#perhaps even just a Saturday pastime

[hell-river]

I was for years and years firmly in the camp of ‘non fiction is boring/stuffy/etc’ until literally last year when I started reading my old timey dog books. And having since run out of old timey dog books I’ve moved on to other topics including the lives and antics of bushrangers (and relatives of mine) and I just… real people are so dumb and I love it, and people were always dumb, including professional cattle thieves who kept day by day accounts of their crimes in a diary and then allowed the police to get ahold of it, ultimately ending up in a prison sentence.

If you ever think a criminal or thief character in a book is too audacious, lucky, or stupid I promise you they have nothing on what people were historically doing in real life

[sytoran]

𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐄 | 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐧𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐭.𝟐

the aftermath of your mindblowingly hot sex with the goddess of lust, natasha romanoff. as it turns out, no one escapes the consequences of their actions.

pairing: goddess!natasha x dom!fem!reader (G!P)

note: once again, howdy, folks! this is the even longer-awaited part 2 to the goddess!nat fic! i am terribly sorry for the wait, hopefully this long chapter will satisfy your needs :)

word count: 3.0k

series m.list | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

Previously...

You, a regular law-abiding citizen, saved the gods by accident. The Goddess of Lust, Natasha, granted you one wish as a repayment. You could've had just about anything, but turns out all you need is right in front of you.

Spoiler: It ends up in mindblowingly hot sex with a certain Goddess.

Now, two months later...

"Baby…" Nataha sighs, her eyelids fluttering close as you move under her sheets. 

Or, more specifically, as your tongue moves in her cunt.

There's just something about giving the Goddess of Lust the best head of a lifetime that does it for you. Maybe it's her stupidly sexy moans, or the way she twisted her delicate hands into your hair, or maybe just how sweet she tasted.

Or, maybe, it's the knowledge that you're the only one who can ever make her feel like this.

"Please, oh, fuck," Natasha whines, as you move your tongue in tight little circles against her sweet spot. Not quick enough to make her cum, slow enough to make her feel.

"Oh," she whimpers, hearing the lewd sounds of you eating out her soaked pussy on a Saturday morning. You shift under the blankets, breathing hard as it gets warm.

Worshiping the Goddess as you rightfully should was perhaps your favourite pastime, driving her wild with your fingers and your tongue and your cock.

Which is exactly what you felt throbbing in your pants when a hushed whimper of 'Daddy' falls from Natasha's sweet mouth. Your head spins at the title, just like the first time she had ever called you that.

It was half by accident, really.

On a private rented beach in Malibu, with miles and miles of space and no one else, there you laid under the shade of a palm tree, thrusting into the Goddess with a youthful vigor.

"Oh, you feel so good," Natasha cries, scratching her long nails down your bare back. She shakes with each of your thrusts, melting into your touch like your forgotten ice cream in the Malibu sun.

"Do I?" You tease dangerously, both of your orgasms dangling close to occurrence. "Mhm- Oh, yeah," Natasha responds with a lewd moan, moving her hand down to play with her clit.

That's all the extra simulation the Goddess needs before she's tumbling over the edge, clutching onto you as pound into her cunt.

"Oh, I- Oh, please, daddy!" Natasha shrieks when you harshly pinch her nipple with your free hand. It does wonders for her pleasure.

But as soon as those words fall from the Goddess' lips, she retracts like she's been scorned. You halt your movements.

"Did you just call me daddy?" You ask with a raised eyebrow, as Natasha looks away flusteredly.

"...No."

"Darling."

"No! I mean, well yes, but I didn't mean to!" She tries to move under your grasp, her cheeks turning an incarnadine pink.

You take her wrists and pin them above her head with one hand, and use the other to still her moving hips. The Goddess pouts at you, but you know better than to give in.

"Has the Goddess of Lust never called anyone 'daddy'?" You ask seriously, trying to make sense of her seemingly unorthodox shame.

"It's complicated." Natasha states, squirmimg under your inspective look. She trails her hands down to your cock again, but you deny her of that pleasure. "We're not done here, sweetheart."

"Fine," Natasha grumbles. "That's the first time I've ever called it out, like, in the heat of the moment. I'm always the one doing the seduction and the flirting, so I call my partner that if I think they'd be into it. It's never been… spontaneous, I guess."

"Oh," you say softly, tracing her rib with a ginger finger. "I think I quite like it."

"You do?"

"Mhm."

"Okay, daddy."

"Shut up, sweetheart."

"Make me."

What pulls you out of that blissful reverie is Natasha's whine. You're not in Malibu anymore, you're under Natasha's sheets. 

Even then, you've never felt more fulfilled with this glorious woman by your side.

"Why'd you stop?" Natasha asks, pulling the blanket away so she can see you.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss onto her inner thigh. "Thinking."

"About?"

"You."

"Oh," the Goddess replies, evidently flustered. 

"What were you thinking of?" she then says, flirtatiously. She adds on the charm of batted eyelashes, prepared for whatever you might do to her body.

What Natasha wasn't prepared for, however, was the tenderness in which you regarded her with, a serene smile and a warm glow on your face.

"What is it?" Natasha says, laughing awkwardly as you litter kisses all over her stomach. You're glowing, sickly-sweet and dumbstruck.

"I love you," you whisper. "I love you, Natasha Romanoff. I love you not because you are the Goddess of Lust but because you have the most brilliant heart I've ever had the chance to feel. I love you for everything that you are, everything that you're not. I love you for your bed hair, and your goofy jokes, and your brilliant green eyes I could melt into a thousand times. I love you boundlessly, across the worlds that divide us. And you don't have to say it back, but just know-"

You take in a deep breath, not realizing that you've spoken so much with quavering breaths like you'd die if you didn't profess your love. Like you'd die if you didn't bare your heart to Natasha. You gulp for air, stroke her face. "Just know I love you. So much. So, so, so much."

Oh.

There's silence, afterwards, like the world has stumbled on its axis and the stars have collided. 

Natasha looks at you with an indescribable feeling, like her heart wants to burst out of their seams. It's only when you gently stroke her face that Natasha realizes there are tears on her face. 

Why's she crying? Why do you cradle her in your arms with such a ginger tenderness? What did she ever do to deserve this kind of love?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed it," you mumble, almost ashamed. You press another kiss on her bare stomach as an apology. "I'm-"

"No, I- Fuck, I love you too." The Goddess voices hoarsely, her shaky tone a far cry from what should be expected of a regal Goddess. "I love you too," she says again, with more confidence, almost as if it would make the words even truer.

That stupid smile is back on your face again, even wider than before. Your cheeks hurt and Natasha's heart melts. 

"You love me?" you ask earnestly, and there's such an innocence and genuineness to your question that Natasha almost cries again.

The impact of 'I love you' sinks in. Natasha feels.

She's never felt like this before. She's never loved like this before.

Finally, in the sacred silence, Natasha whispers. Scared to ruin the moment. Scared to tarnish what could be.

"To every universe and back," the Goddess answers, and your world starts orbiting again.

—

Ever since that fateful day of your love confession, the two of you were inseparable. You would look at Natasha with such wonder in your eyes, wonder what you ever did to deserve this, but the Goddess would look at you the same way, and you knew everything would be fine.

She would take you to any universe you liked, across any dimension. From earth-bound lands to intergalactic islands to space. It was as vast as her love for you.

But, you were riding that high with no heed for the consequences of your actions. 

You were foolish enough to stay with Natasha, dumb enough to drown out the warning signs, blindsided by the prospect of loving a Goddess.

You should've known, from the start, that you and Natasha were a race against time.

You should've known that it would end up in flames for you.

You should've known better.

—

Since the very day she was born the Goddess of Lust, Natasha had her life laid in front of her.

To exploit that thrall she was given, to seduce men and the occasional woman, to live above and beyond because she was a Goddess.

That had been her life for over decades, sitting comfortably at the top of the chain on a gold throne; Toying with hearts like it was a daytime hobby, then shattering them like glass. 

She slept around for the hell of it, just because she could. Just because she was the Goddess of Lust.

Then came along a stupidly charming attorney with a coffee stain on her suit and the most unusual request.

Just like that, her world stopped revolving around what she was supposed to do, and it started orbiting around you.

And, you, were definitely not what Natasha was supposed to do.

Despite how incredible you were in bed. Despite the plethora of orgasms you had brought her to. Despite how she felt her walls to her heart tumbling down around you.

When the two of you shared that passionate confession of love in bed on that fateful Saturday morning, the Goddess knew she was done for.

Which is exactly why she's currently under the scrutiny of Supreme Headquarters: Intervention of Extraterrestrial Liabilities Directorate, aka SHIELD, aka she's completely and utterly fucked.

SHIELD was essentially the Gods and Goddeses' version of a monarchy, that was infamous for its cruel ruling and cutthroat decisions.

"You're a smart girl, Natasha, and never would I have expected something so childishly foolish to fall from your lips."

The Goddess stood in defiance. Despite all her power and her status, she seemed so small in the wide hall, paling in comparison to the mighty Gods that surrounded her.

That previous statement had been made by none other than Wanda, the Goddess of Magic. The woman was a stature of power and composure in her throne, hand poised under her chin like it was a medieval painting.

"I'm not a girl," Natasha snapped at the Goddess, fire behind her eyes. "And I'm very capable of making my own decisions, despite how foolish they may seem in your condescending point of view."

The Goddess of Magic was irritatingly unfazed by Natasha's outburst, flicking that poised hand and in a dismissive wave. God, Natasha wanted to crush that stupid hand.

"Steve, talk some sense into her. I can't bear to hear any more of her senseless arguments." Wanda said offhandedly, looking over to the God of Justice for support.

Natasha wants to retort that she isn't just spewing senseless arguments, but a warning look from the God of Justice shut her up. Of everyone in SHIELD, he was the most likely to give her a fair hearing. Hence his name.

"Natasha, we're not saying that you're incapable of making your own decisions." The blonde man reassures, pressing his hands together in contemplation. Natasha breathes harder than she should be doing.

"We're saying that what you're doing isn't the best," Steve continues, and Natasha is grateful that the eyes are not on her anymore. The God of Justice had a presence that simply demanded respect, an impeccable aura that no one would dare deflect.

"Sleeping with someone not godly is one thing, but entering a romantic relationship with a mortal, a human being, is simply…"

"Unacceptable."

Natasha intakes a short gush of air harshly at the interruption. It's Thor, God of Thunder. For a God who had lived centuries, he was painfully traditional. Narrow-minded, even.

Thor's loud, booming voice carried throughout the hall, from his electric-blue throne at the far corner. Mjolnir, his trusty hammer, was held in his big hands with a firm grasp. Natasha forced herself not to feel threatened.

Thor continued, firm and hard and oh so unforgiving. "Do you want to end up like my brother, Goddess Natasha?" 

At that, the entire hall was silenced. The only thing Natasha could hear was her own sporadic breathing.

Everyone, undoubtedly, knew the story of Thor's brother.

Loki, the God of Mischief. The fallen angel, some said. The devil's incarnate, others whispered.

He had used his power for wrong, abused his status to commit the darkest things imaginable. It wasn't before he was banished from the land of Gods, never to be seen again.

Some say he's still clawing his way out of hell. Some say he's destined for a lifetime of hurt.

"Don't you fucking dare compare me to him, Thor," Natasha growls, and the larger blonde man even seems taken aback by the ferocity behind Natasha's words.

"I- I think what Thor is trying to say," Bruce frantically cuts in, in an attempt to mediate the situation. 

The God of Science was a bespectacled man with quirky mannerisms, ever the peacemaker. Logic, to him, was most important of all.

"Is that you, Nat, are a Goddess," Bruce continues. "An all-powerful being that transcends the laws of space and time. You have been blessed with such power, such strength, unfathomable to lesser beings. And Y/N L/N, this earth-bound creature who lives and breathes on the very ground we carved, couldn't possibly be who you want to run off with. I mean, we- you, you're so much more than that."

"You're going to love her, Nat? Give her your heart? You, an immortal being? She's going to die some day, inevitably, and then what will be left of you? A broken, desolate mess, grieving for the rest of eternity?"

Natasha swallows harshly. She wanted to despise Bruce, hate his reasonings and refute his logic – but she couldn't, could she? He was right. Bruce was right.

But there was a part in her heart that screamed, yelled, kicked - she couldn't give you up, now. Not when she'd finally found what she's been searching for. Not when she can feel again.

Not when she's found the love of her goddamned life.

"I'm on Nat's side," Tony says, mouth full of a pink-frosted donut, slicing through the tensed silence. He spews crumbs as he talks, but Natasha doesn't think she's ever been more grateful for the man. 

Tony was the God of Heroes. Brilliant but brash, proud yet arrogant, charismatic and eccentric. He was a God no one could explain in few words, and for that Natasha was immensely grateful he understood.

"True love cannot be broken," Tony says, folding his arms. "It transcends all else, goes beyond our social status and our physical capabilities and who we are as individuals. If Nat has truly found it, then who are we to judge? It shouldn't be criticized, it should be celebrated!"

Natasha locks eyes with Tony, in silent thanks. The two of them may butt heads at times due to their self-righteous natures, but in the end they were always there for each other.

However, the rest of the Gods didn't seem to quite agree. There was quiet murmuring amongst themselves until Steve began speaking again.

"Let's settle this with a vote. If majority wins, Natasha will be able to continue her pursuit of a romantic relationship with the human and mortal Y/N L/N. If not, Natasha will be forced to cut off all ties with said mortal and they are to never see each other again."

The Goddess of Lust felt her heart clench. Of course Steve would choose the fairest way to determine Natasha’s fate. Of course this would result in a losing battle for her, based on the prior reactions. 

“All those in favour of the disallowance of Natasha Romanoff’s and Y/N L/N’s romantic, physical or any other relations, please raise your hand.” 

Thoughts of you swam in Natasha’s mind, of you smiling while kissing her hand, stroking her hair while she fell asleep, trailing kisses up her spine on sinful nights.

Thor’s hand went up first. 

“I love you boundlessly, across the worlds that divide us.” That was what you had said that Saturday morning, with a serene smile, so gentle it caressed Natasha’s heart. She remembers the warm glow of the sun, the temptations of paradise, the falsehood of the promised land.

Wanda follows suit.

How could Natasha have let it all succumb to this? Why had she let herself grow so soft and malleable around you? The walls around her heart she had spent so long constructing was so easily taken down by you. You, who wormed your way in and made a nest in the center of her universe.

The next hand that goes up is Bruce’s, albeit with an uneasy look from the man, like he didn’t want to be there anymore.

Maybe she shouldn’t have dived headfirst into love with you, professing her feelings so vulnerably. She was the Goddess of Lust, not Romance or any of that bullshit. A long-lasting relationship had been a childish fantasy, much less for someone who was meant to constantly seduce.

Like a final seal of her demise, Steve’s hand goes up, and only then does Natasha realize the tears that have fallen from the corners of her eyes.

There is a deafening silence that follows the grounding decision, and even Tony doesn’t look so aloof anymore. He’s the only one at the table who didn’t raise his hand. 

Natasha swallows harshly, in an attempt to calm the building pressure within her.

She swallows again, willing the tears in her eyes to go away - no way in hell would she openly cry in front of the Gods who put her in this situation.

This time, she wishes the ground would swallow her up instead, to whisk her away from this nightmare of a reality and wake up beside you once more.

“You have until sunset to settle things,” Steve says, a painful lack of emotion in his eyes. “If you don’t coincide by the rules, you know what consequences you will have to face.”

For the first time in an eternity, ever since unknown creatures roamed the multiverse and there was no difference between dark and light, the Goddess felt helpless. 

Even then, there was only one thing on her mind.

How the fuck was she going to tell you that ‘To every universe and back’ had been a bloody lie?

