I'm a woman moaning about men and babies. I put shame on all the feminist icons."

He waves his hand at her. "I think you're fine and it's nice to know how you feel about these things, even if it's the same. I feel that way right now."

"With children?"

"Yeah, I mean, most of me friends have settled. Everyone in the band has kids and I don't know if I want that. Me girlfriend wants that, I think, but I can't imagine touring and having kids at home. I still feel too young to have kids or to get married."

She groans, "Yuck. Don't even get me started on marriage."

"Don't believe in it?"

"I don't want to. I think if I was with someone who really wanted it then maybe but when I was engaged it felt like such a doomful thing."

She nonchalantly says it but he needs to know. "You were in engaged?"

Lottie gives a small head nod and sips her cappuccino. The subject is still an odd one for her. "For about 6 months in 2012. It was a disaster, to say the least, mostly on my part. He was a good guy but I was too immature to settle and he was the last thing keeping me in Boston. Once that ended, I came back to Paris."

"You were engaged to an American?" He leans forward with intrigue. It shocks him for some reason. 

She furrows her brows. "Aren't you dating an American?"

"Yeah, but it's different," Alex excuses.

"How?"

There isn't actually a difference other than bubbling jealousy but he can't admit that. So, he shrugs. "I'm a lowly Brit and you're a sophisticated French girl dating an American, let alone one from Boston."

She tilts her head in slight agreement. "He was awfully rowdy."

"Was he a big Red Sox fan?" Alex jokingly asks.

She sticks her tongue out and shakes her head. "Yuck, don't talk to me about baseball. Sports is the primary reason I left. His family had season passes and it was like the Salem Witch Trails if you didn't go to every game."

"See this is why I can't picture you engaged to an American."

"Fair point," she says. "What about your girlfriend?"

"Oh." He doesn't know why he's taken aback by the question. It makes him stir with guilt. It's not that he doesn't love his girlfriend, he has a fucking tattoo with her name, but suddenly Lottie sits down in a cafe in Paris across from him and he is thrown. 

"She's great." He stops there but then Lottie stares at him and he realizes he's being short. He stares down at his cup. "She's—she's funny, beautiful, and very lovely." The description doesn't exactly help his case.

She doesn't push him any further. In fact, she smiles, and says, "She sounds nice. I'm sure you don't deserve her."

Alex chuckles initially at the comment but it grows painful inside of him. He struggles to digest it and the words weigh heavy as it turns from a joke into the truth. He shakes it off as best he can. "Who is this 'kind of' relationship?"

She sighs loudly. "We met at this weird work function. He works as a freelance photojournalist and travels to these warzones for months at a time and then he'll be here for a month or 2 before heading off again."

"Wow," Alex utters. How can I compete with a warzone photojournalist who is kind of her boyfriend? He shakes it. You don't need to compete because you have a fucking girlfriend, you idiot. "That's cool." Idiot.

"Yeah." She displays a similar demeanor as him: outmatched with no chance of catching up. "It's—he's a good guy. He does this incredible work but I can't help but constantly feel undercut by him. It's not his intention but—no offense to you—I'm telling him about some avant-garde art show I just reviewed and he's like 'That's great, I'm photographing Syrian refugee camps.' You feel like a complete loser next to him."

"You're helping keep art alive and maybe I'm stroking me ego too much but isn't that what we need during all these shitstorms? It feels like the only thing keeping me sane at times."

She leans forward onto her hand and smiles and, fuck, he feels his heart skip a beat. He can't shake her off of his skin, off his mind, off his heart. If he was a smart guy—a good guy—he'd do the interview, and leave. Play the show and leave France. Go home to his girlfriend and leave Lottie as a fantasy in his mind for the rest of his life. But then he thinks about his 21-year-old self who swore he wouldn't let her become that to him. Someone he would lie awake at night and imagine what life would be like if he got her. She's danced in and out of his mind through the years, but he'd be lying if he didn't think about what would have happened if she showed up in Paris. She got on that London-bound train. If they exchanged fucking phone numbers. He can't lie awake and think what would have happened if he didn't shun her. "Do you want to walk around now maybe?"

"Sure." She eagerly stands up.

She opens her bag and takes out her wallet. He holds his hand out. "You have to let me pay for your coffee, at least. I never paid you back for the hotel." The thought of the hotel room sends shivers down his spine. 

Alex tosses a few bills to cover the check and then some. She giggles, "You finally have Euros."

He shrugs with a hidden smirk too shy to show him how pleased he is that she remembers. Even if it's his dorky mistake. "A little more prepared this time."

They exit the cafe into the Latin Quarter with Lottie leading the way to their next location. Their pace is the same as it was in Brussels. In step with one another through talks of one another's lives. 

"What has the last 11 years been like for you?" She returns his question to him. "I mean," she admits, "I know some of it."

Alex narrows his eyes at her. "You've been keeping tabs on me, Lottie?"

She breaks eye contact away from him and shrugs but the smile that breaks through tells him everything he needs to know. He gets too much of a kick of that. "Well, you're not the easiest to avoid. I also did get really into your music after, you know, Brussels and all."

It pleases him until a realization drops his heart into his gut. He looks for a display of any reaction on her face but she keeps steady and walks ahead. He won't say it if she doesn't. Maybe she doesn't even know. Maybe only he paid attention to that kind of thing. Maybe only he paid attention to their hotel room number.

"I mean," he exhales loudly. "Everything you know is probably the extent."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on, in the last 11 years all you've done is music. That's not true."

And, sure, it's not, but it kind of is. He doesn't want to tell her about his ex-girlfriends and he doesn't need to indulge her in whatever stupid stories he has of LA. "I think it is. It sounds pretty depressing, doesn't it?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think so. You're living a pretty cool life. Unless you don't see it that way."

"No, it's just..."

"What?"

"I feel like I've been in the same place since I was 21. I'm stuck in some cycle that I can't stop. I know I've changed and I've had experiences. I mean, I lived in New York for a little and I've been in LA for a while but when you're touring for more than a year at a time for pretty much a decade, it's hard to feel significant changes."

"I feel the same way since moving back to Paris."

"Really?" It's hard to feel like anyone knows how he feels. Everyone around him has had big life changes and he feels...the same.

"Boston was a whirlwind but it was my 20s. Now, I get up and go to work every day and I go home and repeat it. I have friends and we go out for dinners but I'm not getting married, I'm not having children, and I'm not visiting Antarctica. I'm still. For years, I liked that feeling but now..."

He finishes, "You feel stuck."

"Yeah. I swear I'm not depressed. I'm not going to throw myself in the Seine or anything."

He chuckles. "No, no. I know what you mean. It's just growing pains."

"Pft," she says, "at 32 I thought that would be over with."

"I don't think it ever goes away."

"At least I'm not getting zits anymore."

"Small victories."

She points her finger out. "There's this park, the Luxembourg Gardens, down the road. It's beautiful if you'd like to go."

And just like before, where she leads, he will follow.

"My father died last year," she tells him.

He isn't sure what to say. For the first time, he touches her, places his hand on her arm. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head and shrugs. "No need. I never really knew him."

"Oh," he says, "I didn't know that." He suddenly realizes that the perception he had of Lottie for the last decade has been shaped by one day, not even a full 24 hours. A time they spent together where he didn't even know that she never knew her father. 

"Yeah, I never—I don't talk about it very much. I feel like I've finally started to work through some of the childhood trauma shit that I swept under the rug for so many years. My parents' relationship was complicated."

"In what way? I don't mean to be nosy—"

She interrupts to reassure, "Never. You never are." She smiles over at him like a sunray. "I like telling you these things. It feels like a vessel I can put it in and send out to sea. I know you'll never tell another soul, right?"

He motions locking his lips and tossing the key. It makes her giggle and he forgot the thrill he got from doing that.

"My father was married when my maman had my brother and me. Never divorced his wife. I have a half-sister I've never met. She's like 20 years older than me."

Alex doesn't mean to have a visible reaction but he can't help but utter, "Wow."

"Yeah." She slips her hands into her jeans' pockets. "I don't know. I've been trying to work my way through all of it. I think I feel grief over it but I'm not sure if I'm mourning his death or the potential relationship we could have had."

"I don't know. I've never been in that type of situation with death. You know, the finality of everything. But with people that I've drifted away from, I imagine all these what-ifs." It's hard to ignore the person he's talking about is right next to him. "What I could have done differently to make them stay or like me or whatever but I've realized that no matter what you do it doesn't change the way the other person is. With your dad, I can't imagine not wanting to know you. Something must have been wrong with him."

"Probably," she agrees before laughing. The thickness of the conversation is split in two as they both laugh lightness into the air.

"So, you just grew up with your brother and mother?" Alex asks.

Lottie pulls a face, scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips. "I wish. My mom had her series of boyfriends. Some better, some worse. Nothing bad and she never married any of them but it was a weird revolving door. The longest one was the British diplomat. That's why my English is so good. Well, if I do say so myself."

"I still can't speak a lick of French so you're 1000 times better than me."

"I can't help it if I'm so fabulous," she jokes as she skips into the gardens. He's left watching her cheer from six paces behind. Mirth floods him and he feels a snap inside him like a glowstick coming to life. She's lit him up all over again. Prescribed him exactly what he needs. If he was smart, he'd leave now. He got his fix and he should go to the concert venue and leave it at that. He walks into the Luxembourg Gardens.

Alex follows her as she walks through the green parterre of gravel and lawn. The area is decently populated but the wide expansion of the park prevents any crowding. He can't stop staring at the back of her. It's not in some sexual desire way. He's not staring at her ass. He's not really focused on one area. He watches the way her trainers plant their way into the ground. The way her bandana flutters from the wind. The way her hair moves slightly side-to-side with each movement. He wonders if she takes him in this way. Noticed the way his loafers tap into one another every once in a while when he's walking. The way his hands are in his jacket to prevent the wind from blowing it around. The way he has had to keep pushing his hair behind his ears.

Then, she stops and sits in one of the metal chairs they have, Alex sits across from her, and she says, "Your hair is longer."

Witch! She must be psychic. He pushes his hair behind his ear again as if on instinct. "Yeah, that's different. It's changed a lot through the years."

"Yeah, I know. The quiff was a funny one."

"Are you mocking me?" He leans closer and teases. 

She giggles. "No, never."

"You don't look too different to me."

She scrunches her face up and scoffs, "Yeah, how plain am I."

Alex shakes his head slowly. "Not plain. You don't need to change anything about you. You were beautiful then and you're beautiful now." He's trending in territory he shouldn't but it makes her smile, like really smile. She turns her head away from him and covers her mouth with her hand.

"Whereas you still look ugly," she mocks with a smug smile.

His jaw opens dramatically. "You are mean, Lottie."

"I'm kidding," she reassures. "You've always been a charming-looking man."

"You make it sound like I'm some dandy."

Her face twists up again. "What's that?"

"A dandy?" She nods. "For once, I know something you don't."

"You know many things I don't."

"Yeah, right."

"I can't carry a tune to save my life. In fact, I should win an award for not attempting to ever play music."

"I don't know. I think if you applied yourself to it you could be good."

"Are you trying to recruit me to your music school, Mr. Turner?" It's the first time she's said his last name ever and he realizes he doesn't know hers.

