#paul and belle just got to actually grow up

[disturbingbackstory]

it's the same paul and belle anon! I like your rainer, he is very unique, what were your inspirations behind his design? could you tell me more about his scars and bandages and etc

Thank you, and funnily enough, the inspiration behind my Rainer is... moi <3 and also Trent Re/znor in terms of appearance

I think Rainer is a type of person who really wants to be in control of things. His life was very turbulent, so he felt the need to reestablish himself as his own boss. It started with him accidentally getting hit by a car and deciding to "shave off the negative energy" with a buzzcut after his hair became too long in the hospital, and continued into self-destruction in the form of not treating himself if he got hurt, "choosing" a path. Rainer also originally was very sporty and quite big, but after Michael's death he also took the lack of sleep and food as a way to be in control of his life. Jill and Thomas were too distraught by the chain of events in relation to Marvin to really pay attention to their adult son.

[misskattylashes]

The Dichotomy of Being a Teenage Alex Turner Fan

In this article I look at why I think so many teenage fans direct so much hate towards Miles.

Look at this image search I did on Alex’s name. First person whose name comes up ‘Miles Kane’, first other person he is in another picture with, Miles...before a puff piece about Louise or Taylor. It’s Miles. There are more results with Miles than anyone else. Whether people like it or not, Miles and Alex are intrinsically linked.

In the words of the big man himself ‘stop and wait a sec’...... imagine Miles was Mila, a constant female companion of Alex’s who he had been close to for nearly twenty years. Had been at his side more than any other woman, had done two duets with him and whilst touring the second one, their performances were so sexually charged you thought any moment soon they were actually going to have sex on stage. What would you think? You would think they were or had been in a romantic relationship. And even though you haven’t seen much of them together over the past few years, Mila constantly talks lovingly about Alex in her interviews, and Alex invites Mila to be the support act for the final days of a very long world tour, and on one of the dates he lets Mila stand side-stage (something his official girlfriend doesn’t get to do) and throughout the set he sings to Mila and can’t stop glancing at her. People would be enamoured with their love story and desperate for them to be together.

So why is it different just because Miles is a guy?

Of course there is the obvious. If Alex is gay, then the teenage fans stand no chance with him, which would be upsetting. But even me, as a creaky old Gen X-er, had gay pop stars who were attractive and sexy – Holly Johnson and Paul Rutherford from Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Andy Bell from Erasure, even Boy George got screamed at, but we accepted they were gay and we didn’t stand a chance and that was it.

Of course, there was no social media then, but did we write hateful letters to them or their partners, or put up posters on street corners saying how disgusting they were? (the 80s equivalent to posting all over Twitter) No.

So why the anger towards Miles?

Unfortunately when I was growing up, homophobia was acceptable. Gay people were constantly the butt of jokes, straight comedians would pretend to be effette just for laughs. At school we even had the reprehensible Section 28, imposed by Thatcher’s government where any mention of homosexuality was banned, even books featuring gay characters, to apparently help prevent us from experimenting and catching AIDS (yes I grew up in the Dark Ages)

But there comes the rub. Because homophobia was acceptable, any negative feelings we had towards our gay pop stars or their partners wasn’t something we felt bad about so we felt no need to pick on anyone as a way of dealing with our own conflicted emotions

Fast forward to 2023. Gay people have rights, can marry, have children, are positively represented in the media, we have Pride, which is on the point of becoming too commercialised, and to be homophobic is to most young people not cool or acceptable.

Those same girls who spew hate towards Miles probably paint rainbows on their pencil cases during Pride, have male gay friends at school and would have a go at anyone who doesn’t support trans rights.

But then there is the fact that the celebrity they desire has a constant male companion, who he has been more publicly intimate with then any of the girlfriends he has had. Scratch beneath the surface and you can spot the differences in them when they fell out after EYCTE -both a shell of their former self. When there was a brief break in Lockdown in the UK, who did Alex choose to meet? Miles. Whether the fangirls consciously or subconsciously think there is something going on, it makes them feel uncomfortable with themselves. The presence of Miles Kane makes them realise they’re not necessarily that right-on girl who is into gay rights, because when they actually think about it, and think about what men do, they don’t like it.

But instead of realising that this is just part of being a grown up – we all have things about ourselves we don’t like, they direct their anger and frustration at Miles, as if he didn’t exist then they wouldn’t be confronted by these unpleasant feelings they have.

So, what I am trying to say is whilst I find the comments about Miles disgusting and cruel, just remember with these girls the person they really hate is themselves, while Miles lives his lovely life with his career and his friends and Alex and Maxie.

I think we know who is the winner here.

[sentientcave]

questions about books! thanks for the tag @stellewriites (And also the people that tagged me in this before I was lazy about it

1. the last book I read

All About Love by Bell Hooks (Technically I listened to the audiobook, but I think it counts.)

2. a book I recommend

Tehanu by Ursula K LeGuin - I'd recommend the whole Earthsea Cycle but Tehanu is particularly gorgeous.

3. a book I couldn't put down

Howls Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones - This is one of my favourite books ever, every time I read it I basically don't stop until it's done. DWJ writes some of my favourite books of all time tbh, mostly children's lit, but like, really good children's lit. I still really enjoy the Chrestomanci Series as well.

4. a book l've read twice or more

There are a lot of books that fit this. If I like a book I'll read it at least twice. Probably one of my most re-read books is actually an anthology called The Golden Book of Faerie by O.R. Melling. It was so influential on my outlook as a writer, Melling just has this really beautiful way of tying the ancient to the everyday that I've always enjoyed. It's technically 4 books and like 1000 pages but I've read it probably 10 times over the years.

5. a book on my tbr

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini - I can't even remember where I came across the recommendation or if I just happened to pick it up during an ebook sale, but it looked really interesting. It's set in Afghanistan and spans from the Soviet Invasion to post-Taliban.

6. a book l've put down

I didn't get very far into Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao but I would like to revisit it sometimes soon. I was just really distracted at the time and I just never picked it up again. But I've heard a lot of good things.

8. a favorite book from childhood

The Tortall Series by Tamora Pierce - Just like, all of them. I've named a lot of old favourites in here already though.

9. a book I would give to a friend

This would depend immensely on the person! I gift books a lot and try to branch away from personal favourites of mine to picks tailored more to them. I'm pretty good at it.

10. a fiction book I own

I own a lot of fiction books lmao. All of the above really.

11. a nonfiction book I own

Growing Gourmet and Medicinal Mushrooms by Paul Stamets. I got really into mushroom growing a couple years ago. I only own the E-book though. Does it have to be a physical book? I've got a whole bunch about dye plants too

12. what I am currently reading

The Meaning of Freedom and Other Difficult Dialogues by Angela Y. Davis - It's a series of her speeches over the years.

13. what l am planning on reading next

Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur - I've just seen her poetry online a lot and figured I should read it. I used to really love poetry so I'm trying to get back into it.

14. my shelfie

A lot of my books are still in storage so it's still a little empty in here. I have to move the tier stand next to my notebooks because I don't wear makeup anymore and it's just collecting junk.

I think most of my people have been tagged already but I don't think @mi-i-zori has been tagged yet. Also tagging anyone who wants to do this please show me your shelfies

[denimbex1986]

'One more conversation, one more smile, or just one more hug is all Adam is looking for in Andrew Haigh’s All of Us Strangers, adapted from Taichi Yamada 1982 novel, Strangers. Adam, played by Andrew Scott (in one of his best, if not his best performance yet) is a lonely screenwriter, trying to work on a script about his parents. One night, he gets on a train to his hometown and arrives at his parent’s house. They open the door: ‘’It’s you’’ says his mother, played by Claire Foy, joined by Jamie Bell in the role of Adam’s father. The parents look like they just got out of the 80s, and both seem younger than Adam. We quickly understand that the parents aren’t actually really there, as they both died in a car accident when Adam was a young boy.

Adam starts visiting his parents every day, as a way to finally get the answers he has always been looking for, as well as a means to escape the quietness and solitude of his life. In All of Us Strangers, Haigh’s asks us to put ourselves in Adam’s shoes: If we had the possibility to meet again our lost and loved ones, would reality really be worth coming back from this fever dream ? Andrew Scott’s subtle, heart-wrenching performance as a lonely, sensitive and depressed writer somehow felt even more complete and powerful the moment Harry (played by Paul Mescal) his mysterious, half-drunk, disoriented neighbor comes knocking on his door. ‘’Can I come in?’’ asks Harry, leaning on Adam’s door. The latter is a bit put off by his behavior and blunt question. But when the two meet again, their chemistry and longing to escape their respective loneliness breaks down any barrier there ever was between them and they immediately fall for each other.

While navigating his new relationship with Harry, Adam keeps visiting his parents, in a desperate attempt to catch up on lost time and to finally get some closure as he finally reveals himself to his parents who never saw their son grow up and weren’t able to know him as an adult. All of Us Strangers is a masterful representation of what it means to make up for lost time while fighting through the fundamental human fear of never having enough of it. For Adam, too many questions have remained unanswered all these years, and all these doubts and childhood traumas still heavily impact him as an adult. Even though Adam seems like he’s indeed getting the answers he needed, this constant journey to the past holds him back, and makes him become even more withdrawn. Losing his parents at such a young age was a shattering experience, and no matter how much time Adam tries to spend with his parents, we soon realize that they might actually just be a reflection of Adam’s mind, his dreams and of what could have been.

‘’I actually played a character from a novel who was a historical character, but was written from a character's perspective, which was really interesting’’ told me Claire Foy during our interview. She added ‘’You were formulating a character that was based on someone else's view of them. And I think, because I have parents and I'm also a mother myself, I think I understood that what Adam's remembering of his parents was very much what they were wearing, how they smelt, the sounds, what they cooked. All of those things that you remember from your childhood must have become so much more vibrant to him, having lost them at the age that he did. I think that’s what is interesting about the story, it’s that their relationship gets more complex when his parents ask more questions, not necessarily about what they're doing there, but when they start to go beyond the realm of what he's imagined. They hadn't had those interactions before, so even them as a memory, they are becoming real in a way. It's quite a weird thing to get your head around, but I think I knew I was in service to his character basically, I knew that I was a memory for him and so me, putting anything on it, or standing up for my character in any way would have been very odd, because I was there for Andrew really’’.

Claire Foy’s character may be in service of Adam, but her vulnerability as a mother who is constantly questioning herself, doubting that she ever was a good parent, is simply heartbreaking and too dramatically haunting to be ignored this awards season. The fact that Foy could actually use her own accent, her own voice, really added to the rawness of this story. She told me: ‘’I often play characters who are a different class to myself or have had a very different upbringing, or just from different parts of the world, so it's rare that I speak with my own accent. I definitely upped it a little bit. I definitely was a little bit more mannered in the way that I spoke because I have like an estuary accent, which is quite a modern British accent. So yeah, it makes me quite nervous actually, because you've got nothing to hide behind, but I think that's why the film was so good, because there wasn't really anything to hide behind. It had to be a very honest approach to something, and truthful and quite vulnerable, and I think that probably helped me in a way. I couldn't really put up much of a front, I suppose’’.

The rawness of it all, the vulnerability of these characters reach a peak during a five minutes long scene, shot in one take, on film, where Adam shows up in his parents bedroom, looking like a child in his pajamas, asking if he can join his mother because he can’t sleep. Lying down between his parents, Adam and his mother unpack so many difficult things they had never talked about before: ‘’I love doing things in one take, it brings the experience closer to reality’’ said Foy. ‘’I think I really enjoy the feeling of discovering something for the first time, and I loved doing that scene because I felt like I had lived inside that moment from both sides: I had lived it as a parent and also lived as a child, that feeling of only feeling safe in your parent’s bed, how if it's late at night it can bring you so much comfort, because I think nighttime can be quite scary for all of us, but especially for children. I have such fond memories of doing that scene, one, because I felt very, very connected to Andrew. I felt very maternal towards him and loving of him, and my character learns a lot in that small scene.”