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @jlsammy23 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @lovebelt05 @girllcver @godsfavouritelesbiann @natashaswife4125 @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33_mrvl @gay4ols3n @knellyc30 @eatkobi @stitch26gp @cqllarbqne @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @wandaromanoff69 @shuriri4life @inluvwithfictionalwomen @Cooldogs02 @jedi-athen-orion @alyciaddict @blackqueensforeva @lovelyy-moonlight @gingerninja1993 @yourfavdummy @iliketigolbitties @scarlttolsn @blackbirdv98 @mxxnligxt @riomiyawakisstuff @alex4424 @0DeadandCold0 @mr.romanoff @mandy-asimp @idontwannabehereatm @daenerys713 @xxsekhmet @marvel_simp @maowlxslay @lizbugwanda @peggycarter3 @flositaa @dooblekhay @aliherrerasz @theo-021 @hopelesslyfalleninlove @secretbackrooms @natasha10273 @justyourwritter69 @theo-221b @wandaromanoff69 @eatkobi @lovelyy-moonlight @morganismspam23 @unexpected-character @rdfgfv

ok i��m literally so tired while posting this ‘cos i just got out of a seven-hour flight like yesterday, but i reallyyy wanted to post this because i haven’t posted anything in so long. anyways I HOPE YOU LIKE THE LORE and just a recap for everyone before part 3: 

anyways it’s all set up for more angst and hardcore smut (yes i promise that is in part 3)

natasha - goddess of lust

carol - goddess of galaxies

wanda - goddess of magic

steve - god of justice

thor - god of thunder

bruce - god of science

tony - god of heroes

y/n - basic bitch

[conkers-thecosy]

Bagginshield-tober / Day 5 / Riddles

Hi folks! Here's my offering for day five of the "Bagginshield-tober" prompt list, by the lovely @smolestboop 💛

You can also find these little snippets compiled into one fic on AO3

It's unlikely I'll be able to post tomorrow because I have a stupid work thing in the evening that I can't get out of, but I plan to post a double-whammy on Saturday to make up for it!

~*~*~

“I have a new riddle,” Bilbo smiled over the top of his book, eyes darting up only quickly. “Would you like to hear it?”

Thorin had never cared much for riddles, in truth. It had always seemed a silly and frivolous waste of time to him before, labouring and weary under the burden of leadership as he had always been. Now he found himself more at leisure in the Shire, the only engagements not nearly pressing in any manner, and had learnt from Bilbo the joy of relaxation. 

He had certainly found more time to read for pleasure than he had before, and he no longer gained headaches from the activity due to the spectacles Bilbo had somehow procured for him - something Thorin’ pride would never have allowed him to wear before, but somehow didn’t bother him here. He had begun to craft for pleasure again, finding much joy in the simplicity of using his skill for nothing but his own fulfilment.

Riddles, however, were Bilbo’s pastime. Thorin knew how much the Hobbit enjoyed making them up and seeing if they worked, or even sharing any he found particularly amusing. He found a willing audience in Thorin, who loved to see the mischief and excitement in his green eyes whenever the topic arose. 

“I would like that,” Thorin replied, taking off his spectacles, then closing his book and replacing both onto the table beside his armchair. 

Well. It was exactly his armchair, but it was the one he sat in each night, opposite Bilbo who was often knitting, or writing into a little notebook, or just reading himself. Sometimes he asked Thorin to read aloud, as though the sound of his voice gave him comfort of some kind. 

“It’s not too tricky,” Bilbo said, not putting his own book away, turning a page delicately with one finger as he spoke. “Unless you look too hard at it, or perhaps don’t want to know the answer, that is.”

Thorin frowned a little. “Is this the riddle?”

“I suppose it sounds a little like a riddle all its own, doesn’t it?” Bilbo chuckled. “But no, I meant that only as a hint, of sorts. Are you ready?”

This one must be important, or particularly difficult then, Thorin reasoned to himself. Bilbo didn’t give hints usually, which meant he really wanted for Thorin to get the answer, or that he thought it might be too difficult. The dwarf lifted his chin a little, his long-sleeping pride pricked by the idea that Bilbo might think he couldn’t reason the answer without help. 

“Please go ahead.”

Bilbo flashed him another quick smile, as though having meant to challenge Thorin and jostle his ego a bit, then turned another page. “What fills this smial, but takes up no space. It is fine for one, but better shared. It is mine, but it belongs to you.”

Thorin frowned hard, trying to puzzle this out. It didn’t really make sense, how could something fill up a home, yet take up no space?

“Air?” he hazarded, and Bilbo’s eyebrow quirked with amusement. 

“Try again.”

Thorin went back to pondering, this time taking a little longer about it. Bilbo turned two further pages in the interim, before the dwarf spoke again. 

“Pipe smoke?”

“There had best not be any pipe smoke in this smial, Thorin,” Bilbo chastised, though with a laugh. “One more try.”

“I did not realise there was a limit,” Thorin grumbled, watching as Bilbo continued to look down at his book. He turned another page, and Thorin petulantly decided he couldn’t possibly be reading it that fast.

“Do you give up?”

“Of course not,” Thorin frowned, irritated by the whole business now. Normally this was just a little fun, a bit of light entertainment and something Bilbo enjoyed, and Thorin liked being part of. This time there was something different about it. Something heavy. Important. He felt like he was being told a secret, but he couldn’t fathom for the life of him what it might be.

“Well,” Bilbo closed his book at last and smiled fondly across at him. “Perhaps you need more time. Tea?”

With that, Bilbo was up and wandering out to the kitchen to make them a hot drink, leaving Thorin to stew over his words like a frustrated child. 

As it turned out, Thorin still didn’t care much for riddles, after all.

[monbons]

Hello everyone! This is my first WIP Wednesday ever, but figured that's what the real writers do, so it was time to join in the fun.

I posted my first ever fanfic on Saturday. I'm mad proud of it. Check it out if you haven't yet - Kill 'Em With Kindness. Just a little SnowBaz/DeNiall treat.

Then, on Sunday, a new fic idea hit me like a train at 11pm and I have been consumed by it ever since. What if you took The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, but made it SnowBaz? Anyway, this work is as yet untitled and VERY much in the outlining/experimenting phase - although I've drafted some potential scenes (completely out of order and not at all proofread) just to figure out the narrative style.

Here is an excerpt of one such scene:

This time, when the darkness descended upon his bedroom, Baz was ready. He watched as the shadows by the drapes coalesced into the silhouette of a man, as the swoop of his hair took shape, the curve of his pert nose. The eyes were last. Always. Two brilliant blue stars piercing a pitch black night. “Basil, I hope I didn’t keep you.” The dark’s voice, smooth as velvet, purred in his ear even as it echoed around the bedchamber. Both a whisper and a boom.  “Of course not. I have nothing but time,” Baz quipped.  “Always such wit.” It seemed the darkness smiled, or perhaps it just billowed in the moonlight streaming in through the window as it slid away from the wall where it’d manifested. Meanwhile, Baz watched, perched at the foot of his bed, a four-poster monstrosity with gargoyles carved into the dark-cherry wood, wearing nothing but a fine silk dressing gown, his feet crossed neatly at his ankles. He’d put in the effort for a warm bath, doused his skin in scented oils, braided a few delicate flowers into his hair. Every detail part of the show.  “What have you been up to this year, my little lamb?” A hand that was not a hand came to rest under Baz’s jaw, tilting his face up. And now Baz could see in the glint of those blue eyes that the darkness had noticed his efforts. That he approved.  “I’ve taken a lover, who you can see is quite wealthy,” Baz started. He’d rehearsed this. Knew exactly how to prove to the dark that he was making the most of his time. “This house is just one of two in my name. I have servants who dress me and bathe me and feed me. I want for nothing.” “Is that so?” The dark ghosted his fingers like fog rolling over the Thames along the curve of Baz’s cheek before gripping his hair roughly. “Tell me Basil, is this how your lover expects you to meet him, half-dressed and inviting? Or is this just for me?” “Do you like it? If so, it can be for you.”  The darkness laughed and it echoed inside Baz’s head, as though it was not standing in front of him but inside him. “You are my favorite pastime, Basilton. Such a shame you won’t last as long as I’d hoped.” 

No one to tag yet. But maybe I'll have some fandom/writer friends soon! Happy Wednesday!

[kayleightarot]

Saturday, December 16, 2023 Good morning! Today is a day for Noble Impulses, Revitalisation, and Childlike Joy Tarot of the Day: Six of Books /Cups The Six of Cups is about simplicity, history, and an open-hearted approach to life. Just as the ways in which your deeply rooted past informs the present, what and how you choose to remember, informs the future. You may be moved to revisit childhood memories today; remembering simplicity and the ability to find the joy in each moment.

The pull of those warm nostalgic feelings may inspire you to reconcile an old rift, miss a lost loved one, or even rekindle an old flame. Regardless of where in the past you return, remember that the present is where you must live so release issues and patterns that don’t serve your highest good

💚 This is an excellent time for creativity so, if your job doesn't call for it, find personal time to be creative and expressive. If you don't have a creative hobby right now, or don't feel you have the time then do something expressively child-like. When my clients draw this card in a reading I suggest colouring with crayons or getting a bottle of bubble solution – it’s difficult to be reserved & ‘adult’ whilst blowing bubbles.

💙 In love, this card can indicate a need to refocus the path of your relationship. You may have been living on the romantic warm feelings of the beginning of your relationship and not spending enough time talking about the goals and future, or allowing your past to hinder your relationship. Perhaps you simply abandoned the hobbies and pastimes you had as an individual or are 'dining out' on past tales of glory and not living them.

🧡 Today, don't let 'adulting' or looking to your future prevent you from connecting with the important parts of your past. Neither, let nostalgia or reward cloud your vision of the past nor entice you into 'living' there. Reconcile the feelings for your higher good; then, blow bubbles… Gun a-màireach (until tomorrow), Lovelies Peace out

[moonlight26posts-blog]

In Baltimore City, MD: Handsome and unique looking boy with one blue eye and one brown eye is seeking rescue - BARCS, Baltimore MD

Spencer- 1 year, altered male, 50lbs

Spencer is a strikingly handsome boy, just over a year old, with captivating different-colored eyes that will steal your heart at first glance. He's not just a pretty face; Spencer is full of personality and charm! This energetic pup loves to jog and work on engagement, making him the perfect companion for an active owner who enjoys outdoor adventures.

During his Pack Walk adventure (an adventure outside of shelter grounds) with volunteers, Spencer showed great effort, though he can be vocal when expressing his opinions about other dogs. With a bit of patience and training, he's learning to socialize more smoothly. He is looking for adopters to understand that he's making progress but has some work to do.

One of Spencer's favorite pastimes is gazing at the water, perhaps dreaming of new adventures. After some time on his Pack Walk journey, he's proven to be quite adaptable, even enjoying moments of relaxation on a bench while taking in his surroundings.

When tested off-leash in the shelter's play yard, Spencer seemed to prefer female dogs over other males, as was much looser and more playful with tolerant ladies.

Are you ready to add some excitement and charm to your life? Spencer is waiting to bring joy and companionship to his forever home.

Spencer is available immediately for rescue pick-up.

Please let us know if your organization can help!

Thank you,

The BARCS Rescue Team

Baltimore Animal Rescue & Care Shelter (BARCS) New Address! 2490 Giles Rd, Baltimore, MD 21225 rescue@barcs.org| (410) 396-4695

Rescue pick-up hours: Monday-Friday: 10:30 a.m.-6:30 p.m. Saturday and Sunday: 8:30 a.m.-4:30 p.m

Adoption hours: Monday-Friday: 2 p.m.-6 p.m. Saturday and Sunday: 11 a.m.-4 p.m. Baltimore Animal Rescue and Care Shelter, Inc. (BARCS) | 2490 Giles Rd | Baltimore, MD 21225 US

If you can foster Spencer and help save his sweet life, we can contact local rescues to ask for help, please email foster@charlietotherescue.org

[ianmhill]

6.1

Well, we're back in DC after a refreshing trip back to the UK, where we managed to fit in quite a lot with friends and family - and even some time just for ourselves. We spent three nights at the end of the break in the Petersham Hotel in Richmond again. It's not cheap, but it's a very pleasant place to stay, overlooking the Thames with very comfortable rooms.

On the Saturday we went to the theatre in the afternoon to watch Enemy of the People, a play by Ibsen which had been brought up to date and was thoroughly entertaining. It turned out to have some musical interludes and a decent chunk of comedy, neither of which we were expecting for an Ibsen play, so it was clearly somewhat updated from the 1882 original! But the main theme is still relevant more than 140 years later. The best bit was when a couple of aging Tories (I assume) walked out, unable to tolerate the themes or the dialogue. However, I was slightly disappointed that Matt Smith, who was playing a Doctor, wasn't playing THE Doctor - no sign of a TARDIS anywhere!

That evening we had dinner with my wife's ex-boss (who was responsible for getting us over here in the first place) and his wife…who may have given me an idea for a pastime, if not an actual career. It wouldn't be as potentially lucrative as the idea that my ex work colleague was talking about on Friday (becoming a crypto millionaire!) but it might be less risky and require less brain power. Perhaps more on this in the future if I pursue it.

The flight home was passable (I got through three movies: Aquaman: The Lost Kingdom; American Fiction; and The Flash). But the experience in Immigration was tedious in the extreme. We landed at 8:30pm, but didn't clear Immigration until nearly 10pm, with 50 minutes snaking around the Immigration Center in the middle. Compared with the 2 minutes or so we experienced when we arrived in Heathrow it was a complete chore.

And tomorrow we are back into the swing of the MLR season, with an Old Glory home game against Houston Sabercats. Buckle up!

[folkloreguk]

Moving Antics (M)

A/N: This was requested a while ago and I hope you will enjoy it! I always welcome feedback of any kind! Have a good day x

genre: smut, optional bias (m) x reader (f), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, overstimulation (a tiny bit), dom!bias, very lowkey roleplaying??, reader wears a maid outfit (not in a degrading way)

words: ~ 5.4 k

tag list: @mochi-ficz (let me know if you wanna be tagged when I post new fics!)

People had told you over and over. Moving is a stressful, exhausting process. It would take a while for you to settle in. Until everything had found its perfect place, weeks could pass. At least that’s what everybody said. What they all failed to understand, though, was that being in love could make the most tiring experience fun. Was it stressful? Sometimes. Exhausting? Why don’t you ask yourself that, when you fell into bed like a walking corpse at night? But all it took was a glimpse at your boyfriend as he carried inside the box that said ‘anniversary gifts’ and it was all worth it. You were confident in one thing at least. In the settling in department you were both ranking foremost.

You had lived in the apartment for only a week, and you couldn’t have been more all-over-each-other. Somehow there seemed to be an unspoken challenge you had both taken on. Maybe you two could set a record for most surfaces in a flat someone could have sex on. Or perhaps you should have started marking the rooms and spaces you hadn’t been able to add to your list yet. There wouldn’t have been many left. At the moment, there was only one downside to being so head-over-heels in love. A lot of the boxes in the apartment had been left unattended, as if you only waited long enough, the things would start flying out of the cartons and miraculously sort themselves out while you could stay there, in bed with your lover between your legs.

But this wasn’t Hogwarts and you weren’t some magician. And so one rainy Saturday noon you decided it would be thatday. The day you finally put away all the things that were still in the boxes. Not that the day had been successful so far. It was 12 pm and you were in bed. The shower was running in the bathroom next door, and you wondered how you would convince your boyfriend and yourself that getting things done would be a worthwhile pastime. Telling yourself you would come up with a tactic with your eyes closed, you tricked yourself into daydreaming for a little while longer, cuddled in the blankets that still smelled like him.

When you heard footsteps approach, your mind snapped back to reality. He strut through the door like a nude model, searching for some clothes to wear. His smirk when he saw you eye him was prominent and made your stomach flip. It took every last will of yours to not ask him to come back into bed with you, forget all your earlier plans and live like you were the last people on earth.

“Do you want breakfast?” he asked, finishing his outfit by pulling a shirt over his head. “I’ll make you some.”

You hummed, starry-eyed at his perfection. “Thank you,” you said. Quickly, he kissed your forehead and then walked off, presumably in the direction of the kitchen. Twenty minutes later, at the kitchen table, you finally brought up your wonderful idea.

“I think we really should unpack some more stuff today,” you said, “Don’t you think?”

“You’re right,” he said, “We’ve really been procrastinating.”

“You can say that again,” you laughed.

“Although I wouldn’t describe our scientific research of the last few days as completely pointless.”

“Our what?” you asked. You were getting up to put away the plates of your late breakfast.

“Us testing which room of the house is the most fun to have sex in,” he stated, matter of fact. “I vote for the bathroom.”

“You just love the mirrors,” you grinned, and he mirrored it.

“I do,” he said. His arms snuck around your waist from behind. “Almost as much as I love you.”

“I love you too, babe,” you said, “You know, there’s one room we haven’t tried yet.”

“The office,” he said. You turned your head and you kissed him deeply. In agreement you hummed, your arms wrapping around him. He pulled you closer, hands ghosting over the back of your thighs and up to your hips. You felt like jumping onto the counter and having him there, again, just like you had done it two days ago. But then you remembered you had other projects for the day. If you gave in to him now, you’d end up back in bed for the rest of the day, probably. Guilt was already setting in at the mere thought.

“Wait,” you pulled away and said, “We have things to get done.”

His nod was dilatory but then he seemed to recall his own determination from around two minutes ago. You wished you could have motivated him otherwise, but you were already struggling to spur on yourself to be productive. Then, you suddenly remembered something. Your eyes must have widened in surprise because he furrowed his brows at you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Stay here,” you announced, “I’ll make sure we get through with this today.”

