#part 11a

[apparitionism]

Run 11a

Well. Where were we? I keep having to reintroduce this story because it takes me so long to get to and through each part... in the large, it’s about the ethics of the use of advanced technology in athletic competition. But in the more-important small, it’s also about a Myka and a Helena trying to work out their own ethical differences, with regard to both that technology and a whole host of other issues, including their romantic past and possible—but not assured—romantic future. In the previous part, these two would-be ethicists seemed to have found themselves at the put-up-or-shut-up point, in that Helena had just asked Myka “What now?” There are a lot of answers to that question, and this part commences some forward-and-back time-shifting in order to explore them... I did a lot of that in part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7a, part 7b, part 8, part 9a, part 9b, and part 10.

Run 11a

Myka stood next to Steve, as tall and strong as she knew how to stand. For once, he needed her support: a tiny but significant wrinkle of solemnity creased his brow, marring his usual placid air yet fitting the momentous nature of this, his wedding day.

Fitting, too—in both senses—was his bespoke tuxedo, which rendered him even more handsome than usual... Myka allowed herself to feel a little pulse of handsome of her own, for her dark suit, a softer echo of his, was equally bespoke, its smooth silk an expensive privilege against her skin.

The suit’s so-careful design, its so-intentional function, made her think of Deceits... a slightly incongruous thought, and yet: as they had turned Myka into A Runner, this suit turned her into A Best Person. She allowed as how she was always going to have needed some help with that latter. In this case, she welcomed the augmentation.

The wedding was a bigger event that she had thought it would be, and she’d remarked on that to Steve when suit-fittings and other prefatory activities seemed to escalate. “Bigger than I’d thought,” he agreed, “but Liam’s parents said ‘go all out,’ with the checkbook to back it up, so we did. Who turns down a party?”

Who turns down a party. Funny that he would put it that way...

****

When Helena had asked “What now”, Myka had enjoyed a flash of certainty... because the moment their hands had touched, everything had seemed so very obvious. And based on that, “what now” had to in fact be a question about where, not what, for how could they not be on the same page of escalation?

An instant later, the where answer struck her just as certainly: “We’re actually in a hotel,” Myka said. “Right this minute, that’s where we are. In a hotel.”

Helena didn’t say anything.

The lack of reaction gave Myka pause. “And it has rooms?” she offered, but with less conviction.

“My plane boards in less than two hours,” Helena said. A stolid utterance. Unmoved.

So much so, in fact, that Myka’s initial response was to snap to match it, adopting a correspondingly aloof “If you’re unmoved, then so am I” stance—but no. That was counterproductive. Helena just wasn’t convinced yet, and who could blame her? All right, then: Myka would have to do more to establish her truth. “Are you saying we need more time than that?” she asked, trying for light, yet feeling her grip on certainty slacken. Trying harder, she said, “But also, people sometimes miss planes.”

Wrong response: Helena’s jaw took on a clench; her lips, a press. (Her jaw. Her lips.)

“I’ve told my father I’ll be home soon,” she said. “He told me I should come round.”

Myka couldn’t quite locate the genre of wrong into which her “people sometimes miss planes” play had fallen, but she did know that she had always been on the same continent—in the same country, even—as her father. And “he told me I should come round” sounded less like an obligation than that “should” suggested, more like... something sought? As if Helena were pleased by, yet defensive about being pleased by, having been told to “come round.”

How could Myka even begin to think of putting herself in the way of that?

But she had to think of it, so she did think of it, because what she sought was right here, right now—her breathing matching Myka’s as it always did, always had done, even when they could not bridge such expanses as a broken-glass-hazard hallway, or a dangerously not-quite-deserted elevator lobby—with no guarantee she ever would be again. And even now, Myka was sure that if she pressed, Helena would be moved. That inadvertent hand-touch, with the generating jump it had delivered to Myka: Helena had to have felt it too.

Had to think, had to have felt; so much had to, and so Myka fell, fast, into a consequent, seemingly inevitable, had to: she had to try the touch again—try it this time deliberately, moving her hand to Helena’s, moving her hand against Helena’s—and there again was the jump, the rush, and Myka’s heart jumped and rushed too, because surely now—

—but Helena flinched. She withdrew her hand. “Don’t,” she said.

This simple slip of my skin on your skin unfolds an entire world and you say “Don’t”? A world-destroying prohibition. “Don’t now? Or don’t ever?”

“Don’t now,” Helena said. “I can’t speak to ever.”

Was that a reprieve? If so, it was far, far less of one than Myka wanted. “Can I speak to ever?”

“I’m sure you can.”

Those words, overlain with a slight satirical cant, were reminiscent of Helena’s historical didactic streak. Intentionally? With hope, Myka re-inquired, parodically dark: “May I?”

That got a half-smile. It seemed a break... into which Myka placed, with some sadness, “You don’t believe me.”

“I want to believe you,” Helena said, the half-smile reducing by half. A quarter-smile... too fractional. Not really a smile at all. Not anymore.

The diminishing hurt Myka’s heart. “But it’s risky,” she said, adding, “that want?” As if it were a guess and not a statement of absolute truth.

“Yes. I see what you’re doing.”

Well, this should be illuminating. Or something. “What am I doing?”

“Illustrating why you were correct to reject the risk of believing me. Offering an object lesson.”

Oh. Oh. Because Myka had herself said “don’t.” And she had pressed on to “don’t ever,” and she had meant it, and this... was this revenge? Or was Helena willfully, self-protectively, misinterpreting? “And if I am? Offering that... lesson,” Myka said, hoping for some sign.

“Effective,” Helena said. She raised her glass to her mouth and drank. An emphatic swallow.

Myka watched Helena’s throat. Wine in her mouth, descending; what followed. What used to follow. Not a sign, but a reminder: why she was here right now. “And if I’m not?” she asked.

No answer.

“Because I’m not,” Myka said. Helena’s face gave her nothing to go on, neither encouragement nor warning, so she went forward with what she could: “Don’t go. I can’t say it any more plainly.”

“But I am going. I can’t say that any more plainly.” And yet her hard mouth softened—or was Myka only wishing it had?—as she continued, “Dan Badger will call me, you said, so it’s likely I’ll come back.”

“To AAI,” Myka said. She left the now-obvious, cutting corollary—“not to me”—unvoiced.

“Yes,” Helena said. It seemed painfully final.

****

“What is taking him so long?” Steve murmured to Myka, as they stood together. And kept standing. She had walked out first, followed by Steve; Liam and his best person (who was in fact not a person at all, but Rita Hayworth, the couple’s red Afghan hound) were to have emerged next, leading into the true start of the ceremony. But there was as yet no sign of either of the pretty pair.

“His hair,” Myka assured him. “Or his tie. Or Rita’s ears. You love how particular he is.”

“Making me wait,” Steve fretted, that brow wrinkle becoming more pronounced. “At the literal altar.”

“First, we’re in a hotel ballroom, not a church, so not literal. But second, anticipation isn’t so bad.”

She had meant it to mollify, but he gave her a brief, sly smile, its sunshine sneaking through his solemnity. “Isn’t it?” he asked, also sly.

In the moment, she was glad to have distracted him this little bit. Still, if they hadn’t been the focus of several hundred people, she might have given his shoulder a shove. Gently, of course; he wasn’t Pete. As it was, she murmured, “This isn’t about me.”

****

Helena had risen from the bar stool, then leaned down, choreographically perfect, to heft her carry-on bag (elegant, so elegant). As she bent her right arm up to position the bag’s strap over her shoulder, her jacket strained close around that curling biceps. The tight convexity of muscle, another reminder that was not a sign, called out to Myka, and Myka called back: “Wait!”

That did gain Helena’s surprised attention: a prize now, one that Myka wanted to hoard. “What?” Helena asked, and Myka similarly wanted to salt away that slightly breathless question, regardless of whether its slight breathlessness signified annoyance or something more meaningful.

Wavering internally, for the briefest of worries—was she really going to try to call this into being?—she blurted, too fast, too unmeasured, “I have to go to a wedding.”

Helena squinted. Myka found the confusion betrayed by that squint perfect. If she could perpetuate that perfection... “This minute?” Helena asked.

She wasn’t quick enough to come up with any way to perpetuate it. “Of course not,” she said.

“Well, not your own, I hope,” Helena offered.

Whatever Helena was trying with that, it seemed altogether too lightheartedly possessive, given how she had been ready to leave things. But fine: “Why would you hope I wouldn’t have to go to my own wedding?” Myka asked.

“Are we speaking in the realm of the hypothetical or the real?”

That seemed not lighthearted but absurd. “This airport seems pretty real to me. You’re making it that way.” As opposed to the dream it could be if you would just let me get a room.

“I’ll accept that,” Helena answered, as if she’d heard the thought and wanted to affirm Yes that is what I am rejecting. “So this wedding is real as well?”

Nice dodge of why it matters what realm we’re speaking in... or maybe in the end it doesn’t matter at all. Myka sighed. “Of course it’s real. My good friend—best friend—Steve is marrying the man he loves.”

“I’m sure you have a reason for conveying this information,” Helena said. But not as dismissively as she might have done, standing there in her bag-on-shoulder impatience.

Could Helena truly be curious? Was Myka’s flash of an idea actually going to work? She said, “I also have to be in the wedding.”

“That information as well.” Still impatient... but Helena was nevertheless still not moving.

“I need a plus-one.” Myka said. She didn’t, not really. “I’d feel foolish if I were the only person in the wedding without a plus-one.” She wouldn’t, not really. But she paused, waited... because maybe Helena would stop willfully misunderstanding and take the opportunity. Because that would mean that she wanted an opportunity.