"You could be a good triangle player." She punches his arm when he says that. He asks, "What's your last name?"

She smirks. "Guess."

"I don't know. Something really French."

"No. Guess."

"I don't know," he says again. "Something like Bonaparte or whatever."

"No. Guess."

"We're going to be here all day if you don't at least help me narrow it down."

She grabs hold of his face, hands on his cheeks, which are growing embarrassingly rosy. "My last name is Guess."

His face drops. "Wait. Your last name is Guess. Charlotte Guess."

"Yes and ew. Don't call me Charlotte."

He sighs loudly, "I don't know, Charlotte. You put me through a lot of trouble there."

She relinquishes her hold on his face and leans back in her chair. He's unnerved by how the cold rushes to his body as soon as she isn't close. "You'll manage."

She oozes cool, always has. She props a leg up on the chair and leans back with such freeness that wasn't there 11 years ago. She's not twisted up inside, she looks relaxed. He wants to ask her how to get there. Lately, he's felt like knots of stress. Any effort to dissipate has been met unsuccessfully because he can't put a finger on what's causing all of it.

"You know," she says, "I do have to interview you at some point."

He waves her off. "I know, I know, but I'm still adjusting to the fact that I'm seeing you right now. I want to know more about you."

That hint of a smile comes back to her cheeks. "Like what?" The tip of her shoe knocks on his shoe and he isn't sure what to make of it. Looks down and wishes he could take a photo of it.

"Do you still paint?"

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head in disbelief. "You remember that I paint?"

Alex doesn't see it as a big deal. Why wouldn't he remember all those little things? "Yeah, and you're a decent cook, right?"

"Jesus," she lets out under her breath. A quickened heart rate and a brush of pink to her cheeks. "I don't even think my mother remembers I paint. I still do it from time to time. I was never very good at it."

He shakes his head. "I doubt that."

"You never seen anything I've painted."

"I don't need to see it to believe it. If you think it's bad it's probably better than what most people, including myself—especially myself—can do."

"Well, maybe if you're lucky I show you something."

"I'd like that." He hates how much he'd like that. "What do you paint?"

She shrugs. "This. That. Abstract kind of things. I like painting faces but I'm not very good at that. I get the proportions all mixed up."

"Like Magritte or something?" He chuckles.

She shakes her head. "Not quite. More like that botched restoration of that Jesus painting."

Alex can't help but think of the two of them standing before A Stroke of Luck and the cigar, but not a cigar painting (so, screw him, he can't remember the name of it). His mind can't help but reminisce on them in the park sitting in the grass afterward. Lottie, delicate and cherubic, picking flowers to place behind his ear, and then, kissing her. If he reaches out into the memory, he can practically still feel his hands on her skin. 

"Do you want to go to another art museum?"

"What like the Louvre?"

"Sure."

She laughs. "I am not going to the Louvre."

But Alex is already standing and reaching his hand out to her. "Come on, I've never been."

She sighs and places her hand in his. It's soft like a baby's freshly washed skin. His hand feels rough against the smooth surface, callouses old and new can be felt. Alex pulls her up out of her chair and they begin to walk to the park's exit. "How have you never been to the Louvre?"

"I've never had time," he explains. "Generally when I've visited Paris it's been for a limited number of days."

"But didn't you record the album in La Frette? Couldn't come in on a day off for the Louvre?" She's still holding his hand. He's not being responsible, he knows. 

In fact, he's passed irresponsible when he leans in close to her ear and says, "I missed when you didn't know anything about me."

She giggles and shrugs her shoulders. "I'm the one taking you to the Louvre at 1 in the afternoon with no tickets. I think you can manage the sacrifice."

"You must go all the time considering your job," Alex says.

Lottie says, "Oh, I haven't been to the Louvre in over a decade," before bursting out into laughter.

"And you're shaming me for having never gone?"

She lets go of his hand and wags her finger at him. "Hey, I have at least gone. Multiple times! And the Louvre isn't exactly a place getting new and upcoming art all the time." She drops her hand back down to her side. Their hands never re-intertwined. "The last time I went I was 17 and I made out in the staircase with Alain Millardet the whole time."

"So, you really saw all the sights." He follows her directions as they cross the street.

Lottie gags from the memory alone. "He was a horrible kisser and we ended up getting caught by an employee. They told our school—our Catholic school, by the way—and it was the only time I ever got in trouble. The only thing that lessened the blow was that my maman was away with her boyfriend and never found out."

"You were a goody-two-shoes in school," Alex teases.

Lottie squishes up her face. "What does that mean?"

He grins at the way her little button nose is scrunched up, her eyes slightly squinted, the wrinkle formed between her brows. "Just means you're a rule follower."

"Oh." She giggles. "I just didn't get caught." Every inch of her intrigues him. The secrets she has buried deep within that he has an eagerness to uncover. The flip of her hair as she walks her way down the streets. Her hands clutch the brown leather strap of her bag. Those blue eyes glancing over at him as ripples of laughter echo through her.

They begin to cross over the Seine when she tells him, "This is the Pont des Arts. It used to be covered in locks, you know, the thing where couples put a lock on the bridge and throw away the key, but they had to remove it after the bridge nearly collapsed, which thank god because I had one with my ex-boyfriend on it and I couldn't bear the thought that we would be locked here together eternally."

Alex chuckles and puts his hands in his pockets. "Me first girlfriend did that with the lock she used for her locker. At the end of the school year, she wrote our names on the back and locked it to a fence. About a month after we broke up, I walked by the fence she'd put it on and it was gone. She had gone back and removed it."

"Aw," she coos, "poor girl. You probably broke her heart."

"Thanks for your lack of pity for me, Lot." She grins at the nickname. "How do you know she didn't break my heart?"

"Because only a heartbroken girl would go back and remove the lock."

"Yeah."

Alex gazes up and spots the glass pyramid, realizing they've already made their way to the Louvre. The courtyard is populated with people taking pictures of and with the structure. Someone is playing violin, likely busking, in the distance. 

As they approach the building, Lottie gasps and then begins to laugh. "What?" Alex asks with a hint of his own reactive laughter.

She gives him a funny frown. "It's Tuesday, isn't it?"

Alex confusedly responds with a dragged-out "Yeah."

She snickers. "The Louvre is closed on Tuesdays."

They both just take to laughing in the middle of all the tourists. Lottie clutches his forearm, which he reciprocates, making their arms plank over each other. Then, Lottie suddenly stops, stands up straight, and looks him in the eye, saying, "Time for me to interview you."

 Alex chuckles, "Nice try." He takes to guiding them out of the courtyard, walking ahead of her. "Where to next?"

She's right behind him. Alex can feel the edge of her bag touch his butt. "Are you trying to get me fired?"

The pleasure he gets out of taunting her should probably be illegal. "You'll get your interview," he promises. "I've already given you so much unknown information. I've never been to the Louvre, still to this day, my French is horrible, and I'm desperate to see some art so why don't you show me some of yours."

They pause at a crossing. "Are you trying to invite yourself to my apartment?" She has a habit of making him flustered easily. Her fluttering lashes flapped away at him. He swears they blow an ocean breeze his way.

He plays a tricky game. "Well, if we go to your apartment, maybe you'll finally get your interview." The light flashes green and he walks ahead.

She trails behind fighting a crooked grin. "I highly doubt that."

Alex hums.

Either way, they headed off in the direction of her place. Down the stairs to the metro where they wait for the 4 train. The platform is sparsely crowded, predictable for a Tuesday afternoon just before rush hour. 

"I have to say something." Her demeanor is coy. She's holding her hand in a fist up against her mouth. Her eyes peer up at him demurely. "I've been debating whether to say it or not but I figure out with it. No secrets, you know."

Alex nods curiously. "Okay."

"The song."

The two words make a chill go through him. Spins around his spine and hits each vertebrae. She does know. He can't help but physically react, muttering, "Oh, god," and placing his hand on his forehead in exasperation.

She giggles at his reaction. He is only calmed by the fact that she doesn't sound pissed. Still, he feels embarrassed. "It's one of your most popular songs."

Alex doesn't care. He lived up off the hope that she had somehow missed that one. Or she only ever listened to the most recent album for her work assignment. When he wrote it, it was felt under the impression he would see her again. Not under the impression that in 11 years he would be standing on a metro platform with her about to be interviewed by her. 

He re-establishes himself. He gets his footing, drops his hand from his face, and looks over at her. She's still looking amused by his reaction. The train pulls up to the station. "Which one?"

He is able to get a chuckle in when her jaw drops slightly. Feeling he has the upper hand, he hops on the train, having her dash behind him. Alex finds two empty seats and takes a seat next to the window. Lottie sits down next to him.

She seems to have composed herself. Tight jaw and curious lips. "Now, I meant 505, what are you on about?"

Alex shrugs. "Pft, who said 505 was about you?" He is staring straight ahead, calm, cool, and collected.

Her eyes are glued to him, watching his every move. "I'm not an idiot, Alex, I can read. Our hotel room was 505."

"Oh, what a weird coincidence." He is almost chuckling with pride in his humorous fibbing abilities. 

"Come on. I doubt many girls were lying on their side with their hands between their thighs for you, Alex." That memory strikes him hard. If he closes his eyes for long enough, he can still trace the outline of her body in his mind, memorizing every crevice.

He chuckles with a wide grin. "It was a nice memory."

She crosses her arms in a pleased manner. "I knew it was about me."

"Yeah, well, I had a lovely time with you." His eyes are intently on hers. A knowing smile is splashed across his face. 

She returns the favour. They are in a duel with their eyes, fighting grins in their smiles. "Me too."

"Good."

She leans in closer. "Now, what's this other song about me?"

Alex looks away from her, gazing at the station they are approaching. "I think this is our stop."

He tries to stand up and she grabs his arm and yanks him back down. "Shush. You have no clue where we are even getting off."

Her hand stays gripping his forearm, keeping them steady. His gaze is resistant if ever pleasurable. His eyes trained on the doors and unsure of what to say, tossing between giving it up or burying it away. He plays with his hands, bringing them together, and then apart, and then back together. "I wrote this song, you know, in the, uh, hypothetical sense."

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, whatever that means. Out with it. You know, people are usually flattered by the thought someone would think of them enough to write a song about them. Let alone two."

"Alright," he calms. "The song isn't really all about you. I guess, you sparked the original idea."

She gestures for him to continue. "And?"

"Cornerstone."

She leans back against the train's wall. A small smirk plays on her face. "Really? You were seeing me all around town?"

He can't help but smile, although, forced to shield it behind his hands covering the surface area of his face. "Don't make me sound like a creep."

"No, no. It all feels like flattery." She looks like she wants to say something else but keeps it to herself. He's tempted to ask but she's pointing slowly to the train station and softly saying, "This is our stop."

They get up as the train stops. The doors stay closed though. "Flip the handle up," Lottie says.

He grabs hold of the door handle and follows her instructions. The door opens at a quick speed. So quick that Alex, still with his hand on the handle, nearly gets his arm yanked off. Lottie erupts in laughter behind him. He sucks in a breath and steps off the train. She places her hands on his shoulder as she follows behind him, too blind with laughter to properly guide herself. 

"You're really making a fool out of me today." Alex turns around as they ride the escalator up.

She's still emitting giggles when she says, "I'm sorry. It was too tempting though."