She's able to understand a little bit more about who he is now and share that what causes her pain, is the fact that she didn't get to be his mother for long enough. Also, the practicalities of shooting that scene were absolutely hilarious because we were shooting on film and it was one shot, we kept running out of film. In order to get the shot, there was like a scaffold with a grip on top of it above the bed. So there was like, five people in the scene, including the giant man who was looming over our heads. And also Paul Mescal, not only was Jamie in the bed, but Paul was also in the bed. In order for the shot to work, they had to switch places at a certain point. And so I had to come to terms with the fact that there was like some elaborate dance happening between Paul and Jamie where they had to switch places and in order to do it they had to do some very interesting getting in and out of bed that I found absolutely hilarious. But I think that it lends itself to the scene because, I think that there was an intimacy about it, and a freedom about it, that you could only have in the middle of the night in that situation, basically.’’

Andrew Haigh already stated that All of Us Strangers is a very personal film, he even went as far as shooting inside his childhood home for the scenes inside the parent’s house. Adam’s apartment is a safe place for him, though living in this huge, nearly empty London complex is a great metaphor for the shell Adam has created for himself. However, his childhood home becomes a sanctuary, a place to hide from the real world and All of Us Strangers proves how big of an impact a set can have on a character’s development or on an actor’s performance. Foy revealed how much the set actually brought her back to her own childhood memories: ‘’This film was very, very special because we shot in Andrew Haigh’s old house that he grew up in. And so it really had a feeling of being incredibly personal and intimate and real.”

“So much of what was in that house reminded me of houses from when I was younger, whether that would be like the carpet in the bedroom, because it reminded me of my auntie Kathy's house, or like all the different things that were in his bedroom, really reminded me of my childhood. Being in a set, especially if it's a character's own space, I’m very involved in wanting to know where everything is and moving things, so that they have a real purpose and a real feeling of authenticity. I think it's really, really important. So that was one of my favorite parts, when you get to be in your character's bedroom or in their personal space in some way, and you can just be that character, in their domain. I love it!”'

[mysticetus]

Regarding the locker- that would make sense. In the messages he leaves for her hes a weird mix of genuine regret and having a grudge. Like he does things like set her talk sound to a bell as a reminder of her old name, and says shes not tiara but also seems deeply regretful

Then again we dont know what he said in that ‘happy birthday belle’ message but I suspect it got censored due to being overly spiteful/cruel

Ive always interpreted tiara as just rejecting the premise of the rebirthing ritual outright, like she never saw it as something meaningful like rainer did and thus ‘gave up halfway’. She defines her identity on her own terms and in the end thats the lesson she imparts on paul and allows them to defeat marvin. So with her more nuanced understanding of identity she might have disagreed with the idea of just tossing items like the new life letter down the big hole, as if they were part of a totally different life

To circle back to marvins sprite- one thing that sticks out to me is how it’s basically the same color pallete as the grass of the newmaker plane. Perhaps it was done like that to make him seem more ominous as it makes him look kinda formless when walking around the plane

whether rainer genuinely feels regret over belle is dubious. im inclined to believe he at least partially feels bad, and i dont think he actually intends to sound spiteful or hurt her in any way, rather he has an extremely misguided approach to "helping" children (which we see in how he attempts to help care as well) that usually neglects their true desires. i think this stems from him being so distraught over mike that he used belle and care as sort of stepping stones to experiment with the concept of "A B NLM" states and giving a child the ability to be reborn as someone new. he failed in this, hence "there are no changes, only replacements", or in paul's words, "some things you cant rewrite". coming to this conclusion and seeing the damage he did to the children only result in failure likely lead to his suicide, or it was one of the things at least ...

the censorship of the happy birthday message could be due to many reasons, if we're to believe the family is the one who censored it. still, they felt a need to include the "happy birthday" part of it. birthdays seem to be akin to rebirth, and there's one for each child with a tool on their table: mike's 7th, care's 5th, belle's ???, and lina's 9th. maybe the family simply didnt believe the rest of the message was worth including. we already know jill doesn't consider belle that huge a deal judging by how she didn't press paul for more info on her.

i really really like these insights on belle. she definitely offers a new contradictory take on identity that clashes with rainers. though belle seems to also take this to an extreme - as in, she has trouble moving on. she clings to things from the past, no matter how painful and traumatic. she has presumably kept her playstation on for 17 years straight despite only having one room to traverse. and, obviously, the locker. petscop is a growing organism but belle's locker has presumably sat stagnant all those years, and in turn it has created a safe haven for paul to place his own past into. it's like an anchor. rainer insists upon destroying the past entirely, while belle clings to it as if it's all she has. paul slaves over rainer's game but gets input from his sister and ultimately reaches a conclusion striking a balance between the two extremes: moving on, yet preserving what was shed.

[mostlymalena]

May 10th 2024 11:47pm

Hi. I know I havent written in a while. I'll be better at that.

Today was rough - this week has been rough honestly. I have not written bc Gracie and I were going through a breakup and she officially ended things tonight. Not only that but I got official confirmation that Belle and Paul are fucking. I hope she doesnt have a boyfriend still bc thats just wrong.

let's flesh this out - Gracie broke up with me bc she said she thinks she did not give herself enough alone time to figure out a lot like the religious stuff. She said she does not want to put me through that and I told her I was willing to be put through that. She said she would rather be alone. I am heartbroken bc she worked so hard at picking away my walls and it feels like days after I tore a couple of them down she saw what was behind them and deemed them too much and left. I told her a couple days before she broke it off that I cannot trust her all the way bc I feel like she will abandon me again like she did 4 years ago. It's been rough and im crying a lot. I just wished she would have not reached out at all and not begged begged to get back together just to leave me all over again. I am very very heartbroken.

Tonight I also found out that Paul and Belle are "together" which just means Paul is fucking her bc we know how P is and he will never claim her as she probably deserves to be claimed lmao. Not sure if she still has that poor boyfriend but! Now I am not in any way surprised by this news bc WE ALL SAW IT COMING LMAO but I do feel just embarrassed by him a little. I mean to chase a girl in a band you are in while she has a boyfriend and then fuck her while keeping her a secret and never publicly claiming her and THEN DOING THAT SAME THING TWO MONTHS AFTER BREAKING UP WITH BELLE IS WILD SHIT!!! That is so cringey and so so so embarrassing. I dont know why I feel so much second hand embarrassment but I think it's by association?? Like now he clearly has a pattern and that it started with me and I just hate that so much lmao. He will always be afraid of what people will think and say. I remember when him taking me to a work party meant a lot too lmao.

Also there is a huge relief bc one of my biggest fears when I thought about P's next girlfriend was that she was going to be prettier or more cool or intelligent or just like overall more aesthetically pleasing than me. I do not have to worry about that AT all. This is not to be mean but it is just honest; she is a very plain looking girl with a shady attitude and in my experience does not seem to have much depth to her, all things I had that intimidated P so it should actually work well. He does not want to be with a woman who challenges him and Belle does not seem like the type. This is basically just news I guess bc I dont have any other feelings besides just pity for belle who does not know the prize she won is a emotionally stunted line cook who is wasting his intelligence micromanaging a burger shop. She will grow tired of being kept a secret and he will do nothing about it. This story has been written before she is not a new character just replacing the old one who got tired of the same plot.

I leave for italy sunday - wow. That will be so healing.

Now I guess I should focus on what I'll be needing so a list will be constructed below:

write every day

read one book a week (already doing this but want to make it a goal now)

write poetry once a day

have fun with my friends (easy)

I think that is all for now. Going to have my nightcap and go to sleep bc I have a huge busy day and it starts with an early soccer game!!

Glad to be back to my emotional support blog

[independentartistbuzz]

Indie 5-0 with Paul Shapera: Holiday Edition

Paul Shapera writes pulp operas. His work has grown steadily due to online word of mouth and has a very active and enthusiastic fanbase that creates art, cosplay, and animatics of the characters and songs.

Originally from Pittsburgh, Paul is an American living in a small village in Serbia, having moved there straight from New York City, creating sci fi musicals in an old, Balkan farming village. Paul's albums fantasy musicals cover a 180 year span of history in the fictional city of New Albion. Albums can shift genre from steampunk to dieselpunk, atompunk to weird west, psychedelic to cyberpunk, depending on where in the timeline the story is taking place. These strange tales are full of morally ambiguous characters, high drama, intricate world building, and soaring melodies.

We got to speak with Paul about his holiday traditions, favorite holiday music, and upcoming projects in this special holiday Indie 5-0.

Let’s dive in:

What is your favorite holiday song and why?

“Do You Hear What I Hear.” It's gorgeous and strikes a very subtle and beautiful mood.

What were the traditions around the holidays in your house growing up?

We did Hanukkah and lit candles each night for eight days. I used to joke about how I wanted to find whatever idiot had spread this rumor to all my classmates about how Jewish kids got presents for 8 days and smack them, because I certainly didn’t get presents for 8 days. First night and then maybe some little chocolate pieces the second and that was that.

If you could record your dream holiday duet with anyone dead or alive what would it be?

I am not fit to sing into the same mic as Billie Holiday so she can just sing whatever holiday songs she wants. I feel that way about Aretha Franklin also, who has quite a bit of excellent gospel songs recorded. I did make an album of COVID themed Xmas songs during the pandemic and did a parody version of “All I Want For Xmas Is You,” renaming it “All I Want For Xmas Is Death” and using a black metal singer. This was extremely satisfying.

What is the first holiday track you ever learned?

Oof. Tough question. Probably “Jingle Bells” on the recorder.

What are you currently working on? What can you tell us about it?

I'm finishing up a synth wave murder mystery featuring the detective duo of a mour and a witch who solved murders. I play the album for fans on YouTube before the actual release and at the reveal, the album stops and in the comments the fans have half and hour to discuss and give a guess as to who the culprit is. There is a poll and the culprit who gets the most votes is their guess. If they guess correctly i have to do another hour long piano video where i play requested cover songs. I do not want to do this so i am hoping they lose. Unfortunately, the test audience, the patreons, guessed correctly, so my odds aren't very good.

[runwithwolvcs]

Right Where You Left Me

Part Two: Invisible String Warnings: Mentions of Death

My head aches from the lack of sleep I got the night before. Delta had decided at the last minute to start her science project and I had been roped in to glueing little glow in the dark stars to a black bristol board until the morning sun shone bright through the dining room window.

Resting my head on my forearms, closing my eyes to subside the burning sensation. Maybe I can just take a small nap…

“Look alive, Saskia!”

 I grimace at his choice of words but sit up anyways, picking my pencil back up and rereading the questions in front of me for the millionth time as if the answer would just magically pop into my head.

“I hate to be that friend, but Paul Lahote has been staring at the back of your head for almost the entire period,” Tessa said, scribbling an answer down on her worksheet. He’s been doing that ever since I’ve gotten back to school. They gave me two weeks to ‘grieve’, before handing me all the work I’d missed, with a small goodluck catching up. If only Paul could grow the balls to say something to me, anything. So I'd finally have an excuse to yell at him, throw a massive fit over the fact that I trusted him with a secret and when that secret blew up in my face unexpectedly, he just watched from the sidelines. Not saying a word.

I roll my eyes, “What’s the answer for question four?”

“Um, hello? You’re the one that gives me the answers, remember?” 

“I didn’t read the chapter.” Ignoring the look of concern she shot at me, I wrote down what I think the answer could be before setting my pencil down, completely giving up on the assignment.

“Maybe you should go back to fucking, Lahote. I’m sure he’s still down, even if he is into all that gang stuff. You're still a smokeshow.” Tessa suggests before going back to chewing on the end of her pen, 

“I’d rather sit through another one of Mrs. Bear’s grief counselling sessions.” I say in a harsh tone, before mimicking the counsellor's voice, “Grief is the price we pay for love.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at her attempt to counsel me, so I left and I haven't been back. I felt as though grief counselling would just prolong the process anyways. I don’t need to talk about my problems, I lived with them and that was hard enough as it was.

“I can’t believe she said that to you, as if her stupid hallmark quotes would actually help you grieve.” 