But no. Helena said nothing: no taking. Thus no wanting? But Myka, hopeful because Helena was still not moving, began a new push, a true push, with, “Would you consider being my—”

“I can’t.” Helena forced her words over Myka’s, as if letting her finish would be a disaster.

For the length of an inhale—just that—Myka felt herself on the edge of bursting into world-changing tears, unleashing a new violence that would lead her to beg answers from Helena to the most important questions. Tears, violence—but then she exhaled. Fortunately? The small, not-quite-steady question she settled for was, “Why not?”

Helena didn’t answer immediately. Was she trying to hide a truth? Or working out how best to express one? “Because I like this look in your eyes,” she finally said.

How was that a reason to say no? “I’ll have this look”—whatever it is, Myka added internally—“at the wedding. I promise.”

“But for how long after?” Helena asked.

Myka could tell her words weren’t intended a real question; rather, they seemed a fatalistic statement, resigned to the idea of some inevitably horrible result. Some let-down of a look in Myka’s eyes.

In their first iteration a horrible result had been—in retrospect—inevitable, or very close to it, but Helena certainly hadn’t wanted to head it off then. “Since when are you this person?” Myka asked, and her utterance was a question.

“Since,” Helena said, and then she stopped—punctuation. She smiled a beatific smile and continued, “Sainting.”

Sainting, Myka fumed internally. I am going to kill everyone at AAI, starting with Dan Badger and working my way down, and I will die jailed, yet content.

But she couldn’t sustain anger; her fume dissolved, forlorn: And also lonely, but apparently lonely is just going to be the baseline.

“It’s for the best,” Helena said, seemingly taking Myka’s hesitation for... hesitation.

“That isn’t what you thought before,” Myka reminded her. If only she could impress upon Helena the renewed importance of every single instance of that “before,” if only, if only, if only... but there was no opportunity, for:

“No, it isn’t,” Helena agreed.

And then she left.

****

When at last Liam began his walk down the aisle, with Rita gliding next to him, he did chime absolute perfection: the tie, the hair, the elegant dog... whatever had made him make Steve wait, it had been worth it. Myka knew that for truth, because Steve, regarding that perfection, wore exactly the dazzled disbelief Myka would have wished for him, if she had known how to wish it, so many law-school years ago.

Standing both as witness to the marriage coming into being before her and as necessarily excluded bystander, Myka found herself prompted to consider what “marriage” really was: Steve and Liam’s in particular, but also marriage as such. For the two impossibly beautiful men here at the non-altar, it was a sign of faith in the future, a belief that the future would be like the past... or, no, a wish that the future could be like the past; that a lovely past, their lovely past, could presage and motivate a lovely future.

She herself suffered from the belief, but she rejected the wish. She clung to a contrary hope: that a disastrous past could motivate—or at least not impede—a diametrically opposed future. That might not be marriage. But it might not not be marriage either. Steve and Liam’s beautiful achievement gave her the space to believe in possibility.

****

As she watched Helena disappear into the airport, Myka had, for that strange, estranging stretch of time thought on how she might leave the bar, go to the hotel’s front desk, hand over her credit card, and let herself disappear, for a day or two or three or a week, taking time out of time, sitting and settling in to mourn her inability to ever, ever, ever do the right thing at the right time where Helena was concerned.

When she had initially approached Helena in the bar, she’d felt the lift of renewed and renewing power, as if her side hustle—no, her main hustle!—really was running the world, as if she could bend any circumstance to her will, as if her presence and her perseverance would certainly, obviously, be enough to convince Helena to stay. Really stay.

So much for power. So much for bending anything at all. Pathetic, she berated herself, and her “disappear” thought was pathetic too: What, seriously, her rational, punitive side asked, would you do in a hotel room, for a day or two or three or a week or any time at all? Sit there?

If she was going to sit somewhere, it should be her desk at work. She could sit, blessedly calmly, at her desk at work. Sit calmly at her desk and work, with no overlay of worry that someone uniquely disconcerting would invade her space.

Be thankful for that.

****

“You seem like you’re alone,” Pete greeted her as she entered her—their—space.

She’d hoped it would be late enough that he’d be gone, but all right, he wasn’t. She tried to not resent his presence... she didn’t quite succeed. But she was able to say, with reasonably good humor, “I’d be lost without your powers of observation.”

“Seriously. You totally would. But also, what’s the story? I’d say what’s the story morning glory, but you look way too droopy to be one of those.”

“They get droopy at night,” Myka informed him. “Morning glories. And it pretty much is night. So why are you still here?”

“Aha, so I got it right the first time: what’s the story, morning glory?”

“When Dan Badger calls Helena, she’ll take whatever job he offers.”

“And?” he prompted, clearly ready for excitement, titillation, outrageousness—something to whisper and shout about every time he got near the elevators.

She hated feeling sorry that she couldn’t give him that reward. “And that’s the story, morning glory.” She had a vague thought that she should try to qualify that with a joke about how he wasn’t droopy and so wasn’t really a morning glory at this time of day. It was beyond her.

“FYI, that isn’t a story at all,” he said, as if that was really going to be news to her. “Stories have beginnings, plus middles—”

“Plus ends. Yes, I know.”

The minute she said “ends,” his demeanor downshifted. “Aw, man. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Myka told him, honestly.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She knew he meant it sincerely, but all she could manage was, “I don’t know that either. I’ll work it out later.” She felt he needed a boon, so she asked, “How’s Kelly? Are you two engaged yet? When’s the wedding? I like weddings.”

He perked up a little. “You do?”

Obviously she was not yet recalibrated for reality. Anybody’s. But why bother? “Yes,” she said. “In fact I have one in a couple of weeks.”

“You’re getting married?!?” he exclaimed, downshift entirely reversed. “I’m pretty sure that’s the story, morning glory!”

Okay, there was reality, right there meeting the road. “Not the story, because not my wedding. Why do people keep thinking it’s mine?”

“People? Who’s ‘people’?” But he knew. She could see it in his rising eyebrows.

He was altogether too quick sometimes. “Never mind,” she said. “Never mind about weddings at all. Just tell me some work to do, and I’ll do it.”

Now he snickered. “Oh, I’ll tell you some work to do. That’s really why I’m still here. And trust me, you’ll laugh when you hear what it is.”

“I could use a laugh. Hit me.”

“We’re supposed to rejigger the Mechanical Aids guidelines.”

Okay, maybe she wasn’t only not recalibrated to reality, Pete’s anyway, but also untethered from it entirely, because: “That isn’t funny.”

“It is when you hear the reason: they’re worried somebody’s going to try to claim they need Deceits—or something like ’em—as an aid. I gotta say, it’s times like this I can’t believe how lucky I got, you being a lawyer. You know how many back-and-forths I used to have to do with Legal before anything got finalized, back in the pre-Myka beforetimes?”

“I’m not a lawyer,” Myka said, and uttering those words for the second time this day did hurt... but she had to be honest: she was at the same time delighted. For did she take pride in consistently saving Certification and Compliance from having to go back and forth? Of course she did. She’d always thought, and now she had some real confirmation, that this was why she’d got her AAI job in the first place: to make this department work more efficiently.

It wasn’t the reward she’d wanted, wished for, dreamed of, to end her day, but it was what she had. In her first Helena aftermath, she’d had her anger but no job; in this one, she had a hollow where her anger had once been, but she did have a job. She had work to do—useful, valuable work.

So she put her head down and did it.

TBC

[crepuscularray]

Deercember Day Twenty: Huemul | Windswept Pines

The huemul (Hippocamelus bisulcus)—also known as the south Andean deer, southern guemal, south Andean huemul, southern huemul, or Chilean huemul or güemul—is an endangered species of deer native to the mountains of Argentina and Chile. Along with the taruca, it is one of the two deer in the Hippocamelus genus and ranges across the high mountainsides and cold valleys of the Andes. While it was previously found over much of southwestern South America, the current status of the huemul is critical. Numbers in Argentina were estimated at 350–600, in fragmented groups, as of 2005. The huemul is part of Chile's national coat of arms and is a National Natural Monument since 2006. The huemul is well-adapted to broken, difficult terrain with a stocky build and short legs. Males also have a distinctive black "face mask", which curves into an elongated heart-shape surrounding a forehead of the principal brown colour. Unusually for a dimorphic ungulate, research has shown huemul will congregate in mixed-sex groups, and the length of time spent inter-mixing increases with group size. The farther the animals are from rocky slopes the larger the size of observed groups, suggesting predation rates are lowest on slopes and greatest in open areas such as valley bottoms. This deer ranges across a variety of often difficult habitats. It usually prefers open periglacial scrubland, low bluffs, and other rocky areas, as well as upland forests and forest-borders. One study of coastal fjord populations found males and juveniles preferred periglacial grassland; females were mainly found on bluffs, and fawns exclusively so. More information here.

References: Deer, Trees and Background.

[ierogenvy]

i’m starting training for full time this week and that means getting to work at 6am to learn to throw truck and i just set my alarms and they are disgusting

image ID: alarms set for wednesday, thursday, and friday. the times are 2AM, 3AM, 3:40AM, 4:50AM, and 5:30AM. End ID.

[604to647]

Safest with You - Series Masterlist

Modern AU with Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din Djarin, retired mob enforcer, falls in love, but worries his past could put his future (you) in danger.