Her apartment is just outside the metro station. The building, Haussmann in style, is cold and dark in the stairwell. Lottie tells him to watch his step as they head to the second floor before she flips on a switch outside her door. Before she unlocks it, she turns and tells him, "I'm a messy person and you have rudely barged in on me so you can not judge."

Alex agrees and she unlocks the door. She has, of course, exaggerated the mess of the place. It's a loft of a decent size. Her bed is in the far corner, unmade with a plum-coloured mandala-printed blanket thrown over it. Clothes from this morning are strewn about the floor. Her kitchen is small and her plate from breakfast is still in the sink. In the back corner, across from her bed is a collection of canvases. They are all turned inward making him unable to look at any of them.

Lottie stands awkwardly in the kitchen, hands behind her back, bobbing on her feet. "Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water? Alcohol?"

He chuckles at her delivery, struck by her grace. "I'll take a tea."

"Okay." She busies herself with that as he examines the room closely. A shelf of books piled to the brim. There's a vase of flowers on a lower shelf. On the bottom: a record collection. He smiles to himself. "Can I put on a record?"

"Sure," she absentmindedly says. She's showing Alex her tea packets: black, green, mint, ginger. Black, he picks. 

She stills at the opening strings. Her heart patters at the clacking of the castanets. I found my love in Portofino...

She dips the tea bags into the hot water and turns around. She leans against the counter, staring at him at the place he has taken on her small loveseat. "You know, I got a record player because of this album."

His arms are crossed and he looks pleased with himself. "Inspiring a new generation to buy records. You know, AM is one of the best-selling vinyls of the 2010s."

She squints playfully. "Are you usually this boastful about yourself?"

"Stop, you're making me feel like a self-absorbed asshole."

Lottie crosses her arms, playing his game back to him. "What's the saying? If the shoe fits."

"Hush now. Sit." He pats the seat beside him. The air is thick and she cuts through it by walking over to him with two cups of tea. 

She prompts hopefully, "Interview time?"

Alex ignores her. "You know, I went and bought my own copy of this."

"The record?"

He nods. "God, I'm such a dweeb."

She shakes her head. "No. It's a good record."

He gazes over at her knowingly. His chin is tilted down and his eyes are blazing at her. "I didn't buy it because it was a good record."

Suddenly, she breaks. "You can't do that."

Alex gets the message, turns away, and focuses on the warm mug in his hand. "I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No," she reassures, calm and clear, "it's fine. I just can't sit next to you in my apartment with you saying things like that and not..."

"Not?" He tries to get more out of her.

She gazes over at him knowingly. Her chin is tilted down and her eyes are blazing at him. "You know."

He nods.

"I still have that photo of you. The one I took on that hill. It's buried deep in a drawer somewhere." She's tempting him and she knows it. She's not abandoning the topic of their romantic evening. She's not insisting on conducting an interview. She's flirting.

Alex smiles back pleased. "I probably look like a dork."

"Yeah," she dryly agrees making him laugh. "But a cute dork."

"Whenever I came to Paris, I would walk around, duck into all these cafes, and I had these visions of seeing you there. That's where Cornerstone came from," Alex confesses.

"I changed therapists because of you," Lottie confesses.

"What?"

She leans on her arm against the back of the couch. "It wasn't because I moved away. I came back from Brussels and told her about you and she said that you were a fantasy but not a realistic man. I shouldn't get my hopes up on delusions and should invest myself in some reliable man. That I was falling for a rockstar who probably did that thing all the time. The whole time she's saying this to me, I'm thinking, 'She has no fucking clue what she's talking about. Reliablity? Who has reliability at 21? My porn-addict boyfriend.'"

Alex laughs. "I still really love this porn-addict boyfriend of yours."

"Well, you and my therapist." The room goes quiet. She sinks into a corner of the couch and sighs. "So, you were the final straw."

"I've done that cafe shit every time I've been to Paris."

"What?" She sits up straighter.

"I just—I've always wanted to talk to you again. It felt weird when you didn't show up in July. I figured, or maybe hoped, something big happened for you not to be there."

She's stiff and awkward and looks down at her legs, awkwardly stiff. "I tried to be there. I wanted to. You have to know, if it weren't for the program, I would've. I mean, I still go to your shows, and listen to your records, and, for crying out loud, I harrassed my boss into letting me interview you. He probably thinks I'm some obsessive fan."

"Harrassed?" He raises an eyebrow in amusement.

Lottie looks up sheepishly with a shy smile. "Yeah, well, at this rate, I'm not even gonna have an interview."

"You'll have an interview. I'll give you the best fucking interview." There's something in the way he looks at her. The tone of his voice makes her believe he is a lion and she's the gazelle he's waiting to maul. But those eyes, soft and dreamy. Eyes she could fall asleep next to every night.

"And then you look at me like that and you think you're the soppy one. I'm falling to bits over here. I've felt crazy for 11 years but then you look at me like that."

"Why'd you feel crazy?"

"I thought I made the whole thing up in my head. Like I was some psycho who imagined a whole night with you just because I liked your song. I mean, I ruined every relationship because I was hung up on you."

"What?"

"And now I'm ruining any possible relationship with you by blabbing on about this. I can't help it, you've infected me, you've ruined me, and I sound crazy." She's messing with her hair to really emphasize this fact. "But I'm stuck on the Boston T, riding the slowest train ever, sitting next to this guy I'm about to marry, and we have nothing to talk about, and all I'm thinking is 4 years ago I got on the wrong train." 

Her breathing is heavy. Rattling and refusing to calm her heart down. She can't distinguish what his eyes mean.

Alex is quiet when he speaks. "Fucking hell, Lot."

Any move he thinks about making is interrupted when she quickly stands from the couch and separates herself from him by pacing in the kitchen. She clutches her hands around her face, cheeks trying red. She takes a deep breath and says, "I think you should leave. I'm sorry for that whole display. I'm so lost in myself and I'm crazy and I'm sorry."

Alex stands and takes a step toward her. She takes one back like they are the same side of a magnet repelling one another. "Lottie."

"I'm sorry."

He takes a moment for himself too. Runs his hands through his hair, heart pounding he puts his hand over to still it and takes a deep breath. "No," he insists. "First, you're not crazy. Second, I haven't seen you in 11 years and I have thought about you for too long to let you go—go on that other train again." Something chokes him inside. Maybe it's the guilt, the thought of his girlfriend back home. Maybe it's Lottie, who looks two steps away from crying, and all he can think about is being left on that train platform again. "Third, we have to do the interview."

"Oh, god, that stupid interview." And then he laughs. So, she laughs.

Alex attempts to step toward her again, cautiously like she's a cat he is afraid he is going to scare off. She stays in her place. He leans down and hugs her. She's hesitant but then she hugs back. Tight like they are each a moment away from slipping out of one another's grasp. 

Alex pulls away, but keeps an arm around her back, pushing them toward her front door. "So, let's go eat some lunch and do an interview."

She sniffles and then smiles over at him in a remorseful manner. "Okay."

They head to the cafe on the street corner. The conversation grew lighter and Alex joked that he still didn't get to see her paintings. She countered that she still hadn't interviewed him.

On opposite sides of the table, each holds a cigarette and chats over an ashtray. Lottie asks him questions regarding the album and Alex answers formally, which is almost too proper and comes off more jokey than serious. Nonetheless, she quotes him on it. 

He grows hot and takes his jacket off, halfway through, around the time their dishes arrive. The interview, more-or-less, ends there as they each inhale their meals and split the stack of bread. "I'll be here tomorrow too, you know."

She nods. Of course, she knows.

"We could do the Louvre then."

She smiles with amusement at him. "You're really obsessed with the Louvre."

"I'm determined to go and now to get you to go. Maybe we'll makeout in the stairway and get caught by one of the nuns." The comment is cheeky and they both laugh at it, even if it should hold more guilty weight than it does.

A woman then approaches them. She's old, enough to be someone's great-grandmother. She speaks in French to Lottie, who has grown a furrowed brow, as she repeatably says no to the woman, who holds up a necklace at her. 

"What's she saying?" Alex inquires.

Lottie sighs and says warningly, "Alex."

The woman smiles big and looks over at Alex. She speaks very broken English, but tells him, "Her neck, nothing." She gestures over to Lottie's bare neck, the way her top pulls down (notes of cleavage, but he's got to get his mind out of the gutter), accentuating the bareness of it. Alex has shameful thoughts in remembrance of kissing it. Fuck, he's screwed, if the pull of his pants says anything. The woman holds the necklace high in her hand. "For beauty. Beautiful woman needs beauty."

Lottie begins to speak in French to the woman as Alex wordlessly reaches into his wallet and pulls out a bill. The woman lights up in delight and accepts the €20 as Lottie shakes her head. "Her ears, nothing," the woman tries to push more.

Alex cheerfully says, "No, no, just the necklace. Merci beaucoup." The woman attempts again but Alex ignores her and her English is too poor to keep trying for another sale.

Lottie is staring at him. He can't decipher if it's a look of pleasure or unease. "You shouldn't have done that."

"The necklace is nice and I gave the poor woman some money. Now put it on."

She stays still for a moment but gives in and sits up to accept the necklace. It's simple. A chain with a small blue pendant on the bottom. It matches her eyes. She mutters a thank you, if for the gesture alone. After a few careful tries, she clasps the necklace. "I'll probably get some sort of infection from it."

He chuckles. "Probably."

They sit in silence with one another. They are stuck in the middle of a staring contest where fireworks spark between them. Alex breaks it and looks down at his empty plate, a flush of shyness overcoming him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Are you interviewing me now?" She giggles, pleased with her joke.

"Hey! I let you get all your questions in. It's my turn," he insists.

She relaxes back in her chair and crosses her legs. "Okay."

"What do you think would have happened if you got on the train with me? Or if you showed up to the concert?" 

It draws a rough breath out of her. "We wouldn't have worked out."

His heart stills. It's not the answer he expected. All that wishful thinking that had swirled in his mind for the last 11 years. The feeling that if he had been able to convince her or was able to find her, they'd be living happily ever after. "Really?

She shakes her head. "Are you kidding? I was a mess. I had no idea of a future for myself. I would have been in Paris or Boston and you would have been on the road all the time. I would've definitely been one of those girls who thought you were cheating on her the whole time. I probably would have convinced myself of it and not believed you when you told me the truth. I was born the product of an affair. It is my blueprint to assume every guy I'm with is getting it somewhere else."

Alex feels hungover with guilt at the thought that what he is doing right now might as well be an affair, if only emotionally. He sighs, "Yeah, I mean, I was a mess for like...forever." They both laugh. "Every time I feel like I've gotten my shit together. Something comes along to pull the rug out from under me."

"What's it this time?" She's staring at him, doe-eyed and smiling. 

He can't think of an excuse. So, he's honest. "You."

She's not offended by it. She smiles, though she does try and suppress it. "We should probably go to the venue. Right?"

Alex nods like hiding himself from the Parisian streets will get him out of this mess. Lottie insists on paying the bill, mainly because she isn't paying the bill, her work is. They could take a car over to the venue but Alex is overly enthusiastic about riding the metro over. "I have to redeem my shame. You know, in London we just have the button, so I can't be blamed for not knowing how to open the train door."