I shrug and lean my head in my hands, “As long as Delta is doing well, nothing else matters.”

“Is she still doing that baking class over at the Clearwaters bakery?”

I nod, “yeah, Leahs mom has helped out a lot. Keeping Delta busy and whatever.”

Sue Clearwater was like a second mother. She helped a lot during my mom's chemo treatment, being a volunteer nurse at the hospital in Forks, the neighbouring town. Sue and her sister owned a small bakery that taught kids how to bake every wednesdays and Fridays, which Delta was fond of. I made sure she got the chance to go whenever she asked, even if it meant sitting in the parking lot doing my homework while I waited.

“Now you just need to keep busy, preferably in someone's bed. What about Cal?”

I got to tell her that, that is the most ridiculous idea she has ever had, and she's had many but the bell rings. I never told her about what Paul had said to me, and what Shiloh had said to him. My anger simmers at the fact that even Shiloh had the decency to express his condolences.

“Mr. Lahote stay after class please, the rest of you hand in your questions and you're free to go.” Mr Faire announces and everyone begins to pack up and head on with their days.

I slowly gather my things, losing the battle I had been winning with my mind all class long, glancing back at the boy who disappeared from every inch of my life. His window is no longer an escape for me to use as I please. He’s talking to Jared Cameron, another one of Sam’s groupies, and his girlfriend Kim. I look away before he can catch me staring and shove the rest of my things in my bag. 

Walking up to the teachers desk, I’m the last to hand in my worksheet besides the three lingerers. It's like they can’t do anything independently, always stuck to each other like magnets.

I handed the teacher my paper, knowing that the grade for it was not ideal. I’ve stopped caring, it’s not like I’m going to college anytime soon. Not while my sister still needs me here.

“A lot of these are still unanswered” He notes disapprovingly.

“I didn’t have time to read the chapter last night.” I tell him honestly, between my other three classes and Delta needing help with her own homework, I couldn’t even find the time to take the book out of my bag.

He sighs, “I get that with your mom passing recently, life might be a bit hectic for you, but it’s no excuse for not fulfilling your responsibilities in school. I expect more from you.”

“Well maybe if you actually taught us something inside of just forcing us to read sixty pages of worthless material every night, I would have been more prepared.” I snapped at him before turning on my heel, and walking straight into what felt like a brick wall. Paul's hands steadied me from tripping over my own two feet, his unusually hot hands scorching my skin causing me to jerk away from him. I can’t look at him, the frustrated tears in my eyes blur my vision as I push past him and head for the door.

--

I am an idiot. 

I took Tessa's advice and invited Calian over, as if in the year that we had broken up, he had somehow learned how to please a woman. With Delta at a friend's house for a sleepover, and my dad working the night shift, I didn’t want to be alone in our house. It would be the first time since she was gone, and I couldn’t stomach it.

I sat in his lap, my clothes discarded long ago, in just my  bra and panties. His shirt is lost on the floor with mine as he kisses at my neck and I try to build some kind of friction, rocking my hips against his. He doesn’t get the message.

My phone rings and I look at the caller ID from where I’m seated. Paul Lahote.

I let it ring, sending it voicemail. I sigh in content as the thought of him trying to contact me fades from my mind.

It rings again.

I snatch my phone off of my bedside table and harshly hit answer.

“What do you want?” I ask, Calian doesn’t stop his assault on my neck. I have to chew on the inside of my cheek as palms my breast, roughly tweaking the hard nub.

“I’m locked out, can you climb through my window and let me in?” Paul's voice sounded desperate. 

“No, I’m busy.”

“It’s raining.” He tried and I rolled my eyes.

“It’s always raining.” I remind him. We live in the wettest state in America, the constant cover of clouds was depressing, but home.

“Please, Saskia.” he says, his tone laced with annoyance. Fuck this, I think before hanging up on him.

I grab Calians discarded tshirt and throw it on, “I'll be right back, my neighbours locked out.”

 I opened my window to see that it was partially open, as if he meant to open it and then changed his mind. I raise it further, giving me enough space to get into his room before climbing in.

His room looked the exact same as it did when I last visited him in the middle of the night. I glare at the halfnaked woman in a fancy car, still the only poster left in his room before bounding down the stairs and unlocking the door, nearly ripping the door off its hinges as I open it.

“Thanks, I owe you.” Paul says relieved and I roll my eyes.  Looking at him with an annoyed gaze before saying, “Whatever.”

His eyes connected with mine, and it was like time stopped around us. I couldn't breathe. His hard, angry eyes softened and the look of knowing crossed his face.  The man in front of me looked completely and utterly captivated, he’s never looked at me like this before, not even when I was sprawled out naked in his sheets. His usual dark, rage infused eyes held the peace that I had been searching looking for in the past few years. The solace I had so desperately tried to find in him through our late night escapades. I felt as though there was suddenly an invisible string connecting myself to him, pulled as tight as could be causing me pain if i were to try and pull away. I’ve never felt this feeling before, like a gold rush.

Gasping softly, I take a step back from him. My hand pressed against my chest as if to stop my heart from beating out of my chest.

His eyes roamed my barely clothed body, like I was a shiny new toy just for him.

Paul's eyes hardened at the realisation of who’s shirt I was wearing, and it wasn’t his, “Where's your clothes?”

“Like I said, I’m busy. So if you’ll excuse me.” I mutter, trying to squeeze past his hulking figure. I avoid his gaze, afraid that I’ll grovel for him. He didn’t deserve it, not after all that he’s done, more so hasn’t done.

But his hair was damp, and dishevelled from the rain. His t-shirt slick to his body, extenuating his muscles.

I bite my lip. Would it be so bad?

Stop it, Saskia. You’re just tired, that's it, I try to convince myself.

He blocks my exit, “With who?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. We just, we have sex so, I would like to know what diseases you’re getting and  from where.” he spits out, his tone drowning in jealousy before adding, “To be safe.”

“We haven’t hooked up in months, Paul. So, no, it’s none of your business who I hang out with, especially considering your new friends.” I remind him, before sarcastically saying, “Consider yourself safe.”

He scoffed, “I’ve been dealing with stuff, that doesn’t mean I wanted our deal to end.”

He’s been dealing with stuff. His excuse was laughable. Paul didn’t even have the decency to check in when my mom died and now he wants me to sympathise about how hard his life has been?

 No chance.

“Well it did. It's over. Done. Goodbye.” Pushing past him, I only make it down the first two steps of his porch before he's grabbing ahold of my arm.

“Sask, wait.”

Looking back at him, annoyed beyond belief, I ask, “What, Paul?”

“Everything alright man?” The voice sounds from my porch and I look from Paul to see Calian, shirtless in just his soccer shorts, standing on my porch. Great timing, I think to myself.

“Yeah, Cal. Just got locked out.” He says, before looking back at me. I can’t read his emotions, but he doesn’t look happy as he says, “Thanks, again, Saskia.”

I scoff in annoyance, taking my arm back from his grip and crossing the lawn that separates the two properties and back inside my house. Cal's hand on my lower back as he guides me back to my room feels wrong and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to make a huge mistake.

---

I rush to my locker in between periods to switch out my textbooks. It's routine at this point. I feel a warm hand on my arm, pulling me into the nearest classroom before I can even get my combination into the lock. I look at who has a grip on my arm to see Paul. He shuts the door behind us and stands in front of it, his face unreadable. When did he get so good at hiding his emotions? The boy was as short fused as they come, you know when he was in a good mood and when he was not. As he stands in front of me, I have no idea what I’m in for.

“Did you do the reading for Mr.Faires class?” his voice was rigid.

Bad mood.

“No, I didn’t have time.”

“You had time to fuck Calian.” he gritted. His eyes gave me a once over, looking for evidence of the night before. Though he wasn’t going to find anything. Calian and I had settled for a movie after I shot down his advances after my altercation with Paul. Thats it.

“I didn’t fuck him.” he stays in my way and my patience is wearing thin, “Move.”

“Jared said there's going to be a pop quiz on last night's reading,” he offers, his body language completely changing at the knowledge that I didn’t fuck my exboyfriend.

“And you’re telling me this, why exactly?” I am confused, why is this information that I would need?

“So he doesn’t rip on you again.”

“His opinion of me means nothing.” I make a move to go around him, but he puts his hands on my shoulders, stopping me.

“He made you cry.” So he did see me. 

“Fuck you, Paul.” I grit.

“Ask nicely.” he grinned, bringing his hand up to play with the end of my braid as his eyebrow furrowed, a look of inner turmoil, “You don’t sleep well, do you? Your lights are always on..”

I cross my arms over my chest, “Why do you care?”

But he was right, I don’t sleep, too many things to do and not enough time in the day. The nightmares I keep to myself don’t help. Though I would never tell anyone, they wouldn’t understand. My mom died of cancer, a slow and nondramatic death. She wasn’t murdered, she didn’t have a freak accident, or swerve from hitting a deer. She knew death was coming, I knew her death was coming.

So why the nightmares?

She haunts me, I’m convinced. Or maybe it's the guilt of knowing my dad was cheating on her and letting her die thinking she was in a monogamous marriage. Was it wrong? Maybe. But I wanted her to be happy, I didn’t want her to question her life and the people in its loyalty as the bright, white light came for her.

When I close my eyes, all I see is her, pulling me through the dark forest. She hands me a piece of paper and  tells me to run to them and get help, that she’ll distract it. I don't ever see what it is, because everytime I turn around to look I jolt awake in a panic.  I don’t know who I was supposed to look for, or how they could help. It feels so real, her fear seeps into my mind even when I’m awake. Sleep is not worth it.

“I care about you, Sask. I’m not the best at showing it, but I do.”

I scoff, “No, you don’t.”

Paul opens his mouth to refute but I don’t let him. Whatever he has to say is bullshit, it always has been., “My mom died, and you couldn’t have cared less. You didn’t even reach out, nothing!”

“I wanted to, I just…” he starts, but I’m not done.

“What? Sam didn’t let you.” I ask loudly.

“Saskia.” It sounds like a warning and he takes a step back from.

“I didn’t peg you as being the type of guy to be someone's bitch.” The malice in my tone makes him flinch, and I almost feel guilty.

“Stop.” Paul nearly growls, taking another step back. He can’t even look at me.

I shake my head at him, “You’re pathetic. Just stay away from me!”

I roughly yank the door open and on the other side is Jared Cameron. Great, I think to myself, the other bitch.

“Hey Saskia,” he says with a warm smile, “Paul in there?”

“No idea who the fuck that is.” I say as I push past him. Pulling out my phone and calling the one person who would understand what I’m going through. 

Leah Clearwater.

[the-swedes-knees]

Time in A Bottle (Agent Mobius x Reader)

Summary: Everyone has a guilty pleasure. For Mobius, it's a slice of pie in a very specific slice of time.

Word Count: 1.8k

Located in the middle of Downtown, bordering on the corner of old-time druggies and newly gentrified condos was a moderate sized building with an exorbitant monthly rent. 

It was a theme restaurant, if the theme was 'we opened in 1953 and we'll be damned if we change the decor'- done up in chrome and frosted glass windows that clashed against the surrounding brick and mortar. The neon sign bearing the establishment's name had burnt out years ago, but it wasn't the type of place one would seek out.

Unless you were Mobius, that is.

[09:45:00]

Technically, he shouldn't be here.

His unit was nearly a mile out, or, more accurately, they would be within the hour. Dates like this, where a simple flap of a fat pigeon's wing could ripple into Nexus event after Nexus event had a name. A proper designation in their severity and frequency of necessary resets.

But he just always referred to them as 'a real pickle'.

You glance up at the front door as the brass bell affixed to the frame jingles loudly. The man that enters looks around the place before making eye contact with you and smiles. He points to the empty bar and you nod your head.

Once you finish refilling the other customer's drink, you see that he's made himself comfortable in the middle stool.

"Hey there." You greet from the opposite side of the counter. He offers a sheepish greeting in response as you set a water down in front of him, balancing a plastic straw on the rim of the glass. "Can I start you off with some coffee? Just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great, thanks."