A/N: First time writer, please be gentle 🥹 This is a modern AU where Din is a former enforcer for the Fett family, and the world building and relationship development between Din and Reader takes place over many chapters. Some Star Wars names thrown in for fun, but there aren't meant to be any serious parallels to canon. Thank you for reading and hope you enjoy my brain rot for everyone’s favourite tin man 🥰

Series warnings: Chapters with smut denoted with 🚑, chapters with angst denoted with ❤️‍🩹, fluff throughout. Individual instalment warnings are included in each post.

Ch. 1 (The Coffeeshop)

Ch. 2 (The Bookstore)

Ch. 3 (The Drycleaner)

Ch. 4 (The First Date)

Ch. 5 (The Courtship)

Ch. 6 (The Courtship, Din's POV) ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 7 (The Third Date) ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 8 (The Cab) ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 9 (The Dam Breaks) 🚑

Ch. 10 (The Afterglow) 🚑

Ch. 11 (The Poker Game) (a summary)

Ch. 11 Addendum (After The Poker Game) 🚑

Ch. 12 (The Workout) 🚑

Ch. 13 (The Birthday)

Ch. 14 (The Subway) 🚑

Ch. 15 (The BBQ) 🚑

Ch. 16 (The Match-up) 🚑

Ch. 17 (The Preparations) 🚑

Ch. 18 (The Threat) 🚑 ❤️‍🩹 Inspo

Ch. 19 (The Betrayal) 🚑 ❤️‍🩹

Ch. 20 (The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 1)❤️‍🩹

Ch. 21 (The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 2)🚑 ❤️‍🩹 new!

Ch. 22 (The Long Road to Forgiveness)

Epilogue

Art new!

Dog walk (@kenobiwanx commission 🙏🏻)

Bedtime (@pinkiemme Ch. 11A commission 🥹) 🚑 new!

One-shots and Drabbles (same AU)

All the one shots and drabbles can be slotted in the above timeline; as the chapters get written, I’ll note where they fit in. For now, consider the below to all be set when Din and Reader are in an established relationship (hence the smut 😂).

Carnival Fright Night 🚑 (set between Ch. 12 & 14)

Lingerie 🚑 (set anytime after Ch. 10) (Link to the Lingerie set)

The Wedding, Part 2 🚑 (insert btwn Ch. 17 & 18) (Moodboard by @hellishjoel - thank you!)

2 More Days (A Textfic) 🚑 - Part 1, Part 2 (set anytime after Ch. 12)

Holiday Remix (A Textfic) (set anytime after Ch. 12)

Let Me Carry It For You (SBowl 🏈 Drabble) (set right after Ch. 11)

The Mando Roll (Valentine’s Day Special) (set anytime after Ch. 10)

Hat Trick (set anytime after Ch. 12) Part 2 (The Playoffs) 🚑

Birthday Bunny 🚑 (HBD P! 🥳)

Gouda Girl (Happy Pedro Hours Challenge)

Thots

Alfredo’s the best dog

Favourite nook

Walking the dog

POV: On a date with Din

Naming of Mando’s Gym inspo

Working at Mando’s

Paz Vizsla face cast

Excellent boxing advice

Young boxer Din inspo

Series vibes and this amazing graphic by @gasolinerainbowpuddles (thank you!)

[kdogreads]

The Last to Know

Chibs Telford x f!reader

Part 2 of Very Soon, a continuation of the Chibs x reader origin story💕

Warnings: S M U T minors buzz off, marijuana use, mentions of alcohol, choking, slight dom/sub (but only a little), size kink, praise kink

Check out my masterlist for more Chibby content and follow #kdogreads to keep up with my self-indulgence 😉

It had been a few months since you first kissed Filip Telford and your life had flipped itself upside down in that time. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but in a way that changed the way you spent every moment of your time.

Your life started dividing itself as before Chibs and after Chibs, like the damn second coming of Christ. After a 12-hour shift on your feet at St. Thomas, before Chibs, you’d go home and crash, sometimes not even making it your bed and sleeping on the couch for the night. After Chibs, though, you’d head straight over to the clubhouse, a change of clothes already there waiting for you, and a wave of energy somehow surging through your veins at the anticipation of seeing your man.

Tonight was one of those nights, fresh off an 11a to 11p shift and straight to the clubhouse. As you pulled into TM the sounds of a raging party filled your ears and you could see groups people standing around smoking, drinking, and dancing.

You made your way into the sea of leather, smiling and nodding at those who recognized you. It was Tig who greeted you first.

“Hey, sweetheart. How you doin’?” He gave you a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek, his breath smelled of cheap whiskey and weed, but it brought a smile to your face.

“Ready to party, Tiggy,” You wiggled your eyebrows at him, and he laughed his signature goofy laugh before pointing back towards the dorms where Chibs must have been waiting for you. You leaned in to peck him back on the cheek before heading that way.

Making your way to the dorm you’d spent many nights in, you passed Clay, Piney, Bobby, Gemma and several of the other guys who gave you smiles and wolf whistles. You did a silly little spin for them and were met with cheers and encouragements to “Give it to him!” Laughs echoed through the room as you rounded the corner to find your man.

Turning the knob and entering the dimly lit room, your eyes stumbled onto Filip seated at the small desk inside rolling a joint.

“Party’s out there, handsome,” You walked over and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Aye, but I’ve been waitin’ for my date ‘fore I make an appearance,” He joked and kissed your hands.

“I’m sorry, baby, last minute code kept me over,” You plead with a fake pout on your face.

“Ah, lass, I couldna be mad at you if I tried,” He turned in your arms to give you a long, sweet kiss.

You hummed in response, your lips melting happily into his for a long moment before pulling away to change out of your work clothes. Filip turned back to continue rolling a second joint, lighting one up after admiring his work.

It was only once you’d stripped down to just your bra and panties that Filip stood up and stepped towards you, bringing the burning joint to your lips. You took a long drag and felt only a slight sting. Filip always brought the good stuff out for you.

He took one step further into your space, reaching over your shoulder to stub the joint out on the dresser behind you and letting his rough hands glide down your bare skin. You shivered as he gripped one of your hips tightly and drew absent-minded circles on your lower back with the other. His lips danced from a sweet kiss on your forehead, your nose, your cheek before landing on your neck. God, the things he could do to you with such little effort.

“Baby,” You whine as best as you can, trying not to get lost in his kisses, “I’m sweaty and gross. Let me shower.”

Your words did little to slow him down as his free hand worked it’s way over the curve of your ass and squeezed hard. His thick fingers close enough to your aching heat to make a gasp escape your lips.

You tried whining his name this time, still feeling self-conscious about your post-work condition.

“I,” kiss, “dinna,” kiss, “care,” kiss, “lass,” kiss.

The way he punctuated each word with a wet, sloppy kiss to your neck and chest pushed every ounce of embarrassment out of your mind. You couldn’t help but stare at his beautiful lips as he made his way down your body, pausing only once he landed at the very top hem of your panties. He looked up at you once more for permission. You nodded and gripped his shoulder to keep from tumbling over as he jerked the lacy fabric down your legs all the way to your feet.

Filip couldn’t hold himself back once he was face-to-face with your glistening folds. A groan tumbled out of his chest as he threw one of your legs over his shoulder and nearly dove into you. Your back hit the dresser behind you with a thud and knocked a few things down onto the ground with a crash.

Neither of you could have been pulled out of this desire-fueled trance for anything. Anything.

Filip’s skilled tongue worked it’s way through your folds and over your pulsing clit. You cried out when he flicked his hot tongue over the bundle of nerves just right and sent your thighs squeezing together.

With a grunt he yanked them apart again and slapped one thigh sharply. A warning not to do that again.

You felt the familiar pressure building deep in your belly right as Filip slid a thick finger into your weeping hole, curling it just the way you needed. It was only a few more flicks of his tongue until you fell apart. A broken string of curse words falling from your lips as the white hotness of the intense orgasm washed over you. He worked you through your high — not stopping until you a trembling mess, panting and clawing at his hair to drag his face back up to yours.

He stood up, holding tightly onto your reeling body, and met your gaze. A devilish smirk spread across his glistening lips as he reached down to grab your shaking thighs and pick you up.

Your eyes fell shut as he laid you gently onto the dark cotton sheets of his bed. You felt him pull back swiftly to pull his shirt over his head and step out of his straining jeans.

“My poor girl,” He cooed in that quiet tone you’d come to love, “Fucked dumb already, hm?”

Your eyes snapped open at his teasing and you were met with a dark look of lust in his eyes. It only spurred you on and sent a new wave of heat straight down to your core.

“Not even close, Telford,” You spat back, quickly sliding a hand between you and grasping his hard cock in a firm hold.

“Aye, ah,” You began stroking him though his boxers, a grunt escaping his lips as he tried to keep his composure, “I see not, lass.”

He leaned in close to kiss you and you took your shot, yanking Filip’s body down beside you, allowing you the room to climb on top of him and straddle his aching cock.

An amused grin spread across his face as you leaned in to leave wet kisses on his neck and chest, lewd noises spilling from his lips all the while. You slowly made your way down his body, kisses turning into love bites here and there.

He lifted his hips slightly to begin to tug his boxers off when an idea popped into your head and out of your mouth before you had the chance to second guess it.

One of your hands gripped his wrist while the other wrapped around Filip’s throat, your slender fingers doing their best to squeeze even a little bit.

“I’ll see to that, love,” You purred into his ear, an excited mumble tumbling out of his mouth. He grinned at you a moment longer, this new side of you driving him wild.

You used all your effort to give his wrist and his neck an extra squeeze, showing him you meant business.