And you were off to your bedroom. You pulled the box out from the far back of your closet. Memories flashed your mind, of when you and your boyfriend had been watching a show together. One of the characters had been wearing a provocative maid outfit, and you still thought about the way he had grinned at it, or how he had said he found it cute, which you believed translated to sexy, but he had been a little shy back then.

Long story short you bought one. And what better occasion to put it to use than now? You went all out, stockings and heels as well as your attempt at fixing your hair quickly, which you knew didn’t really matter, since you would want it out of the way if you were really going to be emptying boxes. You strut down the hall, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The black and white costume just about covered your ass, and on your chest was a cutout in the shape of a cat’s head. The ruffles of the material bounced as you walked, excited to see your boyfriend’s reaction.

“Close your eyes!” you shouted. “No cheating!”

“I never cheat,” he said. You rolled your eyes, remembering his video game antics from the past.

“Before you say anything…this is supposed to be a motivation for us to empty the boxes. If we do that, we can have our reward,” you said.

“What reward?” he asked, eyes still shut.

“Open your eyes and you’ll know,” you said. Oh, how dearly you whished you could have captured his face on camera.

“Babe…,” he said. Then his mouth just stayed agape, as he ogled at you shamelessly. Just because he could. Because he was just thatlucky to have you.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

“Yes. Of course I do,” he said. His tone was emotionless because he was way too busy sorting out his own thoughts in his head. “But do you really think this is a good idea? How am I supposed to focus on anything but you?”

“We’ll figure it out,” you said. “Don’t you want to feel accomplished at the end of it all? If we don’t start working now, we’ll just end up feeling guilty. Again. Come on, let’s do this.”

“Alright,” he said. “Let me have one kiss.”

You laughed and granted him that one wish. His lips lingered on yours for a while. You knew he didn’t want to pull away. Neither did you. But at last, he had enough control to remove himself from you. It was the office that still needed the most work to be done. Cardboard boxes were piled on top of each other, labelled with some sort of theme or room of belonging on the outside. When you looked his way, he was only eyeing your legs. But then you grabbed the closest box to you and handed it to your boyfriend, and he snapped out of his trance.

Believe it or not, there were up- and downsides to the maid costume in this situation. The pros included feeling unnecessarily sexy whilst doing an unbelievably humane task, not getting too warm since you were already wearing little clothing and having your boyfriend virtually drooling over your appearance. The downsides were mostly reduced to one word: heels. Climbing a ladder and balancing three boxes on top of each other in your arms was an arduous task to begin with. Now add the possibility of twisting your ankle on the top step of a ladder and crashing to the floor, probably breaking your back or worse. You really couldn’t endanger the prospect of the fun you were planning on having later by taking that risk.

That’s why you chose to abandon the heels somewhere on the floor about half an hour into the process. And you came to the conclusion that finally getting over and done with what you had been procrastinating for the last week wasn’t all that bad. You were a whirlwind, running from room to room to make sure everything had its place. At some point he had turned some music on, and it was making everything even better. After all this time, you finally had your own place to decorate however you desired. As you admired how nicely things were coming together, you hummed to yourself quietly.

You weren’t sure whether he was having as much fun as you were. Especially not when you walked past him in the doorframe, carrying four pillows. Your ass – maybe not all that accidentally – brushed against his front as you entered the room. Innocence and feigned ignorance were on your face but you noticed exactly the way his eyes dwelled on you for a little longer until he got back to work.

But everything you could do he could do just as well. Fifteen minutes later, you were occupied with stacking books onto a shelf. Wanting them to stand in a very specific order turned out to be more time-consuming than you had anticipated. You heard his steps behind you, assuming he was going to walk past you. Suddenly his lips brushed against your exposed neck.

“Remember this song?” he asked. You hadn’t been focused on the music for a while now, but of course you remembered. “Remember when I fucked you to the beat of this? Because I do.”

“Babe,” you said. There was a little part in your brain that had the glorious idea of him having you right there, against the bookshelf. You wouldn’t even need to remove your clothes. With him, it took nothing but a few magic words and you felt like giving him all of you. No. It’s not time for that yet. Your rationality vanquished that little avid thought and pushed it away, back into your unconscious where it had come from. It wasn’t gone yet, only not so urgent anymore.

“You’re right,” he said. “We’ll save that for later. Just wanted to remind you of how much of a good time we can have.”

You only shook your head and grinned as he walked off, pretending to be blissfully unbothered. What goes around, comes around, after all. And you deserved that for pushing up against him earlier. It took a minute and you got back to sorting your book titles. Time passed surprisingly fast when you were being productive. Box after box emptied itself, almost as if your wish for magic powers had become reality. But it was just two people, who were so excited about their reward that they forgot to even take a proper break in between the chaos. And soon you were down to the last cardboard box. It was full of decorations you didn’t need for the current season.

Just a few more climbs up and down the ladder to the very top of the closet and you were done. He stood next to the ladder, handing you the things so you didn’t have to go all the way down each time.

“Last one,” he said, giving you a box with holiday lights. Successfully, you placed it in its new spot. When you finally made eye contact with him, he was already staring at you like you were the only thing in the room worth looking at. To be fair, from where he stood, there wasn’t much left up to his imagination. With your stockings on display, his eyes could probably go all the way up to your garter belt.

“Is this angle too revealing?” you asked.

“Absolutely,” he said, making you laugh. Smirking, he took your hand as you stepped off the ladder. You stumbled into his body as you grinned at each other. You both had the same thing on your mind, without a doubt. It was like a little inside joke you had made up just now, making you flirt through looks and small touches. His hand rubbed the small of your back as he bent to your ear.

“My pretty maid, haven’t you worked enough for the day?” he asked. “All that teasing you did today must have been soexhausting.”

You nodded overly seriously, as if riling up your horny boyfriend was physically tiring work. “I hope I did a good job. Did I?”

“No one else could have done it better,” he said. “Now let me treat you, baby.”

You hummed with your mouth already too close to his to say anything. Then your lips finally crashed onto his. It was a little ridiculous how much you missed his touch after only hours of being without it. People had told you you’d get tired of being with each other all the time. But it had been years and you still wished you could have cuffed his wrist to yours because you loved him just that much.

Your tongues fought playfully as you pushed him against the closet front. Small noises came from both of your mouths, quietly agreeing that this was what you had been waiting for – more or less patiently. Your hands became busy with the buttons of his flannel. When you came across his bare skin underneath instead of a shirt, you smiled into the kiss. Every layer less to remove meant you were one step closer to what you wanted.

“We’ve never done it in here,” you muttered against his hungry lips. “That table looks nice, doesn’t it?”

He grinned. Your hands had already messed up his hair, but nothing came close to his dark eyes in moments like these. His look never failed to make your heart skip a beat while you wondered how you had ended up with the most handsome guy in the world.

“Will you think of us, if you ever sit there and work in the future?” he asked, leading you over to the office table. He dropped his flannel on the ground on the way.

“I always think about us,” you said. “But you can make sure this one stays especially prominent in my memory.”

“There’s nothing I’d rather do,” he said, and kissed you again. Your ass was backed against the edge of the table and one of his legs pushed between your thighs. It made you whimper quietly in anticipation. He touched the little part on your thighs that was bare, playing with your garters. With your eyes closed, his tongue on yours and his hands being so close but so far from where you needed him, your head spun with dizziness. He was like a drug, like alcohol dripping straight from his lips and the more you kissed him, the less control you had over yourself. His attention gave you loose lips and the impulse to be risky, all whilst feeling so high up in the clouds you weren’t sure you’d ever find your way back down. You hissed when he pressed his fingers against your underwear.

“You’ll keep the dress on,” he said. “Will you?”

“Of course,” you obliged. “If that’s what you want.”

“Good girl,” he said, and he pulled aside your panties to slide his finger over the slickness that had formed between your thighs. As if on command, your hips moved closer to his hand as you whimpered at the too gentle friction. All afternoon you had been thinking of his hands on you. When you had watched him peel away the tape from the boxes, when he was taking your hand to help you down from the ladder and when he had run his fingers through his hair absentmindedly – all you could think about was how much you wanted those hands to grab your hips and for him to have his way with you.

“Take these off,” he ordered. His stern but gentle voice turned your insides into mush. It made you behave almost like a robot, no ifs ands or buts. When you usually liked to tease him, you knew not to test your limits when he spoke in this tone. Your underwear dropped to the floor and you kicked it a few meters away. Again, his hands ghosted under your dress and found your center. You felt like your knees would buckle from the way he rubbed small circles on your clit. Moaning quietly, you wrapped your arms around his neck for support, leaning your forehead against his chest for a moment. You let out small huffs and whimpers against his skin and nuzzled especially close to him when he touched that one special spot for a few seconds.

“Look at me.” He watched intently as your eyelids fluttered like your eyes were going to roll to the back of your head. You tried your best.

“Put your hands on the table by your sides,” he said. You hummed in disapproval but didn’t dare say so. After all, he could have also told you to put them on your back. And holding on to a wooden edge was still better than not holding on to anything, when you felt like a child standing on its feet for the first time. When he hooked his free hand under your thigh, lifting up your leg a little, your grip on the table tightened. You swore under your breath when he plunged two of his fingers into you. He curled them, pushing hard against your sweet spot and you curled your back in response.

All day you had gone without any sort of attention, when your head had been so full of things you knew you could do with him. The most release you had gotten – which was basically no release at all – was from pushing your legs together tightly when the dirty thoughts had become too much for your brain to handle. You knew it was your own fault for setting yourself up with this challenge. But now with your chest heaving and your head feeling like a tsunami of emotions was raging inside of it, you didn’t regret it as much as you thought you would two hours ago. Maybe you should play this waiting game more often, instead of jumping onto each other any chance you got.

“You look so hot like this,” he said. At the sound of his voice your eyes opened. Those eyes. While they usually held loyalty and playfulness, they now only spoke of authority. He used his thumb to rub your clit whilst his fingers were still inside of you, making you feel like floating. You were his favorite sight, by far. Above all times he watched you, from waking up in the morning to falling asleep in his arms at night, right now was the most mesmerizing. Your parted lips were the entrance to heaven and the glow in your teary, desperate eyes was putting the evening sun to shame.

“I’m so close,” you moaned. Your chest was alternating between short puffs and not breathing at all. Maybe your brain was too focused on the bliss you were chasing to care about breathing for now. You couldn’t blame yourself.

“Don’t make a mess, baby,” he said.

“No, I won’t,” you said. “Can I touch you when I come, please?”

You gave him your most entreating eyes, knowing that even though he liked telling you what to do in the bedroom, not even the strictest boyfriend was immune to your puppy eyes. You suspected that if he had declined, you might have held on to him anyways. Too overpowering was the clamor inside your head that was telling you to be close to him.

“Only when you’re coming,” he said. “Not a second earlier.”

You nodded obediently as your eyes shut again. Good thing you were mere moments away from just that. His fingers moved quickly, now that he knew how close you were to your high. It robbed your breath all at once. And it did the job, after a short while. You whined and arched your back, your hands flinging around his shoulders. Your little noises came out muffled against his skin as you closed your legs around his hand. He barely moved his fingers anymore, but kept the pressure on your most sensitive spots, making sure you could relish in every last second of your orgasm. Only after a while your grip on him loosened, and you realized how your nails had been digging into his skin.

“Sorry,” you said, rubbing over the moon-shaped marks on his shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, baby,” he said. When he removed his hand, you shuddered one last time, but missed his touch already. His magic was always working on you. Even when he had just made you come, the mere sight of the bulge in his pants, ready to spring free, made you want to pull him right into your body again.

“You came so fast today,” he said. Softly, he kissed you, but you noticed the hint of hunger that he must had been feeling as you were coming down from your high.

“That’s what you do to me,” you admitted. “Do you think you’re the only one who felt tortured all day long? It was driving me crazy, too.”

“You seemed to have a lot of fun, messing with my head,” he said, smirking.

“You’ll find that it was worth it, after this,” you said. He raised his eyebrows in question. You were already stepping forward, dropping to your knees in front of him. Like a child on Christmas morning, his eyes lit up at the sight of you.

“Aren’t you the prettiest maid?” he asked, the question obviously rhetorical. To him, you were the prettiest person in the whole universe. You tugged on his pants and pulled them down, along with his underwear. Your mouth watered at the sight of his member, hard and red from all the waiting he’d had to endure. The way he looked at you from above made you feel small, but he stroked your hair out of your face gently and you knew this was exactly where you wanted to be right now, and any other day.

“Hands behind your back,” he said. You smiled and did as he said, holding your right wrist with your left hand on your back. He caught on to your reaction right away.

“You don’t even mind, right?” he said. You were already sitting straight, mouth open, your tongue protruding slightly. “You like it when I make it more difficult for you, don’t you?”

You only nodded and hummed a small yes, then he placed the tip of his dick on your tongue. At first, you only closed your mouth around it, not taking more of him. Your tongue licked over the swollen tip almost shyly. He groaned as he watched you test the waters. After all, he was the one who could control what you did to him. For now, however, he seemed to leave you your freedom to do what you felt like. You pressed your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, licking over the tip ever so slowly. Then, you sunk your mouth further onto his length, taking as much as you could. It was so quiet you only noticed his uneven breathing as he eyed you from above.

“Shit, you’re so good for me,” he said. “Now stop with the teasing, will you? You know what happens if you don’t.”

You knew exactly. And so you shifted from your slow movements to quicker ones. You made sure to keep your tongue on him, especially when you moved your head away, swirling it around the tip now and then. His moans were music to your ears and only motivated you further. You had always loved his voice, when you sang to the song on the car radio or hummed his latest favorite song under the shower. But nothing compared to the way his voice sounded when you sucked him off. He seemed to be the most unrestrained then, not caring who heard him because he was way to obsessed with you sitting by his feet. The way he looked at you then made your stomach turn in pleasure. He didn’t even need to say anything or touch you. His overseeing eyes alone made you want him more than anything else.

His fingers in your hair curled, pushing your head further down on him. You focused on not gagging, your eyes closing. Tears brimmed behind your eyelids, but you were determined not to let them fall. Instead, you opened your lips a little wider and stuck your tongue out to make it easier for him to use your mouth however he desired.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, sighing in relief. You were awaiting treatment a lot rougher than the one he gave you, though. He thrusted into your mouth rather slowly, giving you enough of a break to remember to breathe. When you looked up at him with your sweetest eyes possible, his expression was a mix of strain and pleasure. You suspected he was trying not to overdo it just yet.

“Baby…can I fuck you or is that too much for you?” he asked. You perked up at his request. When you started humming around his length, he pulled away to let you speak.

“Please,” you said. “Fuck me. On the table.”

“Alright, my baby’s making the rules now, is she?” he said. “Come here.”

“I thought that’s where you wanted me to remember you, wasn’t it?” you asked, getting up.

“You’re right,” he said. You sat down on the edge of the office table with your legs parted for him to stand between them. Just once he kissed you. You wanted him to hurry, so you linked your heels behind his back, pulling him closer.

“Take me like a good girl.” He ran his cock over your slick folds, and he groaned when he felt your warmth on him. In response you nodded willingly, unable to wait a second more for him. Luckily, he didn’t plan on dragging out the anticipation any longer. With ease he slid into you, finding a familiar rhythm right away. As if you hadn’t just come ten minutes ago, you whimpered pathetically at the satisfaction. You leaned your weight onto your hands behind you, watching his cock enter you over and over. There was no limit to how many times you could have him inside of you. Every time it felt the same. Like he was completing you, all whilst simultaneously ruining you. His thrusts were sharp and as you raised your legs and changed the angle slightly, your eyes rolled back for a moment.

“Harder,” you asked, even though you were already overwhelmed.

“You want more?” he asked. You hummed a yes and nodded quickly. His grip on your waist tightened as he pulled you closer to the edge of the table. He didn’t disappoint. He never did. Swiftly, he pushed your legs further open and pounded into you, making your body shake every time his hips slapped against yours. It drove you borderline mad. A part of your brain urged you to praise him, to let him know what he was doing to you. But then, those unspoken words between you were inconsequential. You didn’t need to tell him how good he was. He could read it in every part of your body. He saw it in the arch of your back, in your curled toes and in your lip that was captured between your teeth. He heard it in the way you moaned and said his name like he was your savior.

Plus, you would tell him all about it afterward. But that wasn’t what your mind was focused on momentarily. It was the way he hit your sweet spot every time and you could barely breathe normally amidst your whimpers. You hadn’t even introduced yourself to all your neighbors yet, but they most certainly had taken notice of your arrival in the new apartment.

“Can you use your hands for me?” he asked. “Show me touching yourself, baby.”