You place the mug and matching saucer in front of him and pour. For a moment you look up at him, and he's smiling a very genuine smile- something very rare these days.

As soon as it's full to the brim you're reaching under the counter and grabbing a clean glass sugar pourer, placing it right next to his cup.

"How'd you know?"

"Customer service intuition, I guess." He thanks you before unfurling the napkin containing his flatware. Like someone with real proper manners, he drapes the napkin over one of his legs before stirring an ample amount of sugar into his drink.

You can't help but notice just how much he fits in to the whole aesthetic with his well fitted brown suit and slim tie. New York offered a multiplicity of personalities, and you'd become quite numb to anything and everything that would walk through that door.

Yet, someone about this man was intriguing, familiar in a way. Like in the past life he was a PI that you hired to confirm your husband's affair.

Both a confidant, and a stranger.

"Feel free to take your time, but, do you know what you'd like?" You note his closed menu pushed to the side. He raises his eyebrows and nods while mid-sip, and you pull out a notepad and pen from your apron.

"Sure do, could I get two slices?" He points the vintage rotating pie cooler to your left and specifies his selection.

Easy enough. You put two generous slices onto separate plates, and he declines your offer of whipped cream or ice cream on top.

"Good choice, this one's my favorite."

"You don't say." The knowing twinkle in his eye wasn't noticed as you busied yourself with refilling his coffee. He holds his hands up in mock defeat and sighs. "Well, I guess you'll have to join me." The ceramic scraped against the quartz tabletop as he pushed one of the plates across the bar, directly opposite himself.

"I'm on the clock-"

"Don't worry, another customer doesn't come in for-" He pauses to flex his arm, riding his jacket sleeve up just enough to check his wristwatch. "12 minutes and 43 seconds."

[09:52:16]

"Am I supposed to trust you on that?" You raise an eyebrow, and his only response is a slight head tilt and pushing the second slice a nudge closer to you.

It wasn't every day courteous men offered you a break in the form of your favorite desert. Your face screwed up in contemplation as you looked at the only other two patrons in the diner before giving in and grabbing a second set of flatware. "Well, it is slow-"

"For a Friday?" He has another bite before setting down his fork and dabbing at his face with his napkin.

"Is it Friday already?" You sigh, bent over the counter to take a bite of the pie. Delicious as ever. "Hardly feels like it, all the days are melding together."

"I think this one will stand out."

"What is the date, anyway?"

"May 4th." You make a hum of acknowledgement and he gives you a lopsided grin. "2012, incase you forgot the year too."

"I'll mark it in my calendar," You laugh, using your hand to cover your mouth as you continue to chew. "'The Day I Met-'"

"Mobius." He introduces himself, extending his hand over the counter and you shake it. His grip is firm, authoritative. Before you can reply with your own name, he refers to you by it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

You can't explain why, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it was perfectly made to be pronounced in his charming Texan drawl with just the faintest hint of gravel.

While you're fixed in a stunned silence his eyes deliberately dart to the lapel of your uniform. You follow his gaze and laugh at yourself for neglecting that you were indeed wearing a nametag.

"So Mobius... like, from maths?"

"Yeah, like math." He eyes his untouched water and picks up the plastic straw. His fingers move carefully, removing the straw from the perorated paper. You watch with curiosity as the man twists the paper once and pinches the two ends together with his thumb and index finger.

Mobius holds his opposite hand out to you, confident, waiting. With a bemused smile you allow him to guide your hand. His skin is warm, presumably from the way he had cradled his coffee mug, but it's comforting in a way. His rough hand guides you, your finger tracing the geometry of the paper-straw shape.

"A path that twists and turns... but always ends back at the same spot."

"I wasn't very good at math." You admit, and gesture around as if working in a place like this was a testament to that fact. "Why does it matter that it always ends where it began?"

"Well, that all depends on perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter. But to the one who observes it, it makes all the difference." You quirk an eyebrow, silently pressing him to elaborate. "Maybe that point's... where you got your first kiss, the feeling when your favorite football team scores a winning touchdown, a perfect sunset-"

Mobius catches himself trailing off, and looks down at his plate. He puts another bite onto his fork and cheers it to you.

"Or having pie in good company."

You look around the mostly empty diner before bracing your arms against the counter, leaning in as if you were to whisper some great secret.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit odd?"

[09:59:06]

"No-" His eyes crinkle as he laughs. "No, that's a new one. But you find it charming." He winked, actually winked, and leaned back in his stool, smirking into his coffee.

Your fork was halfway to your mouth as your just stared at him, frozen. You feel your mouth open and close a few times as you try to think of a somewhat dignified response.

"How would you know that?"

"I just know things." He shrugged.

"Like what?" You challenged.

"How about, Paul- over there." You crane your head to follow his line of eye, your coworker currently bussing a table that had just left. "Worked in this place five years, loves Coke- from the glass bottle, nothing else. Has a girl on the Upper East Side and runs a decent sized internet radio station out of his apartment."

"You're one of his listeners." You narrowed your eyes at him, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Oh, no. Hyperpop... not my style."

"Alright, BBC Sherlock-" You countered. You give a subtle head tilt to a woman sitting in a far off booth, papers spread out on the table around her pancake combo. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't a regular. "How about her?"

"Mrs. Braverman. Youngest of eight siblings, English teacher at the charter school up the avenue. Actually prefers imitation maple syrup to the real thing."

You know very well Mobius could be talking out of his ass. But he's confident, nonchalantly so- like this was a game to him and he was obviously winning.

"What about me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Your anticipation is palpable as he swallows his final bite, taking the time to wipe his face of crumbs before smiling softly at you.

"You are... a poem of a person. Charming, capable, when you walk into a room people notice- even if you convince yourself that they don't." His gaze is steady, patient, and he's looking at you as if you're the only person in the universe. "You have big dreams, far beyond all... this... and you're gonna make it."

[10:04:59]

The sound of the door chime breaks you out of whatever hypnotic state you had found yourself in. Sucking in a breath and blinking away the very beginnings of tears in your eyes you tell the new customer to sit wherever they like.

Mobius took this chance to check his handheld, sighing at the time and the ever-growing slope of the branch variation.

The reset charge would be set soon, with or without him there.

"Look at that. Duty calls." He stands up and pulls a billfold from his jacket pocket, not even counting as he puts the cash down on the counter.

Mobius turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns back around to face you and places his hands on his hips. Allowing himself to play into the fleeting illusion just a tad longer.

"One more thing I know about you-" Mobius rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "You have a date tonight."

"Ah-" You wag your finger at him and shake your head side to side, "got one wrong."

"Did I? Ah- well... How about we change that?"

You pause. The plates you had been holding found their way back to the counter as you set them down slowly. Once again in a very short time span, he had left you speechless.

"That... was possibly the lamest pickup line I've ever heard." Though you mean it to be snarky, it sounds more like praise coming from your smiling lips. "I get off at 6:30."

"Alright." He looks perfectly pleased with himself as he lightly knocks on the counter with his fist. "It's a date."

Walking out the door, Mobius gave one last look at the diner before reporting to the event site.

He knew would see you again, always at 9:45.

[the-iceni-bitch]

I’m the One to Blame

Pairing: Paul Diskant x DA fem!Reader, mentions of Andy Barber x DA fem!Reader (part 2 of Queen Bitch series)

Words: ~2.2k

Summary: Fucking you only made him hate you more.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, hate sex, rough sex, slight choking, cream pie, degradation, semi-public sex), cheating, everyone is an asshole except poor Andy, heavy misogyny, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: I’m just a bad person I guess? I’m just gonna give a blanket apology for my infidelity kink, this kinda got away from me and it’s just gonna get worse.

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!!

As soon as you heard the not guilty verdict you should’ve known what was coming. The growls and rumbling coming from the crowd of cops seated behind you was your cue to get out of there, not wanting to wait around for the inevitable blame game where those dumbasses decided that the scumbag got off because you were a meddling bitch and not because none actually wanted to put in the work to make a case.

It had been almost two months of this shit. You hadn’t even wanted to press this case; the evidence was circumstantial and you were 75 percent sure Ludlow had intimidated at least two of the defense witnesses out of testifying. But then the assholes had gone over your head and your boss basically told you to try the case they gave you and not listening when you told him the jury wasn’t going to swallow it.

Of course they didn’t swallow it. And of course it was your fault. God forbid those lazy bastards do their fucking jobs. You could feel all their ire focusing on you as you started to move towards the door, your eyes meeting Diskant’s as he glared at you while Ludlow ranted at him. Sometimes you wondered if he was as big of a piece of shit as his partner, or if he was just a fucking idiot.

Paul felt his blood starting to boil as he watched you storm out of the courtroom, his jaw clenched so tight he was worried he might snap something. The way your gaze just slid over him like he was nothing made him even angrier, and the way your hips swayed in that tight little dress just served to remind him how goddamn frustrated he was. He couldn’t believe Andy actually let you go to court dressed like that.

He hated that every time he saw you all he could think about was that night at the Bell. He still couldn’t believe his fiancée had bought that the marks you left on him were from a struggle with a perp. Thoughts of how warm and wet you were around him had started bleeding into his mind at inopportune times, and the memory only made him angrier.

Ludlow was still ranting about you when Paul rose from the bench and followed after you, the last thing he heard being his partner talk about how he should give that cunt a piece of his mind. He spotted you heading towards the bathroom and strode after you, growling under his breath about how you kept fucking up his life.

You jumped a little when the bathroom door slammed open, rolling your eyes when you saw Diskant fuming at you through the mirror.

“You draw the short straw, Diskant?” You could see his teeth grinding and it made you smirk. “Go on, lay it on me.”

“You threw it, didn’t you?” He ran his hand over his face as he watched you bend over the sink, telling himself to keep his eyes off your ass as you washed your hands. “You got all pissy your boss made you do your job, and you tanked the case just to be a cunt?”

“Fuck you, Diskant.” You felt your hackles go up when he moved closer. “I do my fucking job. I’m sick of taking all the shit for when you assholes fuck up these cases, grow up.”

“I’m so sick of your fucking mouth.” He stepped forward and pressed his chest to your back, bracing his hands on either side of your body as he growled into your hair. “Every time you open it I just want to shove something in there to shut you the fuck up.”

“No, get off.” You gasped when when he ran a hand up your arm until he could curl it around your throat, tilting your head back so he could scrape his teeth over your jaw. “Paul, we’re not doing this again.”

“You telling me you don’t want it?” He snarled against your neck as he pushed you even closer to the sink, the marble edge cutting into your hips painfully while he other hand trailed down your hip to drag up your skirt.

You wanted it so bad it was making you sick. Every day you were filled with self loathing from the moment Andy kissed you awake until you sank into your bed in a tangle of limbs after he made soft, reverent love to you. But he never fucked you like Paul had the night of your stupid mistake, and when your core still ached as you laid awake against Andy’s chest while he slept deeply, all you could think about was Paul’s thick cock splitting you apart until you almost screamed. And you hated him for it.

“Nothing to say, princess?” Your lip curled at him in a low growl when he sneered at you through the mirror, hissing when he finally wrenched your skirt up around your waist and teased his fingers under the edge of your lace panties. “Tell you what, if you’re not already soaked like a fucking whore, I’ll stop.”

“Ow, bastard!” You tried to turn around and slap him when he literally ripped your panties off you, the breaking elastic snapping against your skin with a sting, but then he was dipping two fingers into your center and stroking your walls slowly so all you could do was whine.

“Knew it.” You heard the clink of his belt under his low chuckle, arching your back when you felt his freed cock slap against the curve of your ass and spreading your legs as slick leaked from around his fingers and coated the inside of your thighs. “Just love to play the stuck up bitch, but this pussy fucking weeps for me. Sick of your fucking teasing, you goddamn slut.”

“Shut up and just fuck me.” You braced your hand against the mirror and moaned when he finally slid inside you, screwing your eyes closed and swallowing thickly when he started slamming his hips into you.

