#platinum end jami

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

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

Chapter 15A: Dreams

Wilmington, North Carolina

Labor Day Weekend, 1988

I'm hung up on dreams I'll never see Help me baby, or this will surely be the end of me…

 - Dreams, The Allman Brothers Band (1969) [click here to listen]

“I’ll be upstairs in just a few minutes. Did you finish your reading?”

Ten-year-old William MacKenzie shook his head. “I was going to, but that’s when Daddy arrived with Jamie and Claire – I mean, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser. And then it was time for dinner, and then - ”

Gillian Duncan MacKenzie bent to kiss her son’s forehead. “All right then. Why don’t you get yourself all caught up?”

William’s eyes darted over to Claire, seated across from his mother at the kitchen table, sipping sweet tea.

“Jamie and I will be here all weekend,” she smiled. “You’ll have plenty of time to talk with him about music tomorrow.”

His face brightened. “OK! See you in the morning!”

Claire couldn’t help but smile as William darted out of the room, footsteps quickly thudding on the stairs.

Gillian turned to face her guest. “He’s so excited. It’s not every day that a bona fide rock star is here in sleepy Wilmington.”

“Thank you for asking him to not tell his friends at school. I’m used to the attention now – ”

Gillian raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Are you?”

Claire shrugged. “Well – no. I don’t know if I ever will be. But one thing that won’t change is how much we value our privacy. So – thank you.”

“Of course, Claire. Privacy and discretion are what I do professionally – how could I not extend the same courtesy to you, when you’re a guest in my home?”

“Still. Thank you.”

A beat. Claire sipped the sweet tea Gillian had made – the same recipe she’d grown to love, those months at The Ridge. Gillian gently pulled Claire’s left hand across the table, studying her rings.

“You said this was his grandmother’s engagement ring?”

Claire nodded. “He inherited it when she died. His sister Jenny kept it for him, until he asked her for it. Called her the day he got home from The Ridge, and went to see her the next day. He gave it to me a few weeks later.”

“A man who knows what he wants.”

Claire smiled. “And I’m a woman who knows what she wants.”

Gillian returned the smile, then focused on the wide band next to the engagement ring.

“I love how solid and simple your ring is. Silver?”

“Platinum. His is the same. Wide enough for an inscription on the inside.”

“I do,” she had whispered. Smiling through the tears. Thinking he looked just a bit ridiculous in his suit. Sliding the band inscribed “Forever My Love” across his knuckle.

“I do,” he had whispered. Eyes burning, full of awe. Agape at the simple gray dress she had chosen, his mother’s pearls around her throat. Sliding the band inscribed “Forever My Heart” onto her finger.

“I am so pleased to…” Professor Quentin Lambert Beauchamp loudly blew his nose into a polka-dotted handkerchief. “Excuse me. I am so pleased to pronounce you husband and wife. Jamie, you may kiss your bride.”

He did. To the applause of the ten dear friends gathered in Joe and Gail Abernathy’s Boston backyard.

“That’s beautiful.” Gillian lay her own left hand on the table, adorned only by a thin gold ring. “Dougal never gave me an engagement ring, and he insisted I have the gold band for our marriage. His is silver. He had just sunk all of his money into building The Ridge, and we couldn’t even afford flowers at the reception.”

“That’s beautiful, too, Gillian. And I understand why you wouldn’t want to upgrade. Because what you have now, is that much more meaningful.”

“I was sitting here, when Joe and Gail staged the intervention.” Jamie looked over at his wife – his wife!! – gazing up into the arbor behind the house. “The vines were heavy with grapes. I remember thinking, how appropriate that I’m looking at what could be wine.”

He pulled her closer against his side, and kissed the top of her head. Careful of the tortoiseshell combs that Jenny had so lovingly placed in Claire’s hair as she got ready this afternoon.

“Ian confronted me in a hotel room in…Sacramento, I think. I had been so wasted on stage the night before, slurring through half the songs. Jenny had come to see Ian, and she was so scared for me. She had already done the research, made a few phone calls. I puked the whole flight across country to North Carolina.”

“It’s always the ones we love who we hurt the most,” she murmured.

“I’m never going to hurt you, Claire. You know that, right?”

She turned to face her husband – her husband!! – and smiled. Reassuring.

“I do. And you know I’m never going to hurt you, Jamie. Right?”

He nodded. Couldn’t help but kiss her.

“Ah!”

Dougal MacKenzie and Alec MacMahon turned the corner, and cheered. “Here you are! Come on – don’t let us have all the fun without you. Can’t miss your own wedding reception!”

Gillian nodded. “I don’t need it. I have the life we’ve built together, and our son, and a man who somehow thinks the sun rises and sets with me. I’ll never understand it.”

Claire swallowed.

Of course Gillian noticed.

“Don’t ever doubt how much he loves you, Claire. I’ve seen you two together – you’re so natural with each other. That’s never going to change.”

She clenched her hand into a fist. Centering herself.

“It’s…it’s just so…intense, with him,” she whispered.

“We don’t have to tonight, Jamie. We have forever, now.”

His hands shook as his thumb softly, softly traced down her neck, across the pearls, and settled into the cleft between her breasts.

“I want to, Claire. I want you so much I can scarcely breathe. I just…”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gillian asked gently. “I can be your therapist, or I can be your friend. But I will listen.”

Claire took a deep, calming breath. “Being on tour – I see now how he developed the addictions. Every aspect of it is so stressful. He feels so much pressure to lead his band, to write music, to live up to the fans’ expectations. And he has to deal with the label and the tour manager and the production guys, and do media, and somehow find time to eat and shower and sleep on top of all of that.” Her thumb twisted her wedding ring. “He’d use the drugs to come up, and the alcohol to come down. And the women to just forget about everything for a while.”

“Are those groupies?”

Colum had organized a small gathering for the band and crew to celebrate the first show of the acoustic tour. No alcohol or drugs in the room – though Claire quickly learned that the rules by no means extended to hallways and bathrooms and storage rooms at the venue.

Jamie squeezed her hand, standing side by side in the corner, both of them holding a can of Tab.

“Yeah. I can ask them to leave, if you’re feeling uncomfortable.”

“No need.” She dropped his hand and quietly approached the four women giggling on the other side of the room.

“Ladies. I’m Claire Beauchamp. I’m with him.”

She turned slightly, looked at Jamie over her shoulder, and then turned back to her audience.

“So?” A girl wearing a strategically ripped Def Leppard t-shirt popped her gum. “That’s not what I heard about the last time he was here.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed. “That was then. This is now. I will say this only one time. If you even think about flashing a boob, or smiling at him, or trying to get him alone? I will end you.”

The girls gaped.

“Tell all your friends here in Albuquerque, please. Are we clear?”

“And now, that you’re there with him?”

Claire smiled. “He’s eating and sleeping a lot better. Has a lot more energy. He so desperately wants to do everything right. And I’m not going to lie, Gillian – seeing him perform the songs he wrote for me at The Ridge, and then being there when he comes off stage, all keyed up from singing and playing the guitar…”

“It sounds like in many respects he’s replaced his additions with you.”

Claire looked up, meeting Gillian’ gaze. “Of course he has. The album and lead single will be called She’s My Addiction. Doesn’t get any more obvious than that.”

“And how do you feel about that, Claire?”

She lay her hands flat on the table. “I’ve never felt more…loved, and cherished, than when I’m with Jamie.”

She frowned and opened her eyes when he stopped brushing her hair, one morning in Minneapolis.

“What – ”

The pads of his fingers swept the left side of her neck, still a bit tender from his kisses after last night’s show. “I bruised you. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm. I’m not.”

She swallowed. “But it’s so, so hard sometimes. He loves me for who I am, but I don’t want to do anything to fuck it up. And he stresses over so much that he doesn’t have to. Gillian, he’s been having panic attacks all tour.”

“My God. Is he seeing anyone to help with that?”