Lottie rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

At the venue, Alex gives Lottie a quick introduction to his bandmates. He says nothing more than, "This is Lottie, the journalist," but they all respond with knowing looks. Alex gives her a tour, mostly through her insistence that it would be cool for the article if she could set the scene for the reader. Alex says, "You're a painter with your words." She rolls her eyes and he gives her the tour.

"And a soundcheck, what's that like?" She asks before, you guessed it, soundcheck.

Alex shrugs. He tends to be short with answers for most interviews, but with Lottie it's different. Not once has it felt like he is being interviewed. He's not sure if that's a good or bad thing. "It's...good. You know, making sure everything works. Good, fun."

She's cheery with her questions like the kid who constantly raises their hand in class but she's endearingly earnest and the way she scribbles notes in her little notepad makes it feel so much more authentic than when someone sits a tape recorder in on their conversation.

She watches soundcheck in the same way. She'll write a little note at the end of each song but then she'll rest in her chair and observe the full play out.

Backstage, Alex separates himself and Lottie from the rest of the group, which is notable. He wishes they were walking around still, escaping all their responsibilities just like they were doing in Brussels. He supposes that's growing up.

Lottie says, "It's good. Last time I was a bumbling clueless girl with no idea of her future. Now, I'm a bumbling clueless woman with no idea of her future."

"Oh, come on, you have a great job. You're interviewing me and that might be one of the hardest tasks ever and you're doing amazing," Alex reassures.

She nods. "I know. I love my job but that's all I have. It's crazy when we were in Brussels, all I wanted was to figure out what I wanted to be. I finally did that and I feel just as lost."

"In what way?"

She thinks for a moment, deciding how she wants to form her words. "I wish I was like my old self more. You know, I used to be so hopeful, so romantic about the world. About myself. About the future. Now, I just think I'm going to be alone forever." She is quick to correct herself. "And—and I don't mean I have nobody. I have a great set of friends. I love my life but when I look toward the future, I see nothing. For so long, I didn't know what I wanted but there were always possibilities. Now, I don't know." 

"I feel the same way," Alex confesses.

Lottie lifts her head in surprise. "Really?"

He nods. "It's what used to be so exciting about my life. Being in a new city every day and being able to set your own path. I still like most of that stuff but I feel behind everyone else in a way. You know, like how all the guys have kids and I don't think I'm ready for kids but should I be ready for kids? Do I want that? To be married? To have a family?"

"I don't think you're ever ready for that kind of thing. You are just ready for the feeling. You'll never be prepared enough for children that's what everyone says but I had a thought a while ago when, well, I had this pregnancy scare, which really was terrifying because the guy I was with is not a guy you want to have children with. My first thought for so long would have been 'I don't want children. I will not be birthing anything in my lifetime.' But when I had this scare, I think I liked the idea. Then, the test was negative and I breathed a huge sigh of relief." Alex chuckles at her dramatics as she talks with her hands. "But for those couple of minutes, I thought that being a mother wouldn't be so bad."

Alex smiles at her. "You'd be a great mother."

She looks up at him, all hopeful and disbelieving. "Do you really think so?" 

Alex nods. "A few anti-depressants and you'll be fine."

Lottie rolls her eyes and raises her hands and starts moving her fingers. "Say stop."

"Stop."

She stops, extending her middle fingers only, flipping him off. 

"That's good. Can I steal that?"

Lottie shrugs. "I don't have copyright on it."

A stagehand comes over and they realize how much time has escaped from them. Alex shuffles fixing his jacket as he stands, going into rockstar mode. "How'd I look?" He imitates a deep voice, gruffly and surly.

She giggles. "Like an asshole."

"You're so kind to me, Lottie."

"Maybe lose the jacket," she advises. Total professional opinion and not because he has three buttons loose on that white button-up that make her crave his skin. She's going too far, she knows, but she's a single woman. It's fine for her to observe.

Alex shakes his head and tightens his hands around the lapels. "I'm going to keep it on just to spite you." (He takes it off 4 songs in).

She walks him up the stairs to the stage but then says teasingly, "I'm going to watch from my assigned seat if that's alright with you."

He chuckles. "I'll look for you in the crowd."

She turns to leave and it's almost like she's fading from him all over again. Sure, they could get drinks after this and there's that rough plan for the Louvre tomorrow, but the image of her back to him walking away strikes something in him. "Hey, Lottie!" He calls out.

Alex catches her before she walks down the stairs. She turns around, curious eyes, curious smile. He's 21 and he's on a train to Brussels. He's 32 and he's in a cafe in Paris. No more what could have been. He knows.

"I think it would have worked out." 

Lottie looks at him from across the wing. He toys with his fingers, hopeful eyes, hopeful smile. She's 21 and she's on a train platform in Brussels. She's 32 and she's backstage at a concert in Paris. No more doubts. She knows.

"I think so too." 

*

a/n: part 3? i don't know. maybe...

[imagoddamnonionmason]

Theresa "Tessa" Grey

Face Claim -> Florence Pugh

Gender: Female

Role: Forsaken Rebel

Origin: United Kingdom

Overview

Tessa has always been an outcast, fending for herself in the dark times of her life. It has taken her time to appreciate the help of others, to work as a team, but in the back of her mind she always expects to fall back on old habits. There will be times ahead when she can only rely on herself, as she always has. 

Tessa Grey is a small-time musician who has fought for everything she has and she’s not about to stop fighting now.

Her personal perks are Rebel Yell, Self Reliant and Runaway, giving focus on speedy escapes from the clutches of evil. 

You will find that Tessa’s time in the fog is spent mostly by herself, walking alone with a tune on her tongue.

Lore

Tessa Grey was a child raised with the belief that her parents had abandoned her to the social services, placed in care as an unwanted trick they hadn’t wanted to endure. Her start to life was riddled with ever-changing homes and faces, as foster carers came and went, with no stable place to call home ever being something she knew. Friendships were also far and few, difficult to obtain in the face of rampant bullying in her younger years of education, which labelled her an outcast; she became self-reliant at a young age, seeking no help from others and believing that she could only ever trust herself.

In her teen years, Tessa grew hostile towards her living arrangements, fleeing to the streets again and again in an attempt to escape her current life. This was fuelled by getting in with the wrong crowds, becoming known to Police and living as a rebellious delinquent. This meant her time at school was becoming less and less, often a flight risk and causing hassle for teachers.

Tessa taught herself acoustic guitar and focused a lot of her time on songwriting and singing, as this was a passion of hers; she had always dreamed of making it big, having money and getting far, far away from where she was. She dreamt of performing to people, hearing them chant her name, that they loved her. So she started to focus on her skills and aim for that dream.

At the age of 18, Tessa was released from care and out onto the street. With nowhere to go, no job, nothing to her name other than the guitar on her back and a small bag of clothes, Tessa remained homeless for years. Busking often got her enough money to eat and she frequented homeless shelters, but she held onto her dream of becoming a musician.

Eventually, someone notices her talent, a man named Brett, and the two start working together. Brett and Tessa become good friends after years of working together, he gets her off the streets, cleans her up, and helps her to get her talent out there, noticeable. Through years of struggle, Tessa does manage to write and record a couple of songs that become popular amongst a niche audience. Small venues are filling out with fans and she is beginning to see her fanbase grow.

By the time she is 27, Tessa has enough people that love her music that she has sold out a large venue and it’s the first gig of hers where she feels like a true musician. There’s a stage waiting for her, people are chanting her name. But, before she’s to start, she heads outside into the secluded alley to spark up a cigarette. As she stands there, the end of the alley seems eerily dark. Something seems to be calling to her, begging her to step closer, as wispy dark tendrils of smoke begin to crawl across the concrete.

When she’s close enough, she is completely engulfed by this fog.

Tessa Grey was never seen again and many conspiracies claim that she became part of the 27 club, like many aspiring musicians had before her.

Loadout

Rebel Yell 

Your voice has always caused your fans to go crazy, rallying them to you on the stage.  When you are hooked by the killer, all survivors within 15 metres will be granted a +25/35/45% Haste status effect and suppress Scratch Marks.  When unhooked by a survivor, the +25/35/45% Haste status effect and suppressed Scratch Marks lasts for 6 seconds after the unhook. “You’ve never heard of Billy Idol?” - Tessa Grey

Self Reliant

In the end, you always end up on your own.  If you are the last survivor, when you are injured all grunts of pain are suppressed making it difficult for the killer to locate you.  You can also Self Heal at a rate of 25/30/35% of the normal healing rate without the need for a med-kit. “I’m the only one left, good luck fucking finding me.” - Tessa Grey

Runaway

You have spent your whole life running, you’ve gotten pretty good at it.  While being chased by a killer, successfully stunning them with a pallet causes you the +50% Haste status effect for 5 seconds.  Runaway causes the Exhaustion status effect for 60/50/40 seconds.  “Catch me now, arsehole.” - Tessa Grey

Prestiging Tessa will automatically add Tier I of her Unique Perks to the inventories of all other Survivors and unlock the ability for their higher-tiered versions to spawn in their Bloodweb.

Prestige Tessa twice more to automatically add Tier II and Tier III respectively into the other Survivors' inventories.

Dividers by adornedwithlight

[lixxen]

Danny Fenton and his gas station job

This is a joke I made in the Ecto-Implosion server and had made pictures for. This is a Headcanon list for that.

Specifically made for @lavendarlily

---

Danny got the job originally because he did not want to get a job at Nasty Burger with Valerie. He needed money to pay for things, as his parents were starting to take away his allowance.

Danny doesn't actually hate working at the gas station. It's not horrible pay and not a lot happens at certain times of the day.

He can't use the trash compactor, since he isn't 18. But he enjoys doing trash. It gets him off register and his coworker can cover reg until they have to work the compactor.

He hates making coffees. They take forever and Danny simply doesn't have the attention span to remember that he had coffee running.

He forgets to pull the coffee a lot.

Danny gives out free slushies to his friends and family. He doesn't get the point of charging them, especially if he gets them.

He likes to mix banana and mountain dew flavored slushie. He did it originally to make Sam pissed, but now he genuinely likes it. He committed too hard to the bit.

He hates IDing people. The company passed a policy where you have to ID everyone and it is the bane of his existence. Everyone argues with him, even if it isn't his fault.

Danny now judges people on what cigarettes they smoke. Oh? You smoke L&M Menthol longs? What are you. 45 and divorced? Marlboro NXT? What are you, a 28 year old frat guy? Get out of here.

When Vlad caught wind of his new job, he makes a purpose to stop in and bother Danny. He orders too much and makes Danny bring out fresh everything. It makes Danny's blood boil.

But Danny got his payback when Vlad went to buy wine and his ID was expired. No wine for Vlad. Not that he'd drink gas station wine anyways, let's be honest. He bought it to piss Danny off.

Danny has arguments with people all the time, as best as he could while keeping composure.

One time a lady complained about how the cold creamer she added to her smoldering hot coffee made it slightly less hot. He had to calmly explain 10th grade chemistry to her.

Danny has had to chase off exactly 16 birds that have wondered into the store to steal food. Six. Teen. Birds.

He's also experienced bird on bird violence that ended with a cup of ranch and other stuff on the window. They held a funeral that day in the fuel shed.

Danny has never been robbed at the gas station. The movies lied and he can't tell if he's disappointed or not.