“Fucking bitch.” He slapped your ass hard when you turned and snarled at him, groaning when you clenched tight around him in response and digging his fingers into your hip as he spread your cheeks apart to watch his shiny cock plunge into you.

He was rabid, barely any rhythm to his thrusts as he grunted with each push of his hips. The slap of his hips against your ass and the lewd, wet sloshes of your pussy sucking him back in filled the empty bathroom with your grunts and moans. One of his hands snaked up to yank the front of your dress open and pull out your tits, pinching and pulling at your nipples until you were mewling for him.

You slammed your palm against the mirror when he curled over you and started biting at your neck, not even able to care that he was leaving marks all over you since you were so lost in your pleasure. The hand that was digging into your hip slid between your legs and you had to bite your cheek to keep from screaming, rolling your ass to meet his vicious thrusts while he started circling your clit harshly with the tips of his fingers.

“That’s right, come all over my cock like the fucking whore you are.” His breath was hot on your neck as he kept fucking you like an animal, and you avoided looking in the mirror as if not seeing his face would mean this wasn’t happening. “God, you’re so fucking tight. He ever make you come like this?”

“Shut up.” Your body vibrated around him when he bent his knees and slammed his cock over your g-spot, your legs almost giving out as pleasure roared through your veins and you fought the urge to scream at him. The last thing you wanted was for him to bring up Andy right now.

“He doesn’t, does he? Because he doesn’t treat you like the filthy fucking bitch you are.” He pulled you upright so he could sneer at you in the mirror, your wild eyes meeting his and widening as you took in your completely wrecked state, your makeup smeared and bruises all over your neck while you arched your bare breast into his hand. “But I know, and if I have to fuck you like a dirty slut to get you to quit being a fucking cunt, I’m gonna do it.”

“God, fuck you, Diskant.” You reached back and dug your nails into his neck, grinning wickedly when he hissed at you raising sharp red welts in his skin. “So fucking worried about me, when you’re the one who’s trailing after me like a kicked dog. That sweet little fiancée not keeping you satisfied?”

“Shut the fuck up.” He shoved three fingers in your mouth when you laughed at him, groaning into your hair when he felt you flutter around him again.

Drool started leaking down your chin as Paul pressed your tongue down and slid his fingers towards the back of your mouth, making you gag. You could feel his rhythm starting to grow frantic, the force of his thrusts crashing your hips into the edge of the sink until you were sure you were going to have bruises. He gripped your knee with his free hand and pushed it up until it was resting against the cool marble of the sink, opening you up so he could hit you even deeper and forcing you to brace both hands against the mirror to maintain your balance.

A thin whine escaped around his fingers when he ground into you at the perfect angle, your toes curling in your pumps as you spasmed violently and your release gushed out around him and soaked his thighs. Paul’s hips finally stopped moving when he shot his thick cum inside you, shoving himself as deep as possible as his cock twitched in his release and he buried his face in your neck to muffle his roar.

He surprised you by grabbing your hair at the roots and turning your head so he could smash his lips against yours, tangling his tongue with yours until you couldn’t breathe then growling when you shoved him off you.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You hissed when he pulled your skirt down over your hips unceremoniously, turning to snarl at him as you shoved your tits back into your bra and started to do your dress back up. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Jesus Christ, fuck off.” He tucked himself back into his slacks and redid his fly as he watched you try to straighten yourself out, a massive undertaking with how fucked out you looked. “Next time I’m gonna fuck that bitch mouth so I don’t have to listen to that fucking voice.”

“There’s no next time.” You turned back around and grabbed some paper towels to clean the mess you two had made between your thighs. “There shouldn’t have been a this time, fuck.” You splashed some water on your face and wiped off your smeared makeup before grabbing a scarf and winding it around your neck to cover the marks he’d left on you. “I’m not doing this again.”

“You’re a fucking liar.” He wrapped his hand around your arm and pulled you into his chest, ignoring your growl as he scraped his teeth over the curve of your cheek. “You want this, you fucking need it. Otherwise you would’ve locked the door when you saw me coming.”

Your full armed slap caught him off guard, sending him staggering across the floor as you gave a satisfied sneer. He stared daggers at you when you strode past him to collect your purse, grumbling wordlessly as you prowled towards the door without sparing a glance for him.

“Wait five minutes before following me, bastard.”

“I’ll see you next time you fucking bitch.” He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before leaning against the wall and waiting for some time to pass so he wouldn’t arouse suspicion. “Hope you have a good time at lunch with Barber while my cum’s leaking down your thighs.”

You glared at him over your shoulder before heading back out to the hall, trying to hold back tears when you saw Andy waiting for you outside of his courtroom. Somehow you managed to return the smile he was giving you, hating yourself when you let him press his lips to your forehead softly before he was guiding you out of the courthouse and asking where you wanted to go for lunch. You pointedly ignored Paul walking out of the bathroom, his icy stare following after you as he rubbed his hand over the scratches you’d left on his neck.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Shit, Ludlow must have waited for him. “You look like you got in a fight with a wildcat.”

“Nothing happened, I’m just sick of that fucking cunt.” He relaxed when the man just snorted in agreement, tuning out his ranting as he thought about what it would be like to fuck your throat until you couldn’t talk anymore.

[awigglycultist]

Episode 3 rewatch! This just might be favourite ep so I'm really glad I got to watch it live

So I'm guessing it was an editing mistake that homeless man's cameo was taken out of the theme last ep?

Daddy

Frank is an asshole but also this ep makes me so sympathic for him. He's not totally bad.

The dog :( oh god

Holloway! Beloved!!

Sherman! You little weirdo

Jaime and Corey are such amazing actors

Shelia!!!! MILFFF

DAAADDY

I forgot about them singing the them for the suggies dbdhdj

"don't shame me!"

"yes. Best milf ever"

Marco!

Sheila's outfit!!!

"but growing up is optional :)" "growing up is for poor people Frank" ".... Right."

*spits out wine* "marry me?!? You just met me!!"

Stan Holloway for pointing out Frank's hypocrisy but also Frank's right Sherman's a rich spoiled brat

"rich people."

The fact Sherman acts like the from crunching something hard. Christ.

Becky!!!

The way Shelia talked to and about Becky alone makes me want to slap her

"I'm sick of it Frank" OF WHAT? IT'S BEEN LIKE DAY

"PETER PAN??"

"your both so rich it turned you into monsters! Your money turned you into monsters!" I love Frank

BARRY SWIFT!!!

I love him, his serious and calm tone while his leg is fucking bleeding

So no AIAH? *breaks something* /j

Vitamin D hehe

"LIKE A FUCKING MILLENNIAL"

Barry :(

TED ME BELOVED

And he's dead again :/

Considering it was two weeks Barry lived a long time

"oh well, I'll make another one" wtf is Marco. What is he. I still need answers

Nothing's impossible in Hatchetfield Frank...

Go off ig Sherman?

"Huzzah! I'm a kid again! "

Being Sherman's dad truly is the most terrifying thing

Killer Track

"WELL FUUUCKKK YOUU"

"You don't know me ill fucking kill you!" "oh your gonna kill me!?" this whole bit is so great

" come on guys. Let's go to Denny's"

God Thrash is SO funny

DUUKKKEEEE

"well I don't know I've never done drugs Duke!" "... I know Beth."

Duke my beloved :)

HOLLOWAY

"great. My life is in the hands of Barbie."

Duke probably while watching Holloway literally magically make Rose eat a slice of pie: yup that normal and there's a totally legit logical non actually magically reason for this :)

Ahh the black book!!! @thirdchildart did such an amazing job with it!!!!!

Tinky!

I still can't believe Curt kept giving us taco bell as a spoiler when we asked him for one and then turns out taco bell is mentioned literally once and is not important. But he also gave us fireworks as one and that broke our hearts so!

Can't wait to die in a week /j

"it's just a teeny tiny paradox it happens all the time!"

"if it's a ghost I'll trap it in this jar :)"

*Holloway on the verge of killing Duke* "get away from me!" "don't worry! I'm not going anywhere! :)"

"what are ya doing Darlin'?" :(

"sh- she wouldn't!" :(

I know she's not actually dead BUT OH GOD IT HURTS THEIR REACTIONS DUKE'S SO SAD HNGGG AND ROSE SAYING HITS HER FAULT AUUGGHH AND DUKE'S STILL SO SWEET AND THE CAT-

Oh to relieve the moment where Holloway starts to explain her past and then it cuts to the future I was so mad dndjdjks

"the killer track! Keep up Duke!"

James' character is SO done with Solomon

"did you want me cut the mic?"

Hailey's betrayal!!!

Ted!

Deb and Alice!!

I've seen the ep before but it's still so nice seeing all these characters

Duke was trying his best

Can't believe Thrash didn't actually sell his soul

Poor Thrash

"hey! Why are you still alive!?" is such a great quote out of context

OH GOD POOR KALE

"are you any good?" "NO! D':" "we're loud! :)"

AHH RUN AWAY WITH ME IT'S SO GOOD

Fireworks :''((((

"that was radical guys! I mean it! Bitchin!"

KALE :(

"feels good to be heros for once" yeah sure Duke

DON'T CRY DON'T CRY DON'T CRY-

"I couldn't forget you even if I tried you know how I feel about you!" :'(

"oh yeah. He was watching the fireworks" :'(

HNGGG I THAT BIT IS ALL SO SAD

Mrs Holiday!

"is that a tape deck in there Mrs retro?"

OH NEEDY BEAST VERSION OF THE THEME YESSS

I forgot about the Becky Barnes bit! Jddjdj

Paul is dead records

Director Barry Swift

What does it mean WHAT DOES IT MEAN

[chitto]

I Analyzed All Of the Songs on Ranboo’s Lore Playlist and Here’s What I Learned.

We can pick a few themes out from the songs: 

Time

Fighting something inside of you 

Alluding to a villain arc 

Transition of a person 

My biggest theory from all this is that c!Ranboo is a time traveler from the future (probably before Mizu but after the Haunted Mansion). He traveled to the past, November 27th specifically, to stop c!Tommy’s exile. We can assume that in c!Ranboo’s future, c!Tommy burned down c!George’s house by himself but when c!Ranboo went back, he got caught up in it, thus creating a time paradox. (Evidence from the songs Merry-Go-Round of Life, all songs of Hawaii - Part Two by Miracle Musical, and The Ruler of Everything). Now knowing he is the cause of c!Tommy’s exile, c!Ranboo feels immense amounts of guilt for his actions, the regret keeping him up at night (Ain’t No Rest for The Wicked). This mental stress is something that has resulted in the beginnings of insanity for c!Ranboo (The Mind Electric). 

A villain arc is very plausible for c!Ranboo in the near future, most likely brought up by harm coming to c!Tubbo or Michael (Killer Queen, Mr. Bad Guy, I Can’t Decide, Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked, and Live and Let Die) 

Full Analysis on Each Song Under the Cut: 

(All Song Lyric Analysis Credits go to the wonderful people on genius, I merely fit them into the context of the DreamSmp and c!Ranboo) 

Prologue (StarKid) - A simple ticking clock. ARG trailer tie in as well as even more references of time. 

Introduction to the Snow (Miracle Musical) - Comes off an album that (storywise) has the listener loop over and over the songs in the album, as a time paradox. 

Dream Sweet in Sea Major (Miracle Musical) - Final song in the album (loops). Occurs in three movements. Tells the story of a sailor that gives himself up to the mermaids. Lyrics don’t give much in terms of hints at anything. 

Turn the Lights Off (Tally Hall) - About a journey through puberty and adolescence (??) perhaps could be changed to fit. However main name of the song is meant to convey accepting differences and confronting fears, something c!Ranboo doesn’t really do. First line also says ‘Don’t go in there, you’ll become one, Freaky creatures, monster party’ perhaps relating to the enderwalk/possession c!Ranboo goes through. 