Claire sighed. “You’re looking at her. Thank God I did that psych rotation when I was in med school. I’ve helped him recognize the signs, and he knows enough to tell me when it’s happening so that we can get away and I can help him through it. But I’m not a psychiatrist. I can’t be everything he needs. He has to do a lot of work to explore what’s triggering him, so that he can manage that. Because after we take the break at the end of the year, we’ll be on the road for most of ’89. The label has booked more than a hundred shows.”

“And you’ll be with him?”

“Of course. He’s the air I breathe. I know this sounds insane, but we want to try for a baby next year. That way he can be off the road, off touring, to be with me if the timing lines up.” She sighed. “So I’ve talked to him about bringing a therapist with us on tour. He needs to have that kind of support from someone other than me. Especially when we’re in Europe and he’s playing soccer stadiums and dealing with a next level of bullshit.”

“Do you want some recommendations? Between Dougal and I, we can definitely help you find someone.”

Claire smiled thinly. “That would be wonderful. It has to be someone we both trust. Who can deal with all the craziness.”

Gillian nodded. “Consider it our wedding gift to you. I – we – really want to help you. You know this, Claire – getting sober is hard, but staying sober is so, so much harder. It does and doesn’t get easier with time. Dougal would say the same thing.”

“Do you ever miss it?”

She settled her chin into his shoulder, nestled securely in his lap. Together they watched the cornfields of Iowa glide by, thousands of feet below.

“No. Not really. The pills helped me deaden the pain. And my life doesn’t have that kind of pain at all, now.”

The private plane had four clusters of four seats, two seats on each side facing each other with a table in between. Jamie and Claire always had a cluster to themselves. Ian, his bass tech, Jamie’s guitar tech Arch, and Angus’ drum tech always sat together. Colum kept to himself. Leaving Angus in the final cluster – which he shared with the two groupies he’d been surprisingly faithful to since Albuquerque. He hated flying, but the girls certainly made it easier for him – plying him with snacks, rubbing his back, squeezing him between them in the big seat.

Claire turned slightly, and inhaled at his temple. Kissed his earlobe as he shivered. “I know you miss it, Jamie. And it’s OK.”

His grip tightened on her hip. “You taste so much better,” he whispered. Eyes far away.

Claire wiped the corners of her eyes. “I just love him, Gillian. So fucking much.” She took a deep breath. “I’m so proud of him, for everything he’s done, and for the man he’s worked so hard to become. I’m not going to lie – sometimes it’s so damn hard to deal with everything. With all of his past shit, and how he still lets it mess with his head. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve told him that none of it bothers me. Not the drugs, or the alcohol, or the destroyed hotel rooms, or what is probably hundreds of women. I can’t let any of that bother me, because that’s not the Jamie I know. But Gillian…”

Gillian reached across the table and took Claire’s hand.

“He makes everything so fucking hard sometimes. He starts to spiral, and he worries that I’ll have had enough and walk away. But then we just take a deep breath, and we look at each other, and all the bullshit is gone, and it’s just so easy again.”

“You need a day off!”

Jamie rubbed his hands over his face, exasperated. “I do have a day off tomorrow, Claire. You know as well as I do that there isn’t a show.”

She huffed, hands on her hips. “Not the point, Jamie. I saw the call sheet for tomorrow. You’re meeting with the label, and then with Colum to talk to the merch guy, and then the lighting team, and then you’re doing some local radio spots. That’s NOT a day off!”

He shrugged. “At least we can get dinner together and it won’t be shitty venue food.”

She pursed her lips, trying so hard not to scream. “Do you not remember the panic attack last night? You were sobbing in my arms, Jamie. It was really, really bad. And then you were so exhausted, but you wanted to be a hero and do the show anyway, and then you tripped over your fucking amp when you went on stage and could have broken your arm. Where would that leave us, hmm?”

He reached out to her – and she stepped back.

Not done with him yet. 

“You need rest, Jamie. Your body is going to shut down. And that won’t be good for anybody.”

“Is that your medical opinion, Dr. Beauchamp?”

A hint of a smile. Good.

“Yes. I’m your personal physician. I’m prescribing a day in bed, sleeping.”

He smirked. “OK. But only if you’re in it, too.”

She shrugged. “I’m not making any sense.”

“Yes you are,” Gillian smiled. “You said it’s intense between you – there’s no way it couldn’t be. Set aside his being a musician, and being in just about the biggest band in the world right now. Think about how and when you met. What had happened to both of you beforehand. All the changes you’ve made in both of your lives, in a relatively short timeframe. It’s overwhelming. And being on the road with him this summer had to have just upped that intensity.”

“We’re together non-stop. Which has been great, because we have so much time. We have what nobody else has, and I treasure that, I really do. But it’s also exhausting sometimes.” Claire paused, considering. “Nobody else knows what I’m about to tell you, but it’s another factor. We…we didn’t…” She closed her eyes. “We waited until our wedding night.”

Gillian’s silence was a gift.

“We were both so scared. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I think we were worried that…that it wouldn’t be good, for some reason. And it was good, Gillian. So fucking good. We both cried.”

“You’re everything.” He kissed her nose and cheeks and forehead and mouth over and over and over again, his tears mixing with hers. “My heart is going to burst.”

She hugged him tighter, nails digging into the flames tattooed on his shoulders. “Love you,” she whispered, breathless. “Love you love you love you love you…”

“I don’t need to tell you this, Claire, but I will anyway. It’s been a really good decision to spend so much time together, to really get to know each other, before you were married. Both of you deliberately wanted your relationship to be different from anything you’d known or done before. And now that last barrier is gone between you. So everything has changed, am I right?”

Indianapolis. Married one week. He couldn’t stop smiling at her, standing side stage during the show. She couldn’t stop giggling when he found her after the encore, threw her over his shoulder, and ran to his dressing room. His breath hot against her lips, breathlessly pleading for her to stay quiet, as they loved each other on the sofa and the techs and roadies and catering people and production staff bustled by the locked door.

“It has, Gillian. But in many ways it hasn’t. It feels like yesterday, and it feels like forever.”

New Haven. Married two weeks. The morning after a powerhouse show at the Coliseum. A penthouse suite overlooking the water. She had slipped out of bed in the dark, opened the curtains wide. Watched him watch her as she returned to bed. Held his gaze as they loved each other, dawn breaking over their faces.

“I get that. You’ve introduced another layer to your relationship. Probably the most complex layer that there is.”

Providence. Married two weeks and two days. Holding each other in a bath, Jamie’s hand splayed across her belly, Claire’s nose buried in the curtain of his hair.

“So, be patient with yourself, Claire. Cut yourself a break.” Gillian reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “And just enjoy yourself! My God – what an incredible life you have.”

Claire’s smile was the widest Gillian had ever seen.

“Holy shit. I married a rock star.”

“I heard that!”

And then Jamie was there, smiling, and kissing Claire’s smile.

Dougal hung back in the doorway. Exchanging smiles with his own wife.

“Come on, rock star. You said you’d help me hook up the new CD player.”

Jamie pulled back. Rubbed his nose against Claire’s.

“Hey, Dougal?”

Dougal crossed his arms. “What?”

Jamie stood. Squeezed Claire’s hands. Kissed her wedding ring.

“Love is a much better high than any drug.”

Dougal rolled his eyes. “I’ll put that on the new pamphlets we’re printing up for The Ridge. But the stereo won’t install itself. Help out, and I’ll even let you play that new stuff you brought.”

[mafiasliege]

I dare you to let me go

(this is part 2 of my fic. Enjoy reading!)

Part 1 ↓

JAMESON

Jameson was standing in a maze. Green bushes everywhere. And whichever way he went, the end was green too. Except now. Now, a 5"6' hazel-eyed brunette was standing there.

"Heiress." He tried taking a step toward her, but the distence seemed to stay the same, maybe it was getting bigger. "Where are we?"