“Yes ma’am,” He growls, his free hand coming up in surrender. You loosened your grip on him and sat up straight, his hard cock pressing deliciously into your aching core.

You reached around your back to unhook your black lacy bra and slide it off, Filip’s mouth opening at the sight your taut nipples. He reached up to take of your mesmerizing peaks into his grasp, but you smacked his hand away, not yet done with your little game.

A sharp, “uh-uh” came from your lips and Filip groaned in frustration, but slides his hands away like you said.

Using your teeth for the first few inches, you peeled his black boxers down his thighs, slowly at first. His throbbing cock sprung free, the swollen tip already leaking an inviting drop of precum. The sight made your mouth water and you decided to stop the teasing.

You yanked them the rest of the way down and discarded them on the floor with your clothes. You wasted no time licking a long stripe down Filip’s cock then taking his head between your lips.

A deep grown rumbled out of his chest as you wrapped your lips around him and took as much as you could into your mouth, your hand making up for what your throat couldn’t reach.

Before long, Filip tangled his fingers into your hair and guided your movements, his willpower no longer strong enough to keep his hands off you. Your head bobbed up and down at a leisurely pace, Filip’s cock gagging you when he pushed your head all the way down. He relaxed his grip and you released his head with a pop before licking your lips and smiling up at him.

He furrowed his brow slightly before his hand swung from your hair down to your neck, pulling you up by the throat to his face.

You whined as he took your lips in his, sucking your bottom lip out in your favorite way. You felt his swollen tip swirling around your dripping hole.

“You had your fun, kitten,” He growled into your lips, his head sliding into your center, “Now I’ll have mine.”

You gasped as he sank all the way into your tight hole, he held you there a moment before he pulled back out and slammed into you again.

Your mind spun as he plowed into you over and over, one hand on your hip lifting your tired body up, the other sliding down from your throat and straight to a hard nipple that he rolled between his fingers.

The familiar pressure built deep in your tummy as Filip held your hips firmly against his and worked your core forwards and back. The friction against your clit and the way his cock felt nudging against the deepest parts of your velvety walls drew your release closer and closer.

“So, fuck, so fuckin’ big, Filip,” You panted nonsensically, a mind-fogging pleasure taking over your senses, “Please—please, baby, don’t stop, ah!”

A slew of groans that sounded almost pained spilled from Filip’s mouth as your release flooded through your veins. You fell into his strong arms as he kept pounding into you, your core fluttering around his throbbing cock. Your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head as Filip growled into your ear, prolonging your rolling pleasure.

“Tha’s it, pretty girl. Cummin’ all over my cock like a filthy whore,” His accent grew even stronger as he tried desperately to hold back his own release, still rutting his hips into yours as pleasant aftershocks coursed through your body, “My good lass, takin’ what I give ye.”

You had barely a moment to recover before Filip was flipping you over and throwing one your legs over his shoulder, sliding his aching cock back into your dripping hole.

Not yet satisfied, even with your blissed-out face contorting in over-sensitive and mind-numbing pleasure, Filip reached down to the place where your bodies connected and brushed this thumb roughly against your clit.

A sharp hiss escaped your parted lips, “F-Filip I ca-n’t, s’too much.”

“Shh, lass, jus’ one more,” He continued the bruising pace of his cock sliding in and out of you, fingers circling quickly over your throbbing clit, “Let me fuckin’ feel you one more time.”

It hit you like a fucking train out of nowhere, a muffled scream fell from your lips as the all-consuming pleasure invaded your senses. Your thighs shook against Filip’s hips as your fingers clawed at his broad chest, desperate for something to ground you.

Filip’s head fell back, his lips parted as his own release rushed through his body. Hot ropes of his cum flooded your pulsing walls as he slurred out a string of curses and praises.

“Fuckin’ love this tight fucking pussy; my good lass, fuck-fuckin’ gorgeous when ye cum on m’cock like tha’.”

Your eyes met as you both started coming down from the high. You reached for Filip’s face and pulled him down to kiss you, hissing into his mouth as he pulled out of you slowly and placed two fingers on your tired pussy, anxiously wanting to feel his seed weeping out of you.

You gasped at the contact and bucked your hips into his thick fingers. He huffed a laugh onto your connected lips and withdrew his wet fingers from you, bringing them up to your lips and pressing softly into your mouth.

Both of you laughed lowly as he rolled off of you and pulled you into his still-pounding chest. He kissed your forehead as you snuggled into his embrace.

“We’re awfully good at tha’, huh lass?” A soft laugh rumbling from his chest.

You laughed sweetly as looked up at him, “Yeah, yes we are.”

It was a brief moment of peace, wrapped up in each other’s arms and post-sex bliss before a pounding fist at the door interrupted your rest.

“Chibby! Dove! Wrap it up. Need ya’s out here,” A booming voice followed the knock. You couldn’t make out who it was but, based on the angry Gaelic phrase Filip spat back, he must have known right away.

“Boys got into it, bleedin’ all about the place,” The voice boomed back and Filip let out a groan.

The knock returned briefly before Filip was shouting back, “Christ, two minutes for me to put my cock away!”

You let out a chuckle as the the floor squeaked outside, granting you the moment you needed to put yourselves back together.

“Always something, hm?” You quipped as Filip stood and gathered his clothes before tossing you some shorts and one of his t-shirts.

“Aye, always somethin’ to shite on our day,” He groaned and brushed his fingers through his hair.

You took a moment to stretch while Filip already had his hand on the door knob, ready to handle whatever was awaiting him outside. Before he could open it, a thought popped into your mind.

“Filip?” You sat up a bit, “Am I your old lady?”

He laughed lovingly before stepping back over to your side.

“Seems yer the last to know, love,” He smiled and placed a tender kiss to your lips before turning back towards the door and heading out into the madness.

Oh boy, you are in trouble.

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 14A: Where Do We Go Now?

Soundtrack: “Sweet Child O' Mine,” Guns N' Roses, 1987 [click here to listen]

She's got eyes of the bluest skies As if they thought of rain I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place Where as a child I'd hide And pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by...

Philadelphia || June 1988

Claire pushed her chair back a bit from the desk. Raised her arms. Stretched. Breathed deeply.

Reading for the eighth time the words she’d finally tapped out on the Selectric this morning, after days of rolling them around in her head.

Chief Physician

Boston Medical Center

To Whom It May Concern,

As you may be aware, I am a trauma surgeon at BMC. Twelve months ago I was placed on administrative leave by the BMC, and my medical license was suspended, pending the resolution of BMC’s internal investigation into my conduct. The investigation started by looking into a near-fatal error I committed during a surgery, and then quickly discovered that I had not only been forging prescriptions and stealing painkillers for quite some time, but also developed a severe addition to those painkillers.

As you may also be aware, I did not contest the actions taken by BMC. Subsequently I enrolled in an intensive drug rehabilitation program in North Carolina. I am happy to share that I am almost twelve months clean, having completed the program last December and successfully maintained my sobriety since then.

I have previously communicated to the Board, on several occasions, my sincere regret for what I did and my remorse for the incredible lapse of professional judgment and ethical standards I demonstrated. I repeat those regrets to you now.

Which is, in part, why I am writing you today. I wish to understand what else is required of me to return to work, in any capacity, at BMC.

Making amends for wrongs was something that Claire and Geillis had talked about a lot, during her time at The Ridge. Yes, doing that was a formal part of any 12 Step program.

But it was more than just saying sorry – it required the addict to recognize the wrongs.

To own them. To understand why they had happened, and the impact they had had on others.

Because nothing sounded more inadequate in the English language than the two words, I’m sorry.

But words matter. And this attitude shift was a crucial step on any addict’s road to recovery.

Making amends was something that Claire and Jamie had talked a lot about, too. She had seen him make amends many times, in their short time together – and quite often during their last few weeks on the road, as they traveled city to city for Print’s acoustic tour and Jamie came into contact with many people who had last seen him drunk/rude/high/demanding/hung over/acting like a total asshole during the last (disastrous) tour in ’86.

He made it a point to really talk to each person, to apologize for specific things he remembered doing. No matter if it was the venue manager, or the catering guy, or the lighting guy, or the security guard. I was a dick when I was drunk. I said terrible things. I hurt you. I’m sorry.

Two weeks ago in Chicago, he couldn’t sleep after a fucking incredible show at the old Chicago Theater. The adrenaline buzz after the show so much better than any pills or bourbon or groupie could have given him. He had tossed and turned for hours, until finally, quietly slipping out of their bed and perching in the easy chair in their suite at the Palmer House, watching Claire shift restlessly under the covers without him.

But of course, she knew when something was wrong. She woke, and turned to face him, easing up on one elbow. Watching him back. Giving him space.

When he finally spoke, it was just above a raspy whisper.

“How can you be here, Claire, when all you do is hear me talk about how awful I was to so many people?”

Her heart did break a little bit. “Because I never knew that version of you, Jamie. What I care about is who you are now.”

He sighed, breath ragged. “This shit is so fucking hard.”

“I know, baby.” Somehow she was standing beside him, and blindly he buried his face into the warm skin of her belly. She threaded her fingers in his hair, held him close as his pulse spiked.

“Deep breaths, Jamie. Focus on me. I’m here.”

He had had several panic attacks during the tour. Which could be chalked up to anything – the stress of changing hotels every day, the crush of fans and press that clustered around their tour bus when they arrived in a new city, the women who pulled down their tops in the front row at every concert, the Jack Daniels bottles and little baggies of powder left in his dressing room before the show in Wilkes-Barre.