The Mind Electric (Miracle Musical) - The song starts off in reverse, the singer speaking backwards. Once the song straightens out, we’re shown that the protagonist of the song is a mentally unstable man trying to figure out what triggers a specific fear. The second verse then goes into a young child who’s been held trial for insanity. The child and the judge then have an open dialogue throughout the rest of the verse until the child is sent to an asylum. The song concludes with insane yet peaceful thoughts from the child. Obviously I’m not a psychiatrist but doing some light research into insanity (NOT psychosis, as insanity is more of an umbrella term for unstable mental state while psychosis is a specified disorder) you can see a few signs of insanity that could be applied to c!Ranboo. ‘Denial of obvious problems’ Many times c! Ranboo has dismissed or downplayed his issues and problems, most notably when he’s found in a panicked state by c!Sam who asks him if he’s okay, to which c!Ranboo replies that he’s fine. ‘Delusions or Hallucinations’ this is a big one as throughout the Doomsday arc, c!Ranboo spoke to c!Dream in his panic room, only to realize he was talking to no one. ‘Dramatic changes in sleeping habits’ This is more of a reach as we have no actually confirmation but it could be assumed that c!Ranboo’s enderwalking could be disrupting his sleep patterns. 

Live and Let Die (Paul McCartney) - a song about a once young person who used to say ‘Live and Let Live’ but has now changed their maxim to ‘Live and Let Die’. Could be said that as people grow older they grow more cynical. Granted the phrases mean the same thing but one seems much more pessimistic. 

The Ruler of Everything (Tally Hall) - Once again a song about time, the entire song meant to symbolize how time controls our lives (once again feeding into a time paradox theory). The song has a verse that is a man and Time itself singing. The song then starts to speed up, representing how short periods of our lives can be in the grand scheme of things. ‘Do you understand that mechanical hands are the ruler of everything’ This lyric of the song is meant to mean that time (the mechanical hands of the clock) are at the root of everything, once again drawing us back to a time motif with Ranboo’s character. This specific line could lead us to believe that c!Ranboo is being ‘controlled’ by time, aka perhaps caught in a time travelers loop. 

Merry-Go-Round Of Life (Howl’s Moving Castle OST) - While the song itself is an instrumental without words, one could do some digging into the story of Howl’s Moving Castle, spoilers for the film in this analysis. In Howl’s Moving Castle, there is a sequence in which Sophie goes back in time to find Howl, seeing him as a young boy. She calls out to him, telling him to find her in the future, before getting taken back to her time. It seems pretty insignificant until you remember that in the beginning of the film, during Howl and Sophie’s first interaction he says to her, “There you are, sweetheart, sorry I’m late. I was looking everywhere.” thus representing that Howl has been looking for Sophie his entire life after she called out to him in the past. So what does this mean for c!Ranboo? Well its just more time motif and even more time paradox themes. But what even is a time paradox? A time paradox is when somebody who has traveled back in time, becomes a part of the past and causes the events they set out to stop in the first place. Perhaps this means c!Ranboo traveled back in time to stop c!Tommy’s exile, as it was a catalyst event that resulted in many problems on the server (L’manberg’s second destruction to name one) before getting sucked into the events that caused it himself. 

Killer Queen (Queen) - Really can’t say too much for this song as the song is meant to convey how “that classy people can be whores as well” (Freddie Mercury). Freddie also said that anyone else could call their own interpretations of the song as well. I can’t really think of too much about the song that could be molded to c!Ranboo. 

Mr. Bad Guy (Freddie Mercury) - This one is more interesting as the bridge of this song details how Freddie is ‘Mr. Bad Guy’ and that he can ruin people’s lives and many people are afraid of him. This could sound like something c!Ranboo would say in relation to someone trying to threaten the people he cares about. c!Ranboo going to any length for those he cares about (most notably his family) is something that recently cc!Ranboo has tried to drive home, making it a tweet under his character’s lore thread on twitter. 

Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked (Cage the Elephant) - The main line of this song is a bible verse that means that those who are sin-free can sleep well at night knowing they haven’t done anything wrong but those are commit sins need to keep one eye open at all times. Perhaps c!Ranboo believes that he has done something wrong that keeps him up at night. It could be tied back to the time paradox theory by saying that c!Ranboo is kept up at night by the fact that he couldn’t stop the bad events from happening, even becoming a part of them. 

The Bidding (Tally Hall) - While the song itself is about an auction in which men are trying to “sell” themselves to a woman, I would like to call attention to one specific verse. ‘I’ve been training like a Pavlov dog,  Let my independence out to take a hike, All you gotta do is activate my bell, and I’ll fetch you anything you like’. The first lyric calls reference to Ivan Pavlov, who ran a conditioning experiment on dogs, training them to associate the sound of a bell with food, whether they actually got food or not. The last two lyrics I find particularly interesting as we have seen somebody “activate” c!Ranboo. c!Sapnap. After c!Sapnap visited c!Dream in prison, c!Dream asked c!Sapnap to deliver a message to c!Ranboo. The message being ‘:)’. When c!Sapnap repeated the message to c!Ranboo, c!Ranboo immediately switched and began to speak in enderman language before wandering off. He then spoke to c!Sapnap in chat saying, in ender, “Doomed are those who try to run, for it always catches up eventually :)’. This is one of many incidents of c!Ranboo being switched into his enderwalk state, in which he does stuff for c!Dream such as burning down the community house. 

I Can’t Decide (Scissor Sisters) - This song is a upbeat song about a psychotic killer trying to decide on whether or not he should kill his victim. This song could relate back to c!Ranboo’s relationship with c!Dream. c!Ranboo has been very cagey on whether or not he would like c!Dream, most recently being very eager to break into prison and murder him. This song could also hint towards a possible villain arc for c!Ranboo. 

Stardust Crusaders (JoJo’s Bizarre Adventures OST) - Unfortunately, this song is another instrumental. And even more unfortunately, I don’t watch JJBA so I can’t comment on what the song could be alluding to. Stardust Crusaders is the name of an arc of the show but reading through the plot summary on Wikipedia doesn’t turn back anything that could be tied to c!Ranboo. 

A Mask of My Own Face (Lemon Demon) - While the song itself is relatively simple, a man singing about how he wants to wear a mask of his own face to confuse people, a few lines have sparked certain people to examine the song deeper coming to the conclusion that the singer wants to cause chaos and controversy. The mask of his own face would allow him to mask his identity, as no one would wear a mask of their own face, while still allowing him to be associated with the chaos. For c!Ranboo I can’t really see this pointing to anything but the Syndicate. c!Ranboo really does believe in their core value of dismantling the things on the server that are bad but also he knows many people he’s close to who are at odds with members of the Syndicate, most notable c!Tubbo. However this could be rather lose as cc!Ranboo is a big fan of Lemon Demon and who hasn’t put a song from their favorite artist on a playlist even though the vibe doesn’t necessarily fit. 

Stranded Lullaby (Miracle Musical) - Another song of the Miracle Musical album Hawaii - Part Two, which loops itself over within the story. This particular song is about a sailor sailing through a cerebral ocean, which may or may not represent time itself; the sailor being a time traveler who had a mistake in his time traveling. This once again brings us back to the theory of c!Ranboo as a time traveler. There is also a line I would like to call upon, ‘Aimless thoughts and papers blown around, A million moments meant remembered rest in deep dark sound’. These lyrics are meant to relate to memories and how truly fleeting some may be, just papers floating in our brains eventually lost to time. This obviously can relate back to c!Ranboo’s memory problems, which are a known side effect of time travel, as told to us through the story of c!Karl, the only other time traveler on the server (excluding c!Connor who is only theorized as a time traveler for right now). 

Hidden In The Sand (Tally Hall) - This is slightly complicated as the song has two meanings. On the surface, the song is about a man who falls in love with a woman who leaves him, however the man is still in love with her. But in the music video, a new meaning can be found. The music video shows a cruise full of people, all very nice and kind until the ship begins to sink and the real, selfish, sides of the people is revealed. ‘Hidden in the Sand’ is meant to symbolize that a persons true nature is covered up by their outward acts and personality. This could apply to c!Ranboo, as he is outwardly very polite and gentle, growing attached to every animal he finds and refusing to kill any Enderman but he could have a whole other personality to him that we don’t know about. If songs such as ‘I Can’t Decide’ and ‘Mr. Bad Guy’ are any hints, we could theorize that c!Ranboo has a secret dark side to him that could be exposed in the events of his family being threatened. 

Now I’m Here (Queen) -  No statements or theories about what the song means or any of the lyrics. 

& (Tally Hall) - This song, as with others off this particular album, deal with opposites. The whole chorus of this song is about certain opposites such as dark and light or cold and hot. Relating back to c!Ranboo, perhaps this song is meant to tell us that c!Ranboo is a foil of a certain character. Possibilities could be c!Dream and c!Ranboo, as c!Dream is very against attachments towards things and is a very outwardly violent person while c!Ranboo is attached to almost every animal and enderman (not to mention c!Tubbo and Michael) and is a very peaceful person, or perhaps c!Ranboo and c!Karl, the two time (theorized) travelers on the server. c!Karl has a stronger control over his abilities and seems to retain most of his memory fairly well so far while c!Ranboo perhaps can’t control his power and has short term memory loss and can’t remember where he came from. 

I’m Gonna Win (Rob Cantor) - This song is a description of a fight between the singer and his inner demons, the fight resulting in very physical injuries for the singer. This can relate back to c!Ranboo, as he could be fighting the demons of his enderwalking state. This song has a very cheerful outlook on the fight however, as the singer is very confident in his abilities and knows he will win. c!Ranboo isn’t always the most positive, sometimes believing more in the pessimistic outcome but this could be a new leaf for c!Ranboo or a goal of his to be more positive. 

[st-louis]

PAUL BYRON: 2015 every player on the montreal canadiens [5/28]

drafted 179th overall by the buffalo sabres in 2007

he was traded to the flames in 2011; montreal acquired him off waivers in 2015

he’s super super small and super super fast (he’s 5′ 9″ but it’s a hockey 5′ 9″)

even though he’s small he will check ANYONE. he often leads the team in hits per game

we got him off waivers because a reddit user made a video of him called “paul ‘breakaway’ byron,” of him getting breakaway after breakaway and missing the goal, set to the benny hill theme song

montreal realized you can’t teach speed but you can teach finish

he was given 41 and was too scared to ask to change it but still considered it a “big upgrade” on 32

he loves heavy metal and hard rock, his playlist is embarrassing and wonderful

he’s one of the few anglo canadiens who learned how to speak french, which endeared him to the city. his nickname is “ti paul,” which is the way “petite paul” sounds in the montreal accent

he was named an alternate captain in 2017-18

he’s really important in the room. he’s a consummate professional who never complained about being put on waivers multiple times this year.

in 2019, byron, never really a dirty player before this, was suspended three games for charging mackenzie weegar into the boards. he wrote a sincere, heartfelt apology that accepted responsibility and promised to change. nevertheless, weegar challenged him to a fight the next time the two of them played. byron answered the bell even though he had already been punished for the hit. weegar concussed him. arguably, he has not been the same player since

his first wish if he could get three wishes from a genie in a lamp was to not need to sleep

he’s a huge nerd who has admitted in public to reading star wars extended universe materials (also said that if he could pick one character in star wars to be he’d be a sith lmao)

he does ‘not stretch that much’

he is the father of two adorable children who imitate his cellies when watching his goals at home

if he could play with any two players current or past he’d pick kariya and selänne because that was his favorite team growing up, and the chance to center those players in the prime of their career would be an incredible experience

his apology is under the cut, just because given recent events, i think it’s worthwhile to see what a player taking responsibility for a bad hit actually looks like.

[justaswampdemon]

I realize I actually know about all of these...but please tell the world more about "who's in the shower".

And while you're at it please also inflict them with the savory molasses knowledge.

You got it babes!!!

“Who’s in the shower?” Basically Carlos’ house over time becomes the general meetup for the 126….to the point where it’s not even surprising when they let themselves in basically whenever. This specific story was inspired by a story Jillian told me about her friends and family, and also my cousins when I was growing up.