Danny is always one fussy customer away from going intangible and knocking out a tail light if someone tells him the wrong pump for gas. Just one. He'll do it.

Danny hates the uniforms, by the way. They're itchy and he can only reasonably wear long sleeves underneath during the winter.

Also, the hats are ugly. He hates them. Why does he need hats?

His coworkers are pretty cool, though. They take smoke breaks (camel crush menthols or L&M full flavor shorts) a lot. Not that he minds, but he thinks it's ironic in all honesty.

Ghosts for some reason never show up while he's at work. He wishes they did because it can get boring.

On boring days, him and his coworkers will take pickle slices and throw them at the roof to stick them up there.

There are six pickles on the roof.

[ilovespec]

GENDERBEND !!! THE MOST DANGEROUS DEATH ROW CONVICTS × FEMALE READER.

characters : Kaioh Dorian (Kaioh Dorianna) , Ryuukou Yanagi (this name is unisex) and Spec (yea , im stupid.)

words : 930

brief description : your acquaintance with 3 muscular , strong and dangerous women 😳😳

TW : mention of murder , stalking, smoking , obsession , big age difference , big height and size difference , literally escaped killers lol.

Ryuukou Yanagi :

You stood quietly and smoked leaning against the wall. The sky is quite beautiful and cloudy today.. You took a drag on your cigarette and let the smoke out of your mouth. Then you noticed a faint movement with your peripheral vision and looked at this "object" out of the corner of your eye. She is a woman of 40-45 years old with Asian features. She has medium height , tanned skin , brown and almost black eyes , black hair combed back rather short , melancholic and tired features and ... Pretty big muscles. Maybe she's just doing some kind of sport.. Her dark eyes look calmly into yours, and you instinctively handed her a cigarette. She seemed to you that for a second, she smiled slightly and nodded slightly as a sign of her appreciation. She took a lighter out of her pocket and tried to light it, but it didn't even give a spark.. That's why you lit her cigarette yourself. And in response, she grinned noticeably this time, and lit a cigarette with gratitude on her face.

"Hmm... Thank you. You, as I suppose Y/N Y/L...? How do I know...? Just heard it somewhere.. To let you know, I'm Ryuukou Yanagi. And... thanks for the cigarette."

And then Yanagi left, but you don't even realize that Yanagi has been following you for a month, and has known your name for a long time and not only...

Kaioh Dorianna :

You're calmly walking home from work. It's been a hard day, like grocery bags in your hands. Which almost outweigh you . Finally, you are already approaching your street, when you feel that someone huge and strong is crashing into you, and because of this you almost fall, but a strong hand nimbly picked you up and put you on your feet.

"Oh.. I'm sorry, young lady. I didn't notice you."

You turned around and saw the one who knocked you down. She is a tall, strong, muscular and obviously an adult woman of 50 - 60 years old at most. She has shoulder-length gray hair, combed back gray hair with a couple of strands coming out, pale skin and sky blue eyes. Her hands, though strong, are surprisingly soft on your shoulder.

"As I see it is quite difficult for you to carry these packages, do you need my help?"

You hesitantly agreed, and her big and warm palm left your shoulder, and taking the bags in one hand, walked with you to your house. Getting to know you along the way.

"Hmm? Y/N , Y/L you say your name is ? A beautiful name for a beautiful girl like you.. I am Kaioh Dorianna."

When she brought the bags to your door, you opened the door and she even held your door for you to enter. And you, as a sign of your gratitude, stood on tiptoe and hugged her slightly, and wished her a good night and left. And Dorianna, blushing, somehow forced herself to move away from your door and left in the night. Already imagining how cute you look in your sleep..

Spec :

You adjusted your tie around your neck. Your boss told you that you, as a psychologist in a women's prison, would need to talk to a new inmate.. This woman, in her first days on the outside.. Yes. She escaped from the last prison, which was UNDER WATER and managed to kill more than 10 people.. And judging by the rumors and the "description ", she is a former karate master , a good fighter and just a mountain of muscles. That's why you waited warily for her to be brought to you. And finally the door handle creaked and 5 guards entered your modest office from the front. And when this prisoner was brought in, 5 more guards, as you saw, were guarding the exit. With slightly trembling hands, you took a notebook and a pen and asked the first basic questions. Her voice.. Low and frightening... And he has a strong southern accent. Her muscles and height are just frightening.. She has to hunch over to be standing up and finally she sat down. She has slightly shaggy gray hair, gathered in a barely noticeable bun due to the fact that it is too short, she has brown eyes, tanned skin and also tattoos on the backs of her palms..

"My name? Spec. Why did I kill these people? For fun of course!!!"

After these words, she just broke the handcuffs with one movement of her hand, and clasped them behind her head in a relaxed manner. And one guard almost cried and said. "This is the fifth handcuff of the day... What should we do to make you stop breaking them...?"

"Hmm... I don't even know.. Oh, the idea! I will stop breaking your handcuffs, for kiss from this cute kitten!!!! XD"

And then she stood up (and before she could react, she bumped the top of her head against the ceiling) and pointed at you. And a second later, machine guns were pointed at Spec, and she cackled and sat down with a grin.

"Okay, okay. I'll stop breaking your precious handcuffs, maybe."

After a couple more questions, she was dragged to the exit and handcuffed again. And when she left, she winked at you with a grin and they took her to the camera. And the thoughts in her head were no longer about escape or murder.. And about you. Perhaps, or even definitely..! She wants not only your kisses , but also your heart ;)

+ Fem !! Yanagi >3

And silly original Spec >^<

[klausinamarink]

Last Few Minutes For Another Lifetime

rating: G | cw: none | tags: modern au, post-breakup, going back together, hopeful ending | wc: 996

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | Dec 30: New Year’s/Resolutions

10:45 PM

Eddie comes to the party later than he would’ve liked. While he’d planned to come without bringing food, he had changed his mind at the last minute and spent the next few hours cooking. Cinnamon rolls and cheesy lasagna. They were Steve’s favorite comfort foods too.

He keeps telling himself not to think about it any further. He knocks on the door with a knee, his hands carefully holding his unexpected dishes. Eddie’s heart thuds against his chest, wondering that if Steve would answer-

Thankfully, it’s Jonathan Byers who answers and lets him into the already-crowded room, pointing to the food table. Eddie checks all of the faces he passes by, but none of them are Steve’s.

“He can’t come tonight.” Jonathan answers for him. Eddie doesn’t respond, worrying his disappointment will turn into devastation instead.

He lets himself take a cinnamon roll.

10:50 PM

After he’s done eating, Eddie goes over to where the drinks are being made. Argyle takes one look at him and gives him an already-made Bloody Mary. Eddie thanks him and takes a sip.

He goes outside to the balcony, New York City winters be damned. A couple people are already smoking and talking. He joins in.

11:01 PM

Eddie can’t help another glance around when he steps back inside. There’s a couple of new people, but none of them are Steve.

Eddie wonders if there’s something wrong with him. Aching for Steve despite their wordless agreement that they’re both better off alone.

Eddie goes back to the bar and Argyle offers a lemon-flavored cocktail this time. When Eddie laments aloud that’s the same drink Steve likes to give him, Argyle switches it with watermelon vodka. 

11:02 PM

At the couches, there’s some kind of game playing. Looks like Charades except there’s more yelling and the loser needs to do a silly dance or something. Fuck it, why not! Eddie thinks as he asks to join in. The new year’s an hour away so he’s going to accept part of him that is the cringe and all that.

11:19 PM

At some point, Eddie looks up and catches Robin Buckley staring at him. He stares back until she pulls out her phone, frantically tapping on the screen.

Eddie hopes it’s not her signaling to some hired sniper to take the shot on him. 

He ducks into the bathroom just in case.

11:23 PM

There’s something familiar about lying fully-clothed in a bathtub. Except this time, the shower’s off and Eddie’s not sobbing his heart out after being dry-eyed in his last conversation with Steve.

Someone knocks on the door.

“It’s open!” Eddie calls out.

Robin comes in. Before Eddie can have enough time to jump out and try wrangling through the window, she lifts her hands up and says, “I’m not gonna murder you, Eddie.” She pauses. “Yet.”

Eddie sighs, accepting his fate, “Get with it already, Buckley.”

“Don’t get mad at me but I just called Steve and now he’s on his way.” Robin barrels on before Eddie can even gawk at her, “You can call me a horribly optimistic blockhead, but Steve really hasn’t been doing good after your last conversation. Now this is your chance to talk to him, honest feelings and no stone walls!”

Eddie stares up at the ceiling. His eyes are still dry as he speaks, “You know that we broke up, right?”

“Did you?”

Eddie swallows, not answering. Robin sighs and opens the door to leave. “I don’t care how it goes. But if you make Steve cry, I’ll throw you out of the balcony.”

11:45 PM

Eddie finally leaves the bathroom. After grabbing another plate of food, he goes straight to the balcony. He’s the only one here.  

Eddie lights a cigarette. Listens to the growing swell of celebrations.

11:55 PM

And then Eddie’s not alone anymore. He doesn’t have to look and see who it is.

“Got another cig?” 

Eddie wordlessly hands his pack over. Steve snorts as he takes a cigarette.

“What?” 

“Nothing, it’s just- last cigarette. On the last night of the year. Go figure.” 

Eddie could barely resist a playful eyeroll and a puff of laughter. 

They smoke in silence.

11:57 PM

Finally, Steve says, “Are we really bullshit?”

Eddie snaps his head to him so fast that it cricks his neck. “What?”

Steve shrugs, but his eyes are already glistening over, “I know you never said it but-”

“No.” Eddie throws his cigarette so he can place both hands on Steve’s face, making the man look at him. “I know we both said things that probably were right at the time, but I never said we were bullshit, sweetheart.” The pet name slips out but it still sounds and feels so natural. “We were a lot of things but that word ain’t one of them.”

A tear slips out of Steve’s eyes as he leans into Eddie’s touch. Eddie easily brushes it away with his thumb. 

11:59:01 PM

Inside, the clambering spikes as someone starts counting from sixty. Eddie doesn’t have it in him to remove his hands off Steve’s face.

“Would it be bullshit if-” Eddie swallows, his eyes already welling up, “-if I feel like trying again?”

Steve huffs out of his nose, smiling with those love-filled eyes, “No.”

11:59:20 PM

“Great.” Eddie shudders out a breath, “Because I really missed you so much-”

“That you made cinnamon rolls?” Steve finishes for him with a playful smirk. “They’re still delicious as always.”

Eddie mocks a despaired gasp, “I knew it! You only missed your favourite food!”

11:59:50 PM

“Ten!”

There’s a lot more that Eddie wants to say. And he knows Steve wants to say more. That they need to take off the rose-coloured glasses and actually sit down with their hands holding the other.

Eddie leans in and Steve meets his lips in the middle. 

It doesn’t feel like they were even separated at all. It feels like home.

12:00 AM

[sixhours]

Chapter 12 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Your late-night trysts always happen at your place, never his, so you’re mildly surprised when, after a satisfying round of fucking, he asks you to come over. You’re watching him dress, admiring the lean line of his hips, the gentlest swell of his stomach, the way he frowns at the buttons in concentration, when you realize he’s been talking.

“...tomorrow afternoon? Was hopin’ you could come by the house…”

You raise an eyebrow.