"Not we. You. You seem… stuck."

"I'm not stuck. I'm-"

"-fine? Is that your latest lie? Then why am I here, Jameson? again?"

Where was he? And why did Avery seem younger?

"It's not a lie, heiress." Jameson was starting to get angry now, he turned around and started walking away. Avery- or the girl who at least looked like her- spoke louder.

"I'm not her, you know. Maybe the real one doesn't even exist anymore."

"Shut up."

"Maybe she just-"

"Shut up!-"

"Jamie, I'm gonna start yoddling loudly until you get your ass out here!" That was Xander, but Jameson had no regard for a yoddling threat between his gasping for air like a drowning man. Apparently, the things that plagued him during the day had started following him into his sleep now.

He pushed away the sheets and picked up his shirt from the night before. Under it was that box. They same green box. How long had he had it now? An year? Two? And did it matter, really?

You're fine. Just get this done.

-------------------------------------------------

Jameson got dressed and got to the room. He was surprisingly on time, the only reason being Xander making good on his threat to yoddle. He was actually decent at it, but annoying, nonetheless.

"Do you believe you're being paid to arrange a funeral?" Grayson's tone walked the line between a question and an accusation.

"I need this entire-"

"That's enough! Thank you" Lyra inserted herself in the conversation and dragged Grayson away by his arm from the event planners, who went back to doing their thing.

The dinner last night may have been non-existent the last straw a disaster, but this party's going to be epic. Besides, Avery would at least be home for at least a while on her own birthday, right? She'd promised.

Jameson helped himself to one of the appetizers on the long table covered in platinum and shades of violet. He hadn't had breakfast. After everything was set, he excused himself to the garage and tried calling Avery.

"Your call has been-"

"You're call has-"

"You're ca-"

He plunked his phone down with force. Luckily, it landed on the soft leather of the Valkyrie's seat.

"You alright there?" Nash. It was Nash. Why was everyone so concerned all of a sudden? Avery had just missed her own birthday that he'd planned for days. Not a big deal. At all. Janeson rolled down the car's window glass.

"I am fine."

"You're staying to sound more like Gray than Gray used to himself," Nash took that as his cue to get in the passanger seat.

"Whatever you and Avery have going on, just talk to-"

"Do you think I haven't tried?" It came out slow with a hint of frustration. They were face to face now. "There's always another call, there's always another problem, there's always another person expecting the most from her and she's trying to live up to them more and more."

To that, Nash had no answer. They just say like that for a while.

"Try talking to her today. She might just listen." He patted Jamie on the shoulder and got out.

-------------------------------------------------

"I can't feel my faxing legs," Max whispered, sitting in a crouch. After a long day of planning Avery's party, everyone was sitting in a crouch waiting for her to come and surprise her.

"Sit on me, then," Xander whispered back to her.

"Oh, get a room you two!" Libby whisper-yelled at them, just as the door rattled.

"SURPRISE!!"

"Oh, my God!" Said… Mrs. Laughlin, who almost dropped the tray of crab cakes in her hands.

"Ugh. I can't crouch for much longer! Where is this beach?" Max whimpered, kicking her feet.

After two hours, all the dishes were half-empty, the wine half-drunk, and half the people previously in the room had dispersed.

"So-"

"Before you say what your about to say, Gray, just like everyone else in this house, I'm okay, and so is Avery."

Grayson frowned. "I've been where you are, Jamie. If you have to keep telling yourself you're okay, you definitely aren't."

Jameson felt Grayson call out to him as he stormed out walked away.

He was done. He was so done. With his brothers' concern, with Lyra's unnecessary inputs.

With Avery.

The floodgates were open now, just like the door of his bathroom as he slammed it back shut. He was angry, no, frustrated. He was frustrated at the dinner, he was frustrated as he threw the green box from his pocket at the sink, he was frustrated as he felt the mirror shatter beneath his knuckles. He could suddenly see a thousand reflections of himself. But every reflection in every piece of the shattered mirror was a shell of what Jameson Hawthorne used to be. How he used to be.

He staggered back, still staring at his reflections until his back hit the door as he slowly sunk to the floor. And just like that, the tears and the memories came rushing out to the surface.

"Maybe the real one doesn't even exist anymore."

"She told me she's going to make it up to you"

"If you have to keep telling yourself you're okay, you definitely aren't."

"How many times have you had your heart broken over the last five years?"

And with the painful memories and the exploding bottled up feelings came crystal clarity, for the first time in a long time.

I can't do this anymore.

Loving Avery had made him love himself too, it made him realise his self-worth. He got to see what he deserved. But this, right now? He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to pretend to be happy. He didn't deserve to settle for a shell of what him and Avery used to be. He always says he can't imagine a life without Avery, maybe that was never a good thing. He had to start living for himself.

And there was only one way to do that.

[wooahaeruby]

Chapter 26: Diamond In The Rough

Chapter Word Count: 4,022

Anything in Bold Italics are Korean/Another language.

Master List | Prev | Next

Getting Hyeji to distract Ruby for a day was easy. Saying that it was a free day and Hyeji insisting that Ruby take the time to get out of the house and have some fun was even easier with their current loneliness. She and a few of the other staff members formed a little group and the handful of them were taking Ruby to Lotte World Amusement Park then would be dragging them out for dinner and a movie. 

That left the perfect time for security, managers, and the members to sneak into the jewelry store. 

“ Hello!” An older woman, dressed in a crisp, black pinstriped suit, with her salt and pepper hair pulled up into a french twist, greeted everyone with a bow. “ The managers informed me of an important guest coming to our store and I couldn’t help myself to come and assist. My name is Nam Myung, I am the current owner of this jewelry store chain. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Woozi-ssi, and the rest of Seventeen.” 

Jihoon gave the women a bow in greeting, pulling his mask down when he stood straight. “ I’m sorry for halting business at this time, Nam-ssi.” 

“Oh, nonsense,” She smiled, warm and inviting, it reminded him of Chan's grandmother and Soonyoung’s mother. “ We’ve had celebrities come in and close the shop for a mere personal shopping spree. May I ask what you need today?”  

“ An engagement ring for my soulmate.” 

She clapped her hands together, already moving behind one of the counters and he followed to stand on the opposite side of it, along with every single member of Seventeen. Joshua was holding up his phone at this point, a call with Ruby’s grandparents already being put through, and Seungcheol was holding Jihoon’s phone, calling Jamie and Kazuki. Quiet greetings were exchanged through the phones before said phones were pushed into Jihoon’s face for his own greetings. 

“ We have many people to get approval from today?” Myung snickered, pulling out a few trays of rings of varying metals, styles, and gemstone types. 

Jihoon’s shoulders dropped, giving a small nod. “ Their grandparents, two of their friends, me, and all the guys. None of them would let me go alone.” 

“Ah~ That is just how family is.” She waved to the phones being held up before pulling a pair of thin framed glasses from her jacket pocket. “ We have a lot of ring styles and settings to choose from, if something needs to be ordered, a rush can be placed, however it will cost extra. When is the estimated proposal date?” 

He cringed, drumming his nails against the glass counter. “ Four weeks? Give or take?” 

“I’ve worked with less.” She winked, motioning towards the trays. “ Do you have any ideas of what your significant other likes?” 

“Nothing gold!” Mingyu pushed through the small crowd, letting his eyes roam over the selections before Jihoon. “ They don’t like gold.” 

Myung gave a small huff of a laugh through her nose, “ So something with a silver look, we have rhodium plated white gold that looks silver, sterling silver, and palladium. On the cheaper end, we also have platinum.” 

“They don't really like anything gold.” Jihoon added, “ Leaning more towards sterling silver or platinum, but sterling might be the best idea.”

“ Oh there are so many options.” Hearing Mimi’s voice quietly through everyone behind him. “ Much more than when I was getting married.” 

“ I think we are going to be here a while.” Joshua snickered, standing off to the side but close enough for everything to be seen. 