And a snippet just because:

Seeing his friends, his family, crowded in his kitchen has quickly become one of his favorite things. Paul and Mateo are bickering over the best way to make coffee, even as the coffee maker is already brewing. Marjan is at the stove, and as he joins them in the kitchen he sees an absolutely massive cast iron skillet bubbling away. Every time TK comes close she points a wooden spoon at him menacingly until he backs away laughing. Settling at his breakfast bar Carlos lets his brain slowly come on line, taking in the happy chaos around him.

Familiar arms wrap around him as TK drapes himself over his back. "Morning babe."

"Mm, good morning." Carlos leans his head back, pressing a quick kiss to his boyfriends jaw.

"See how come we don't get good morning kisses like that?" Paul teases. TK blows him an exaggerated kiss as the coffee maker beeps. Soft lips brush his temple as TK stands, moving to grab every mug from Carlos' cupboards.

Savory Molasses(aka my favorite chaotic kitchen moment). My mom was cooking dinner one night and I had the epiphany that Oyster Sauce is just Savory Molasses, at which point I told her and immediately fled the kitchen while she Processed. Add that with my desire to see more chaotic TK and silly Tarlos and you get:

TK grabs a piece of bell pepper, shooting Carlos a smile as he dips just a little in. Brow furrowing, he grabs the spoon and drizzles some more on the last bite. His face goes through a hilarious range of emotions as he chews and Carlos quirks a brow in question. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when TK grabs the bottle and tilts it back and forth, before setting it down and turning to look at him straight on. “It’s savory molasses.”

“I…it’s…What?” Carlos feels his brain grind to a screeching halt, still trying to process. The sound of TK’s phone has his boyfriend breaking out into a shit eating grin and dashing out of the kitchen while Carlos sputters.

“Tyler Kennedy Strand you get back here and explain yourself!” He shouts once his brain kicks back on, getting a mad cackle from the other man.

[pedros-mustache-main]

like the movies

summary: he’s the writer; you’re the muse. there’s a cup of coffee somewhere in there, too.

word count: 3.3k+

warnings: fluff & pining—so, a change of pace from my usual angst. :) also: a serious lack of dialogue because i am feeling verbose. 

a/n: this is entirely @joemazzmatazz‘s fault. it was her idea (albeit given to me actual ages ago), but she said “do it” and who am i to say no? anywho, i’m relatively uncertain about how this turned out, but have it regardless!

your latte is hot, almost too hot. it burns your tongue on the first sip.

but you welcome the heat and the momentary burst of pain. the weather swirling outside borders on atrocious: freezing rain mixed with snow flurries, bloated, gray clouds, and a thin layer of ice on all surfaces. though the tip of your tongue stings upon that first sip, the heat that rushes to your chest pushes away the dreary weather you’d slogged through to get to the coffee shop.

you’re a regular here. not a regular regular, but regular enough that the interchangeable baristas recognize you and you recognize them. you exchange tight-lipped smiles and nods of greeting when you approach the counter, but nothing more than simple pleasantries. you don’t know their names, and they never ask for yours, but they remember your order: frosted blueberry latte with extra foam. it’s gotten to the point where you can simply walk up to the counter, money in hand, and the barista can repeat your order before you open your mouth.

it’s the little things, you suppose. in this little corner of the world, you feel seen.

today, you have your laptop open, latte pushed to the side, and a cherry and almond scone on a bright blue plate. you resist the urge to pull your foot up on the chair and rest your chin on your knee. though you’re here more often than you’re at home, this isn’t your living room. you settle for sliding your ankle beneath your opposite thigh.

being a paralegal is decidedly unglamorous. sure, it sounds highfalutin to the person sitting beside you on the airplane, but damn, if it isn’t stressful. you feel like a glorified secretary most of the time. pushing papers and getting signatures and making tens of phone calls to people and places that are not interested in speaking to a lawyer isn’t really what you signed up for. at least, it’s not what you ultimately want. it pays the bills for now, though; a partnership… that’ll come later.

you’re lucky enough that you can work remotely, hence your sturdy corner of the café. from where you sit, you watch customers enter and exit the shop. each time the door opens and the little bell tinkles above, a blast of cold air rushes into the cramped space. you enjoy watching the reaction of newcomer­—the way they stamp their snow-covered shoes on the wood floor and shiver, turn to their companions with a smile, hurry to the counter to order something sweet and warm. in those moments, you grow wistful, your heart lurching with loneliness. it’s been a long time since you’ve had anyone to meet for an afternoon coffee date, friend or otherwise. your job doesn’t afford much downtime, and what downtime you do have is devoted to menial life responsibilities. 

your phone buzzes, and you glance down. a text from your boss. time to refocus.

you work for a while longer, nibbling on your scone, sipping from your latte. the emails pile up, and your phone buzzes incessantly. a headache forms at the base of your skull as you struggle to keep up with the constant flurry of communication.

after receiving a terse email from your boss’s legal partner in relation to something that is no fault of your own, you shut your laptop. a five-minute break; you deserve that much. rubbing a hand down your weary face, you grab your purse, slide out from behind the table, and head for the restroom. in the poorly lit bathroom, you splash some cool water on your cheeks and sigh at your reflection in the mirror. you look tired, feel it too. the dark bags under your eyes bely how little sleep you’ve gotten in the last week, and your shoulders droop under the weight of the world. maybe by christmas…

who are you kidding? christmas is just as busy as any other time of the year. people don’t stop needing lawyers just ‘cause it’s the holidays.

when you return to your makeshift workspace, you immediately frown. you freeze several paces from the corner of the table and glance over your shoulder, tightening your grip on the strap of your purse.

someone had been at the table in the five minutes it took to freshen up.

nothing is gone, thank god. (in retrospect, you probably shouldn’t have left your laptop and phone sitting in plain sight. call it naivety, but you like to think the best of people. however, your line of work consistently reminds you that the bad in people often outweighs the good.) your laptop, though, has been nudged to the side, the movement causing the charging cord to fall out. several drops of dark liquid—spilled latte—dampen the corner of your yellow legal pad.

what truly catches you eye is the square piece of paper resting on your laptop’s keyboard like a discarded feather.

you look over your shoulder again, but the shop is largely empty save for the baristas and an older couple in the far corner. the weather is certainly a deterrent from lingering. perhaps someone had come in while you were in the bathroom and left you a note. had your car been hit? you hope not. you don’t have the extra funds for vehicular maintenance right now and even less time to fix whatever damage had been done.

leaning forward, you lift the piece of paper, and your chest tightens.

it’s a drawing—a drawing of you. blue ink scattered across the page in swirling lines forms the hazy outline of your profile. your chin rests in your hand, and the artist made certain note to emphasize your eyelashes, which are not that long in actuality. at the bottom of the page, a message in curling script: when you are old ­— yeats

your mouth runs dry, your palms moist with nerves. returning to your chair, you quickly type the words into the search bar of your browser. you remember enough from high-school english to know yeats is a poet, but when the poem loads and you read the words, you feel like you might fall over.

your neck snaps up, cracks at the sudden movement. someone had been here in the café long enough to watch you, to sketch you, and to think of the yeats poem in relation to you.

how decidedly… romantic. like something out of a chick-flick.

despite the warmth in your chest, you shut your laptop, fold the sketch, and shove it in your coat pocket, willing yourself to forget the random happenstance. things like that—serendipitous moments of romance—only happen in the movies. they certainly don’t happen to you.

whomever had left the note, well—at least they’d brightened your day. your mother would call it a gift from the heavens, an angel smiling down on you.

shaking your head, you gather your things and hurry out into the cold, wintery weather. you refuse to allow yourself to go home and daydream. you could use the note as a bookmark, sure, but there was no use in dreaming about the artist. no use whatsoever when you would likely never cross paths again.

except you do go home and daydream. why you ever thought you could keep yourself from mulling over a moment rife with potential is ridiculous.

all throughout the evening—as you make your stir-fry dinner, as you draw your bath, as you change the sheets on your bed, and fold the laundry—you consider the possibilities:

you’d been at the café for a handful of hours, but how much had you truly paid attention to the patrons coming and going? barely, if you’re honest with yourself. you had noticed the older couple when they came in; you’d wondered how they’d managed to get from the parking lot to the warmth of the coffee shop without slipping on the icy sidewalks. you’d noticed, too, a man who looked a lot like how you imagine paul bunyan: massive height, plaid shirt stuffed in worn jeans, impressive beard. no one else of note sticks out in your mind hours later.

what had you been doing all afternoon? hopefully you hadn’t done anything embarrassing. god, sometimes you have this habit of resting your fingers over your mouth in such a way that it pushes up your nose to resemble a pig’s snout. had you done that? sometimes you fiddle with your hair too much and bounce your knees and hum to yourself. you want to sink below the suds of your bathwater when you recall your propensity for talking to yourself.

your thoughts turn fanciful when you finally slip beneath your covers.

maybe the artist is like tom hanks in “you’ve got mail.” only instead of emails, you could exchange notes in a coffee shop and forgo the business rivalry part.

maybe the artist is like tom hanks in “sleepless in seattle”: soft and sweet and really good with kids.

maybe you just have a thing for tom hanks.

you turn your head with a girlish grin, tucking your lower lip between your teeth.

you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t daydream, but how could you not? yeats’s poem filters through your mind like the moon filtering through your curtains: how many loved your moments of glad grace, and loved your beauty with love false or true, but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you and loved the sorrows of your changing face.

with a muffled squeal, you allow yourself a moment to thrash in delight—like a schoolgirl with a crush and a note checked yes i like you tucked beneath her pillow. the idea that someone somewhere notices you, of all people, is simply too much to bear. you feel like your heart will explode and sunbeams will burst from beneath your skin. you feel warm and happy and drunk on possibility.

you settle, then, and sigh, smoothing your hands over the rumpled comforter. you’re a professional, though. a paralegal, for god’s sake. you’ll go back to the café. maybe not tomorrow, but you’ll go back. just maybe—maybe, maybe, maybe—you’ll run into your artist again.

you return to the coffee shop in two days, lugging your over-stuffed bag with you, earbuds snug in your ears. when you cross the threshold, you can’t help the way your eyes immediately scan the customers who have parked themselves in the various sitting areas. you’re looking for your artist, obviously, but you have nothing to go on other than the note tucked away in your jewelry box at home. a few words, a carefully drawn profile—that’s not enough to determine who had created the note from a simple glance.

begrudgingly, you remind yourself once again that life isn’t a movie. there’s no tom hanks waiting for you on the other end of the note. it’s silly to dwell on it any longer, really. you’ll get too wrapped up, too attached, and that wouldn’t bode well for the upcoming holidays.

the table you usually occupy is already taken by a man in a red sweater. his head is bent over his laptop, glasses slipping down his strong nose. you try not to take it to heart; the table was never explicitly yours. with a soft grunt of effort, you drop your belongings in an orange armchair across the room before meandering to the counter. julie (at least, you think that’s her name?) smiles when you approach, and she rings up your order, asking about the weather and plans for the holidays.

once your coffee is in hand, you return to your new seat and relax in the accommodating plush armchair. maybe the man in the red sweater had done you a favor after all. you glance up to look at him. if he stays as long as you often do, his ass will ache by the time he leaves. the wood chairs offer zilch in the way of comfort.

you quickly lose yourself in work, but the idea that your artist could be in the same room as you never truly leaves your mind. you find yourself glancing about the room from time to time, studying those who come and go, wondering if perhaps they were the one who saw something worthwhile in you. no one catches you eye; everyone is too busy with their own affairs, and you don’t blame them.

by the end of the afternoon, you find your latte completely and utterly forgotten. it’s cold when you take a tentative sip, and you sigh. maybe not five dollars wasted, but five dollars you had meant for a hot drink, especially considering the cold weather. rising from your seat, you take the latte to the counter and ask the barista to pour your drink in a to-go cup with some ice. might as well make the best of it, and you don’t like things to go to waste.

when you return to your chair, you nearly drop the plastic cup.

another note.