His words and the look of dominance in his eyes was all it took, and without second thought your hands went to your center. You sucked in a breath at the added pleasure. It was almost too much at first, but then you let it all in. Like a wave was crashing over you, your eyes closed, and you hummed from the intensity.

“That’s it. Make yourself come again,” he said. “You can do it again.”

“Yes,” you said, almost breathed with the weakest voice. Your body had other things to focus on at that moment, letting your vocal chords do whatever they felt like. You clenched your walls around him and the knot in your stomach tightened with every little circle you drew on your clit. His usually tender eyes were everything but that as he watched you revel in the pleasure.

“So fucking hot,” he groaned. You tried hard to uphold eye-contact through fluttering eyelids and furrowed brows. “Good girl, keep going. Tell me when you’re coming.”

You hummed a yes as one of his hands cupped the side of your neck, the other remaining on your hips so he could push your body against his own with every thrust. After all this time of being with him you knew what it meant when his moans became higher pitched and he seemed to not realize his mean grip on your skin – not that you minded. You loved seeing the marks he left on you, especially when you had nowhere to be the next days. It always made him hungry, when he saw the dark spots on your skin, like a fading memory of what you had done.

A curse fell from his perfect lips and his thrusts turned sloppy as he came inside of you. His face, all twisted in bliss and from exhaustion, was all you needed.

“Stay inside of me. Just for a little while, please,” you plead, fingers on your clit rubbing at the quickest speed you could muster. “I’ll come if you stay.”

“I’m right here,” he said, slowing his actions until he was just filling you up, but now moving anymore. “It’s okay. Come for me.”

Just having him there, stretching out your walls and making you feel so close to him was all you really needed. And his words of affirmation sent you over the edge in no time. It was a toe-curling, mind-bending surge that overcame you at your release. Stars danced delightfully behind your closed eyelids while you tried to process all of it. He gripped your hand that was touching your clit and pressed it down, urging you to go on for a little while longer. You whined in sensitivity, feeling like your legs would give in, even though you were already sitting down. For just another while, he dragged out your orgasm as you struggled to control your overwhelmed senses. He distracted you by bending forward and letting his lips graze yours.

“You did so good,” he said. “My pretty maid.”

You whimpered and then sighed when he finally lifted your hand away from between your legs. Only then you could scrape together some words.

“We both did good today,” you grinned. “And I mean not only the last half hour.”

“Agreed,” he said. “Tomorrow we could tackle those last boxes in the kitchen. What do you think?”

“Can the maid outfit make another appearance?” you asked.

“I was hoping it might,” he said, kissing you softly. Your tired limbs and mind welcomed his gentleness as your hands went to his hair. You could already guess how the next day would go, then. But truth be told, you didn’t mind it one bit.

[aziraphales-library]

hey! do y’all have any recs for fics where aziraphale or/and crowley dance? fics where they dance together would be especially cool, but i’m not picky. 😎

Well! There are some amazing dancing AUs if that's at all what you're after...?

Loosely Ballroom [M], WIP by marginalia_device, mortifyingideal

Dust off your dancing shoes, because it’s that time of year again! The new season of Strictly Come Dancing starts TONIGHT on BBC One! A brand new crop of celebs are getting ready to compete for the coveted Glitterball trophy, and they’re a mixed bunch— ranging from beloved telly presenter Eve Gardener to washed-up stage and screen actor Anthony J Crowley.

Whose tango will tantalise? Whose cha-cha will charm us? And who will be doomed by their dreadful, dreadful salsa? Join us every second Saturday at 7pm to find out!

Aziraphale is a professional, Crowley is a contestant, and the BBC needs viewers. Does what it says on the tin, if the tin has a whopping great “STRICTLY COME DANCING AU” label on it.

don't call me angel [M] by LeilaKalomi

When Ethereal Electronics sends its software developers on a retreat at St. Beryl’s Resort, Aziraphale Fell, constantly mocked by his coworkers, feels trapped. But at the retreat center, he finds himself drawn to Anthony Crowley, a dance instructor, and sees an opportunity to help someone in need as he rediscovers one of his youthful pastimes—ballroom dancing—and finds a new passion altogether in Anthony Crowley.

Loosely based on Dirty Dancing.

~Mod N

And here are a few canon-compliant fics in which Aziraphale and Crowley dance...

Taking Steps by JoyAndOtherStories (G)

Crowley was in a state of shock.

Admittedly, this shouldn’t have been surprising, given that his recent experiences included near-death, body-swapping, car explosions, bookshop conflagrations, and rebellious eleven-year-olds defeating the forces of Heaven, Hell, and independent contractors.

But that had been two weeks ago, and though saying he’d recovered would have been not so much stretching the truth as utterly shattering it, his current state of shock was…something different.

“Say—say that again, angel?” he managed. “You said…you wanted to try…new things?”

Basically: Aziraphale wants to try new things. The first one he comes up with: Salsa dancing! Meanwhile, Crowley really just wants to snuggle with his angel. Fluffy pining ensues while they figure out that they actually both want the same thing.

Shall we dance? by Samara Lilly (NR)

“Do you dance?” Crowley snorts. “Who do you think invented the famous Studio 54 in New York? Of course I do.” Aziraphale pulls a face. “That’s not dancing. That’s… moving around.” “You think I can’t dance?” Crowley sits up straight now and eyes the angel over the rim of his dark glasses. “Doesn’t matter what I think,” Aziraphale tries to make a neutral face. But he finds the idea of Crowley dancing very, very… interesting.

Dance with me, my old friend by amerande (T)

During the taxi ride back to the bookshop, Aziraphale considered the many ways in which he’d left the Ritz over the years. The first time: contented and excited to tell Crowley about it, to perhaps share it with him. Several subsequent times: alone, but with the delightful memory of an afternoon or evening basking in Crowley’s company and attention. After that: with Crowley, walking through London, to the bookshop or to a museum, talking and sharing time. Once, eleven years ago: in Crowley’s Bentley for a night of drinking and plotting to avert the apocalypse.

This was the first time they’d taken a cab together.

- Mod D

[violetsoju]

snapshot

miya atsumu · fluff · 1.9k

muse: highlight - not the end

a/n: my ultimate boys are finally back after three and a half years, and my inner fangirl that has been asleep for way too long has been unleashed for the past few days. hence, this impulsive piece. do let me know if you enjoyed it ❤️

It’s time.

After a year or so, there’s finally light at the end of the tunnel. Cherry blossoms are in full bloom again, gracing the pathways with shades of light pink and white.

It’s the beginning of a new year, of new beginnings, of new hopes and dreams. A time of renewal and rebirth. When cherry blossoms are in full bloom, the future is bursting with possibilities.

What better way to start off the new year with something that makes your heart blossom with love and joy?

You’ve been deep in slumber for the past year, so it’s about time to be awaken and open the curtains for the sunlight shine in.

Your planner is inked with colourful notes and doodles, laptop reformatted with an empty recycle bin, camera equipment cleaned and dusted, phone storage deep-cleaned.

It’s hard to not notice the bright smile tugging your lips even without the mandatory cup of morning coffee, greeting everyone in the office like a ray of sunshine. Even your supervisor notices it and is surprised with the increased efficiency of work from your end. Perhaps he’s more surprised with your razor sharp accuracy in clocking out every day, disappearing in a flash once the clock strikes 6.

Your colleagues can’t seem put a finger to the recent change in your behaviour. What’s an afterwork get-together without you and ridiculous tipsy antics? Not even your favourite yakult soju or the summoning of your supervisor could drag your feet to the dinner place.

“Do you have a boyfriend? That’s why you’re so busy recently?” They would ask. Or they would try and wiggle their way by asking “Is there someone waiting at home for you?”

No matter how tactfully they twist and turn their words, they were all futile attempts. Because all they would get was a sickly sweet innocent smile that never met your crescent-shaped eyes, and an automatic response. “Thank you for the invite, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass tonight. Have fun!”

They had their bets that you were wrapped up with your secret little love life, spending nights over at your lover’s place, whispering sweet nothings into the night. “Ah, young love.” They would sigh. “Remember to stay protected!”

Your tight lipped smile fuelled them further instead. Why don’t you say anything, they wonder.

To you, why waste your energy explaining something that is incomprehensible to them and risk having yourself being the centre of gossip? Not that you are already the recent centre of gossip.

Because they won’t understand the surge of excitement flowing through your veins at the ping of notifications popping up on your phone screen during work. They won’t understand the of anticipation for the timer on a video screen to turn zero, whether on the way home or while having dinner. They won’t understand the happiness of late night chats with likeminded people online, sleep washed away while gushing and typing in full caps with each other. They won’t understand the buzz of giddiness with just one post, one picture or one sentence. They won’t understand the little squeal behind a picture or a minute-long video unexpectedly appearing on screen. They won’t understand having the same song or same album on loop for days, weeks, or months. They don’t understand the dilemma of choosing a wallpaper or lockscreen for your phone. They don't understand how by remembering a person or something they have said before drives unimaginable motivation and makes the toughest circumstances bearable and possible to overcome. They won't understand how a person who doesn't know your existence personally can be a source of comfort and happiness.

They won’t understand the real reason why you’re smiling like a fool at your phone.

Maybe if they peered carefully at your phone screen, they would know why.

And it’s not what they had in bet.

Well, they were partly right if you were to be completely honest.

But if you were to place your bets, you’re sure most of them would still be scratching their heads in confusion at the black, gold and white logo.

It may be foreign to them, but you swear that you can see those colours even if you’re blind.

MSBY. The 8 member boy group. Worldwide superstars. The whole damn package. Boys made for the dazzling stage. Boys that deserve the whole world. Boys whose talent knows no limits. Boys that you hold dear to your heart.

Ever since Hinata Shouyou, the youngest of the group had injured his lower back and knee during choreography practice (in which was revealed with a slip of a tongue in a livestream that Bokuto and him were so engrossed with a certain acrobatic move which involved a backflip from a higher ground, they begged their choreographer to add it into their new choreography. Instead of showing a clip of the move, they decided to give it a shot and perform it live spontaneously for everyone, where too much adrenaline and a small slip had him lying in the hospital bed for weeks), the group had collectively come to a conclusion to halt their activities until he was fully recovered and ready to roll. There were no solo activities, solo promotions or unit activities despite the attractive proposals or invitations. Such a waste of talent and time, many said. What is their company thinking? Letting their cash cow go to waste like that. But they tuned out all the crap, and firmly held to their resolve of being together as a group; all for one, and one for all.

“We’ll be back. And we know you all have our backs.” Meian Shuugo, the leader of the pack assured, eyes filled with resolute and confidence.

So after a draught of 456 days to be exact, an oasis finally appeared in the burning desert sands. When the notification titled ‘MSBY is back’ appeared on phone and laptop screens alike, it took a few seconds for everyone to blink and make sure it wasn’t a mirage. But the small tick was unmistakable. Then the whole fandom lost their shit.

This isn’t a drill. MSBY is back. In full swing.

The black jackals are ready to hunt. Their hunger has been supressed long enough. They’ve been starved for too long. They’re out for blood. They’re ready to pounce at any moment. They’re back in the game.

(If you were to be real honest, everyone should have saw this coming after that particular livestream where Bokuto, the renowned king of spoilers, animatedly announced that “We’ll be seeing you guys soon. Like real soon!” with his wide toothy smile, to which Inunaki Shion ferociously slapped him in the back with a cramped broad smile plastered on his face. “In the next livestream, of course! Can’t wait to see you guys soon!” The mom of the group added through gritted teeth. Adriah Tomas choked on his water and sheepishly grinned, while Sakusa Kiyoomi stared ahead unfazed, like this was a daily occurrence.)

Which means it’s time for you to get back to work. Which is also no surprise why you’ve been so occupied these days, having two schedules to work with: your personal schedule and MSBY’s comeback schedule. Which also means, your weekends are MSBY’s weekends.

Fangirling is a job to be taken very, seriously.

Change of word choice for the better. Supporting your idols is a job to be taken very, seriously.

So on a pleasantly warm Saturday afternoon with cherry blossoms petals dancing in the wind, as you try your best to stable yourself on the ground with the huge ass DSLR in your hands, you scan for a specific person among the sea of people ahead. A specific blond, to be exact. But lucky you, because even if you don’t scan for him, he finds his way to your camera lens. Which is why your pictures are one of the most sought after and anticipated of the idol Miya Atsumu, lead dancer of MSBY.

It’s like he has antennas on the top of his head. Despite the flurry of cameras flashing at him, confessions and screams drowning out his surroundings, rapid camera shutters going off like woodpeckers drumming relentlessly on a tree, he somehow, always manages to locate you, to look right into your camera lens, giving you his million dollar smile or infamous grin with small fangs peeking from the sides. The cherry on top? His top-notch fanservice. He never, never fails to give a reaction to you. Be it a small wave, a heart shape with his arms bent over his head, or a flirtatious wink that would combust hearts right on the spot.

You’re beyond grateful for his attentiveness and recognition towards you. It’s not like you’re on his heels. Hitting the shutter button is just a pastime of yours when your schedule allows. In better words, you’re just a random potato popping up occasionally with a camera. Plus, it’s no easy feat to pick a specific person out among a sea of people, especially with tens or hundreds of faces flashing before his eyes in one go.

Truth to be told, you’re thankful for the special attention too, because you get to share the fun and playful side of him with everyone, to light up everyone’s day with pictures of their favourite golden boy. Sharing is caring, and in this big close-knitted family, everyone deserves to be well fed.

However, the good things in life are never free.

Jealousy is a bitch, and bitches need to get well soon. Rumours are born out of wicked tongues, and wicked tongues are born out of the evil fire of envy.

Baseless ridiculous tales circulate among the community. How you’re the daughter of some big-shot of the company or political figure, using, or abusing your privilege connections to gain his favour. How you’re an obsessive fan who has intruded your way into his life, holding his career by the reins out of corrupted love by stalking and threatening him to pose for the camera, your camera specifically if he wants to keep himself and his group safe. How it’s a business relationship between the both of you: you as his private photographer, him paying you to get perfect shots of him to boost his popularity, to outshine his members, to feed his monstrous ego.

But do you care? Of course you don’t.

Because between this jam-packed schedule, this is the only time you get to see your boyfriend in real life, and you want to keep a record of his amazing journey through your lenses. It’s a diary of his growth, the beautiful moments in his life. A diary for him, you and his fans. To also show him that you’re here with him, here for him, no matter what.

And does Miya Atsumu care? Of course he doesn’t.

Because what more can he ask by having the opportunity to see you in flesh, even if it’s just a few seconds amidst his hectic back-to-back schedules. You’re his serotonin, the one that he misses holding in his arms after a long tiring day, the one that keeps him going, the one that he can count on for being there.

Knowing that you’re there at every step of the way makes him take each step with more confidence and pride.

So as Miya Atsumu exits the broadcasting building, he searches for a familiar camera lens among the sea of similar looking cameras shoved in his face. He sweeps his gaze from left to right, and grins when he spots the one he’s looking for.

A face sculpted by the gods with a boyish grin that could lit up the world graces the cameras of many, but only one captures his eyes gleaming with delight head on.

There was a really cute fanart of idol! Atsumu but the artist has closed her twitter account so I can't link it here T_T but if you do have any idol! Atsumu fanarts do send them in hehe

[beautifulletdownfics]

Terrible to Meet You - A Harry Styles One Shot - Act 2, Let not the time discern

++

Harry wants to get out of the house. Alex wants to get home.

Alex meets Harry at at crossroads. Harry meets Alex on a one way street.

A coffee shop OU fic feat. lattes, lamingtons & that Great Unfathomable Feeling.

Story Page Here My Masterlist Here

Read Act 1, If at first we meet Here

++

Two of Us:  'This universe ain't big enough to keep us apart'

&&&

Harry went back to the cafe the next day. (And, after that, every day for a medium while)

There was something about it. Something about the tiny cafe he must have walked past a hundred times before but never took much notice of. Perhaps it was the way he felt the rest of the day after having been there. Or the fact the coffee was fucking good. But also maybe it was her—kind eyes, a foreign accent and a quick wit. It would take Harry's mind and body marginally longer than his heart to recognise what pulled him there. 

Alex was surprised when he returned. Part of her was relieved, too. The other part of her was busy extracting the dagger of guilt that shot through her chest. Seeing Harry reminded her that she forgot to tell her flatmates the juicy The Daily Dose gossip about Harry Styles. And Harry walking up to the window a little before 8 am with a calm but reassuring smile on his face made something in her still, and Alex realised he wasn't gossip at all. 

"Hi," he greeted her pleasantly, seemingly thinking nothing of the way his hand was tucked into the top of his running shorts to extract his phone for payment. (Alex's heart did a lusty little backflip) She saw a slither of a toned tummy and the way the elastic of the shorts folded over itself, "I'm back for more," he said.