Jihoon took his bag off his shoulders and got his iPad out, easily pulling up different notes and pictures. “We all kinda compiled a list of everything we know they like and don’t like.” 

“Smart man. Having plenty of assistance with that must have been helpful.” She placed trays with anything gold back in the display counter, keeping the many rows of silver before Jihoon. She held out his hands to take the iPad which he handed over willingly, watching her easily scroll through.

“ Bring me closer-” Jamie’s voice was right by his ear before Seungcheol hip checked Mingyu aside and showed him the different rings. “ Wah, there are so many to pick from, how the hell-” 

“ Jamie, hush.” Kazuki scolded and while he did stay quiet, a quick look at the screen showed him pouting. 

“ Alright, nothing square for the cut, a preference for little to no diamonds, something simple. Gemstones too..” She placed the device down and ran her nails over some of the ring settings. “ Leaves us with heart, oval, circle, or pear. This is going to sound out of place, but may I see a picture of your partner?” 

“Picture- yeah.” 

Jihoon reached over and pulled up a picture from his iCloud gallery. It didn’t take long for him to find a picture of the two of them together, a sneaky mirror selfie they took when they had dragged him out to Ikea for smaller things they definitely didn’t need but Ruby insisted on getting. It was in one of those stupid bedroom set ups with way too many colors and weird decorations that Ruby joked they should buy. He only needed to stroll for a few moments to find a proper picture of them sitting on his studio couch, holding up a peace sign and giving a wide, closed mouth smile. 

“ Sometimes it helps to see the person to better give perspective and guide you towards the right pieces.” Myung roamed her eyes over Ruby, humming to herself. “ What is their name?” 

“Y/N.” 

“Everyone calls them Ruby-ah!” Seokmin bounced in. 

“ Ruby-ah?” 

“Their grandmother called them that. Their birthstone is a Ruby. Red roses were some of their favorite flowers.” Jihoon motioned to Joshua’s phone to Mimi and Papa waving through the screen. 

That had Myung searching for a specific ring, “I’ve been wanting to sell one of these since we got the design in and I think everyone here will absolutely love it.” It didn’t take long for her to lift the ring from its tray slot, the silver color glimmering under the white lights of the store. “ We can get it in a different stone setting and place a gemstone in it instead of a center diamond.” 

One of the other women behind the counter placed a velvet tray on the counter where Myung set down the ring, motioning for him to pick it up and take a look at it. Each of the members behind him were either on their tiptoes or leaning over to better see the piece she had picked out. There were some murmurs over the phones with questions, but he mainly ignored them in place of picking up the ring hesitantly. 

It was light despite the circle cut diamond in its center place and the three diamonds on each side. The metal of the ring itself was one solid piece which split into two, holding two of the three smaller diamonds before entwining back to house the third small gem. The first two clear gems were marquise shaped, reminding him of leaves on a flower’s stem while the third was round cut, topping the jewelry made ‘flower’. It was unique for sure, nothing he had seen online came close to such a design, but truly none of them were thinking outside of the box. 

Truly, this ring was nearly perfect, it was almost dainty, but the diamond that was staring back at him wasn’t right. It was definitely pretty, but…it wasn’t them. It wasn’t Ruby. 

“ What do you think?” 

“The setting is nice, it does remind me of a rose or just a flower in general.” Others were pushing to see it, with Joshua and Seungcheol holding the phones close for the ones on call to know what was being discussed. 

“ But it isn’t what you are fully looking for?” He shook his head at the question. “ I have an idea.” 

Myung motioned for the same woman who gave the velvet tray to step forward, whispering something to her. Said woman hurried off but Myung refocused on him and everyone else who was looking at the sample ring. 

“ It just seems a little plain.” Minghao said, peering over the piece while Seungkwan and Seokmin examined it. “ Maybe just the center needs to be changed. The circle cut is nice but it doesn’t have any…flare to it.” 

“It needs to be more flashy but not if that makes sense.” Seungkwan added before it was passed to Soonyoung and Jun, both quietly looking over before it was once more passed along. 

When the tray made its way back towards the counter, Myung pushed her glasses up, glancing at Minghao and Seungkwan. “ I’ll have to agree with the two of you there. I have an idea for a simple change that won’t take too long to get finished. It would work perfectly for something stackable based on the ideas you had placed down.” 

It wasn’t long before the other worker came back with a metal case and a pair of long tweezers, placing them both before Myung. She was quick to take hold of the metal tool and open the case. The hinged top didn’t allow him to really see what she was looking at but he waited patiently. 

Closing his eyes for a moment, he let himself sink into the bond, taking in a breath as he poked through to what Ruby was feeling, having been focused on keeping himself level headed. The group had left with them late morning and they wouldn’t be home until later in the evening and from what he could tell, they were having fun. Excitement and amusement were prominent, he couldn’t wait to sit in bed later and hear them ramble about the adventures they were taken on throughout the day. Part of him hoped Ruby took pictures to get printed and add them to the photo books as fond memories. 

“ Ah, there it is. These old eyes aren’t as bright as they once were.” Snapping his eyes open, Myung had picked up the tray with the ring and held a shining red gemstone over it to better show him. “ Just like their nickname and birthstone, I thought that sticking with the ‘theme’ was perfectly appropriate. It’s a pear cut with a clear clarity. Gorgeous color but not too bright. It would stand out well with the silver and diamonds surrounding it.” 

Lifting the ring, she held the ruby over the center diamond, giving an approximate show of what a finished product could look like. Though it wasn’t exact with the makeshift showing, there was a silence that washed over everyone as they leaned in. All their eyes were wide, and it hit him that it was the one. 

He felt his heart skip a beat before its speed picked up. There was a moment where a few things, such simple and trivia things, passed through his mind. Ruby, standing at the kitchen counter, baking those overly sweet brownies with the ring resting around their finger. Ruby drumming their fingers against the table, waiting for food on the stove to finish simmering and the light from the kitchen hitting the gemstone just right. Ruby sitting beside him on the couch, holding his hand while they watched movies, feeling the warmed metal against his own fingers. 

“ Jihoonie?” Soonyoung’s voice from his left broke him from the small trace he placed himself. 

“ I’ve seen that look a million times.” Myung placed the ruby back in the case and set the ring in the tray, grabbing a notepad to jot down some things. “ Many times, when someone comes in and they find the one they like, they imagine what it would be like for their partner to be wearing the piece they pick out. It’s a hit or a miss. If they imagine it and it doesn’t look good, they find another, but if they imagine it and love what their imagination brings forth? It’s the one.” 

“Hyung, hyung, what do you think?” Chan’s curious voice asked beside Soonyoung, leaning over the counter with bright eyes and a wide smile. 

“ I’d like to go with the ruby design. Please.” 

Myung lifted her eyes to him, letting a gentle smile spread on her face and quickly jotted down a few more notes. “ I believe that can be arranged rather quickly.”

For the rest of the day, Jihoon felt light. With the secret meeting over and a quick lunch with the guys, Jihoon and the members split off, all heading home for the much needed rest day. 

With everyone inevitably hearing the rather costly price of the ring (5,235,987 (4,100 USD) won which he expected, not including the slight rush order), it was a very hard pact that Ruby would never find out because they would actually commit a crime. Mingyu and Soonyoung were sworn to secrecy and their self appointed keepers would be keeping a watchful eye when they were around. A lot of things needed to happen in a few short weeks now so he hoped everything would work out how he wanted. 

There was still time before Ruby would be back. It gave him plenty of time for the mindless tasks both of them had been putting off such as the laundry, reorganizing their room, and ordering groceries based on the list they compiled throughout the week. Since he had been busy the last few days and Ruby was either working or feeling too unmotivated, he used the airy headspace he had and the energy that spurred him to get things done. He wanted to at least try and pull his weight the best he could despite the time he isn’t home.