“It’s nothin’ serious. I just, uh…wanted to ask you somethin’.”

“So ask,” you say, allowing yourself a long, languid stretch. You catch him watching you, color rising in his cheeks. 

“I uh, need to check on somethin’ first.”

“Well, now I’m getting suspicious, Miller.”

He smirks. But then he leans down, takes your hand, and slowly kisses the tips of your fingers one after the other, the act so intimate it puts a lump in your throat and makes your face burn with…lust? Shame? The two are so deeply entwined you don’t even know.

“I promise. Nothin’ serious.”

~*~

You’re almost at the end of the cul-de-sac when you see her dash out of the house, running past you, a blur of brown hair and pale skin. 

“Ellie!”

Joel barrels down the front steps, calling her name. He’s fuming when you meet him, looking over your shoulder, pacing like a wild animal in a cage.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, flushed, jaw tensing.

“What happened?”

“Found these in her bag,” he says, digging something out of his pocket and tossing it to you; a small foil parcel. You unfold the crinkling aluminum to find four hand-rolled cigarettes, the smell of stale tobacco wafts from within. 

“She hid them from me. I told her if she was gonna smoke, she’d have to sleep in the garage because I’m not dealin’ with that in the house. Told her she was going to get cancer and be dead by 30 if she–but then she ran out. She won’t fuckin’ listen .”

He kicks at the ground in frustration, glaring down the street to where Ellie has already turned the corner.

“Why don’t I go,” you offer. “Maybe she’ll talk to me.”

He looks at you warily, then sighs. “Fine. God, I’m too fuckin’ old for this.”

“I’ll be back.”

You turn the corner onto the main street, following Ellie’s distinctive Converse prints in the snow. They lead you down the street, through an alley, and across the field to the stables.

“Ellie? You in here?”

You find her sitting on a bale of straw in one of the stalls with her favorite horse, Shimmer, sullenly petting the animal’s flank.

“He sent you to do his dirty work, huh?” she scowls, faded sneakers kicking at the floor. Shimmer whinnies lightly.

“I volunteered. Wanna talk about these?” You hold up the silver foil packet.

“No,” she shoots back.

“Ok, that’s fine. We don’t have to talk. We can just…hang out.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t budge from her perch. You pet Shimmer, running your fingers over the horse’s soft nose. 

“I wasn’t even gonna smoke!” Ellie bursts out after a few minutes. “I was holding them for Jesse. Joel just…freaks out about everything.”

“Well, that’s his job,” you say. “Keeping you safe.”

She snorts. “More like holding me hostage. Like one stupid cigarette is going to kill me when there are fuckin’ clickers everywhere.”

“Yeah…I get that,” you say. “My dad was overprotective, too. I always figured it was because I was an only child.”

“He’s not even my real dad,” she mutters into her knees, eyes shimmering with tears. “He’s just…Joel.”

You nod slowly, wondering if Ellie looks at her baby cousin and asks herself why the other little girl will get to grow up with both parents and a whole extended family when she didn’t get even one.

You have a sudden flash of inspiration and hold up the little packet. “You wanna try one?”

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “What?”

You shrug. “If you have a light, I could use a smoke. Then you can see what all the fuss is about.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re a doctor. You’re not supposed to smoke. You’re supposed to tell me to stay away from drugs and wear my seatbelt and don’t drink until I’m 35 or some shit.”

“Ever heard the phrase, ‘Do as I say, not as I do’?”

She frowns, pulling a lighter from her pocket, considering it before handing it to you. “Promise you won’t tell Joel?”

“Promise.”

You pluck one of the gray-white sticks from the packet and light it, taking a quick drag, allowing yourself that first hit. The tobacco is so old it’s tasteless, like smoking the straw you’re standing on. You hold the cigarette out to Ellie, gesturing for her to do the same.

Ellie takes the butt and examines it, then puts it to her lips and takes a deep inhale, grinning as the smoke wafts out her nose. She starts to giggle, but suddenly she’s doubled over with a coughing fit, gagging, eyes watering.

“Holy shit,” she croaks when she’s recovered enough to speak. “That’s…that’s fuckin’... nasty .”

You smirk. “Pretty gross, huh?”

“Barf. Why does Jesse even like this stuff?” she says, handing the white stick back to you. You stub it out on the stall door, then tuck it back into the foil and roll it up.

“I bet he doesn't,” you offer. “But some people think smoking makes you look cool.”

Ellie wrinkles her nose. “Is that why you do it?”

“No. It’s a decent appetite suppressant when you can get the good stuff. Not this shit,” you say, wiggling the foil packet. “This is basically lawn clippings.”

“Can I have ‘em back, then?” she asks slyly.

You snort. “I don’t think so, kid. Your dad would have my head.”

“Jesse’ll be pissed,” she sighs, but you get the impression she’s not too concerned about the boy’s feelings. You watch as she reaches out to stroke Shimmer’s side, thoughtful.

“You know he had a kid, right?”

“Who? Jesse?”

“Joel.”

You lean against the stall door, trying to keep your voice light. “He did, huh?”

“Yeah,” she says softly, and you can see the gears in her head turning, calculating. “She died in the outbreak. I wonder if she…smoked.”

Her movements have taken on an almost hypnotic quality. It’s easy to see where her mind goes, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. 

Am I good enough? Can I be enough for him?

“I’m…sure she got into all kinds of stuff,” you say carefully. “I know I did when I was your age.”

She sniffs at this but doesn’t say anything, letting the silence stretch.

“Ellie–”

“I think he’s lying to me.”

“Who, Joel? Why would he lie to you?”

“To protect me.”

“Protect you from what?”

She doesn’t respond, just keeps rubbing the horse, hand over hand, following the grain of the coarse hair, smoothing it.

“Protect you from what, Ellie?” you press, softening your voice.

She looks straight at you then, a glare that’s almost a challenge, daring you to break her open and spill her secrets. You see the hurt and fear in her eyes and wonder what other burdens she’s carrying alone.

“We should go,” she says abruptly. “Joel’ll have a fuckin’ aneurysm.”

~*~

Joel is sitting on the steps, waiting where you’d left him. Ellie runs ahead and you hang back, giving them some privacy. They talk, him with his hands on his hips and her looking down, picking at her cuticles. Eventually, he grips her shoulder gently and she nods, eyes downcast. Then she darts up the stairs and into the house.

“Christ,” he murmurs as you approach, dragging his hands down his face and collapsing back onto the steps. “I’m fuckin’ this up.”

“Nah,” you wave it off, joining him. “She’ll be fine.”

“Those goddamned friends of hers are a bad influence.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Because she’s the picture of innocence?”

This earns you a glare, but there’s no malice behind it, just fear.

“You let her smoke,” he grumbles. “I could smell it on her. And you,” he wrinkles his nose.

“I…may have employed a little reverse psychology. I don’t think she’s going to take up the habit.”

“So now you’re a shrink, too?”

“No…but I was a 15-year-old girl once. And I didn’t have to grow up in a hellscape of martial law and mushroom zombies. Maybe give her a break.”

He scowls, frowning down at his hands.

You nudge his shoulder lightly, leaning into him. “You mad that I let her try one?”

He shakes his head. “I did the same thing with–”

He stops abruptly, swallows hard, then says softly, “I’m not mad.”

You know he had a kid, right?

You clear your throat against the sudden heavy silence. “So, did you just ask me over here to play shrink, Miller?”

He takes a deep breath. “Right. I, uh…I wanted to know if you…wanted to have dinner. Here. With us.”

Us.

“It was her idea,” he says quickly, tilting his head back toward the house. “She’s taken a liking to you, I guess.”

You blink, barely masking your surprise. “Oh?”

He bites his lip. “She doesn’t have a lot of, uh…role models. You’ve made an impression.”

“I’m flattered,” you say, all the while internal alarms are ringing, guilt pinging your core. She’s a target, not your friend. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea. With…us.”

Us. That word again.

His eyes meet yours and you think you see a flash of disappointment, but he nods. “Yeah…yeah you’re prob’ly right,” he frowns, then nudges your shoulder. “S’your loss. I make a mean Chef Boyardee.”

You snort. “You can tell her I’m allergic to 20-year-old canned pasta if it helps.”

“She’s mad enough at me for both of us these days,” he sighs. “Won’t drag you into it.”

You sit in companionable silence, a new and unexpected side effect of your physical relationship. Sometimes you silently curse Theresa for being so right about this–that you and Joel are more alike than you’d care to admit.

After a while, you stand and stretch. “I should get back. They’re going to wonder where I am.”

Joel nods and says he’ll see you around in his quiet southern drawl.

Ellie’s words replay in your mind all the way back to the clinic.

I think he’s lying to me.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

The closer you are to death, the more alive you feel. But more powerful than fear itself, is the will to win….It's a wonderful way to live. It's the only way to drive.

James Hunt

30 years on there have been no greater Formula One personalities (coupled with immense driving talent) than James Hunt.

James Hunt's was a turbulent life lived to the limit - in and out of racing cars. As a driver he overcame constant fear and enormous odds to become the best in the world - triumphing in one of the most dramatic championship battles in Formula One history. As a colourful personality and unconventional character he had no peers - alternately entertaining admirers and offending critics with his often outrageous behaviour.

His closest friend among the drivers was Niki Lauda, with whom he became embroiled in a thrilling battle for the 1976 driving title. Lauda had been well in front until he was nearly killed in a fiery accident at the Nurburgring. James won that race and five others to force a championship showdown with the miraculously recovered Lauda in the last race of the season. It was so wet in Japan that Lauda decided it was too dangerous to race and parked his Ferrari after a couple of laps. Hunt stayed out in his McLaren and drove furiously to finish third and become World Champion.

His good looks, extrovert personality and unconventional behaviour made the 'Golden Boy' hugely popular with a wide public. He had a commanding presence and spoke impressively in a deep voice with a cultivated accent, saying exactly what he thought. He hated dressing up, always wore tattered blue jeans and often walked around in his bare feet, even on formal occasions. He drank heavily, smoked 40 cigarettes a day, occasionally took drugs, had a madcap social life and a succession of beautiful girlfriends. He married one of them, Suzy, a fashion model who eventually left him for the actor Richard Burton. 

While he became a media darling for the tabloid press his behaviour was less appreciated by Formula One journalists, who found him a frustrating mixture of boisterous charm and overbearing conceit. Twice he was voted the least liked driver and despairing members of the Formula One establishment accused him of bringing the sport into disrepute. 

Having achieved his championship goal his enthusiasm for racing began to wane. He admitted he never really enjoyed driving and finally, after two more seasons with McLaren, then a few races with Wolf, he retired mid-way through 1979: "for reasons of self-preservation."

He found it difficult to adjust to civilian life and suffered deep depressions that even wilder carousing failed to dispel. In 1980 he began working (with Murray Walker) on BBC television's Formula One coverage. At first, James did not take it seriously (he drank two bottles of wine during his first broadcast) but soon became a highly respected, articulate and opinionated commentator. In his private life he became a reformed character. A second marriage, to Sarah, ended in divorce but produced two sons to whom James became deeply devoted. He fell in love, with Helen, a beautiful blonde half his age. On June 15, 1993, she accepted his marriage proposal. A few hours later James Hunt had a massive heart attack and died at the age of 45. 