But instead of smashing to pieces all alone, she sheltered him. He knew when to ask for help. And always found her just in time to crash against her, shaking and crying in bathroom stalls and green rooms and even once on the deserted tour bus. And each time she was so grateful for the psych rotation she’d done in med school that prepared her to help him.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

“Breathe in, Jamie. Think about how much I love you.”

He drew in a deep, sobbing breath.

“That’s right. Now exhale. I’m never going to leave you.”

He exhaled, shoulders shuddering.

“And inhale, Jamie. We can get hamburgers for breakfast again, if you want.”

He inhaled, and she felt a faint smile against her belly.

“That’s right. And out. Think about how amazing our wedding night will be.”

He exhaled. Gently bit the soft, soft skin above her bellybutton. She shivered, and smiled.

“Good. Center on me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She counted along with him – twenty four more deep breaths. Caressing his forehead, and kissing his hair, and loving him and loving him and loving him.

Finally when he had calmed down, she crawled back into bed, and he held her so close against him. Kissing her forehead. Whispering endless words of love.

“If I ever fuck up with you, Claire, know I’ll always own it.”

She kissed his eyebrows. “The same for me, Jamie. I’d rather be mad at you than not have you.”

He had said the same words to her this morning. A promise he never tired of repeating. Murmured against her hair when he bent over to kiss her in the bed, body thrumming with energy.

Colum had booked a studio here in Philadelphia for the day, so that the band could lay down recordings of the acoustic tracks they’d played to dozens of sold-out crowds during the tour. With the incredible press from the tour – thanks in no small part to Geordie Ash’s profile in Rolling Stone – and bootlegs in wide circulation, it was time. And for once, the band agreed with the label.

She would join him later, of course. But today she needed the time to herself, to finally write and then mail the letter to Boston.

All because of Jamie.

“You can’t stay in a state of limbo forever, Claire,” he had said one night, meeting her eyes in the bathroom mirror as he gently brushed her shower-wet hair. “And I know we still don’t know where we’ll live when we’re married. But you have the right to know.”

She had sighed, jamming her hands in the deep pockets of the hotel bathrobe. “I don’t want to go back to that life.”

He had set down the hairbrush they shared, slipping his hands into the pockets, pulling her close against him. “I know. But you can’t have that door hanging open, Claire. Whether you open it or close it, you know I support you. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by not knowing.”

She had nodded, and pursed her lips. Smiling just a little as he kissed the shell of her ear.

She blinked, and turned back to the typewriter.

I have been traveling for the past few weeks, and won’t be back to Boston for at least the next month. Although I may not be immediately reachable by mail or telephone, I’m enclosing the contact information for someone who can get any letter or other message to me.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Dr. Claire Beauchamp

She gently pulled the paper from the typewriter roll. Signed her name. Took a deep breath. Began to address the envelope.

[moongreenlight]

U already KNOW what time it is baybee!!!! WIP WEDNESDAY!

Been riding the Gaz high and this has been in the works recently (I wrote 2k words yesterday) so here's this!

Director!Gaz x Actress!Reader

Summary: It’s the mid-1970’s and you’ve recently made the unshocking discovery that it’s difficult to find good work acting. Lucky you stumble on the wrong opportunity at the right time!

You’re not dumb enough to fall for the advertisements in the papers looking for actors in ‘up and coming independent films.’ Not anymore.

After being burned so many times by ‘pay to audition’ schemes and sleazy directors only looking to collect videotapes of girls doing porno auditions, you gave up on that front.

But what’s the stipulation on extenuating circumstances? Like when you’re working at a bar a few blocks away from the community theater and a man comes up and sits at the counter all by himself.

He’s gorgeous and a sweet talker. Seems intent on chatting with you even though you really should be polishing glassware. And once he’s finally caught you in his snare, he drops a bomb that up until this point you’d only ever heard stories about.

He says he’s a small-time director and he saw you in the last production the theatre put on. He laughs and makes a lighthearted self-deprecating joke about being “one of those wankers in the paper” to which you wrinkle your nose and give him a weary smile.

But, Jesus, if he can’t make a bad thing good. He’s got all the makings of a politician the way he’s able to talk circles around you until you agree to show up to an audition for his latest project. ‘Trouble in paradise’ or something to that tune.

He tips you twenty pounds and his business card on a coke he barely touches. Uses your pen to write your audition time on the back of the card.

Wednesday at 11a. x

He doesn’t give back the pen.

Your roommates do no good talking you out of it. Hushing your half-arsed arguments about scams and serial killers and all kinds of things. It ends with the four of you in a pile on the couch, wine-drunk and giggling yourselves into hysterics.

So two days later you go. Forcing your roommates to promise no less than five times that if you’re not heard from in an hour that they’ll send in the authorities.

You find your way to the address on the card that now looks tired in comparison to when you first got it. The edges are fussy and dog-eared from your worrying with it and passing it around to prove its legitimacy.

It doesn’t look like any studio or office you’ve seen. Far from. And that should have been the final nail in the coffin. Should have been the reason you turned tail and went back home. But something pulled you up the worn steps of the house. That same something, now cowering a bit at the looming possibility, brought you to rap your knuckles sharply on the part of the door with a few different layers of paint chipped away to expose the cheap metal underneath.

You’re left standing on the stoop for a few moments too long with no answer. And just as you were about to come to your senses and return home with some sliver of your dignity still intact; the door swung inward and exposed the same man from the bar - Kyle - with his horrible, beautiful, toothy smile.

“Thought you were going to stand me up. Wouldn’t have known what to do with myself.”

You catch yourself thinking it’s a shame that he’s directing and not starring in movies. His devastating good-looks and all. Must be a terrible read.

There’s a card table set up in the living room. Two folding chairs behind it that look flimsy at best. Three thick packets that have been three-hole punched on the side, but held together by a binder clip in the top center.

The rest of the furniture is pushed up against the wall. A hodge-podge of mismatched chairs and a sofa that very well could have been your grandmothers and a few banged-up side tables.

He offers water. Offers to take your purse. You decline both. Opt to stand a bit stiffly on the faded rug in the center of the room with your bag tucked snugly under your arm.

Maybe you should make a run for it. Maybe you were stupid to come at all. He’s a total stranger for Christ sake.

Before you can will your feet to move, there’s s bang from behind you. A screen door slamming shut and rattling on its hinges. It startles you almost a foot into the air.

“Nervous?”

Kyle is cool as ever, sliding into one of the chairs, waggling his eyebrows at you. It whines under his weight and you’re suddenly very aware of just how bulky he is. Doesn’t look it on passing glance, but when all you’ve got to look at is the way his shirt fits it becomes glaringly obvious.

“Easily startled.”

You correct, trying to decide whether or not it’s passé to turn over your shoulder to find the source of the heavy footsteps behind you.

He hums and grabs one of the packets, taking off the clip and leafing through it. Pulling out a few odd pages and setting them on the table.

The footsteps reveal their maker when he rounds the corner into the room and shuffles behind the table. If you thought Kyle was big, this man is properly a behemoth. A bit taller, broader in the shoulders, a layer of fat packed on over his muscles. He looks to be older by a few years. He gets crows feet when he nods and smiles at you before taking his seat.

The chair looks as though it would be happier pulling its own legs out from underneath itself.

“Cap’.”

Kyle doesn’t look up from his papers when he addresses the man.

You get no formal introduction to ‘Cap’ though he doesn’t seem to be truly involved in the audition process. He barely glances up from his packet. Content to nurse a fresh cigar and lean further back in the chair than you think should be plausible.

You read from the stack of pulled-out papers with sloppily highlighted lines and try not to shy away from meeting Kyle’s watchful eye.

The audition goes normally, all things considered. You’re instructed to read three different scenes. Without the time to read the blurb on the project, you draw the conclusion that “Trouble in Paradise” is some sort of short suspense film centered around a woman living, shockingly, in paradise.

The writing isn’t first-rate, but you suppose that’s to be expected. You have a hard time piecing together how the scenes flow, but that’s not your largest concern.

“Lovely. Really, darl’.”

Kyle stands when he talks. Commands the attention even of such a small audience. Takes up space in the room like he’s owed it.

You smile, feeling a bit more at-ease now that things seem to be wrapping up.

“N’ how do you look in a bathing suit?”

The question takes you entirely off-guard. It makes your jaw fall far enough open that you’re left looking like a fish out of water.

“I- sorry?”

Kyle’s face doesn’t change. Fantastic at keeping up appearances. He’s still casting that warm smile over you. The focus of it makes you feel like you’re sunbathing.

“Bathing suit, love. How d’you look?”

Disappointment drops like a stone in your belly. Heavy and fast. It’s another scam. Of course it is.

“Oh. I don’t- I don’t do dirty movies.”

It must be palpable on your face even more than it is in your voice.

‘Cap’ glances up at Kyle when he ashes his cigar. The smell is nauseating. He seems to be chewing on a smile. Kyle meets his eye for only a moment, amusement painfully evident on his face.

“You’ve just read the pool scene. Hardly anything dirty about costuming.”

[chlorinecake]

𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐬𝐚 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐 — a riki nishimura fanfic

𑁍 ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: things don’t exactly go as planned regarding your flight, leading to you crossing paths with the mysterious airport security agent once again

⚡︎ ᴄᴡ: swearing, mentions of food and anxiety, flirty behaviors (duh), mildly suggestive nuances, ft. HANNI from nwjns

♡ ᴡᴄ: 1.2k ~ read pt. 1, pt. 3, and pt. 4 here

You double checked your boarding ticket just to make sure you were headed in the right direction. “Gate 11A, boarding begins at 11:45am, seat number 34B,” you mumbled to yourself as if jotting down a mental reminder. It was currently 11:58am, and your anxiety was on the brink of explosion. You thought to control your breathing again, but that would only slow you down. After another minute of rushing around the airport had passed, you finally found your boarding gate. However, to both your luck and misfortune, the flight was announced “delayed.”