One look in the fridge also reminded him that he was lazy and wasn’t in the mood to cook so ordering take away for himself was his best bet once dinner time came. His phone was buzzing on the kitchen table behind him, having placed it down to clean off the counters. Glancing down at his watch, it was just Jamie and Kazuki messaging back and forth ideas for Jihoon to consider if he did manage to get the greenhouse garden for the proposal. Hyeji was still emailing their team, trying to figure out dates, time, maybe even a cost which was more than likely. 

He had to sit down and book the flights for their grandparents, which he checked the time, knowing it was extremely early to reach out to Mimi and Papa, seeing as they stayed up late to join in the ring escapades. Jihoon sent a quick text, asking them to message back when they woke up, hoping Ruby still wouldn’t be home so everything could get done. 

With Ruby’s (unneeded) insistence and the (unneeded) begging from Jamie and Kazuki, the two would be staying in the guest room (why they begged, he didn’t know, he already assumed that was the plan). They’d be coming a couple days before Caratland to spend time with Ruby while he was at practices, then stay for a week after for the proposal and overall spending time with their friend. Mimi and Papa would be in a hotel again, which they preferred, and most likely coming the day before Caratland and staying about the same time after as the other two. With the downtime after Caratland before practices for FML, it would work out just about perfectly from the mental timeline he had been scheming. 

Should he have been more stressed? Definitely, he honestly should be worried if something doesn’t work out, but with the meetings, help from staff, and his own time placed into everything, there were backup plans in place. Jihoon was thankful for the support that everyone had been showing him, knowing how much this means, and him being the first of the group to meet their soulmate. He also had plenty of text messages from the other members’ parents with words of congratulations and excitement. 

Ruby’s grandparents messaged when he was in the middle of eating his dinner and from Hyeji’s text, the group was still out and about after the movie, trying to find a place for dinner. 

When the call connected on his phone, laptop pulled up in front of him, he gave a wave. “Sorry, in the middle of eating.” 

“ Ah, no worries about that, we finished our breakfast a bit ago. You said you wanted to talk about dates?” 

“Mhmm, just for the flights. Caratland will be the second weekend in March, tenth through the twelfth.” Jihoon pulled up some tabs of different flights. “Would the…landing here on the eighth in the later afternoon be okay? So Ruby doesn’t suspect-” 

“ The eighth would be fine, dear!” Mimi hummed, looking at a small book in her lap from what he could see. “ And a return date?” 

“Jamie and Kazuki leave the nineteenth, I think I have their flight information so we can have you on the same flight as them. Let me just-” Reaching for his phone, Jihoon quickly added Jamie to the call, waiting for the line to answer. 

“ Hello?” The camera was facing a ceiling and the clacking of a keyboard was heard. “ I’m at work, what's up, Jihoon?”

“ Can- Hold on, Mimi.” He sighed, “ You both are still flying home the nineteenth? On the one o’clock flight?” 

“Yeah, trying to get them on the same return flight?” Jihoon nodded and Jamie hummed. “ Hi Mimi.” 

“Hi, sweetheart, how’s work?” 

“It’s going, just counting down the days until we head for Korea.” Jamie lifted the phone and he propped it against something. “ Kazu is in a meeting right now and I’m about to jump into one, I forwarded the flight details to you, Jihoon-ah.” 

“ Thanks. ” Jihoon pulled up the email once it showed up and clicked away. “Sorry, Mimi, English is hard.” 

“ No worries~ I know you are doing your best and I appreciate it. I’m grateful for the opportunity you are giving us.” 

“It’s no problem. Is Papa out?” 

“ Oh yes, he went across town to help out at a friend’s hardware store. Later on I’m going to a cross stitch meeting with some friends. Ruby is still out with friends?” 

“Yeah, they should be back within an hour or two. I wanted to book the flight before it became too late.” With him never booking a flight for himself, it left him a bit confused looking over some of the details, but with some patience he managed to get it figured out. “There are…two seats together three rows ahead of Jamie and Kazuki, middle and..aisle seats.” 

“ Those would be perfectly fine.” Mimi hummed, smiling and writing something down in the small book. “ So the eighth through the nineteenth. And you are still waiting to hear back from the garden?”

Nodding, Jihoon finalized the flight plans with their passport information they gave a few days prior before forwarding the email to both Jamie and to Mimi. “Yeah. Soon we will have the date set.” 

“ I’m sure you or Joshua will let us know in the conversation. Let us know if you need something from us for the proposal.” 

“I will, I sent everything over to you.”

“ Enjoy the rest of your dinner, sweetie, have a good night.” 

He smiled, a laugh puffing from his nose. “And good morning to you.” 

“ And Jihoon? I think Ruby is going to love the ring. It is a beautiful choice.” 

“When I can sneak away once you arrive, I’ll make sure to show it to you both. I’m picking it up in about a week.” 

“Perfect.”

You never intended to be out so late, but dinner turned into sitting and talking, which turned into drinks, which turned into more talking and having fun. It was nearing midnight when you finally got dropped off at the apartment building. It was an outing that was definitely needed and definitely appreciated with how you have been feeling. 

Jihoon hadn’t replied to your text message that you were on the way home and the lights in the apartment were off when you stepped through the door. You tried to be quiet but a few stumbles and the clattering of dropping your phone while trying to take off your shoes had your name being called out tiredly through the apartment. 

“ Sorry-” You called back, shedding your jacket and shuffling your socked feet across the floor until you reached the bedroom. 

Here, the lights were off but his laptop illuminated the room. Jihoon had pushed himself against the wall as he did every night, him saying the coolness of the wall and the warmth you brought was balanced enough. Never made much sense to you, but if he was comfortable, so be it. 

He had his face hidden behind the blanket that he curled himself up in but you could see the dark, grown out, wavy locks that he had been getting annoyed with recently for getting in his face peeking out. The room was…much cleaner than when you left this afternoon, clothes no longer littering one of the room corners, the basket of laundry was put away as well. 

With haste, you grabbed some clothes and went to the bathroom, changing and getting your nighttime routine done so you didn’t feel like absolute shit in the morning. Once you returned, the laptop was closed but wasn’t moved from your side of the bed. The blanket that was once cocooning your soulmate was now opened and he was waiting for you with a lazily opened arm. 

“ Hurry up, it’s cold.” His voice was groggy and quiet, but you listened, moving his laptop to the nightstand and scooting in, letting him drop the blanket and bundle you up to his chest. 

The hand that wrapped around your waist was cold against the skin that got exposed by your shirt riding up and you shivered yet made no complaint. Unlike most days where he had you resting your head against his chest, he placed his against yours instead, settling in with a grumble. You tucked the blanket up over your shoulder, keeping in any body heat to keep Jihoon warm.

“ Sorry I woke you.” Reaching up, your carded your fingers through his hair, gently detangling any knots you found in the process. 

“ ‘S okay…” He shifted and tangled your legs today, pressing himself close to you the best he could. “ Did you have fun?” 

“I did, they said it was your idea because you’ve been busy.” 

It took him a moment to reply, his breathing coming out slowly and steadily. “ Barely…”

You continued to card your fingers in his hair, feeling him lean into your touch. The longer you played with his hair, the more it became apparent he had fallen asleep. Now that your eyes adjusted to the light, he looked peaceful, the light crease he had between his eyebrows smoothed out and the tension he typically held in his jaw was relaxed. 

Earlier in the day he went from feeling happy to feeling blissful but also enamored. You were curious as to why but let it be, simply happy that he felt so strongly and went on with the adventures the day brought with friends. 

You weren’t one for amusement parks but Lotte World was always a place you wanted to visit and you didn’t want to pass up on the opportunity. It was fun, you got to be around people you considered basic friends and was able to capture some nice moments you wanted to add to the photo book when you got a chance. 

With your eyes growing heavy, you peppered a few kisses into his hair, letting the steady rise and fall of his chest lull you to bed.