More coffee, and more of whatever else it was packaged into the takeaway cups with it. Alex and Paul were Harry's first human interaction after returning from LA. And, where 24 hours prior his aching need had been to see literally anybody, it was now just a need to see more of this somebody. A person whose name he didn't know yet and who Harry had absolutely no reason to feel connected to at all. Knitted hearts aren't visible to the human eye, not when it isn't Looking.

He did though. Although the way she was now watching him with a completely blank expression on her face and a far off look in her eyes made Harry's confidence falter. He repeated what he'd already said over in his head looking for where he might've gone wrong. Harry came up blank. Was she completely freaked out by him already?

Paul rescued her from what Alex was sure was turning into a flushed moment for her. Did Harry really not realise what he'd said with his fingers beyond the elastic of his shorts? Paul's head appeared over her shoulder as a frown started to appear on Harry's face, "Careful Harry, she's a grump today."

Nobody blinked an eye at Paul using Harry's name before it was technically given to them. 

"I am not," Alex insisted too quickly, too forcefully. Her elbow launched backwards, trying to catch Paul's gut. She really was a grump. But last night's wine was still causing her head to thump and her throat to ache. Tears and a bottle of red worked well in the moment but weren't as comforting the morning after. 

Paul's eyebrows rose in Harry's direction, and he waved a hand out in front of him, expertly weaving away from her attack even in the tiny space, "See?"

"Ah," Harry nodded awkwardly and briefly looked at his feet.

"Doesn't like it when I start talking about universe stuff," Paul explained loudly, despite nobody asking for him to. "Very spiritually pragmatic, the Australians."

"Didn't know that," Harry added, expression turning to one of interest. He wasn't involved in this part of the conversation the previous day.

"Long black?" Alex asked because yes she remembered his order, and she had the defence of it having been less than 24 hours since she last made Harry's coffee in case anyone started raising eyebrows for another reason.

"Uh, yeah," Harry fumbled over how quickly the exchange turned to business, "Thank you."

She got to work but felt Harry's eyes on her as her hands ran on autopilot, stepping through the process. The click click of the bean hopper, the churn of the grinder, packing the head … Alex put the machine on to run and internally cursed Paul, who took himself into the back room, mumbling something about them running low on serviettes. A blatant lie. 

Now, when she turned back to Harry, she tried to look calm and serene, like him. But she was already covered in coffee grind and couldn't be sure there wasn't a smudge of it across her face. Paul never told her when there was. Harry's heart was waving to hers widely.

"So … You're definitely not in a bad mood then?" Harry had an expression on his face that told Alex he was testing the waters, but the teasing note was there in just the right amount. 

"I'm hungover, which is completely different," she provided.

His smile turned into a grimace, "Oh yeah, completely … Nothing worse … Self-inflicted misery."

Alex tried not to let Harry's awkwardness affect her and in doing so fell into an old pastime of hers; filing the silence with mindless chatter, "Exactly. And then if you add in some idiot going on about the universe and it's wonderful, eternal plans for my existence … I could just kill a man, you know?"

Paul, Paul is the man I could kill, she thought.

He didn't know, but Harry nodded obediently anyway, "You need carbs and coffee, not the cosmos."

"Thank you," Alex gave Harry a look that told him she thought it was obvious the two of them were right, "I mean, the downright gall of that man, trying to put the universe on me this year of all years. Absolutely bloody insane."

Harry tried to hide the instant smile that came to his face hearing her accent navigate absolutely bloody insane. "I'm Harry … By the way … Feel like we're at names."

"Alexandra. But it's Alex." She added quickly, ignoring the lovely, melodic chuckle that came from Harry, "Do you really think that this year, with a global pandemic, anyone can claim that the universe is conspiring for their specific good? Like, 'Sorry everyone about the pandemic, this is really about my destiny, so you're all just going to have to hang tight while that all falls into place!' This is a terrible year. The universe isn't setting up shit."

"Well, it's terrible to meet you, Alex," Harry grinned, stealing her word. She really was in a grump, and he loved it. But if there was one thing Harry knew how to do, it was charm and disarm. He had a feeling nothing would look as lovely as Alex with a blush he'd put there. 

Alex paused where she was about to put the lid on his coffee. She felt her cheeks heat as the last few moments played over in her head—her ranting, Harry's introduction, threatening to murder a man—and then she took in the way he was watching her. A little pink-cheeked himself, amused but not appalled, a waiting look of anticipation on his face for what might come out of her big mouth next. 

"I think I might still be a little drunk," she excused meekly. Despite herself, Alex thought she might have a little crush.

"You're handling it well," Harry provided kindly, taking the coffee from where Alex put it down in front of him. He waved his phone over the payment portal, waiting for the beep before locking the screen and going back to looking at her, "Drinking for any particular reason?"

"Oh," Alex's eyes widened, "I—

—"Sorry, that was intrusive of me."

"No, it's okay," she continued quietly, not seeing the way her softening had Harry frowning in concentration to tune into what she was about to say, "I've been trying to get home—back to Australia—for a while now. Flights keep getting cancelled or, on Saturday, I was bumped from one at Heathrow…. So we're back to square one."

Dread filled Harry instantly. He could see how upset Alex was, the heartache in her voice—the homesickness—and he hated this look on her, the opposite to the one he'd just daydreamed about. If there was one thing Harry knew it was what it was to miss home. There was no cure for it. A dozen ways he could offer to help burst to the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. 

"I'm sorry, that's really shit. Have …" he hesitated to ask, "Have they put you on another one?"

She smiled through glassy eyes, "It's complicated, that's not really how flights home are working at the moment … But it's alright! I'm fine. I'll get there eventually. I got the refund for the first one, back in April, last week and Paul's let me come back to work here three times now so … This can't last forever, right?"

Harry didn't have an answer for that, he was in no hurry to return to his house as he took a sip of his coffee, "How long has it been since you were home?"

"I went back for a visit a little over two years ago," Alex flipped a button on the espresso machine in front of her, to distract herself from the subject but also the way Harry was watching her. If only she could see the way the hearts were watching each other. She started rinsing out her coffee mug under the stream of boiling water, "My sister came over for Christmas last year, though."

"I just got back from America," Harry provided without knowing where the urge to comfort this stranger was coming from, "I was only gone a few months, and it was a little hard to get back, it felt dreadful, so I can't imagine what it's like for you. That's a long time to be so far from home, especially now."

While he spoke, Alex started making herself a latte, for something to do in the moment and for something to hold onto if Harry stayed at the window. 

"How long have you been in London?" He asked. How long have you been just around the corner? Harry thought. 

When she looked over at him, Harry felt like she was seeing through him. There was something about her soft, brown eyes and the way they exuded kindness that had him buoyant with giddiness at the same time as feeling incredibly self-conscious. 

"Four years now," Alex told him, "Was supposed to be just a 12-month adventure."

"Your family must miss you then."

She shrugged, "I think they're used to it now. Life moves on without you, which is strange at first. Tough to get used to, that the people who own you suddenly have lives you only know about from catch-ups and Instagram posts."

Harry didn't know how to tell her that he knew exactly what she meant. He'd been struggling with that very notion for years now. Home never left like the same home he remembered, and wherever he found himself living—LA or the road—never quite felt right either. 

"I've loved it though," Alex added, "Wouldn't have stayed if I didn't. This year though … I just want to be home, London's… Lost something."

Harry watched her shake herself out of the sad moment, her face brightened, and he barely registered the way Alex said in a genuinely upbeat fashion that she'd just have to wait for her time. He smiled along with the rising of her cheeks and felt like he saw a transition between two feelings that was entirely healthy and okay. She wasn't pretending. Her graciousness and patience with life were astounding, despite the fact he'd equally seen her sadness as being genuine as well. The balance there was enlightening. 

"Need to make the most of the bonus time you've been given here then," he tried hesitantly. The hearts nodded at each other, gleefully. 

That had been the right thing to say, the smile on Alex's face amplified in agreement, "Exactly.”

3AM 'She's got a little bit of something' &&&

Alex was sitting on an upturned milk crate as Harry rounded the corner. 

His step faltered but only because she was looking right at him as if expecting him to arrive. He smiled under his mask and tugged it down while he was still a reasonable distance away. Alex smiling at him, holy hell did that taste—the flavour of her spirit—feel good in Harry's chest. Each day for nearly a month he'd felt the same way every time he saw her.

Alex received a text message from Harry just after 7 am that morning. Unlike the ones he sent every other day telling her he was on his way (an old fashioned tip from his sister, to demonstrate to Alex that Harry was thinking of her) that morning Harry told her he wouldn't see her until the afternoon. All day, she waited. Her heart tapped its foot impatiently in her chest, a nervous ticking that made Alex clumsy and disappointed when every new customer wasn't him.

"Hello," Harry grinned back at her, because that was all he could do, really. In her presence happiness exploded out of him and charged his whole body faster than caffeine ever could. His shoe scuffed the concrete path again as he looked at the closed cafe behind her, "Did I miss something?"

Harry stopped a safe distance from her, not sure how this new level of interaction would go. He'd never seen her whole body all at once, part of her was always obscured by the cafe window. Alex in the flesh—in the whole—was like the first taste of chilli on his tongue, invigorating in a way that stole the breath from his lungs.

"We close at three every day," she stayed seated but pushed another crate towards him with her foot. There were brown smudges of coffee grind all up and down her shins, and he guessed the black jeans she wore to work were strategic.

Harry squinted the sign on the window by the door, he was always occupied by her and didn't need arbitrary activities like reading signs to keep him entertained waiting for his coffee, "Really?"

"You usually come in the morning," Alex said pleasantly, waiting for him to sit down opposite her, "Here."

Harry was overwhelmed, he really was, by the sight of a white takeaway cup in her hand, and he reached for it carefully, "What's this—Alex."

"Can't have you missing your coffee … Made it right before closing, had to put the tiniest drop of milk in there otherwise it would shit itself and taste horrendous," she laughed at his wrinkled nose at the mention of milk, he sniffed the lid just to tease her or to get her to roll her eyes at him blithely. It worked, "It won't kill you, promise."

"Says someone whose intestines know how to handle lactose without making you shit yourself," he borrowed her phrase. Sounded better when Alex said it, with the wideness and the breadth of her accent. 

Alex tilted her head back and laughed. Really laughed and Harry didn't have it in him to be embarrassed or scold himself for how he just spoke about his bowels in front of her, because the sound is marvellous and so Alex. It's unapologetic and genuine and a touch off-beat, which he loves. 

"Holy shit," she let out a long, shaking breath afterwards, holding a palm to her rib as if in pain. She was pretending not to notice how Harry stared at her while she was laughing as if extremely happy with himself. "You wear white bottoms far too often for that to be a daily worry for you."

"Oh, it's a worry," Harry insisted, mainly to keep the joke going. He felt like his face was about to crack in half, "I can't have people spiking my coffees without my knowledge," Harry took a sip but then pointed his finger at her playfully, "I'm going to have to keep an eye on you."

As if he wasn't already.

"Busy day?" Alex asks, watching Harry take a hearty sip of the coffee she made him.

"Yeah, I um … I had some, ah, work stuff."

"Oh?" Alex crossed one leg over the other and looked at Harry with (mock) interest, "What do you do for work?"

Harry's eyes bulged involuntarily, and his mind went completely blank. Did she actually not know? 

Alex only let the horror play on his face for a few seconds, "I'm kidding! I'm kidding. Jesus, Harry, sorry. I was just having a go."

"You're an excellent actress, as it turns out," he swallowed down the moment of panic. It only ever happened once before, years before, that a girl he'd been interested in hadn't known who Harry was beforehand. It hadn't ended up going down well.

Alex asks Harry about the book recommendation she sent him the week before, whether he'd started reading it yet. 

Harry held up a finger at her, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that," he said, "But I haven't had lunch … I'd promised myself one of Paul's ham and cheese croissants."

"Well, you're shit out of luck, unfortunately," Alex told him, "He takes the keys with him, I can't break in and make you one. But the cafe on the high street around the corner stays open until five. You could try there?"

Harry felt like he was about to defecate himself, but it wasn't from the lactose, "Will you join me?"

Alex's eyes brightening instantly, but Harry didn't miss the way her cheeks reddened, "Sure. Of course."

"Great!" Harry coughed down his too-enthusiastic response then worried—as everyone did in 2020—that his physical reaction to her saying yes, the cough, would be interpreted as a symptom of something else entirely. He checks the time on his Apple Watch, "Should we go then?"

They walk in step away from The Daily Dose, and away from the previous pattern of their friendship. It strikes them both that this is the first time (both trip over 'first' in their minds as having the possibility to suggest it happening more often but their hearts have known all along, of course) they were out in the world together, the first time they were more than barista and customer.

Harry's hand touched Alex's forearm when they got to the cafe's door as he held it open and encouraged her to go inside. They ordered takeaway, Harry got a croissant (he was still working on the coffee Alex made him) while Alex ordered a tea. They then walked back a little way to where there was a small park with vacant seats Harry noticed on the way past. 

"So, the book …" Alex asked him, the lid of her tea is off to let the heat escape. She’d crossed her legs and angled her hips towards him on the bench seat. Harry faced forward, heart hammering as he tried to remember how to use his voice.

Harry struggled to look dignified while biting into his too-hot croissant, the cheese burnt his lip, but he tried to hide it, "Oh, yeah, well, I haven't started it."

"I thought you said you wanted to speak to me about it!" She laughed.

"A ploy," Harry admitted sheepishly, "Was trying to figure out how to ask you to come with me."

In her head, Alex squealed. Her heart held two thumbs up at Harry's.

"How's the coffee," she asked, eyeing the cup in his hand.

Harry grins, knowing his next line is a winner, "Best in London, easily."

+++

GIve me all your best Alex & Harry theories Act 3, Hearts beat not fail - coming soon!

+++

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[tinyjeanmarco]

grisha relationship hc’s!

note: hi, this might barely get any reads, but i really love grisha, okay? enter the dilfverse with me. this is set in modern day! it also turned out SUPER long, so please enjoy! ♡

grisha x gn!reader

warnings: none.

you met grisha on a dating site. yes, that’s right, you met him online.

he’s a hot doctor and he seemed like a very sweet man from what you read on his profile, so after matching with him, you began to chat.

you quickly found out that he had two sons, one that was in his twenties, and one that was seventeen. zeke and eren.

he was worried that would be an issue for you, as it was for people in the past. 

you quickly reassured him that you did not mind whatsoever.

when he took you out on dates, they would always be to some really fancy restaurants, because, as a doctor, he could afford it. he just loves treating you when he gets the chance.

he would never let you pay for dinner, he always would insist on being the one to cover the bill.

eventually, you two made it official and started going steady, much to his son eren’s displeasure.

you two had no idea what eren’s deal was with you. sure you were much younger than grisha, but that shouldn’t be a reason for eren to hate you.

you had met zeke a few times before, and he was pretty chill with you, he understood that you and his father really liked each other, so he made an effort to get to know you.

but no one had any idea what eren’s deal was. 

grisha speculated that perhaps it was that he wasn’t ready to move on from his mom after she passed.

you had actually witnessed many occasions where eren would argue with his dad about how he didn’t like you and didn’t think it was a good idea to start dating you.

it hurt your feelings, but you never really said anything because you knew it was hard on eren and you didn’t want to say anything to grisha to drive him and his son farther apart.

eventually, eren accepted the changes, and while he was still unhappy, he conveyed it quietly instead of bursting out angrily.

he would rarely talk to you, and this didn’t change once grisha asked you to move in.

most days where you were at the house, were pretty lonely, even with eren there. grisha would be at work, you would have a day off, and when eren got home from school, he would grab a snack and retreat to his room.

he didn’t say hi to you, just gave you a wave and dismissed your presence.

you decided it would be good to bring up to him one night when you two were settling down for bed. he was livid, wanting to go talk to eren right that moment, but you grabbed him by the arm, keeping him in the bed with you.

you explained how you didn’t want to upset the relationship between the two. grisha was honestly upset about the whole thing and just decided to apologize and hold you extra close that night.

promises he will sit down with eren that weekend and talk to him about it and try to get him to be nicer to you and accept you as his new parental figure, because he wants to spend his future with you.

that saturday, you wake up and eren greets you which is already weird. he tells you his dad is at work, so it’s just you two. you nod and head to make your morning coffee.

eren confronts you and asks if he can talk to you. when you agree, he tells you his issue the whole time. 

he thought his dad was trying to replace his mom with some new partner, he just thought it was too soon, but didn’t realize how selfish he was to everyone else involved.

he never took into account that his dad was ready to be happy again, and that he wouldn’t just forget his last partner.