You sighed, returning to the airport lobby.

Looking around for an idle seating lane, you took a corner seat while you waited for the attendance speaker to call you up again. That’s when you spot the TSA agent from earlier as he makes his way over, helping himself to the empty seat beside you.

How wonderful.

“What? Did they finally fire you?” You asked sarcastically.

“Hello, to you, too. And no, I’m just on my lunch break.”

“So you decided to sit by me?”

“I decided to sit in a chair.” He flashed you a phony smile before digging into his lunch bag, pulling out a plastic container of gyoza and another container of fruit salad.

“Want some? I’m sure you’re hungry, and these are really good, too” he offered, bringing one of the saucy dumplings to your mouth with chopsticks.

“No, thanks,” you lied, crossing your legs.

Of course you were hungry, but that didn’t mean you wanted to take any of his food for yourself.

“No, seriously, I don’t mind,” he continued, as if reading your thoughts. “Just try it. For me. Please?” He pleaded, pouting with his puppy eyes.

Ugh, why did he have to be so cute?

You gave in, parting your lips as he airplane fed you one of his dumplings, taking about half of the filled treat into your mouth in one bite.

Flavors of savory pork and warm spices greeted your tastebuds, the soft slippery dough melting in your mouth.

You closed your eyes, saying a small prayer to yourself in hopes that he didn’t poison you, although it'd be totally worth it for the taste.

He must’ve did something similar, because you noticed him mutter a phrase to himself before taking the other half of the dumpling in his mouth.

You tried to ignore the fact that he just ate after you, a complete stranger.

“So.” He began in between a few bites. “Where’re you headed?”

“Paris, France.”

“For love?”

“Work, actually.”

“Perfect!”

“Why’s that?”

“They put extra melon on my salad! I love melons!” He smiled into the next fork full of colorful fruit, eyeing you playfully.

You moved to zip up your hoodie all the way, assuming that his apparent ‘love for melons’ was nothing more than a sly innuendo. “You’re so sus,” you remarked.

“Not at all. My parents raised me to be a gentleman. I wouldn’t dare disrespect a lady’s modesty.”

“Right, because you’d rather swipe her panties instead,” you retorted sharply.

Fuck, you’re being rude again.

A loud silence enveloped the space between you too, not that there was much space to begin with anyway considering the closely situated chairs. He looked down at his food, before meeting your eyes again.

“I didn’t take them, y’know?”

His deep, and serious tone startled you as a sincere expression wavered over his face. The feeling of butterflies crowded your stomach right before static from the loud speaker broke the moment:

“Attention all travelers. Due to aircraft related mechanical issues, all flights scheduled between the hours of 11am and 1pm are canceled. We are offering full ticket refunds or flight rescheduling options at the check-in office located at the front of the building. We apologize again for the inconvenience and ask for your patience and understanding as we return your belongings and work toward serving you better. Thank you and good day.”

The speaker voice cut out.

This can’t be happening right now.

Riki busied himself with putting away his lunch before getting up to leave.

Something in you wanted him to stay.

“Hey, where’re you going,” you stood up and asked, fighting the urge to follow him.

“Aww, miss me already, huh? That’s sweet,” he kept walking.

“I forgot your name!”

“It’s Riki.”

“Riki,” you said again quietly to yourself, making another mental note from this hectic day.

“The one and only!” He chimed gleefully.

His long legs carried him at wide strides, so he was already at the elevator by time he looked back to see your face just one last time.

“Oh, and by the way, check the lost and found,” he smirked before entering the elevator, the shiny metal doors closing swiftly behind him.

………………………………………………………………………………….

You notified your boss and told him that you wouldn’t be able to make it in time for the business meeting in Paris tomorrow. Surprisingly, he settled for you to attend the conference meeting virtually instead. After talking with your boss, you texted your friend Hanni to see if she was willing to pick you up from the airport. You weren’t fond of most Uber drivers except this one guy named Noah. His car always smelled like peaches, and he never made you feel uncomfortable during a ride. Though, the con about Noah was that he charged a lot for his services, so Hanni was your only hope.

1:06pm

Hanniiii

1:08pm

Hiya! How’s the flight?

1:08pm

Cancelled 🥲

read

1:11pm

Would you be willing to pick me up?¿?

1:12pm

Dunno, are u willing to pay me 🤑

1:13pm

AppleCash: ____ has sent you $50!!

For la gas :>

1:13pm

Love you lots! OMW!

You knew it would take a while before Hanni arrived, so in the meantime, you decided to check the lost and found bin like Riki had told you to. Or, more specifically, the TSA security checkpoint area, where ‘missing’ and ‘confiscated’ items are held. Though, you weren't expecting anything in particular, you hoped to find the light blue panties you left behind earlier.

A nearby staff member helped you find the area in question, where you were left to search for whatever it was Riki wanted you to find. It didn’t take long before you noticed the lace underwear neatly tucked away inside a clear plastic bag, folded the exact same way. A feeling of guilt rushed over you as you remembered how rudely you spoke to Riki. You felt silly for letting yourself get so upset about something so simple. You further inspected the bag, only to find a yellow handwritten note taped to the back. “_____,” it read, with a smiley face beside it.

He remembered your name.

You took a deep breath before reading the message.

Holy crap, he gave you his number—

Buzz. Buzz.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket. It was probably Hanni, letting you know that she was here.

Riki was proving to have a strong effect on you. It was all the little things he’d done in such a short time frame that made such an impact on everything around you.

You eventually exited the airport at 1:38pm, with your sage green suitcase, empty stomach, and love letter from the mysterious TSA agent accompanying you. Making your way to Hanni’s car, you tossed your belongings in her trunk and sat in the front seat. “Telepatía” by Kali Uchis played quietly from the stereo as she hummed along to the upbeat melody. “You never fail to amuse me, Hanni,” you proclaimed, buckling your seat belt. She drove around the parking lot, taking a short cut to avoid the traffic ridden afternoon highway, turning up the song.

“Saur,” she began with her warm Australian accent.

“Wanna get dumplings?”

〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰

Tag list: @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @ashgonedash @hachimarii @beomgyusonlywife @vixen-vivien @suganing @clxudysky3z

ᴀ/ɴ 𓂋 thanks for reading! as some of you may know, the first part of this story was intended to be a one shot, but when the people ask, i deliver!! anyways, i hope you all enjoyed this piece! ~ love always <3

[sxnedmemes]

DOGGYSTYLE GIF STARTERS PART II

[1A]  [1B]  [1C] [2A]  [2B]  [2C] [3A]  [3B]  [3C] [4A]  [4B]  [4C] [5A]  [5B]  [5C] [6A]  [6B]  [6C] [7A]  [7B]  [7C] [8A]  [8B]  [8C] [9A]  [9B]  [9C] [10A]  [10B]  [10C] [11A]  [11B]  [11C] [12A]  [12B]  [12C] [13A]  [13B]  [13C] [14A]  [14B]  [14C] [15A]  [15B]  [15C]

[fisherfruity]

I'm hosting a FFXIV Fisher Meet up in St. Louis!

Important deets:

October 13th 9-11a St. Louis Aquarium, St. Louis MO. $22/ticket MUST RSVP BY SEPT 25th

RSVP Link:

If you're in or around the St. Louis Area on October 13th OR plan to be at GATEway FATE (a new FFXIV Fan Con), consider joining me and other fisher's at the St. Louis aquarium for a group meet up!

This is an event that is not officially a part of GATEway FATE, but they are getting me to the event so I can host this meet up! I will also be at GATEway FATE doing a panel of Fishing in FFXIV and its relationship with real-world fishing and cultures!

If this is your first time hearing about GATEway FATE, check out their page and consider going! https://gatewayfate.carrd.co/

I hope to see you there!

[turtlevariabilis]

<- INDEX

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

-> Screenshots Season 1

Episode 1 Mystic Mayhem (part 1/2)

Episode 1 Mystic Mayhem (part 2/2)

Episode 2a Origami Tsunami

Episode 2b Donnie’s Gifts

Episode 3a War and Pizza

Episode 3b Newsworthy

Episode 4a Repo Mantis

Episode 4b Down with the Sickness

Episode 5a The Fast and the Furriest

Episode 5b Mascot Melee

Episode 6a Shell in a Cell

Episode 6b Minotaur Maze

Episode 7 Bug Busters (part 1/2)

Episode 7 Bug Busters (part 2/2)

Episode 8a The Longest Fight

Episode 8b Hypno! Part Deux!

Episode 9a The Gumbus

Episode 9b Mrs. Cuddles

Episode 10a Stuck on You

Episode 10b Al Be Back

Episode 11a The Purple Jacket

Episode 11b Pizza Pit

Episode 12a Smart Lair

Episode 12b Hot Soup: The Game

Episode 13 The Evil League of Mutants (part 1/2)

Episode 13 The Evil League of Mutants (part 2/2)

Episode 14a Late Fee

Episode 14b Bullhop

Episode 15a Mind Meld

Episode 15b Nothing But Truffle

Episode 16 Shadow of Evil

Episode 17a Portal Jacked!