[johnlennon-as-a-tv-chef]

Can you please write about Milex getting together? Set in "One for the Road" song - where Alex in at Miles' having too much to drink, sitting on the floor tec. He then needs to be sick and Miles is helping him but he has realized that he is getting hard from feeling Miles over him holding his hair (humbug one). He then is trying to make himself sick again (putting fingers down his throat) and thinking it is Miles doing to him... Then everyone leaves and Alex decides to make the move...

Okay anon, this one took me a few days to write because I wasn't sure how to incorporate all the elements you requests in one piece. It also turned out a little longer than a drabble, but I hope you enjoy it.

Tw: puking, self-induced puking (not graphic), mention of sexual thoughts (not too graphic).

_____________________________________________

"A'right Al. You rockstar, you. Congrats on going platinum." Miles ruffles Alex's hair like he’s talking to a child. He knows Miles is being facetious but his words are laced with sincerity and his eyes are glinting with warmth, and Alex can’t help but smile.

Instead of acknowledging the greeting, though, Alex huffs and smooths his hair down. He's never had hair this long before, and as much as he loves it, he's still just getting the hang of handling it.

"Took you long enough to get here," he says moving his fringe out of his eyes with his index finger.

It's Humbug’s success party and Alex is flying high from praise, the sales, the numbers on the charts, and some blue pill someone handed him a while ago. He reckons he's earned it. This album had been a gamble. They had completely changed their sound. Initially, they even got some bad reviews, something they hadn't ever gotten before and the self-doubt had begun to set in. But the gamble had ultimately paid off, and this album could join their older ones on the proverbial mantle.

It's their success party so of course they went a bit too hard, and of course, they stretched it longer than they should have. When they pretty much get kicked out of the venue, Miles offers up his place for an ‘after-party’.

Which is how Alex ends up on the Scouser’s bathroom floor with his palms pressed against the cool tiles watching Miles through a veil of smoke - a calming respite from the cacophony outside.

"It's really that simple Al. Imagine if you put Bowie in a Bond film. It's like subverting the genre innit. People think they want what they're expecting, that they want predictability, but really it's the unexpected within the expected that really gets you going. But it has to be wrapped carefully in the expected for it to have maximum impact. D'ya know what I mean?."

Alex is only half listening, and truth be told, he has no idea what Miles is talking about. But he closes his eyes and smiles, nodding slowly because Miles's voice and the way it wraps around the words feels fuzzy and he just wants Miles to keep talking.

He feels a warmth rising in his stomach. Then it's not just warmth, he realises too late, but dinner and the nacho chips he'd swiped off Jamie a few minutes ago and the 5 taquila shots and how-many-ever other drinks he had downed through the night.

"Fuck, Al you okay?" Miles jumps off the toilet seat and lifts the lid just in time for Alex to grab the toilet bowl and start retching.

Miles moves behind him and holds Alex’s hair back as he throws up. All the while whispering soft words of encouragement. “That's it. Let it all out.” “You're alright.” “I got you.”

Miles is pulling his hair back, and he's tracing his fingers along Alex's forehead and ears and the nape of his neck trying to hold back the wisps of hair that find their way out of his grasp, and Alex’s still-too-drunk mind thinks, ‘I don't ever want this to end’.

Considering how plastered he is, he didn't think he was physically capable of getting hard, but well, Alex supposes he wasn't much if he didn’t exceed expectations. He doesn't think Miles realises what he's doing, or the effect he's having on Alex, because now he's patting his back with one hand while the other holds up his hair.

Alex isn’t completely oblivious. Some part of his brain has always been aware that he’s attracted to Miles - the way he plays his guitar, the way he says Alex's name, the way he makes Alex laugh, how he never makes him feel stupid even when he talks in tongues and stumbling over his words, and how he seems to have an eerie ability to read his mind.

Then there’s also Miles' eyes like coffee, warm and dark and always sparkling with mirth. His hair, soft and a little frizzy, that he insists on styling in a way that falls over his eyes simply because it kind of makes him resemble a couple of the Beatles put together. His nose, and the perfect bridge of it. Alex loves Miles' nose. He wonders how it would feel brushing against his neck, his cheek, his chest, his...Right, so Alex knows Miles is fit and that he's attracted to him. He just makes it a point to never look that realization in the eyes. He keeps these thoughts locked up and buried under layers of banter, and laughter.

But he's not as sharp right now and the insolent thoughts aren’t staying down.

He doesn't know how long it's been but he's gagging long after he's done puking, just dry heaving and spitting, trying to get Miles to continue doing what he’s doing for just a bit longer.

“You good?” Miles rubs soothing circles into Alex's back, and he just wants to sink into it. He wants to guide Miles' hand lower, to the front, have him stroke him, jerk him off. Alex is really high. The guards are out of duty and the thoughts are being rebellious, trashing the place up there and there's not much he can do to discipline them right now.

Thankfully, Miles leaves Alex to find water, with a "Hang tight, Al. I'll be right back”, giving him some moments of respite to collect his wits. He sits there for a few seconds willing his gut and his mind to settle. Then, out of boredom than anything else, he gets up on his feet, leans against the sink and looks at himself in the mirror. The alcohol and pill coursing in his veins liquify his reflection, making it swim out of shape. He stares into his own eyes. He stares and stares until they start morphing into another pair of hooded brown eyes. His lips, his hair, his nose. Alex is stunned but he can't look away. Instead, he lets his impulses have their way once more. Holding eye contact with himself, Alex sticks two fingers into his mouth, pretending it was Miles' long fingers that have often mesmerised Alex by. He pictures how they wrap around his guitar neck, and expertly dance on the strings, and how they might feel in his mouth. He gives his fingers an experimental lick before closing his eyes and sucking on them. And then he's pushing deeper and deeper until he’s gagging, spit pooling on the corners of his mouth. He has nothing left in his stomach to throw up so when Miles returns he finds Alex dry heaving into the sink.

“Al, you okay? Did you get sick again?”

Miles is back with some water and, it would seem, a stick of gum. “Here chew on this, you'll feel better." He says. What a beautiful thoughtful idiot. Alex just wants to jump him.

It's an hour later. Alex is feeling more sober but just so. If he squints he can see the first signs of dawn making an appearance. He’s standing on Miles’ little balcony smoking what he hopes to be his last cigarette of the night when Miles comes out and leans against the railing next to him.

"Whatcha doing out here?"

"Just tired."

It's a bit chilly, and he can see Miles shiver slightly.

“Yeah, I'm knackered too. Want me to tell everyone to fuck off?" Miles looks up into his eyes.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t follow Miles in, instead, he waits on the balcony till he hears the last of the ‘byes’ and ‘see yous’. Alex should probably offer to leave too but he figures if Miles wants him out, he would tell him so.

When he stubs the butt of his second cigarette and walks in, Miles is pouring the last of an almost empty bottle of vodka into a couple of glasses. "What's one more eh?"

Alex shakes his head and walks over to Miles’ record player and puts on the first record he can find lying next to the turntable.

It's Leonard Cohen. Of course, it is. Miles's latest obsession. They'd spent hours dissecting his music, his style, and his lyrics just the other day.

Alex thinks he's definately still drunk because nothing else can explain why he walks towards Miles and extends his hand.

He hopes Miles too is drunk enough to not be weirded out by the request.

But, here's the thing about Miles. Miles is never embarrassed and Miles is never ashamed. So he just smiles that classic Miles all-teeth-and-gums smile and lays his hand in Alex's. He grips Alex's hand and pulls himself closer.

Before he can fully comprehend what’s happening, they’re dancing. Miles is swaying from side to side and he’s taking Alex with him. Alex can’t focus on much apart from the feel of Miles' warm hand pressed against his back.