you hug eren (which you have never done before) and he apologizes again, saying he wants to get to know you since you’ll be a big part of his life.

you decide to take him to the arcade that day, just the two of you, so you could spent quality time together.

grisha gets home before both of you, and is honestly super surprised, but very excited to see you two talking and laughing, getting along when you guys get home as well.

grisha suggests going out to dinner that night as a treat for both of you, and that way you can all three spend time together as a family.

eren readily agrees, and so do you. that night was a blast, filled with lighthearted laughter and full hearts.

enough of the backstory with how you and grisha got together!

grisha was super confident and flirty when you first started dating. he would be pulling out those compliments all the time, making you feel wonderful.

kissing grisha was one of the best pastimes. he was so good at kissing since he had a lot of experience. it comes with age.

he would cradle your face in his hands as he kisses you, being so gentle and making sure you felt loved.

whew, making out with this man? it would be steamy as all heck. he would love to have you perched on his lap when you two make out, his hands on your hips.

he likes to press kisses to your jaw in passing. kinda like a kiss on the cheek, but on the jaw.

this man knows what makes you tick and will do his best to make you weak in the knees.

he loves to have a hand on your waist or hip when you’re together.

he also loves to have a hand on your thigh, too. he especially does it when he’s driving. he’ll reach over and rest his hand on your thigh, rubbing circles in with his thumb.

i think instead of holding hands, he will prefer to have you around his arm. sure, he will still hold your hand, but he enjoys the feel of your hands/arms wrapped around his bicep.

he also loves carrying you or giving you piggyback rides.

he’s really good at cooking, but since he tends to be really busy with work, he doesn’t get around to doing it often.

when he does though? you’re in for a treat.

grisha really loves your cooking though and gets overjoyed when he comes home from work to see you made something for dinner.

ohhh grisha is the type who would be so into family movie nights or family game nights.

movie nights would be on fridays. they also typically included armin and mikasa, eren’s best friends, because they would spend the night.

game nights would be on sunday because grisha wants to invite zeke as well to join them in their game adventures.

grisha’s favorite moments are some of the ones where it’s only you two at the house, because you can both lounge around in your underwear and spend the day cuddling.

it doesn’t happen often with him being a doctor and all along with eren usually being home with friends over.

whenever eren is over at armin’s house or mikasa’s house for the weekend though? saturday mornings are spent making breakfast in very few clothes.

cuddles with grisha are the best, because he’ll just have you tucked under his arm with your arms around his middle.

he loves to press kisses to the top of your head when you’re cuddling as well.

when he’s feeling really stressed, he likes to eat sweet things, so you tend to bake him cookies.

he also likes when you hold him close and run your fingers through his hair when he’s stressed. it relaxes him and helps him fall asleep when he is unable to.

grisha’s favorite position to sleep in is with you snuggled into his side, head on his chest.

grisha definitely is one of those guys who would sleep in the nude. he’s just comfy with his body and sees no importance to put on clothes to just sleep.

if you’re not comfortable with that though, he respects you and will put on clothes. i definitely think it takes a while for him to warm up to that point anyways.

overall, grisha is totally a family man, he loves you so much, and he really loves his family.

he wants you to become part of it and enjoy his children. 

oh my god, i see him as a grill dad. he will so grill for your little family whenever he gets the opportunity to. it’s just so fun for him.

makes dad jokes all the time, they’re pretty awful and make you question why you love him.

when you express that to him, he pouts and pretends to cry until you kiss him.

AHH grisha would love to impromptu slow dance with you in the kitchen or living room when you guys have music playing.

he would have a collection of records and a nice vintage record player, so you guys would almost always have some tunes playing in your house.

eren would walk in on you guys dancing, maybe sharing slow kisses, and he would pretend to throw up before grabbing a can of pop and slipping back into his room. 

teenagers, amirite?

grisha is such a good boyfriend and would be an even better husband! (i will make separate headcanons in the future for being married to him!) grisha will give his entire heart to you, so treat him with much love, please. ♡

[kayleightarot]

Saturday, May 27, 2023 Good morning! Today is a day for Noble Impulses, Revitalisation, and Childlike Joy Tarot of the Day: Six of Cups

The Six of Cups is about simplicity, history, and an open-hearted approach to life. Just as the ways in which your deeply rooted past informs the present, what and how you choose to remember, informs the future. You may be moved to revisit childhood memories today; remembering simplicity and the ability to find the joy in each moment.

The pull of those warm nostalgic feelings may inspire you to reconcile an old rift, miss a lost loved one, or even rekindle an old flame. Regardless of where in the past you return, remember that the present is where you must live so release issues and patterns that don’t serve your highest good

💚 This is an excellent time for creativity so, if your job doesn't call for it, find personal time to be creative and expressive. If you don't have a creative hobby right now, or don't feel you have the time then do something expressively child-like. When my clients draw this card in a reading I suggest colouring with crayons or getting a bottle of bubble solution – it’s difficult to be reserved & ‘adult’ whilst blowing bubbles.

💙 In love, this card can indicate a need to refocus the path of your relationship. You may have been living on the romantic warm feelings of the beginning of your relationship and not spending enough time talking about the goals and future, or allowing your past to hinder your relationship. Perhaps you simply abandoned the hobbies and pastimes you had as an individual or are 'dining out' on past tales of glory and not living them.

🧡 Today, don't let 'adulting' or looking to your future prevent you from connecting with the important parts of your past. Neither, let nostalgia or reward cloud your vision of the past nor entice you into 'living' there. Reconcile the feelings for your higher good; then, blow bubbles… Gun a-màireach (until tomorrow), Lovelies Peace out

[ladyeliot]

Prologue [B.B / S.R.] 40s

Series:  Portraits of our last summer 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes / Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was the summer of 1942 when your life changed forever. Before you left for college, you wanted to enjoy your last summer of freedom. The United States had entered the war in December 1941, no one knew what was going to happen, so everyone wanted to enjoy any moment of peace.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 2034

A/N:  Inspired by the novels of Nicholas Sparks. Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

When was the moment when you stopped looking at life with those eyes of innocence and became a woman? During the summer of 1942 many events took place in your life, creating a before and after in your free spirit, but it was not until much later, when you read those words in that letter that you realised that you had changed and were never going to meet again that laughing young girl who saw the world bathed in colour.

But to understand your story, the story of Emily Lawton, you have to understand the way your childhood years were. You were born on October 16, 1924 into a wealthy family in the town of Greenville, your father, Mr. Lawton, owned one of the largest tobacco companies in the region, and was extremely popular with the crowds, regardless of their social status, as his business generated a great demand for employment, which was a welcome development in these times. On the other hand, your mother was more socially aware, she liked decorating and was a much-loved member of the Greenville ladies’ club, which used to do a lot of charity work for the underprivileged. However, all this didn’t capture your attention at all, perhaps because you had grown up in both circles, and therefore your curiosity was lessened.

Your parents had taken it upon themselves to provide you with the best education possible, and thus had faith that you would be able to enter one of the best universities in the county and possibly the country at the age of 18, a fact that on the one hand pleased you, because it would mean leaving their side and starting to see the world through your own eyes, but at the same time irritated you, because your mother still intended to plan your whole life. For you, life was not meant to be planned, things came at the right time, without waiting for them, but it was clear that such an imaginative vision did not belong to a woman, as your mother used to remind you, but to a girl, something you would learn in time.

You used to spend long evenings attending social events hand in hand with your parents, which at times could seem a bit presumptuous, especially when in 1939 the war began on the European continent, but you could hardly notice it because of the bubble in which that society lived, but as the years went by and the attack on Pearl Harbor on 7 December 1941, the lives of all Americans were cut short, on several levels. Your 17-year-old mind still held the innocence and naivety, which you tried to hide with your chatter, your mischievous smiles and your laughter, but all you did was to show it even more. A young man, a William Craig, from a family of bankers, asked for your hand in marriage in the spring of ‘42, just before he was due to join the army and leave for the Primary Training Centre where he was to be trained as a private, but although it almost broke your heart to refuse him, for your future plans were far removed from any romance, you did.

It’s not that you weren’t romantic, nor had you flirted with the occasional young man - on the contrary, you loved it, you used to - but you had love so idealised that the distance between flirting and loving someone were complete opposites. Although that used to confuse young people, because your candid facade attracted them to the point of believing that you were madly in love with them and that you wanted to marry them, a confusion that became more extreme when you quickly lost interest in them.

Now, let’s talk about that summer of 1942. There was a moment in your life when you thought you were the luckiest person in the universe. You held the window down on that Willys Americar Sedan, sticking your face out of it, causing the summer wind to blow subtly against your eyelids and the curly locks of your brown hair to flutter freely. Your eyes watched as the setting sun broke through the treetops, letting in the last rays of sunlight of that first Sunday in June. The drive was shared with several flocks of sparrows that began their flight as the car’s engine invaded their quiet, while on the horizon, the Kiawah River showed its presence, informing you how close the end of the drive was.

You found that you enjoyed breathing in the peace of Wadmalaw Island, quite contrary to the effusiveness of Greenville, where you and your parents used to reside for the rest of the year. The last time you set foot on that land you were only 13 years old and your youth was just beginning to blossom, but now you had returned at the age of 17. Before leaving a residence you had thought about how you wanted that summer to be, your last summer before going to university, your imagination had recreated numerous scenes and events that could happen, but what was clear to you was that you wanted to enjoy it, the world was going down the drain and before yours went too you needed to live it.

You barely remembered how comforting it was to look out over the landscape, for it had been five years since your family, the Lawtons, had summered on the coast. In the old days it was traditional for you to set out for the southeastern part of South Carolina in June, arriving in the vicinity of the small town of Rockville, established in 1784 and only a few miles from Charleston. Its scenery was magnificent, you used to describe it as “a canvas of the natural landscape of Southern life”, which you would contemplate for the rest of your life.

But owing to the outbreak of the war and some setbacks in your father’s business, your presence was required during all the summers, yet things turned out most favourably, as your father used to report at dinner parties, for tobacco, it seemed, was the greatest leisure that soldiers could be offered at the front. Unlike your father, or your father, you had no interest in the family business, you thought it was devoid of art and colour, too banal for your taste, in short, dull, and you used to shy away from anything dull, you used to keep looking at life from a romantic perspective, still with a girl’s eyes, even if you thought you were a woman.

The journey took shape, the green landscapes gave way to a set of paved streets and an unusual urban movement, a few meters ago a sign provided at the side of the road had informed you of the beginning of the town of Rockville, but you hardly remembered that this town of a little more than a hundred inhabitants had so much movement.

“Why,” you said, peering curiously through the window, “you didn’t know that Rockville was now the new Charleston.”

“Looks like it,” whispered your mother, looking out her window. “Oh, I think it’s the county fair.”

“Looks like everyone’s having a good time,” you commented, resting your chin on your hands as you watched small groups of young people laughing. “Connie’s probably around here somewhere, if the Dawsons are here yet.”

“I spoke to Mr Dawson just yesterday,” your father looked at you through the rear-view mirror.

“Well?” you were genuinely interested in his answer.

“They arrived Saturday night,” he reported, “apparently his wife wanted to visit Charleston and so they moved up the trip.”

You nodded, Connie was one of your childhood friends, back in the day the Dawsons bought a property near yours in Rockville to enjoy summers together, unlike you, the Dawson family hadn’t missed a single summer. Connie was an incentive to enjoy those three months, she knew how to have fun, she offered that rebellious imaginative edge that you both shared within your allowed limits, so you looked forward to meeting her again to begin your new adventures.

You continued looking through your rolled down window, leaning your head on your arms that were supported by the car door, on the left side there was a sort of enclosure lined with wooden fences, in which numerous booths offered the best pastimes for those people who were there to forget everything that was happening around them. Your gaze was distracted, analysing the fairground, watching how people entered and left with ice creams and sweets in their hands, perhaps you expected to spot someone you knew, but it was not like that, evidently you did not know anyone there, however blue eyes rested on your face. A young man, of an age correlative to yours, was watching you leaning on one of the wooden fences, the car had stopped at a pedestrian crossing and the boy was delighting in the view he had of you.

On several occasions you had been the centre of attention at the social events you used to attend in Greenville, many boys had laid their eyes on you, but never in such a daring way as that young man was doing. If it had happened any other way you would have offered him a smile, and if you had liked the young man you would have moved with the wind to find out in the most subtle way who he was, but when you saw that he was being so brazen you turned your face away and rolled up the window.

The drive continued and the town of Rockville was left behind to take you back into the beauty of the countryside. White picket fences opened the way to a wide road backed by magnificent oak trees on either side. At the end of it was Lawton Plantation waiting to welcome its owners. The surroundings had not changed at all, but a sense of longing came over you. You were about to venture into your last summer before your departure for university and you felt that things were about to take a new turn. However, as you gazed at the porch surrounding the colonial-style house in the distance, your thoughts returned to their usual bliss. The house had known its heyday during the 19th century, being one of the highest-yielding cotton plantations in South Carolina. It had been built in 1790, sitting on over four thousand acres of riverfront land, but over the years its history had been left to memories, especially yours, for you wondered if the previous owners of the house had also marvelled at its surroundings.

The instant the car stopped, the back door opened, letting your excitement run free. It took you barely a minute to reach the inside of the property, offering a quick greeting to Mr. and Mrs. Fulton, the keepers of the house in your absence, and discovering that your belongings were still in place, surrounded by that peculiar scent of wood. You used to have two favourite places in that house. The first was a small room dedicated to painting, located on the main floor and which had a private exit to the porch through a glass door. That corner was equipped with all the necessary material to be able to escape from your thoughts and express every feeling and emotion inside. It was your father, with whom in some respects you shared similar tastes, who, on discovering at the age of 11 your interest in art, decided to encourage your fascination by creating that room for you. On the other hand, the second favourite place was the stables, or horse stables, which were the gateway to a new universe for you, which would allow you to enjoy those places hand in hand with your beloved Savannah, your mare, who had arrived a week before you.

That first day was not much more than rediscovering every corner of that property, rediscovering your old self from five years ago, reminiscing about remote times and preparing yourself for what was to come and what you would begin to experience the next day.

Taglist Open (DM)

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[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

📂

Brakevans—an unusually high amount of these seem to be blessed (?) with sight beyond the ken of engine or human.   

If you have one of these brakevans with “knowledge,” you’ve basically got a prophet in your yard.   

If you can keep ‘em. The more they travel, the more they seem to “know.” Or perhaps it’s backwards—the one blessed with the most foresight are the ones who stray furthest afield. They tend to get “lost” far outside their depot or even railway. Odysseus on box-bogies—strangers in a strange land.   

There is a version of Douglas and the spiteful brakevan that is whispered among the rolling stock: it wasn’t an “accident” at all, nor indeed was it payback for past wrongs; rather, the brakevan had made a prediction that Douglas couldn’t cope with.   

Of course, this is just what the trucks and coaches say.   

(And, let’s be honest. For all they sometimes ascribe great powers of second sight to the odd brakevan, the trucks and coaches are also the worst at taunting any brakevan that gets damaged, or lets their train get damaged, in an accident. “Ho ho ho, why didn’t you see THAT coming?!” and all that sort of amiable rot.)   

* * *   

Toad has long since become the bookie on his line. His services are also in high demand at Tidmouth and Knapford. A crackerjack at numbers, he keeps track of most all their mass betting… which is basically the railway’s chief pastime (right behind “affectionately and not-so-affectionately annoying the hell out of each other”).   

He absolutely denies, with mild indignation, that he has any strange knowledge or sight. He is a respectable brakevan, devoted to his duty. Perhaps, he’ll allow, a little too fond of a flutter… but mustn’t we all have a way to blow off some steam? Even if, begging your pardon, for some of us this is only figurative.   

Which all might be true, yeah. But it doesn’t explain how, if you couch your inquiry in the form of asking Toad to calculate odds, he’s been known to give some very bizarre numbers.   

Like on a beautiful tourist-studded Saturday in spring 1988. Knapford station:

“Yeah, right,” laughed a NWR-owned Maunsell 0-6-0 (whose wishes in the matter of public anonymity even the Thin Forking Clergyman and Son have respected, so we sure as hell will), “what are the odds, that we’ll ever have to deal with another Gordon around here?”   

Toad, close by but shielded from view, called over to the engines: “2 to 3 by 2020!”   

Leading to a brief but profound silence. Toad’s calculations on any odds have been unofficial and uncritically-accepted NWR law for ages now.   

“What?” asked the 0-6-0.   

“What?” asked Toad serenely.   

“What do you mean by that, Toad?” asked Percy. “Another Gordon?”   

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Percy, but I don’t rightly know. She asked the odds, and, given that this is one of my jobs around here—in a manner of speaking, you understand—I was pleased to give them to her.”   