“holy shit,” you breathe. instinctively, your palm tightens around your cup, and the plastic gives a small crack. you wince and double-check to make sure no leaks have sprung before picking up the folded piece of paper on your messenger bag.

your fingers tremble as you flip open the folded note.

the same blue ink, same hurried penmanship. no drawing this time; only words.

she sat, much as i did, working fervently. i couldn’t help but watch, and maybe that made me a creep, but i’d been called worse. she sat with an heir of regality, her chin held firm, eyes dancing about the room like she owned the place. not haughty or self-possessed. just sure of herself. what did that make me then? alone in my corner? i didn’t like to dwell too long, so i—

the words stop in time with the seize of your heart.

you can’t seem to look away, to look around the room again in search of your artist, your writer. your heart pounds in your chest, flush rising on your cheeks. eyes—you feel eyes on you whether they are present or not. you feel dizzy. never have you felt so… seen, so noticed. not even in past relationships have your boyfriends took such care to notice the minute details of your being.

the strange urge to vomit rises in your throat. you aren’t afraid; you aren’t creeped out.

you’re just… overwhelmed.

so, you tuck the note in your pocket and leave, careful to keep your gaze on the floor as you exit. just in case your writer is still there, still watching.

you’re nothing special, nothing like the paragraph they penned. they should get that through their thick skull before they find themselves disappointed.

you don’t return to the coffee shop until after the holidays.

it’s not that hard to stay away. the hustle and bustle of work combined with the hustle and bustle of family gatherings keeps you from finding the time for an afternoon of solace anywhere, let alone the café.

you must admit that you think of your author often, try as you might to forget them.

by now, you have the cadence of the yeats poem memorized and the prose of the paragraph tattooed on the front of your mind. each time you pass a couple in a warm embrace, you wonder what became of your writer. you wonder if they think of you as much as you think of them; if they ruminate over the possibility of a life that cannot be.

if this were a movie, you would run into your author by random happenstance. you’d bump into them at the market, spill your legumes on the floor, touch hands in your haste to right the mistake, and—boom—as you look up, it would all fall into place.

if this were a movie, you would see them in the library or the post office or the deli or—

—or the coffee shop.

you sigh as you enter the café, wishing for your author to be there, knowing they won’t be. it is enough that you’ve experienced two mysterious love notes; things like that don’t come in threes.

that’s only in the movies.

the café still has its holiday decorations up. twinkle lights hang draped across the ceiling, and music filters over the sparsely filled tables and chairs. in the post-holiday haze, you didn’t expect the café to be crowded. in all truth, the sight of few patrons eases your mind.

less of a chance to run into your author. less of a chance to reveal yourself as the decidedly uninteresting person you are.

you set your belongings down at a side table, and as you reach for your wallet, a presence hovers over your shoulder. frowning slightly, you straighten, prepared to ask the person to kindly give you some space. when you do turn, your heart leaps to your throat, and the wallet in your hand clatters to the table.

it’s your author. you just know it.

there’s something vaguely familiar about the man, about his strong nose and groomed facial hair and crystal eyes. he’s tall, warm looking, like a hot drink on a cold day or a crackling fire. his eyes scan your face as though he is worried, as though he’s uncertain of what he should do now that you’ve actually faced him.

you speak before your thoughts catch up with your heart. “you wrote those notes, didn’t you?”

he nods, and the movement—so gentle, so reminiscent of a small boy on the verge of a scolding—makes you love him all the more. “yeah.” he sighs, lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. “yeah, sorry about that. i wanted to apologize. wasn’t sure i’d get the chance, if you’d come back again.”

you shake your head. “no, don’t apologize. please don’t apologize.”

it’s his turn to frown, and he looks up from the table. you lose your breath momentarily. god, his eyes are blue. “when you left last time i thought… well, i thought i’d scared you off.” with a rueful chuckle, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “would serve me right, too.”

“why do you say that?”

“i mean, notes on your laptop when you aren’t looking? intently watching you? kinda stalkerish, huh?”

you can’t help but smile—smile at him, at the nervous twitch of his mouth, at the way he avoids your gaze. “i guess.” on a daring move, you reach out and touch his elbow. when you touch him, he feels like home. “but i don’t want you to apologize. i like the notes. i haven’t thought about anything else since you gave me the first one.”

“really?” there’s a hopeful tone in his voice; it sets your heart on fire.

“yeah.”

“i’m writing a book—a novel, really. i saw you so often that any time i got stuck, i just wrote about you instead.”

you could kiss him then and there. instead, you tell him your name, and he grins.

“i’m gwilym.”

“tell me, gwilym.” you pull out your chair and motion to the café counter. “how would you feel if i bought you a coffee? i want to hear more about that novel.”

“i’d—i’d like that.”

he follows you to the counter, his hand brushing the small of your back.

the barista—matt, you think—looks up from the register and laughs. “holy shit, i won!” he looks over his shoulder. “hey, julie! you owe me a fifty.”

you glance at gwilym, but he’s already looking at you. you smile.

matt continues. “we had a pool to see how long it would take for you two to get together. you were always looking at each other but never at the same time. you knew that, right?” still laughing, he rings up your orders without be asked. “coffee is on us today, guys.”

as you wait for your latte to be steamed and gwilym’s chia to be poured, you tuck your lip between your teeth to stem your widening grin. gwilym is strong by your side, the perfect height for you to rest your head on his shoulder. you look up at him, at the noble planes of his face, and your chest squeezes. when he looks at you again, your chest squeezes even tighter.

maybe life is like a movie after all.

[procrastinatorimagines]

Okay Part 6

Fandom: Chicago Fire / One Chicago

Series: Okay

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 (Final)

Pairing: Matt Casey x Halstead!Reader

Warning/s: assault, murder, kidnapping

Word Count: 1,369

Summary:  After narrowly escaping certain death you decided to turn your life around and become a firefighter, and although it wasn’t easy, you survived your first week at 51. Now, the strange circumstances of your very first fire lead you to a second, deadlier act. As you dig deeper, aided by your brothers and your new firehouse, you begin to realise just how in over your head you might be.

Tags: @alievans007​ // @louiselikeswriting​ // @killjoys-make-some-noise-na-na​

Lily may have been missing, but the world kept turning. 

Sat in Casey’s office only half way through the longest shift of your life you nervously bit at your nails, something you hadn’t done since you were a kid. You’d been in and out of Boden’s office all day, discussing what to do and comparing notes with Adam and Kim when they came to reinterview both you and Casey about everything you knew. 

The dodge charger had been found torched, no evidence left and no cameras in the area. It felt like the world was working against you. 

Casey had let you stay in his office most of shift, too distracted himself to properly focus on his paperwork in between the few calls you had. You actually wished you’d had more, at least then you could put your mind to something other than the worry that had gripped you. Why would her own father do this?

“This is a recovery isn’t it? Not a rescue,” you blurted out, the thought bouncing around painfully in your skull all night and day, unable to contain it any longer. Casey looked up from where he was trying to write out the same report he’d been filing since the last call, surprised by your out burst.

“We can’t think like that Y/N,” he shut you down immediately, turning his chair around to face you where you sat crosslegged on his bunk, probably a little too casual for your Captain’s office, but these were unusual circumstances. 

You swallowed, knowing he was right, but unable to do anything else but think like that. So you decided not to tell him that you were going to ask Jay for some time alone with the guy when Intelligence caught him. 

“I asked a friend at the SA’s office to look into the divorce,” Casey revealed, fully grabbing your attention as your hand dropped from your mouth. “Anna Valdez, she told me that the dad, Paul, was the one that filed for divorce, accused his wife of not being faithful, that Lily apparently wasn’t his.”

“What, that’s why he’s doing this? I don’t condone adultery but murder? And how would that be Lily’s fault, she didn’t chose to be born?” Your outrage was growing with each new question, probably mirroring how Casey had felt when he’d heard the news. 

“That’s the thing,” Casey continued, “there was never actually a DNA test done, it was all just his speculation and paranoia by the sounds of it, Lily’s mother got custody because he was becoming more and more... unhinged,” he explained.

“How does he still have parental rights?” You asked.

“It’s not that simple, her mom didn’t want to take it too far, she got full custody but he still had visitation rights, and he’s legally still her closest family, he just chose to move out of the state,” Casey informed you, shaking his head about the whole situation. 

A silence followed, having a lot to think about now. This was... what? Revenge? He blamed Lily’s mother for betraying him, but why go after Lily? Could a person’s resentment really be that strong? You still had a lot to learn, but you couldn’t image dealing what Jay did everyday, seeing the worst of humanity like this all the time would be too much for you.

“We need to go back there after shift, turn over every stone again-” you began, basically juat rambling your thoughts at this point, not even entirely directed at Casey, as you stared off into the middle distance.

“Y/N, the police are already on that,” Casey tried to get your attention, sympathy creeping into his voice as he looked at the bags under your eyes and the worry unmasked on your face.

“Well then we’ll go back to the scenes of the fire-” you kept going, not listening.

“Y/N-”

“-or the hospital-”

“Y/N-”

“-maybe the dad has friends in Chicago we could talk to-”

“Y/N!” Casey snapped, raising his voice and grabbing both your shoulders, making you jump as your rambling stopping in its tracks. Your eyes snapped to his, looking into each others eyes for a second before Casey continued.

“You’re tired, we both are, maybe you should focus on taking care of yourself,” he said softly, continuing as you opened your mouth to protest, practically reading your mind, “Jay will call if he has anything, you know he will.”

“I can’t do nothing,” you protested weakly, shoulders deflating.

“You’d done a lot Y/N,” Casey insisted, “you haven’t even been on this job a full two weeks yet, you need rest.” There was a silence as you took in what he’d said, breaking when Casey realised his hands were still on your shoulders, dropping them quickly and moving back in his chair as he cleared his throat.

The bell went off before anything else could be said, both of you making your way to truck, glad for the change of pace and much needed distraction.

-

You were out of the firehouse the second shift ended, barely acknowledging anyone else, even Casey, as you waved a general ‘goodnight’ to everyone. 

Casey’s advice may have been sound, but you were a Halstead.

As soon as you reached your car and sat down you paused, trying to sort out your full head of thoughts. Where would Paul go? If he blames Lily for everything going wrong in his life, maybe he’d take her to where it all went wrong? You reasoned, cogs spinning in your brain.

You reached over to passangers seat, the files for the case organised and on hand should you need them. A quick check of background information told you that there was a previous house listed, the first house they’d bought together just before Lily was born, and it wasn’t too far from the station.

Intelligence had surely checked it out, but it wouldn’t hurt to swing past, and then you swore to yourself you’d follow Casey’s advice and head home to try to get some shut eye. Try being the key word. 

One quick stop, you reminded yourself as you drove off, soon finding yourself pulling up on the otherside of the road to the property. At first you didn’t see anything, just a quiet house, and were about to pull away when you caught movement in the front window. Just a glimpse, and the flick of a light, but it was enough to make you double check the file. 

The property was supposed to be vacant.

The sun had basically set, so you had some cover of darkness, but still you made sure you were careful. Quietly stepping out of the car and moving your way slowly towards the side of the house with that genetic brand of Halstead common sense, you told yourself you’d just take a peak, just to confirm if you even saw anything, and definitely if it was Paul and Lily.

Then, then you’d make a call. Your phone was out of your pocket by the time you reached the side of the house, careful not to be seen as you crouched slightly on the otherside of the window. For some reason your mind had gone to Casey before Jay, thumb hovering over the dial button as you peered inside. 

You didn’t see anything, but you smelt it. It was that same smell, the smell that took your mind back to that basement, to Lily in her little room in the wall, a smell that had you taking steady breaths to try and keep calm as you call Casey.

It was still ringing quietly when you head a crunch behind you, whirling around just as you felt a sharp pain on the side of your head, crumpling to the ground as you phone eventually clicked on. You wanted to speak, call out for help, but all you could do was lie there as you vision quickly faded and unconsciousness took you.

-

“Y/N? Y/N? Is everything okay? Are you there?” There was only silence in response, followed by a crunch as the line went dead, an automated voice telling Casey that the number he was trying to reach had been disconnected. 

The silence that followed was deafening.