"Is this weird for you?" blurts out because he needs to know. He needs to know how Miles feels about dancing with a bloke, dancing with him. Its different joking around with friends and threatening to take the joke too far in front of others, and totally different when they're alone in a dark room, swaying to a ballad at 4 in the morning. He needs to know whether to keep at it or to make a run for it, and pretend he doesn't remember anything, blaming it all on the alcohol tomorrow.

"No, is it for you?"

Alex lays his head on Miles's shoulder in response and sighs “no".

It feels like it's a long time coming and it still takes Alex by surprise. It takes him by surprise even though he is the one that leans in and kisses Miles. Sure he's thought about doing it before, but he'd always looked at it as one of those intrusive thoughts, like when you think about jumping in front of incoming traffic or breaking into a dance during a meeting.

All he knows is that in that moment, with his head resting against Miles' shoulder, Miles' soft breath tickling his ear, and Leonard Cohen crooning in the background, all he could do is lean in and take more.

His second surprise is that Miles doesn’t push him away, doesn’t even look at him with confusion. Or worse, disgust. No, Miles just let's Alex pull him by the front of his jacket, and tightens his grip around Alex's waist ever so slightly.

It's a pretty chaste kiss as far as kisses go. It's quick and it's deliberate, like a handshake, Alex thinks to his own amusement. But he's never felt like going in for seconds with a handshake before.

“This - ” Alex says, pulling his face away just enough so that his eyes can focus on Miles. His breathing is laboured. He feels a bit lightheaded, and doesn’t actually know what he wants to say.

His tongue darts out to lick his lips that tingle with the faint taste of Miles.

Miles, on the other hand looks dazed as he stares back at Alex. He reaches out, places his palm gently against Alex' jaw and strokes his bottom lip with his thumb.

Even though they had always been comfortable with each other, perhaps a bit more than normal, now that he thinks of it, this feels strange, to be touched by Miles like this. But something about the fact that it is shrouded by the darkness of night and the faint moonlight seeping in from the balcony door he's left open, makes it feel okay.

“Yeah,” Miles breathes out in reply to Alex's non-sentence.

It doesn’t actually clarify anything, but Alex can’t help breaking out in a smile because it’s enough to silence the little voices of worry buzzing in the back of his mind.

“I've wondered what this would feel like ” Alex confesses, his gaze flicking from Miles' eyes to his mouth. To the lips that Alex now knows exactly how they feel pressed against his and what they taste like. After all these years.

“Me too,” Miles rushes out, the corners of his mouth lifting up.

Alex doesn't have enough time to process Miles' confession because then Miles is surging forward and catching Alex's lips again and that’s all he can focus on right now.

He feels like he's being drawn deeper and deeper into Miles, and like if he just let's himself go, he'll never be able to find his way out. He pushes Miles gently, breaking their kiss for a second time.

Miles doesn't look offended. Instead, he's breathing heavily, and fighting a smile. Maybe he feels it too.

"I'm glad we're on the same page then," Alex says once again leaning down to rest his head on Miles' shoulder, holding him just a bit tighter, surer, as they sway to Cohen singing about dancing to the end of love.

[iceflwers]

𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓷 𝓳𝓮𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 !

˚✧ ₊˚ʚ THE BASICS !

— ❥ FULL NAME: Morgan Olive Jennings.

— ❥ NICKNAMES: Morgs, M, Songbird, popstar, Pop Rocks (teasingly, by Brock), Blondie Bitch (by haters), sweetheart, babe, baby (by Quinn only), honey, gorgeous (by Quinn only).

— ❥ DATE OF BIRTH: March 29th, 1998 (Aries).

— ❥ BIRTHPLACE: Vancouver, British Colombia, Canada.

— ❥ CURRENT RESIDENCE: Mostly mobile, permanent residence in Vancouver.

— ❥ SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, French (not fluently).

— ❥ ORIENTATION: Biromantic, bisexual.

— ❥ GENDER IDENTITY: Genderfluid (she/they pronouns).

— ❥ OCCUPATION: Pop singer-songwriter.

— ❥ FACECLAIM: Reneé Rapp.

˚✧ ₊˚ʚ PERSONALITY !

— ❥ HOGWARTS HOUSE: Gryffindor (brave, chivalrous, daring).

— ❥ MYERS-BRIGGS TYPE: ESFP - The Entertainer (bold, enthusiastic, sensitive).

— ❥ ENNEAGRAM TYPE: Type Eight - The Challenger (self-confident, confrontational, protective).

— ❥ MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good.

— ❥ LOVE LANGUAGES: Words of affirmation for giving, quality time for receiving.

— ❥ SKILLS: Singing, dancing, songwriting, makeup, brewing coffee, playing piano, playing both acoustic and electric guitar, quickly coming up with comebacks.

— ❥ LIKES: Putting on an amazing show, hearing a big stadium crowd singing her lyrics back to them, getting her makeup just the way they like it, spending time with her mom, a well-made margarita, wearing bright and outlandish outfits for their concerts.

— ❥ DISLIKES: Boring people, people bringing up her past relationship failures, people who are rude to public servants, being judged for their choices by the media, snakes, being misgendered, people hating on her boyfriend’s team.

— ❥ FEARS/PHOBIAS: Being abandoned, disappointing the people they care about, death, needles.

˚✧ ₊˚ʚ RELATIONSHIPS !

— ❥ FAMILY: Lorelei Jennings (mother), unknown father, Daisy Ahn (younger sister figure).

— ❥ FRIENDS: Daisy Ahn, Poppy Tsunoda, Jack Hughes, Luke Hughes, Elias Pettersson, Brock Boeser, Artūrs Šilovs, Thatcher Demko, J.T. Miller, Trevor Zegras.

— ❥ ACQUAINTANCES: Remainder of the Vancouver Canucks roster, Jamie Drysdale, Ethan Edwards, Mat Barzal, William Nylander.

— ❥ ROMANTIC INTERESTS: Madeline Baker (first crush), Eddie White (first boyfriend), Scott Moir (brief fling), Derek Harding (brief fling), Angela Williams (brief fling), Alec Kosminsky (ex-boyfriend), Caroline Gutierrez (ex-girlfriend), Daniel Riva (brief fling), Myla Adler (brief PR relationship), Iris Swayer (ex-girlfriend), Spencer Calloway (ex-boyfriend), Darius Morgan (brief fling), Quinn Hughes (current romantic interest).

˚✧ ₊˚ʚ FUN FACTS !

— ❥ Morgan has been famous since she was sixteen years old, thrust into the spotlight after they were discovered performing in a karaoke club she’d snuck into. Though they’ve always been happy she gets to share their music with the world and connect with people through it, she also often wishes that they hadn’t had to become so well-known so young.

— ❥ Throughout the course of her career, Morgan has won many awards for their music, including many American Music Awards, MTV Awards, and two Grammys, one for Pop Album of the Year and one for Best Pop Solo Performance. Two of her albums, their self-titled debut album and her forth album Diamond Collar, have also gone certified platinum.

— ❥ Out of all the relationships they’ve had throughout the years and her career, Morgan is fairly sure that Iris, a fellow singer who, they dated for almost a year, is the only one she truly loved. They can’t help but be a bit grateful that relationship did end, though, because she never would have gotten together with Quinn otherwise.

— ❥ Morgan can’t actually skate before meeting Quinn. Their mother never really had the time to take her to a rink and teach them, and once she got famous they never really saw the point in learning, but Quinn does teach her after they get together.

— ❥ Morgan has never cared very much what the media says about them, but the one thing she will never tolerate is people saying bad things about their mother or judging her for growing up in a single-parent home. Lorelei Jennings sacrificed a lot to make sure her child had a good life, and suffered a lot with Morgan when they were going through hard times with her career and public perception, and Morgan will never accept anyone attempting to put her down for that.

tagging @lovings4turn, @hiya-itsamber, @theopenlocker, & @yoontwin ! ( also tentatively tagging @wintfleur )

─┈ ♡ copyright © 2024: you do not have permission to copy, translate, or repost my works, nor to use my oc ideas or plots.