“But what does ‘another Gordon’ mean?”   

“Excuse me, Mr. Percy” (and Toad himself sounded faintly puzzled) “but I would put that question to the lady.”   

The 0-6-0 was confused by the turn her casual teasing had taken, and announced that all of them down the western end of the line were cracked (her usual duties are on the Norramby line), and the matter ended there. Well, I mean, there was some gossip about it that spread far and wide, but certainly no one laid down any bets, and the matter was mostly forgotten except as the occasional punchline.   

Until Tornado was made.   

Toad cannot explain himself, and mildly maintains that they should apply to the 0-6-0 for answers. But this is the sort of thing that goes down with Toad about once a decade or so.

* * *

(Oliver stoutly denies, with considerable scoffing, that Toad has any special abilities. Whether this is him being a self-involved classist jackass, or whether because he is trying to protect Toad from the public scrutiny that makes his old friend so uncomfortable... well, I guess that’s all in the eye of the beholder. But I can tell you that some of the odds Toad gave him and Isabel during their time on the run were a source of comfort... and other times they were a source of near despair.)

[itsafanficthing]

The Paper Boy - Chapter 7

A03 is here

Saturday. The first week of school was finally complete. Claire had made it through with the help of Jamie and his friends, making a few of her own (the Hunter twins, Louise de La Tour, Frank Randall, and to Jamie's dismay- Tom Christie). She seemed to be fitting in well and as soon as his friends had had their fun with her posh accent, they had accepted her as one of their own.

Homework had piled up despite it being only the first week back and after Jamie finished his Saturday paper run and his morning chores (and a quick visit to the Demon Horse Donas) Jamie was spread out at the kitchen table with his Physics homework. Jenny was making jars of plum, raspberry and blackberry jams, occasionally singing along to the soft music of Fleetwood Mac playing in the background. Jamie studied his current question, twirling his pen in his fingers as he thought it over.

Problem 2.19

Jules Verne in 1865 suggested sending people to the Moon by firing a space capsule from a 200-m-long cannon with a launch speed of 10.97 km/s. What would have been the unrealistically large acceleration experienced by the space travelers during launch? Compare your answer with the free-fall acceleration 9.80 m/s2.

“What’s the question?” Jenny asked looking over at Jamie as the various jams bubbled away on the active top.

“It’s physics, acceleration patterns,” Jamie mumbled before he started to write some rough notes.

“Ye look like yer brain’s about to explode,” Jenny laughed as she turned back to the stove.

“Aye, I think I got it,” Jamie replied absentmindedly before scribbling out his previous answer and correcting his math.

They both worked in companionable silence as the music continued to flow through the kitchen. Jamie paused, looking up at Jenny as she sang along (Rhianna). It had been so long since they had simply enjoyed each other’s company and Jamie realised how much he missed it. They’d both been so busy with the farm and their own lives, that they had lost the joy of just being with each other. It didn’t matter that each were doing their own thing- simply being in each other’s company was a pastime sorely missed by Jamie. A time when Jenny wasn’t trying to parent Jamie and Jamie wasn’t trying to rebel against his sister.

“What’s wrong?” Jenny asked with her back to him, no doubt feeling his eyes on her.

“Nothin’,” Jamie grinned as he looked back down at his notebook.

“What are ye starin’ at?” Jenny asked as she turned around and Jamie could hear the amusement in her voice.

“It’s nothin’, we just have’na spent time like this together in a while. It’s good,” he mumbled somewhat embarrassed as Jenny made a satisfied grunt in acknowledgement.

“Aye, I ken.”

They both looked up at the sound of a knock on the front door, before looking at each other in confusion. Not many people came in through the front door; not many people who knew the Frasers anyway. More often than not people announced themselves as they walked in through the kitchen door.

“I’ll get it,” Jamie said as he stepped away from the table rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. “Could use the break anyway.”

Jenny nodded in acknowledgement before taking one her jams off the stove to cool.

Jamie opened the front door and was surprised to see Claire standing in front of him.

“Sassenach,” he greeted in surprise as Claire smiled at him.

“Jamie, I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said blushing slightly. Jamie was wearing his ratty house clothes after a busy morning and he adjusted the hem of his old rugby jersey nervously.

“Not at all, I was just doin’ some homework. Come in.” Jamie stepped to the side as Claire passed him into the house. She smelt like… green- was the first word that came to Jamie’s mind- as if she had just risen out of freshly turned earth.

“I was in the kitchen with Jen,” Jamie said from behind her as he closed the door.

“If you’re busy I can go. Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn up unannounced, even though that’s exactly what I’ve just done. It’s just that I don’t have your phone number and I thought you might have finished with your chores and you might want to hang out, but if you’re busy I can go. I mean I have your house number, but not your mobile. Do you have a mobile? I was just sitting at home and I was bored and I thought that you might be bored as well so I walked over here. I should get a bike because it was much farther than I thought it was, but it’s a nice day out so it wasn’t so bad. But if you are busy I can go.” Claire spoke quickly, hardly taking a breath between one thought and the next, and barely letting Jamie respond as she made her way to the kitchen when Jenny turned around.

“Claire!” Jenny greeted happily as she wiped her hands on a tea towel before trotting over to hug Claire who looked slightly taken aback by the welcome but hugged her back nonetheless.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Claire’s voice was much softer than when she had been speaking to (at) Jamie and Jamie put it down to nerves at seeing Jenny again.

“Not at all. Jamie was just finishing up his homework, weren’t ye?” Jenny answered as she raised a meaningful eyebrow at Jamie.

“Aye, physics has had enough of my time for a Saturday,” Jamie nodded as he flipped his unfinished homework closed.

“Ye should take Claire around the property, show her the farm, she has’na seen it in daylight,” Jenny encouraged as she turned her back to the pair, clearly having decided their activity for them.

“Unless ye wanted to go somewhere else or do somethin’ else?” Jamie asked as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“That sounds perfect,” Claire answered with a slight blush to her cheeks.

—

Jamie ran quickly to his room to change into something a little more… well, a little more presentable. He didn’t care what his family saw him in, but he did care what Claire thought. She was wearing denim shorts and Jamie briefly worried about her pearlescent skin burning in the hot summer sun. Long slender legs with shorts that accentuated her small waist and shapely arse.

Upon returning to Claire who was waiting patiently for him in the hallway, he offered her some sun protection lotion and she took it gratefully explaining again, that the walk was much longer than she had thought- and the sun much hotter.

He tried not to look at her as she rubbed the lotion on her skin, he knew that there was nothing even remotely provocative about the way she was massaging the sun protection onto her body however, there was something so inherently sexy that Jamie could feel his cheeks flushing as he watched her. He felt indecent and immediately turned away from her to rub some onto his face. Perhaps try and disguise the red of his cheeks as rubbing his skin rather than from his indecent thoughts.

Thank the lord that Claire couldn’t read his mind. He was ashamed of the improper thoughts about her and would be mortified if she ever knew how often his body reacted to her.

When his father had given him “the talk” (a paralysingly horrendous ordeal for the pair of them) he had said that Jamie’s body would react to what he was attracted to, and sometimes without him even realising it. Sometimes when Jamie was least expecting it, or even a simple thought that usually he wouldn’t have even considered to be remotely sexual- his body had other ideas. That brought him some comfort at least. While he was largely in charge of his body, limbs and reactions, thanks to teenage hormones, there was also a lot of which he wasn’t in control.

His Da had also told him that when he met the right woman “he would know”. Jamie was sure that when his father had spoken with him, Brian meant years and years and years into the future. He didn’t mean right now. And so, although Jamie thought that he might be in love with Claire Beauchamp, he had certainly never been in love before, so how was he to know? Yes, she did things to his body, but love had to be more than that.

Other girls had given him a physical reaction of course. There was that one time that Laoghaire had worn a swimsuit- a two piece, that barely covered her body. Jamie had immediately looked away but not before he’d received an eyeful and his body reacted faster than his mind. The cold water that he had jumped in to avoid embarrassment had rapidly taken care of that issue.

Claire though, there was something about Claire. Just being around her gave him a hard-on, which was extremely unsettling when she was doing nothing beyond existing.

“Ready?” Claire asked as Jamie turned to face her. She was smiling at him brightly and he couldn’t help the swell of affection he felt for her. She still had some of the sunblock on her cheek, not quite rubbed into her skin.

“Aye, ye just have a bit of-” Jamie didn’t even think about it, he didn’t even hesitate, his hand was moving of its own accord. He gently cupped her chin while his thumb brushed lightly over her cheek.

Like pearl, satin, marble. Claire’s skin was smooth and Jamie found himself moving closer to her, his thumb making the same motion across her skin, though the mark had more than disappeared.

Her cheeks flushed as she met his eyes and his mouth dropped open, if nothing else to get some oxygen to his brain. Dhia, she was so beautiful, whisky swimming in her eyes, he was mesmerised. He could kiss her. He should kiss her. He wanted to kiss her. He needed to kiss her. Was time slowing down? What was that thumping noise in Jamie’s ears? His own heartbeat?

A cupboard slammed from the kitchen and Jamie could hear Jenny moving around and suddenly the room came back into focus with sudden clarity and Jamie stopped what he was doing. What was he doing? He couldn’t kiss her without her permission. He didn’t even know how she felt about him. She thought that they were friends, which they were, but still, you didn’t snog your friends.

“Lotion,” Jamie finished, “on yer cheek. I got it.” Taking a deep breath he took a rather large and somewhat unsteady step away from her and opened the door before striding purposefully out and readjusting himself surreptitiously.

She could never know the extreme effect she had on him.

—-

“Over there are the chickens,” Jamie pointed out as they walked casually through the back garden. “Ma had a wee vegetable patch over there. The horses are down on the back paddock at the moment, we could go see them?” He suggested without meeting Claire’s eyes. He couldn’t look at her after knowing the thoughts that went through his mind when she was putting on sun protection.

Claire nodded as she followed Jamie to the shed that housed most of the farming equipment.

“It’s a bit of a trek. We could take the bike,” Jamie said over his shoulder.

“I don’t have a bike,” Claire said with uncertainty as she followed Jamie.

“I dinna mean a push bike.” Jamie grunted as he heaved the roller door up to show his dirt bike. “This will be faster.”

“I can’t ride that!” Claire exclaimed as she saw what he meant, “I don’t know how.”

“Aye, but I do, all ye need to do is hang on.” Jamie smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner as he wheeled the heavy bike out of the shed.

“I… I’ve never been on a motorbike before,” Claire stammered as Jamie kicked the stand so that the bike was standing upright on its own.

“Weel, there’s a first for everything. This is just used for gettin’ about on the farm. I’ve been riding since a’fore I can remember. Ye’ll be safe with me- I promise. Jenny rides on the back all the time.”

“Do we… should we be wearing helmets? Or jackets?” Claire asked nervously as she took a step closer to the bike and reached out to touch it with a shaking hand, as if to reassure herself that it was real and wouldn’t jump start to life on its own and bite her hand off.

“Nah, not for riding around the farm. Trust me. I would’na let anything bad happen to ye.”

Claire looked between the bike and Jamie several times before she seemed to nod to herself and squared her shoulders bravely.

“Alright then.”

Jamie kicked the bike to life and he saw Claire flinch at the roaring sound.

“I promise ye- I will’na let harm come to ye,” he repeated, raising his voice over the rumbling of the bike.

Claire seemed to huff out a sigh before she gripped his shoulder tightly and swung her leg over the bike, sliding forward until she was pressed against him. He could feel the tension in her arms as she looped them around his middle and clung to him.

“And when you’re not there?” She asked with her breath on his neck as he fought not to shiver at the sensation.  

Rather than give a response he released the clutch slowly, applied a little pressure on the accelerator and they were off with a high pitched squeal from Claire.

—

If Jamie had thought that seeing Claire apply lotion to her skin was enough to give him a hard-on it was nothing- absolutely nothing - in comparison to the feeling of her arms around him and her body pressed up against his back, vibrating with the bike. He didn’t go fast, or at least, he tried not to go fast. It usually took him a few minutes on the bike to get to the back paddock with the horses, but with Claire almost squeezing the breath out of him at every bump it took much longer. He didn’t mind. Every second spent with her body pressed against him, her breath on his neck, was a memory that would be burned into his brain forever.

She squealed (in delight or fear, he didn’t know) as they went over a small mound, the wind whipping through both of their hair. She laughed as he rounded the corner and she lent the complete opposite way, trying to counter the tilt and it took a little wobble for him to right themselves.

As they arrived at the back paddock fence two of the horses came trotting over at the sound of the bike. The sound of the bike meant one thing - food.

Jamie shut off the bike and Claire stayed holding onto him.

“Err, Sassenach,” Jamie cleared his throat. “Ye can let go of me now, we’re here.”

Claire scrambled off the bike (off Jamie) and stumbled slightly as she tried to stand.

“Are ye alright?” He asked as he stood the bike up.

Her hair was well and truly windswept, curls flying in every direction, her cheeks were pink with excitement and her smile was positively luminous.

“That was wonderful!” She said happily before she cautiously made her way to the fence between her and the two large horses.

“Aye, we can go faster on the way back if ye like,” Jamie offered, turning back to grab the bag of grain that was hanging off the front.

Claire beamed at him before taking another tentative step toward the horses.

“This is Molly and Shelby,” Jamie introduced as he pulled out a handful of pellets and offered it to the horses. “Molly has been wi’ us for about five years, Shelby we got last winter from a rescue shelter. She used to be real skittish around people but now she canna get enough. Can ye Shel?” Jamie patted the chestnut neck of Shelby while Molly sniffed around for more food.

“How many horses do you have?” Claire asked, standing slightly behind Jamie.

“Seven at the moment, but we’re just housing two of them for the shelter- Manny and Marcus. Shelby, Molly, Thistle, Percy and Donas are ours.”

“Donas?” Claire repeated looking thoughtful. “He’s the demon horse?”

Jamie grinned back at her. “Aye, tryin’ to train him at the moment. He could be great, he just needs a bit o’ discipline. It’s good to have him around the other horses. Someone must’ha done a number on him. Nearly took my arm off the first time I tried to pat him. He was all skin and bones then.”

“Do you rescue a lot of horses?” Claire asked as she bravely took a step towards Molly who immediately started searching for treats on Claire with great huffs from her nostrils.

“No’ a lot. We like to help out where we can. Da says he’d like to start trainin’ up horses to sell, but I think he gets too attached to let them go once they are. Thistle and Percy were Ma’s, they’re gettin’ on a bit now but I dinna think Da can bear putting’ them down. Still probably got a few more years in them yet.”

A screeching neigh came from across the field and a black blur started galloping towards them.

“That’ll be Donas,” Jamie sighed as blur picked up speed, heading toward them.

“He will stop, won’t he?” Claire asked nervously as Donas moved with no intent of slowing down.

“Aye, he just wants to show off.”

Donas did eventually stop after emitting a high pitched squeal from Claire as he ran directly at the fence before turning briskly and running a few laps back and forth. Molly and Shelby, to their credit, hardly flinched as he ran past them, snorting at them and throwing in a few bucks, trying to spook them. Claire had taken a few scrambling steps back from the fence and was somewhat hidden behind Jamie when Donas finally stopped.

“He seems very…” Claire paused as she thought over the word.

“Insane?” Jamie suggested as Donas stopped in front of him and started nuzzling Shelby and Molly out of the way.

“Spirited,” Claire laughed as Jamie held out some grains for Donas, who gobbled them up greedily.

“Aye, that’s certainly one way of looking at it,” Jamie agreed as he slapped Donas’s neck heavily.

“Where are the other horses?” Claire inched closer back to the fence, away from Donas, but closer to Molly.

“Probably right down the back. They won’t come up to the fence till around sunset. The rescue horses did’na have much space to run around, so they spend most of the time just stretching their legs, ‘cause they can. Percy and Thistle like to keep an eye on ‘em.”

“So, I assume you’ve been riding all your life?”

“Aye, since I could sit up straight. Used to sit in front of my Da and he’d ride us around the property. I thought I was so important, ridin’ round, checking on the farm. It seemed a lot more fun as a kid, but when ye can actually help out, everything becomes a chore. What about ye? Have ye ridden before?” Jamie pulled his hand away from Donas quickly as Claire gasped. The horse had gone for a wee nip when he realised that Jamie wasn’t offering any more food. “It’s fine,” Jamie shook off the question before Claire could ask it. “Ye learn to read the horses, and especially this beast. I ken well enough when he’s about to turn on me. So, riding?” He asked again.

“I err, once, a long time ago, with my parents. I was shockingly awful at it and have refused to get back onto another horse since,” Claire answered before tentatively reaching out and stroking Molly’s nose.