Among those shocked by his sudden passing was his old friend and rival Niki Lauda, who said: "For me, James was the most charismatic personality who's ever been in Formula One."

[homosociallyyours]

Using my Tumblr like an online diary for a moment, cw: death and dying, grief, family history

One of my (second) cousins posted a picture on instagram from her visit home. It included this painting, and I was immediately sent back in time to my childhood.

My grandmomma Dot (maternal grandmother) painted this, and it hung in her bedroom for as long as I could remember, right above the chest of drawers she and my granddaddy shared. I never knew what I liked about it when I was a kid-- if anything, I think I mostly liked it because my grandmother made it. But looking at it now I think it helped shape my taste?

I love the mixing of whimsy and seriousness, the juxtaposition of the nuns in full habit with the merry-go-round. The gestural nature of the nuns' expressions gets me, too-- they're just fuzzy enough that it's hard to tell if they're happy or exerting themselves, if they're focused on the pleasure of playing or the effort of pushing the merry-go-round for each other, or a measure of both.

We were Catholic, and I know that seeing nuns portrayed this way kind of amused and surprised me as a kid. Now I wonder how my grandmother felt when painting it. Was she inspired by a scene in real life, or did she imagine this? Did she paint it with reverence or a bit of mocking or with an understanding/hope that it could stir up confusion?

As often happens, I wish I could've talked to her more before she declined. I spent my later high school and early college years sitting with her, painting her nails as a ritual, and missing how she was before she started declining.

She was incredibly full of life and creative energy when she retired around she 65 or 70, and immediately dove into painting and sewing in most of her free time, and then one day she lifted her sewing machine and injured herself. It turned out that one of the meds she was given can cause serious problems if taken lying down consistently, but the doctors didn't really figure it out in time (if at all; I only remember seeing something about a class action suit years later and thinking that she'd been on that medication). Add it up with alcoholism and years of smoking, and it just didn't go well. (A staph infection after a hospital visit is the thing i remember as what pushed her over the edge, but death and dying and weird and I don't entirely remember).

We were so close growing up-- I have a memory of crawling under her robe when I was 2 or 3 to secretly watch the room full of adults talking through the weave of the fabric while pretending to sleep. I eat next to her to eat dinner most nights, pressed to her side on the couch. I think if I smelled someone smoking her brand of cigarettes (Pall Malls with a white and gold box) I would know, the same way that when I smell a gin and tonic I feel like she's next to me again. But I didn't know to ask her about her brother, my Gay Relative who was killed over 10 years before I was born. Or what it was like for her at 20, 25, 30, 45. How she made art while working like she did. Why she painted this image, and what it meant to her. If she used a palette knife for those impasto strokes or a certain brush.

Seeing this picture threw me back in time, but I was the me I am now, lying in bed feeling heavy and will a million unanswerable questions.

[psychcpomps]

🐍🐈‍⬛ 🏥 malia's schedule !! 🐍🐈‍⬛ 🏥

malia has always been a creature of habit, though when she was in school to be a nurse and caretaking for her mother it was quite hectic. while she misses those days more than anything there is also a part of her that is happy for a schedule that she knows how to deal with. most of her days are divided on her commuting to zuzu city at the hospital and then the days where she is working at the clinic. she works between 8 and 12 hour shifts in zuzu city hospital as a nurse. ( if you ever wondered what kind of nurse she is, she used to work in the emergency room before that burnt her out and now she is an action nurse, she still frequents the emergency room, but now that she's been a nurse for almost eight years she has a bit of seniority. )

4:00 a.m. — malia wakes up with often her cat bitty on her chest, her cat will meow and want food. she will tell her cat that, 'yes okay, let's go to the kitchen' because of course her cat also eats in the kitchen with her. malia will start the coffee pot, put the well rounded scoop of food in her cats bowl and then open up her snake's tank and wrap it around her neck while she figures out what to bring for lunch. ( normally something that joshua has nicely made for her, if we're being honest. )

4:30 a.m. — she will finish her breakfast ( pancakes, if she's feeling up to it but honestly mostly it's just finishing her coffee and a granola bar. ), put her snake back in it's tank and petting her cat on the head before heading to the bus where she will probably smoke a cigarette while she waits.

5:00 a.m. — granted that the bus isn't running late she will make it to the hospital and clock in and divulge with the night shift on what happened during the night and then get started on her morning rounds with her patients. ( she doesn't have very many work friends, but she does have a lot of elderly women who want to feed her and kiss her cheeks. )

6:30 a.m. — malia will have her second cup of coffee and wish that she could bring her snake to work because she thinks that some of the peds patients that she sees would like them. and then she'll get embarrassed at thinking of how fond she is of children even though she doesn't want any for herself.

10:00 a.m. — 10:30 a.m. — is one of her favourite times because that means it's lunch time! malia will eat whatever it is that joshua has made for her, or whatever old lady in her nursing station that insists that malia eats that she's made ( that's always somehow made vegetarian. it's very obvious to anyone that made it with the intent for her to eat it ) and smoke a cigarette outside on her break. it normally doesn't take long for her to eat, it's eight years into this career, she eats quick and uses the rest of the time to nap.

1:30 p.m. — if it's her eight hour shift she will get off at one-thirty and head to the bus and also will be dropped off immediately at the clinic to start her shift there until six.

6:45 p.m. — on her eight hour shift days she will likely restock everything they used at the clinic, make orders to zuzu city on what they need to be delivered, call back patients that have left voicemails, and then make her way to stardrop saloon.

7:00 p.m. — 10:00 p.m. — is probably the most chaotic time for malia depending on how the day went. somedays she will be stoic and drink her beer and smoke a cigarette and stare into nothing, or she will be playing darts and thinking about her dad and wishing he taught her how to play, or listening to someone that notices malia and saying how much they miss her mom and malia saying, 'i miss her too, thank you for telling me that,' or talking to someone who asks malia a medical question and her begging them to visit her at the clinic tomorrow.

10:30 p.m. — she will be back home, grabbing her snake from her tank and putting him around her neck and letting bitty trail her in her mother's garden while she listens to the sounds of nature. the porch light will be on and she can admire her mother's garden in the dark and wish that she took better care of it ( even if she doesn't know how ), and smile for a moment at how nice it feels to be surrounded by something that her mother loved and was most proud of. ( malia is included in this even if she doesn't add herself, of course. )

11:30 p.m. — malia will attempt to go to sleep. she knows that she should go to sleep early for her morning shifts, but she's also a creature of habit.

on the days that she works 12 hour shifts her schedule only change slightly.

6:00 p.m. — she will still go to the clinic even if it's closed and listen to voicemails and do inventory, and also do home visits to patients but only if needed.

8:00 p.m. — 10:00 p.m. — stardrop saloon, more often alone, eating dinner there and going home.

10:30 p.m. — 11:00 p.m. — malia, her snake, her cat keep normal routine. but, malia will also go to bed early and start the day over again.

[dieletztepanzerhexe]

When a person dies in Achaivaiam, he or she only appears to die. The dead are still very much alive. All life always has existed and always will exist, but it takes ritual work to ensure that it continues within the Chukchi circle of rebirths and is not overtaken by tannit.

All beings: animals,the deceased, inanimate objects, and “even the shadow on the walls” (Bogoras 1904–1909: 281) are said not only to possess intentionality but also to live in societies, and consider themselves to be human beings.

As with many other Arctic and sub-Arctic peoples, the Chukchi cosmos is organized around the principle of rebirth (Bogoras 1904–1909; Bronz and Willerslev 2012; Mills and Slobodin 1994; Obeyesekere 2002; Willerslev 2000); a dead person’s soul will cycle back to be reborn in a neonate, who can therefore be identified as an ancestor returned.

On a September night Vova, a 45-year-old father and husband, died of tuberculosis in his home. We are told, however, that only his body has died; Vova can still hear, communicate, and feel hunger, thirst, and emotions since the invisible side of his being is considered as remaining alive. We call this the soul, but had it not been contained by his name it would merely be the anonymous essence or existence: va’irgin.

To please Vova and secure his comfort, a room in his house is emptied and he is placed on reindeer skin in the center with his head resting on a pillow. There is a clear resemblance here with a typical reindeer sacrifice where the deer is also placed comfortably on a bed of willow branches. A crucifix and a stone are placed on Vova’s chest, the first to chase away the ke’let, who are said to gather around the dead body to eat its soul, the second to ensure that he does not stand up and walk around, and begin to consume the people around him. He is surrounded by a minimum of four women, preferably more, who are placed strategically along each side of his body to serve as “protective armor.” (see Figure 1) None of the protectors leave Vova’s side without ensuring that another woman takes her place. Spirit food, enel’vit, in the form of fur from a white rabbit mixed with reindeer fat, is placed in the window of the room to feed any spirits in the hope that they will then allow Vova a safe passage.

Vova stays in his house for three days while all the preparations for his further journey are taking place. During those days the house is full of guests, who come and go as they please. They bring tea, sugar, candy, tobacco, and other luxuries to his wife, which she then serves to the guests. The guests place packets of cigarettes on Vova’s stomach on top of the blanket. When they later wish to smoke, they help themselves from this pile of cigarettes as if Vova himself who—as a good host— were offering them. The visitors all chain smoke to prevent the smell of Vova’s decomposing body from filling the room.

On the third morning, family and friends share their last meal with Vova. Then he is dressed in his death suit. It is only the women who are allowed to participate in dressing Vova, so the men retreat to the outdoors. The dressing is a dangerous affair due to Vova’s semi-sacred status, and the women dressing him face potential retaliation. The women therefore disguise themselves by imitating ravens: they put on feathers made of hay and they croak like ravens (see Figure 2), as they will also do later on the pyre. The raven is the creator and trickster in Chukchi mythology. His name is Ku’urkil, or the “self-created one” (Bogoras 1904–1909: 315). He is like a great shaman that possesses enormous powers to make things in the world. Yet he is also a fool who does this by default, someone people can trick to take on their blame. By becoming ravens the women signify the power to transform Vova’s body from one being to another, but as a consequence of the inherent moral ambiguity in sacriice or any killing, they also ensure that they will not be held responsible for any anger caused. Further precautions are taken by sewing Vova’s hood together so that he is blindfolded and does not recognize the intruders.

As already described, the prototypical notion of the ancestral world is that of “experience reversed.” For this reason, Vova is dressed opposite to what is normal: the left boot is put on the right foot and vice versa, the same goes for the mittens. Furthermore, his spear and walking stick are made in miniature because small turns big on the other side. When Vova is fully dressed in his new body, everyone present says good-bye to him by walking around him in the direction of the movement of the sun. As they walk over his legs, everyone kicks his knees three times with the back of their feet while roaring like bears (Chukchi: kainu). According to Bogoras, brown bears are considered akin to man among the Chukchi. They are, so to speak, human beings clad in bearskin and are believed to be shamans (Bogoras 1904–1909: 325). This understanding is widespread throughout inner Asia, and Joseph Campbell noted, that it has been found in the entire North from Finland and Northern Russia through to Hudson Bay and down the West coast to the tribes of Tlingit and Kwakiutl (Campbell 1959: 339).