Episode 17b Warren & Hypno, Sitting in a Tree

Episode 18a Operation: Normal

Episode 18b Sparring Partner

Episode 19a You Got Served

Episode 19b How to Make Enemies and Bend People to Your Will

Episode 20a Mystic Library

Episode 20b The Purple Game

Episode 21a Man Vs. Sewer

Episode 21b The Mutant Menace

Episode 22a Turtle-dega Nights: The Ballad of Rat Man

Episode 22b The Ancient Art of Ninja Hide and Seek

Episode 23a One Man’s Junk

Episode 23b Snow Day

Episode 24a Cloak and Swaggart

Episode 24b Jupiter Jim Ahoy!

Episode 25 Insane in the Mama Train (part 1/2)

Episode 25 Insane in the Mama Train (part 2/2)

Episode 26 End Game (part 1/2)

Episode 26 End Game (part 2/2)

-> Screenshots Season 2

-> Screenshots The movie

If you encounter any URL issues, please let me know through private message.

[wayvcarter]

🍵🌸Tea time cropped sweater🌸🍵

3x Tea time - Hobbii yarn

4.5 mm crochet hook (I tend to crochet very loosely, so I'm going down at least 1 size on my crochet hooks)

Fhdc (foundation half double crochet)

Ch (chain)

Hdc (half double crochet)

Slst (slip stitchl

Instructions in (brackets) are for the uncropped version

Size M

Instructions to adjust size will follow

Border:

R1 : 6 Fhdc, ch1, turn

R2 - 64 : 1 hdc in back loop only, ch1, turn

Sleeve 1:

R1 : 1 hdc in each row of border, ch1, turn (64 hdc)

R2 - 53 : 1 hdc in each stitch, ch1, turn

R 54 : 1 hdc in each stitch, ch 11 (ch21), turn

Body:

R1 : 1hdc in each loop, 1 hd in each stitch, 10 Fhdc (20 Fdhc), ch1, turn

R2 - 10 : 1 hdc in each stitch, ch1, turn

-> tip: add more rows here and less rows in the next part to make the neck hole smaller, it's written far too loose, it's off shoulder

R a is the front, R b is the back, in between should be 4 unworked stitches (count and use stitch markers to find the middle!)

R 11a - 34a : 1hdc in the next 40 (50) stitches, ch1, turn

At the end of R 34a, cut yarn and pull through

R 11b - 34b : start at the beginning of R 54, 1 hdc in the next 40 (50) stitches, ch1, turn

R 35 : 1 hdc in each stitch of part b, 5 Fhdc, 1 hdc in each stitch of part a, ch1, turn

R 36 - 45 : 1 hdc in each stitch, ch1, turn

Sleeve 2:

R 1 : slst in the next 10 (20) stitches, 1 hdc in the next 64 stitches, ch1, turn

R 2 : 1 hdc in the next 64 stitches, ch1, turn

R 3 - 53 : 1 hdc in each stitch, ch1, turn

R 54 : 1 hdc in each stitch, ch7

Border 2 :

R 1 : 1 hdc in 2nd stitch from hook, 1 hdc in the next 5 stitches, slst in next two stitches of R 54, turn

R 2 : 1 hdc in back loops only, Ch 1, turn

R 3 : 1 hdc in back loops only, slst in next two stitches of R 54, turn

Repeat R 2 and 3 until the end of the row 54, cut yarn and pull through.

Sewing :

Fold the piece in half, leaving the neck hole on the top. Sew along the open edges down the sleeves to the bottom of the body. Use cotton or any other wool that holds up and doesn't tear, Tea Time by Hobbii tears easily.

Border Body :

Start somewhere on the bottom of the body.

R 1 : 1 hdc in 2nd stitch from hook, 1 hdc in the next 5 stitches, slst in next two stitches of the body, turn

R 2 : 1 hdc in back loops only, Ch 1, turn

R 3 : 1 hdc in back loops only, slst in next two stitches of the body, turn

Repeat R 2 and 3 until you end up one time around at the beginning, cut yarn and pull through.

Sew together the ends of the border.

Neck hole :

Start in the middle where your back will be.

This piece is just if your neck hole is too large: Mark with stitch markers where your shoulders are. This will be the base for shoulder straps. Make sure they're symmetrical.

Put 1 hdc in every stitch. Once you're at a stitch marker, make 15 Fhdc and 1 hdc in the parallel stitch marker. Again, hdc in each stitch until the next stitch marker, 15 Fhdc, and 1 hdc into the parallel stitch marker. Hdc until you're at the beginning. Slst into first hdc, cut yarn and pull through.

Insert yarn at the shoulder, 1 hdc in each stitch all around, including the shoulder strap. Slst into first hdc, cut yarn and pull through. Repeat for second shoulder

The pattern is finished, but it's still a wip, pattern will be updated and improved

[ierogenvy]

i’m starting training for full time this week and that means getting to work at 6am to learn to throw truck and i just set my alarms and they are disgusting

image ID: alarms set for wednesday, thursday, and friday. the times are 2AM, 3AM, 3:40AM, 4:50AM, and 5:30AM. End ID.

[floralembarrassment]

hey! could i request a jegulus fic where they don’t know each other but are seated next to each other on the plane, and when there’s a sudden delay after boarding they have to talk to each other? thanks <3

Hello! This is a very fun request and I thought about it alot - I know your second part of the request asked for annoyance and forced talk so hopefully this give you a bit of that and the fluff that this inspired in me! with love

Planes (1/1) (jegulus)

Regulus both loved and hated airports. He loved to fly, and he enjoyed the irony that the building was both the most lawful and lawless land. He traveled frequently for work and was actually looking for to the current project he was heading too, as it was a relatively easy assignment and it would take him back to France which he loved. 

After his flight was delayed and his gate was changed too many times for the planning to make any sense, his group was finally called to board. He smirked as he watched other people rush to the front of the line, cutting in and pushing people, even though they would all get on the plane and sit in their assigned seats. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he was heard through the check in, down the long tunnel, and finally onto the plane.

He walked slowly down the aisle, allowing himself to fall into the music he had playing softly in his ears to keep him from getting overstimulated by the noise as he counted the rows to his seat number: 11A. A window, thankfully. Even though it was a red-eye, he still loved to look out and watch the stars from high in the sky. 

He put his carry on up top with ease, slid into his seat, and placed his bag with his camera case easily under the seat in front of him. He was really pleased with himself at how meticulous he had become with packing perfectly. And then he settled in. 

He was hopeful for a quick flight, maybe he would get a short nap in, and as the plane filled up and no one sat beside him, he thought maybe he had some luck that he would have some extra space. That hope was quickly squashed when someone tripped, threw their bag on the seat, and hurriedly sat down.

“Oh sorry,” the man said. 

Regulus just pursed his lips, it had been an effort to smile but Regulus did not want to interact so he turned his head back out the window. He didn’t turn without noting that the man was quite fit. 

Despite wearing his headphones, as the man sat down, he began talking at Regulus, further apologizing for stumbling, and clearly not taking the hint, Regulus pulled out one of the earbuds. 

“It’s fine,” he said curtly, cutting the man off. 

He looked at the man who was now looking at him. He watched the man’s eyes move from his eyes to his hair, back to his eyes, then down to lips, and not so slyly his body and back again. He watched as the man gulped shamelessly, then shake his messy black hair out and extend a hand in an invitation to shake. 

“James Potter,” he said, with a bright grin spreading across his face. 

Regulus looked at his hand. He usually would never touch a stranger, but there was something so warm and inviting about this James. It was so intrigued by his smooth brown skin, golden brown eyes, and his broad shoulders and tight chest that his t-shirt stretched over. Regulus will deny it, but the real reason he shook this man’s hand was because he had been looking at him far too long to not at this point. 

“And you are?” James said as Regulus’s fingers pressed against his. 

“Regulus, Regulus Black,” he heard himself say before he could stop himself. Realizing what he had done, he quickly pulled his hand back, but not before James could catch his gaze and smoothly reply, “enchanted.” 

Regulus melted a bit at that, and had to turn away to hid the blush forming on his cheeks. He had never been more grateful for the safety message to begin overhead. 

He was able to place his headphones back on after that and James finally seemed to realize Regulus wanted to be left alone. The plane took off without any issues, and once they were steady in the air, Regulus let his music lull him to sleep. 

Regulus felt himself being shaken gently, slightly groggy with sleep that he wiped his hand over his face as he turned and realized that James was lightly rubbing his arm. 

“Sorry to wake you, but they are doing the final snack, I just figured you might want something,” James said softly. Regulus never slept for a whole flight, but somehow he was 4 and half hours in and had been resting the entire time. He  knew he would want some water and a coffee, having to see what the food option was before accepting, but he wasn’t sure how to feel about James, a stranger, waking him up. 

He looked at James, again for far too long, without saying anything. 

James’ eyes went a little wide, not with worry but with fondness and interest. “Sorry if that was not okay,” he said but his expression was too flirtatious and charming for the sentiment to come through. 

“It’s alright, I do want a coffee,” Regulus said. He is not sure where his calm and soft voice came from. Usually with strangers he was rather short. This James just seemed to have some effect on him. 

“Coming right up,” James replied. 

Regulus wasn’t sure what James was playing at, but for some reason he liked it. 

They spent the rest of the flight in amicable silence, and James pulled his luggage down for him as they were getting off. As they went to line up for customs, James held out his hand again, but this time there was a small piece of paper in it. 

Regulus took it, noting the scrawled name and phone number on it. While he was looking down James spoke, “You are really cute when you sleep, but I’d like to get to know you when you are awake if you are interested. I’ll be in Paris for the month, and I’d love to take you to dinner.” 