“Ye did’na like it?” Jamie asked in surprise, though his brain was spinning with the first time that Claire had voluntarily spoken about her parents.

“I didn’t feel like I was in control,” Claire answered shortly with a shrug.

“Aye, ye dinna like things being out of yer control. Ye’ve said,” Jamie nodded sagely as Molly huffed and Claire’s hands snapped back away from the horse.

“I was only seven at the time,” Claire defended. “If the horse wanted to kick me off, there wasn’t a lot I could do about it, except fly through the air and land.”

“Did it kick ye off?” Jamie asked with a smirk. There was something wildly entertaining about seeing Claire self-righteously angry.

“No, but it could have.”

“When yer riding a horse, ye need to show that ye are in control. That’s why I’m havin’ problems with Donas. He keeps thinkin’ that he’s the one that’s callin’ the shots, but he is’na. I’m the one tha’ put the saddle on him. I’m the one that can take it back off.”

“I was seven,” Claire repeated. “How’s a seven year old, that’s never ridden a horse before, know how to control it!” She exclaimed in exasperation as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Confidence. Fake it till ye make it, ken?” Jamie answered her rhetorical question happily. “I’ve been ridin’ by myself since I was four, trainin’ properly on them since I was six. It’s always been the same. If I believe I can do it, so does the horse. If I have doubts, so do they.”

Claire huffed and rolled her eyes at him.

“I’m serious. It’s why I’ve fallen off Donas so many times. If I doubt myself and what I’m doin’ with him, he’ll boot me as soon as he can. But I just have to pick maself back up and try again, he canna know that he got the best of me.”

Claire reached out to stroke Molly’s nose again and Molly huffed once more. This time Claire didn’t withdraw her hand.

“Bloody intelligent beasts,” Jamie continued as he rubbed Thistle’s neck (Donas having realised that there was no more food had wandered away to eat some grass at the edge of the fence). “And they’re loyal- trusting, once ye show them that ye can be too.”

“Are you?” Claire asked and Jamie saw her swallow heavily.

“Am I what? Loyal?” Jamie asked, turning away from her to look at Thistle. The conversation had taken a much deeper tone than Jamie was expecting and he felt that he shouldn’t look at Claire just now. Rather he should direct his attention to the horses in front of them, as if he was talking to Thistle rather than Claire.

“Can I trust you?” Claire asked softly and it took most of his willpower not to look over at her and read her thoughts from her face.

“Aye, Sassenach. I’d like to think so.”

--

Claire was quiet as they walked around the property. She stopped occasionally to study a plant, making small humming sounds as she thought things over before following Jamie again. It reminded him of when he had first taken her to the town and she had packed her bag full of various weeds on the way, wanting to study them again later. She seemed to be thinking over something carefully but wasn’t quite ready to talk about it. Jamie was more than happy just to be in her company and watch her as her eyes lit up over the wildflowers.

“How’s your paper route going?” She asked suddenly, appearing by his side as he leant against a tree, waiting for her to catch up.

“It’s fine. Keeps me busy, puts a little extra money in my pocket,” Jamie answered, pushing away from the tree. Claire had stopped to look at some mushrooms at the base and he paused waiting for her.

“Did your father want you to get a job, or did you want it?” She asked. Her hands had stilled over the plant, as if she wanted to look busy, but she was waiting on his response.

“Nah, he worried that I wouldn’a get my chores done as well as the route. But I wanted the extra money, and it does’na take long.”

“Why don’t you use the motorbike? Wouldn’t it be quicker?”

“Aye, it would, but it’s a farm bike. I’m not licenced to drive it on roads, strictly speaking.”

It didn’t look like Claire was going to move from the base of the tree, and as she looked back at him curiously, Jamie made up his mind to simply plant himself next to her and just ask her what she was thinking about.

As he plopped himself down and started pulling up chunks of grass, she sat down properly to face him. Though it seemed that he didn’t need to ask her what was on her mind because as soon as she made herself comfortable, words started streaming out of her.

“My parents never wanted me to get a job while at school. They said that studying is the most important thing and that they would worry about the money. Lamb says the same thing, but I don’t even know where I could even get a job in this town. I could run a competing paper route, I suppose, but I don’t think that your Uncle would be too thrilled about that?”

“Murtagh is’na my uncle,” Jamie inputted when Claire paused to take a breath. “He’s my godfather.”

“Lamb is mine. My godfather I mean. He’s also my uncle, but he’s my godfather. That’s why I’m with him now. Would you and Jenny go to Murtagh if something happened to your Father?”

Jamie shook his head, “No, Jen’s old enough to take care of the both of us now. Maybe a few years ago we would have, but no, not now.”

“I didn’t really see much of Lamb until I turned four-no-fifteen. He was always away. He decided that he was going to write a book so he came back to settle in Oxford with us. He hasn’t written the book yet, but I’ve seen a few drafts. It’s not bad.”

Claire was pulling individual blades of grass from the ground and wasn’t meeting Jamie’s eyes. Was this when he was finally going to find out where her parents were? He always wondered, but he didn’t want to push it- especially if something terrible had happened to them. He was about to ask when Claire continued.

“Moving here, to Scotland… it was supposed to be a fresh start… for both of us. He could start writing his book again and I… and I…” Jamie heard Claire’s voice thicken and he glanced up at her to see that there were tears brimming in her eyes.

“Claire,” Jamie said softly, dropping his handful of grass and taking her smaller, delicate hand in his own. “Yer safe wi’ me. Ye dinna need to tell me anythin’ ye dinna want to.”

Claire nodded, biting her lip before shaking her head, as if to shake away the tears. She didn’t let go of his hand.

“The psych- the doctors said that it would get better, that it would get easier. But… I’m so terrified that the moment that it starts getting easier- that I’ll start to forget them.”

“Tell me about them,” Jamie prompted. He surmised that her parents were no longer around, that much was clear, but the way that Claire was talking made Jamie wonder how long they had been gone.

“My mum,” Claire paused to sniff and her grip on Jamie’s hand increased for a moment, “she loves… she loved to laugh, and she has this… this ridiculous laugh that you can’t help but laugh along with her. She snorts a lot, which always makes me laugh more. She’s kind- to everyone- loves animals. It was her idea to take me horse riding. She’s smart, really smart and I’m worried that I’m not going to be as smart as she is- as she wants me to be. Julia. Her name is… was Julia.” Claire took a few moments to swallow and catch her breath before she continued.

“Dad was strict when I was a child. I don’t have a lot of memories of us together, but mum always told me that it was because he was working so hard for us. It wasn’t until I turned eight or nine that I really started understanding my dad. The first time he laughed in front of me, I couldn’t even join in. I was so amazed that he was laughing at something.” Claire sniffed and Jamie nodded along, though she wasn’t looking at him.

“He started… it was like he started to enjoy life and he finally let me see it. He’s stubborn, Lamb says that I get that from him. He expects great things from me, like the piano, school, everything and I don’t want to let him down. Though, I guess I can’t really do that now. Not much left to let down.”

Jamie cleared his throat quietly. “What happened to them?”

Claire shook her head as she bit her lip.

“Ye dinna have to say if ye dinna want to,” Jamie offered quickly. “We can talk about something else.”

“It’s fine. It’s just… They’re dead. People say pass away, but they didn’t pass anywhere. They died.” Claire’s voice shifted and was unnervingly devoid of emotions. It reminded him of how Jenny spoke about their mother sometimes.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie said softly, she was still gripping his hand tightly and Jamie found he couldn’t have let go of her even if he wanted.

“People always say that they are sorry, and… I don’t know, it just feels weird, doesn’t it?”

“I always thought that, at my mam’s funeral. All these people sayin’ “sorry for yer loss” and I remember thinkin’ ‘why are ye apologising? Ye didn’t kill her.’”

Claire laughed quickly and unexpectedly at that, a short, sharp shout that had her grinning and nodding at him. “I used to think the same thing. I think people just need something to say, so they say sorry.”

“Yer probably right.”

They both settled into their own thoughts for a moment, listening to the trees rustle in the wind, birds fluttering from tree to tree, calling out to each other, insects buzzing through the longer grass.

“Mum died first,” Claire said suddenly. “She was at work and collapsed. They thought she’d just fainted… but she had a brain aneurysm. It was so sudden and no one… there were no signs. Dad… Dad was home with me, when he got the call that she was on life support. He left me at home to go, said that he would call me when he got an update. He didn’t make it to the hospital. He pulled out of our street and… and he got hit, drivers side door. No drunk driver. Nothing. Just pulling out onto the street, just unlucky. I didn’t even know until the police sirens.” Claire sniffed and tears started to run steadily down her cheeks. “Both, in one night, separate accidents. What are the chances of that?”

“Claire,” Jamie gasped, “I’m so sorry.”

“The police came to the house to tell my mum that dad was in an accident. Instead they got me. I told them that it was a mistake, that my mum was in the hospital and dad was already on the way. I thought they’d just got their wires crossed. I’ll never forget when they realised what had actually happened. I could actually see the colour drain from their faces.” Claire shook her head and Jamie wished he had a packet of tissues or something to help dry her eyes. “One of them left to get on the radio and I knew that something was wrong.” Claire shook her head, as if she was trying to shake off the memory. Jamie couldn’t blame her.

“Lamb turned up the next day and I’ve been with him ever since.”

“How… how long ago?” Jamie struggled to speak around the lump in his throat.

“It will be 18 months on Wednesday.”

“Claire, I… I dinna ken what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Bad things happen all the time.” Claire tried to shrug but Jamie could see her trembling, her eyes glassy, and without thinking about it, he gathered her into his arms. It was like a dam breaking and she clung to him as she sobbed.

Jamie’s mind was racing. Both parents in one night. How could someone ever cope with that? Jamie couldn’t imagine. He could feel the tears from Claire soaking into his shirt but he couldn’t care less. He was gripping her tightly, tighter than he otherwise would have, as if holding her so close would hold her together. He could feel his own eyes welling with tears. They were sitting uncomfortably, Claire almost sitting in Jamie’s lap and his legs starting to go to sleep, but he wouldn’t have moved for anything in the world.

His mother's sickness had been long and drawn out and as much as Jamie hated himself for it, in the end he wanted her to slip away just so that she wouldn’t be in pain anymore. He had months to grieve while she was still alive. He got to say goodbye. Claire wasn’t given that luxury. It was all still so fresh to her. When she spoke about her parents, she spoke like they were still here. Jamie remembered doing that with his mother as well. It took many corrections from Jenny for him to finally switch into past tense about his mum.

Slowly Claire’s sobbing turned into shallow hiccups and then she was breathing deeply- her eyes dry. Jamie couldn’t find it in himself to let her go. They’d shared something so deeply personal, thatto let her out of his arms would feel like a tether between them, and he wasn’t ready for that.

“I dinna think ye’ll forget them,” he said softly into her hair. She was trembling. “I have’na forgotten my ma, I worry that I will, but there’s so much of her in Jen and in me that it’s impossible.” Jamie paused as a shudder ran through Claire and she sniffed. “I never met yer ma or yer da, but I daresay there’s a lot more of them in ye then ye give yerself, or them, credit for.”

Claire laughed, surprising Jamie and she slowly sat up, though she held onto his hand again. Jamie felt the separation from her immediately and wished that he could have held her for just a little while longer.

“Lamb says the same thing. I have the short temper of my father, but the same laugh as my mother.” Claire sniffed again and quickly wiped her eyes. “I look atrocious, don’t I?”

Jamie shook his head quickly. Her eyes were red and puffy, yes, but the golden flecks in her brown eyes shone brighter than he’d ever seen them. Yes, her nose was bright red and her lips puffy but he’d never wanted to kiss her more in his life.

“Ye look bonnie, Sassenach. Jus’ bonnie.”

Claire huffed out a laugh and shook her head, disagreeing with him. “You’re much too kind to me.”

“I’m just honest with ye, is all.”

Claire shook her head again, but at least she was smiling now. “Thank you. For letting me talk about that. I haven’t really… I mean, I talk to Lamb, but it was his brother, so it’s hard. But I… I needed to talk about it with someone that didn’t know them.”

“I would have liked to… know them I mean,” Jamie said truthfully.

“Me too.”

—

An easy quiet settled over the both of them as they wandered around the edge of the property. The kind of ease that can only be achieved by sharing something personal that allows you to actually be vulnerable in front of another person. Jamie felt like he understood Claire a little bit better now, though he still had a long way to go. Now he understood why she withdrew into herself and into her own thoughts.

He understood why the first day of school was particularly difficult for her. He understood why sometimes she wouldn’t want to hang out on the weekends. He finally understood what Lamb was talking about when he said that he wanted them to be careful and that she had been through a lot in the past few months. Claire had gone through more in the past year than most people faced in their lives.

Claire still stopped to look at various plants and weeds. Jamie was happy to wait for her as she plucked and picked various plants. She looked relaxed- more relaxed than he had ever seen her.

“I don’t... I don’t want the people at school to know- About my mum and dad,” she said over her shoulder as she picked a flower and smelled it. “I don’t want them to pity me or see me any different. If that’s ok.”

“Yer secrets safe wi’ me, Sassenach. I will’na say anything.”

Claire nodded in satisfaction before she was bent back down looking at other plants. She looked lighter than before, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Jamie remembered the first time he had really broken down and told someone how much he missed his mother. Murtagh had been helping with the horses and suddenly it was all too much for Jamie. There were too many memories of his mother in the stables for him to escape. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about his mother’s death since they had buried her. He thought that he had to be strong for his Da and for Jenny. He thought that it meant shoving everything he was feeling deep down and getting on with things. It was a terrible idea and one random day when he was filling a bucket with more food for the horses in the stables with Murtagh was the day that Jamie fell apart.

He could just picture his mother stroking the horses necks and speaking to them softly in Gaelic. Murtagh had been brushing one of the rescue horses and suddenly Jamie was huddled on the mucky straw filled floor sobbing and struggling to breathe.

He was sure that Murtagh had been thoroughly confused. One second Jamie had been refilling the food, the next he was gone.

A panic attack- that’s what Murtagh told him it was. All Jamie knew was that he suddenly couldn’t breathe, like a stone was sitting on his chest and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. Then he was crying and when Murtagh finally located him and asked him what was wrong, Jamie could barely speak. At first he’d thought he was having a heart attack, or maybe a seizure, but Murtagh had sat patiently with him until Jamie had calmed down and could breathe normally again.

They’d spoken about his mum then; about how she loved the horses, how the house felt empty without her, how much Jamie missed her, about how guilty Jamie felt for wishing she would just pass away because he couldn’t stand to see her in so much pain and now it was his fault that she was gone. Murtagh had listened carefully, injected his own stories about Ellen Fraser, but more than anything he let Jamie sit in his grief for a moment. He didn’t try to tell him that there was nothing for Jamie to be upset about. He didn’t try to fix any of Jamie’s guilt or pain. He simply let Jamie exist and work through everything he had been pushing down for months.

Once Jamie had exhausted himself, feeling lighter than he had in months, Murtagh stood up, held out his hand for Jamie and pulled him up from the grubby floor. He clapped Jamie on the shoulder, told him that he was proud of him and then promptly went back to his chores as though nothing had happened.

From that day, Murtagh had cemented himself as a confidant to Jamie. Whenever Jamie needed to voice his worries or his anxiety, Murtagh was always there, ready to listen. He hardly ever gave advice, he mostly just listened as Jamie came to the conclusion by himself.

Jamie wondered if Claire had that with her Uncle. Could she go to him when she needed to voice her fears? Perhaps not, as it felt like she had been shouldering the weight of her parents' deaths for a long time and after finally telling Jamie what had happened, she looked much happier.

Grief shared is grief managed- or something like that.

“Are ye ready to head back?” Jamie asked as the horse's paddock came back into view.

“I suppose, if you’re ready,” Claire answered shyly. Her hands were full of various plants she had collected from around the property- meticulously extracted from the ground to keep as much of the roots intact as possible.

“Weel, ye’ll be wanting to get them in water I suppose,” Jamie indicated the plants.

“Yes, of course… I just… how…” Claire stuttered as she looked between the bike and her plants.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need both hands to hold on so that I don’t fly off the back. I just… how do I get these back?” Her forehead creased in a frown as she tried to figure out how to hold the plants and Jamie at the same time.

Jamie laughed, he couldn’t help it. It was the look on her face. A mix of disappointment and confusing thoughts. “Ye can throw them in the bag with the feed. I’m sure the horses will’na mind a bit of dirt with their food.”

An embarrassed sort of smile appeared on Claire's face as she mumbled “oh of course”.

Jamie helped her with her plants, got her situated on the back of the bike, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist once more and with another squeal from Claire, they were off.