The two women imitating ravens step up onto the pyre, and while imitating the sounds of the bird they cut open Vova’s stomach as if slaughtering him like a sacrificial reindeer. By cutting Vova’s stomach open, the necessary destruction of his physical body is set in motion, which will enable his soul to be re-leshed on the other side.

Since the ritual killing of Vova is both a morally problematic and risky affair, it is something that needs to be carried out in a hurry. Therefore, as soon as their deeds are done and the smoke from the ire is thick enough to conceal their true identity, the raven bodies are cast into the flames and the women jump down from the pyre and join the other participants. In haste they purify themselves with the ashes of another small ire in case any ke’let have attached themselves to them.

As the ire consumes Vova’s body, the participants become increasingly joyful. They begin playing the roles of ke’let (see Figure 6), involving what is called the “game of coal” (Chukchi: inaykeletok). Men and women chase and capture one another other to color each other’s faces black with coal. This is yet another shape shifting, which enables the transformation of Vova’s life-form to take place. The ke’let, as the consumers of human souls, are temporary enacted as happy helpers in the destruction of Vova’s present bodily form and thus his life’s continuation on the other side. While the ke’let jump around and Vova’s body continues to burn, a few elderly women sit with their backs towards the pyre and sing songs of his successful journey.

During the cremation, the two realms, that of the living and that of the ancestors, have effectively merged. While this is necessary to allow for a successful transference of the deceased from one to the other, it is now of utmost importance to ensure that these realms are re-separated into their proper place. If not, the deceased will, in the words of an elderly Chukchi woman, “start walking the streets of the village, taking their living kin with them to the ancestral realm.” Therefore, when the pyre has burned down it is time for the living to leave the place. Each participant takes a twig home with him or her to burn. In this situation the twig is a visible manifestation of the soul of the living, and thus a secure way for them to contain it and take it home. As they leave the same way they came, two women sitting on each side of the road cleanse the participants by touching them with alder twigs as they pass by. Then the two women close the road by planting small twigs into the ground and placing stones in front of them. In the reversed world of the dead, these will be experienced as impenetrable forests and mountains that will prevent the deceased from following his living kin and friends.

Entering the sacred space of Shamanka (”Shamaness”) to perform the “second burial” must be done with care. One must step gently and throw a stone where the pyre was in order to scare away any ke’let. The remains of the deceased (the ashes and pieces of bones together with the three stones placed between the poles, which made the foundation of the pyre) are gathered by sweeping them together with alder branches, then they are encircled with a lasso-ring. The lasso is said to “catch the place” of the ancestors. A twig as well as tea, tobacco and other small offerings are placed inside the lasso-ring, and the participants then have tea around the encirclement. The twig represents the souls of the living, who have the last cup of tea with Vova. When tea is finished the twigs are taken home and burned to ensure that none of the participants’ souls remain in the ancestral realm.

This is the end of the second burial. At this point the previous body containing the life force of the deceased has been destroyed, the meat has been separated from the soul, the relationship with Vova has been closed with a last goodbye tea party, and he is now free, and should be able to endure his long journey to the ancestral realm. 

The men create a mini-herd of reindeer by placing the vital bone parts—the antlers with the skull, the femurs, jawbones and the irst cervical bone—in a row on the ground. The reindeer skulls and bones are cautiously placed in the correct order by the herders, according to their real life placement and personality within the herd; so that the leader of the herd leads the convoy, and the followers follow. Their heads are directed towards the north, which, as previously mentioned, marks the entrance to the ancestral world.

Only now that a private identifiable reindeer is sacrificed can Vova journey to the ancestral world together with the reindeer belonging to his kin, and only now can his name-soul and those of the others that died during the past year resettle into a life among the ancestors.

“Regenerating life in the face of predation. A study of mortuary ritual as sacrifice among the Siberian Chukchi” JEANETTE LYKKEGÅRD AND RANE WILLERSLEV

[pebblewritesj]

TWO - Lennon's Smoke

Chapter two of my Wattpad story, Look At Yourself, Bowie! If you want to read more the rest is on Wattpad under the user Jaomixi, forty chapters have been put out so far!

---

JANUARY, 1975

"You'll have fun, you might meet someone." John said as he carefully lit his cigarette. She had no interest for the party he was trying to get her to go to, she wasn't into the rockstar, drug fueled, parties- some made her truly worry for some of the others attending.

John was desperate, every other person he asked had something to do that day, which absolutely baffled him, but he continued to ask everyone he knew regardless.

"I don't want to, really. Last time I went I saw Mick Jagger doing cocaine off Keith Richard's back-"

"Oh, but you met Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, didn't you? Come on, Mari, you know you love Mick, wouldn't have met him if-"

"If you really cared you would've called him and told him about me, do you forget you're easily one of the most famous people in the world?" the woman finally turned around to see John with a cigarette in his hand, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth.

"I've told you to not smoke in the house, Lennon."

"Go to the party and I'll consider stopping."

"Fine," She finally gave up, John giving her a satisfied smile, "But if I don't come home with at least one musician's number, I'm never going to one again."

John gave her a nod, "Great. I'm sure everyone will be very starstruck."

Mari had released her third album that year, it was called Every Soul. It was a huge hit, she was a quickly growing name in the music industry. 

"Ah yes, I can already see it. They'll line up for autographs, I better bring a pen," she smiled. 

John laughed, putting the cigarette back in his mouth and blowing another round of smoke in Mari's home. "I'm going to your party, you gonna put it out or what?"

"You know, I don't think I will."

She playfully rolled her eyes at the man, getting back up to check on the spaghetti she had cooking on the stove. 

"You should get going, I'm happy for you and Yoko."

John's original intent in his visit was to tell Mari the lovely news of Yoko's pregnancy. Mari could practically smell the mix of emotions from the man-- though it could have just been the smell of his cigarette wafting through her house. 

John looked at the woman with a face of confusion, "Get going? It's only 4:00," he glanced to the clock on her kitchen wall, it read 5:30. His eyes widened in a state of panic, he quickly got up from the bar-stool, mumbling repeated profanities under his breath, moving to the front door to make his exit. He was meant to be back home by 5:45.

"It's been a pleasure, shame I didn't have time to put out the cig, but I best be off! I'll call you about the party sometime later!" He exclaimed as he rushed to the door.

"Bye John!" Mari barely got the words out of her mouth before she heard the door close. 

She continued to make her meal for the time being, though once it was done she found that she wasn't very hungry. She ate anyways, as to not waste a meal. She found herself sticking to smaller portions lately, it was a habit.

John told her the party would be the next night, he would drive pick her up and drive them there. She asked him where exactly he'd be driving her to, to which he replied, 'Ah, some music producing bloke, what's it matter anyway?'. 

She was a little excited to go, now that she knew she was going. She liked to meet new people in the industry, and she wouldn't have had anything else to do that afternoon if she wasn't going. She was dying to know who would be there, but John didn't know.

She continued to eat her food, going to bed at a surprisingly normal time. Good day ahead of her, best be prepared.

* * *

A/N

Slow start, I know. Every chapter will be at least two-hundred words longer than the last, though the next chapter should be lengthy anyways.

[colleenmurphy]

"One last time why'd you do it, Ms. Murphy?"

Leaning forward to flick off the ash from her cigarette she sighed. Her head was pounding, her split lip hurt and she was pretty sure her ass had gone numb from sitting in the overly bright interrogation room for so long.

"This..this is the shit I was talking about. How many times have you and your cop buddies show up to the Benson apartment over on Brookline?"

Detective Al Miller was taken aback at how her bloodshot green eyes pinned him down to the spot. It was unnerving, he had to admit to himself. In his 25 years on the force he'd never had this happen.

"I-I can't say...."

"Bullshit you can't say! 75 plus! And you fuckers didn't do shit to help my best friend when she was getting the shit knocked out of her every night."

Sitting back she huffed as she took a drag from her cigarette again. Her long dark hair was thrown up into a loose bun on the top of her head. He noticed she had a scar above left eye and one look at her arms told him that someone hadn't been kind to her in the past. She still smelled faintly of Jameson and Gingerale and some sort of perfume he couldn't place.

Another audible sigh from her was all it took.

"Joel Benson was a boil on the ass of society. He came after me tonight and I defended myself. Simple as that. Take a look at my face."

Miller noticed that Colleen was indeed sporting the dusky shadow of a black eye and her lip was split.

"He grabbed me by my hair and bashed my face off the bar."

"About what time was this?"

"9:45. Exactly."

"Did he say anything to you?"

If he earned that icy stare one more time Miller was almost positive she'd stop his heart somehow.

"He said 'Well if it ain't the Queen of Suffolk County.' My dad was Jimmy Murphy...I'm still not entirely sure what he meant by it but my Dad had a lot of friends. He owned The Irish Boxing Club.."

She blinked for a moment. For a moment he thought she may start crying. He watched as her backbone became steel once more.

"You don't know what it's like to live in constant fear for someone that you love. There's only so many times a woman can call for help until you guys stop showing up. Look at Joel's file. Every single fucking page. Look at what he did to her and you tell me if he can hit the woman he supposedly loved why the hell couldn't he just hit me?"

Crossing her arms once more across her chest she sighed. Her voice choked for a moment.

"If he can do it at home he can do it in public. He did."

Miller drew a sharp intake of breathe. Maybe this woman was onto something. Yes, he was sworn to protect and serve but Colleen Murphy had done something that even he and his fellow boys in blue couldn't do. She'd brought a monster down. Completely in self defense. The tiny five foot two inch woman with a tiny frame and large green eyes had gutted a man that had towered over her like a fish. He'd seen the photos. Even if 911 had gotten to him in time Joel wouldn't have made it. She'd gotten him low in the belly button and used all the strength she'd had to bring it up and try and turn him inside out. She'd saved the county coroner some work. There was still a stain outside the barroom door of Sean's Barroom.

The trial had been speedy, she had been found not guilty by reason of self defense. The security video checked out. Benson had come at her with everything he'd had. He had to rewind it just to be sure her face hadn't gone into her glass on the bar edge. He had seen her reach for her mace but instead come out with a knife. Very easy to do when someone is trying to beat your head in against a solid bar top. Colleen Murphy walked out a free woman. He watched her as she walked away in her faded blue jeans and leather jacket a cloud of menthol smoke pluming around her. He had learned from a tiny article in the Courtier that she had favored Fire and Ice perfume from Revlon. On his way home he stopped by O' Drisscol's Drugs and checked it out. The Osmanthus heavy blend fit her he thought.

"Get a load of the headlines, Boss."

'Queen of Suffolk Walks Free.'

The following week Joel Benson's headstone was found smashed to bits and the sledge hammer left there. No prints were found. But he had a feeling that Colleen Murphy could certainly swing one. He stopped by the Irish Boxing Club to find her working her shift with a smile.

"Drink's on me, Miller."

"Your boss won't let you...will he?"

A slender hand waved him off. It took him a beat before it hit him. He looked around, seeing the place was nearly empty with the exception of the comic up on the stage, a handful of people in the crowd and one very pretty doe eyed brunette at the end of the bar. Helene Starling.

"Y'know for a cop you're kinda dense."

"Hey..."

"I own the place, Miller. This was the once place Helene has always been safe."

"Because you're here."

"Well...yeah.."

A smile crossed her face for a moment before she schooled her features once again as she set his pint glass in front of him.

"That and I've got a shotgun in the back. I absolutely do not miss."