Regulus looked up at him, their eyes meeting and Regulus being far too enthralled to stop the smile that formed on his lips. “I’ll think about it,” Regulus replied, but he was already running through his schedule to see when he could fit in a dinner with his gorgeous man. 

“I hope you do,” James said and smiled at him, before turning to walk away. 

Regulus couldn’t believe what had just happened, but knew that Evan and Barty would would be tear the mickey out of him if they had witnessed him become putty for this stranger. 

[dreamscfsin]

@deviiates says 11a

when the laws were passed, sidney had been submitted to a reprogramming institute. in the before times, he had been quite the troublemaker. even after hitting adulthood. so his parent sent him away. coming back, there was a bratty little femme in his place. even then the bratty parts were just for the fun and thrill. sidney knew that his parent had people coming over and hadn't thought much of it. dressed in just white ruffle pan.ties and a matching bra, he had been looking at clothes on his bed when a pair of handcuffs were slapped onto his wrists and his body was pushed over. "wha-...what's going on?"

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b: I Sing A Song of Love ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 15C: You Can Do This If You Try

Wilmington, North Carolina

Labor Day Weekend, 1988

Oh, take your time, don't live too fast Troubles will come and they will pass You'll find a woman, and you'll find love And don't forget, son, there is someone up above…

 - “Simple Man”, Lynyrd Skynyrd (1973) [click here to listen]

“I really appreciate you helping me with this.”

Jamie shrugged, and took a long drink from the thermos of Gillian’s sweet tea. “It’s the least I can do. You gave me and Claire a place to stay this weekend. Away from everything. That’s a true gift.”

Dougal set his toolbox on a stump. “Thought you could use a bit of peace and quiet, here in the back country.”

Jamie nodded, and pulled his t-shirt over his head. “I think I’d forgotten what trees look like. Or the inside of a building that wasn’t an arena or a hotel.” He draped the t-shirt over the unbroken part of the fence, and bent to pick up one of the boards he’d hauled across the field in Dougal’s battered wheelbarrow. “The last time we were at a house was for our wedding – and it was Joe’s house, and we didn’t even stay there overnight.”

“I’m sure you’re staying in top of the line hotels, in their biggest suites. My guest room must be too normal for you and your bride.”

Jamie smiled, just a bit sadly. “I don’t know what normal is anymore, Dougal.”

Dougal fished in his pocket for a nail. “I won’t even pretend to understand what your life is like right now.” Carefully, methodically he hammered the nail, fastening the board to the fence post. “But I have to tell you, I’m so impressed you’re still sober.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dougal rolled his eyes. “Oh, I can think of some reasons. Like, every single thing you were addicted to, is front and center of your life on the road. We talked about this a lot last year when you were with us at The Ridge. You’re back on the road – meaning, that all that shit is in front of you all the time again.”

Jamie nodded. “I remember. You said it wasn’t me you were worried about – it was everybody around me. That I was surrounded by people who enabled me.”

“Exactly.”

“Well – things are different now. I fired the bloodsucker that was my manager. I found Colum. I had some very honest conversations with him, and now all of those people and all the shit they used to put in front of me are out of my life. Plus, one very important new person is now in it.”

“And what does she make of everything?”

Jamie held up another board, and Dougal hammered it into place.

Giving him space.

“I thought I was ready to be back on the road,” Jamie added, after a while. “I really did. But I had no idea just how fucking hard it would be.”

He set the board against the fence post. Dougal began hammering another nail.

“And?”

“And…this time, I decided to just be open about it with everyone. It’s definitely gotten easier to talk about it – addiction, and sobriety, and recovery. And people do respect what I ask. They keep the substances and the groupies away from me. Obviously it’s still there – I just can’t see it.” He paused, thinking. “On the one hand I think they understand why I can’t be around that anymore, and they understand how terrible addiction is, and how fucking difficult sobriety is. But on the other hand – let’s be real, they know they have to listen to me and do what I ask. I’m the star of the show. I get what I want.”

Dougal took a nail out of his mouth, and hammered the other side of the board. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Jamie leaned against the fence post. “I think about it all the time. Drinking. Cocaine. Being in my dressing room with three girls at once.”

Dougal stood up straight, stretching. Squinting in the harsh midday sun.

“I don’t want to do any of that shit anymore, of course. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.”

“And what exactly does that have to do with your wife?” Dougal asked patiently.

Jamie’s eyes were inscrutable behind his aviators.

“Because I flash back to the shit I used to do, and then I blink and she’s there with me, in the same rooms where I used to get really fucked up. And she holds my hand, and tells me she loves me, and then I tell her everything.” He jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “I can be straight with her, and she doesn’t care. She wants to know all of this shit about me, especially the shit I’m really not proud of. Because it helps her understand what I’m working on, and why I don’t want to be that guy anymore.” He cleared his throat. “Why I’m not that guy anymore.”

“What does she say when you bring up all the shit you used to do?”

Jamie pursed his lips. “I know it hurts her. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt her. But I’d hurt her more by not telling her the truth.” He ran his fingers through his hair – almost back to shoulder length. “And every time I tell her something, she tells me something. What it was like to go through high school without parents. Or one time when her miserable excuse for an ex-husband hit her and she fixed her own busted lip in the bathroom. How she’d do surgery while high. How she destroyed pretty much all of her friendships when the pills became the most important thing in her life.”

A blue jay settled on the fence, chirping.

“I didn’t want to tell her all the shit about me, and what I’d do when I was using. The man I was. I don’t want that to…to trigger her or anything, and compromise her sobriety. But because we share it, and we talk about it, it makes us accountable to each other to not fuck it up.”

“So as much as you depend on her for sobriety, she depends on you for hers.”

Jamie nodded. “We’re tied together in so many ways, it’s insane. We are addicts. We were at the top of our professions and we were miserable. We’re terrified that one day we’ll wake up and the other person will be gone. And…” he swallowed. “When we’re together, when we love, it’s…I can’t find the words, Dougal. We waited for intimacy until our wedding night. And I’m so fucking glad we did. Because if I knew what kind of magic we can create, there’s no way I would have ever agreed to go on tour and spend even a few hours every day away from her.”

Dougal leaned against the fence post. “You never think that this could all be too much for her? It’s a tremendous amount of pressure. And both of you being in recovery just complicates things.”

Jamie pursed his lips.

“It’s like I told you last night – she’s my high. Knowing she’s there. Touching her. Sleeping beside her. Loving her…all of that keeps me grounded and focused. I wrote a song about it, and it’s the fucking title track of the new album. She’s my addiction.”

“But is that asking too much of her?” Dougal pointed to the tattoo above Jamie’s heart. “You don’t want to develop too much of a dependency. She’s not a drug. I know that love is intense, Jamie – you know my story with Gillian. But neither of you should completely lose yourself.”

Jamie shifted uncomfortably. “If you’re asking if I have other ways to cope with the stress – I have my guitar, and I have my wife. And I have a few people like you, who I trust. Right now I don’t have much time for anything else.”

Dougal crossed his arms. “You need to make the time. If not for you, for her. Especially if you’ll be touring next year. Going all around the world, far from home – your stress levels will be off the charts.”

Jamie sighed. “They already are. I’ve been having panic attacks.”

Dougal sat next to Jamie on the fence. “Has that happened to you before?”

Jamie shook his head. “Not until this tour. And not every day. We’re in early September, and we’ve been on the road since May…maybe fifteen times since then.”

“Is there one particular thing that triggers it?”

“Not that we can tell. Thank God Claire’s a doctor – she’s helped me figure out when it’s starting, and she helps me get to a quiet place away from everyone.” He swiped his eyes beneath his sunglasses. “I usually end up not being able to breathe, and crying, and freaking the fuck out, and my wife is the only thing that physically holds me together. It’s fucking scary, Dougal, and it’s so not fair to her. It’s yet another thing that stresses her out. She has had so much shit in her life these last few years, I can’t fucking stand that she has to see me like that. Deal with yet another level of my bullshit.”

Dougal turned back towards the house. Watched Claire and Gillian on the porch, shaded from the sunshine, enjoying the rocking chairs. Watched William chase around their dog Bram, knowing it would exhaust them both before lunchtime.

“I’ll be straight with you, Jamie, because it’s what you deserve. Claire told Gillian about the panic attacks, and that you were considering bringing a therapist with you on tour next year.”

Jamie crossed his arms. The flames and flowers of his tattoos flexed.

“Gillian and I – let us help you find someone. Someone you can trust implicitly. With the panic attacks, and with your sobriety, and in managing all of the stress. Someone who can help Claire, too. Because the last thing you want, Jamie, is to be in some random city in some random country and it’s two AM after a show and Claire is somewhere else and some asshole backstage has left a baggie of cocaine on your chair and you have a panic attack. And you’re all alone, or with people who you don’t want to see you like that.”

Jamie scuffed his boots in the grass.

“More importantly, you don’t want Claire to start resenting you, for being the person to hold you together.”

Jamie, surprised, whirled to face Dougal. “I don’t think – ”

Dougal raised a hand. “I’m not saying she ever would. I’ve seen you two together. What you have…it can’t be described. But don’t you agree, that you don’t ever want to do anything to fuck that up?”

Jamie pursed his lips. “I promise her every day that I won’t.”

Dougal stepped closer to Jamie. Grabbed his sweaty shoulder. “Then let me help you. Please.”

Jamie slipped off his sunglasses to meet Dougal’s eye. “OK. Thank you.”

Dougal smiled. “Consider it our wedding present. Now come on – just a few more boards.”