[unhingedlesbear]

I'm so so out of things to post and I've recently been having CRAZY nostalgia for SOTC and TLG so umm gonna assign TDIM characters Team ICO games based on what I feel like they'd play the most.

Kate - SOTC. She would definitely play this one but she's only actually completed it once, now she just likes to explore the map and take pretty screenshots in photo mode.

Mark - TLG. Definitely got overly attached to Trico and cried at the end. Treated trico like his child, never once left a spear in that thing.

Jamie - SOTC 100000%. Probably platinumed the game and has discovered all the quickest ways to take down every colossus. Speedruns the entire game several times a day.

Erin - Either TLG or ICO. She wants to play SOTC but she feels bad killing the colossi and also isn't very good at it </3 she definitely cried at both endings

Charlie - ICO. Because he's old.

[the1975attheirverybest]

I think a lot of people are confusing platinum tickets with dynamic pricing. Platinum tickets SUCK but it’s standard at this point. Every show (other artists) I’ve bought tickets for in recent years have had platinum ticket options, it’s normally the first 4-5 rows of each seated section in my experience. 

Dynamic pricing is the real beast. It makes EVERY ticket price fluctuate. I’ve watched tickets go from $80 to $200+ in real time. If they have that turned on I’ll be so upset. 

Yes. But Platinum pricing is just as bad. It’s not the same as dynamic pricing in terms of how they get to increase in price but they do get an arbitrary increase nonetheless and with no added benefits. Like say you purchase a platinum ticket for $400. Your extra money that you have paid isn’t going towards granting you anything “extra.” Not merch that comes with the ticket. Not early access to the venue. Not VIP section. Nothing. Nothing at all. So, it’s still bullshit and if a rocket is listed as platinum and we avoid it that’s one less ticket that’s available for face value that someone with a reasonable budget could’ve gotten and gone to the show. Live shows are for artists and fans. Third parties such as Ticketmaster are only in it for profit. So they’ll use the capitalist system that we live in to milk us for every penny that we’ve got. Makes no sense unless you’re Ticketmaster. And Jamie’s nonsense about “preventing it form going to stub hub” is kinda lame. Cuz from his pov, it doesn’t really matter as long as he gets his paycheck/ the band gets paid. And I’d rather it go to stub hub for a lesser price that someone can purchase than stay as a platinum ticket! Yeah sometimes they lower prices as the show approaches if it doesn’t sell, but lots of times they don’t. I wanted to go to the DC show in 2022 and kept checking to see if I could afford going like the day of, and I couldn’t. Isn’t that a missed opportunity? For someone who’s willing to spend a certain amount of money to go to the show but they can’t cuz the price is way crazy? So the ticket just ends up sitting there. That way it’s not sold for anything when it could’ve been sold for it’s original price or whatever.

[jamieroxxartist]

www.PopRoxxRadio.com Dropping Thurs, High Noon est on 11.21.24

Pop Art Painter Jamie #Roxx (www.JamieRoxx.us) welcomes @IncognitoTheory, ( #HardRock, #SouthernGroove, #Metal Band ) to the Show!

● WEB: incognitotheory.com ● FB: @incognitotheory ● IG: @incognitotheory ● YT: @incognitotheory ● X: @incognitotheory

Incognito Theory has worked with award-winning multi-platinum producer Malcolm Springer, Steve Zing bassist of Danzig/Drummer of Samhain . Mike Orlando of adrenaline mob/ Sonic universe

Incognito Theory was Formed in 2009 by Dave Incognito. David Incognito is a Vocalist with help from various members of local New Jersey bands.

Those featuring guest appearances include Lee Richards, guitarist of Godsmack as well as bassist Mike Lepond of Symphony, and X/ Ross The Boss / Mike Lepond 's Silent Assassins. Incognito Theory (IT) is a classic example of the whole being far more than the sum of its parts. These boys have a little of this, a little of that…and a whole lotta something else. Very dense guitars, a solid rumbling bottom end, and an impressive baritone from Mr Incognito make I.T. a formidable force. Quote Zachary Moonshine Metal digest. / Metal devastation

● Media Inquiries: Brian Mohr EVP of A&R EVP of Artist Management @CurtainCallRecords www.curtaincallrecords.com

[count-demonlord-of-decadence]

Fortress Decadence

“Welcome to Inqaba Ukuwohloka.” said a man and woman in Elizabethan era butler outfits as you entered the lavish mansion designed by Kazuyo Sejima as a love song to Giyōfū architecture, the mansion was completed on August 10, 2019. The main entrance hall is a beehive of social activity with people in and out of dress, in and out of costume mingling, flirting and otherwise interacting. Several celebrities are within your sight, Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy introduces herself to you, as do Jamie Marchi, Vince McMahon, Jacinda Ardern, Jeffrey A. Rosen, Rose Montoya and Jay-Z. Ellen DeGeneres, Jake Busey, Meghan Markle, Anita Sarkeesian, Keanu Reeves, Megan Thee Stallion, Prince William, Greta Gerwig and Tucker Carlson do not. The further in you go the more casual the attire becomes as does the atmosphere. You bump fists with Joe Rogan, Tom Kenny, Joseph Buttafuoco and Cynthia Erivo. A very drunk Kim Tok Hun bumps into while putting his tie on his head, prompting you to bump into Samia Suluhu Hassan who introduces herself but doesn't recognize you and quickly walks away. A crying Dak Prescott dashes past you, a midget dressed as He-man offers you a cup of applesauce and Ke$ha, looking like Amélie, sprays you with Obsession for men. A tray of Angels on horseback is presented to you just before a man who looks a lot like Claudio Castagnoli wearing a lot of makeup kisses you on both cheeks and is off into the crowd before you can react. A person that can only be described as Tipper Gore cosplaying as Pizzazz, the main vocalist, rhythm guitarist and leader of the fictional rock band The Misfits, apologizes and hands you a pink bellini, which is taken away by someone in a black and white Korean girl’s high school uniform with a gray horse head mask on who directs you to the bar upstairs while dodging a plate of Tokwa’t baboy being offered to you. A dashing Frenchman in an all shark skin gray three piece suit helps you avoid a glass of champagne spilt by Mahdi al-Mashat, only to be separated from him by Elon Musk laughing hysterically. A man clearly older than your father, wearing nothing but a reddish pink feather boa and a matching bandana in his gorgeous hair, gently pinches your bottom and scampers off before you can protest, he is caught and beaten by the crowd, which he rather enjoyed. A tray of Bakwan is offered to you but knocked over as a brawl erupts between rather large men dressed in ill fitting tuxedos yelling at each other in Greek. Katerina Sakellaropoulou said they were fighting over her, while wearing an all too revealing desert brown dress. She takes two of the Rumaki on a tray being offered to you when you are intimately greeted by Mosch. No age, no race, no gender, no labels, no touching; just Mosch. The Dalton Castle entrance attire, bronze tan, make up, flamboyant gesticulations and platinum blonde 1980’s rock god hair gave away nothing. 

Mosch takes you to an elevator with six other people in it. One was a priest who looked exactly like the American Gothic painting. One was actor Billy Campbell, trying not to get noticed. Three are dressed as businessmen who are snickering whilst playing a game of who can release the worst fart. The last is a Palestinian man enjoying the farts. Only you and Mosch exit to the second floor, which is more of a nightclub setting which Mosch laments, then has a mood swing after spotting a young lad in tight Lederhosen and drags you to the bar. He orders, “A Zima for my friend and a martini for me. Three measures of Tanqueray Rangpur, one of Ciroc, half a measure of La Quintinye Extra Dry Vermouth. Shake it very well until it's ice-cold, then add three speared pimento stuffed olives. Got it?”

After correcting your drink order, Dillon Francis’ “I.D.G.A.F.O.S.” came on much to Mosche’s excitement and you two dance, never once touching. By the song’s end your drinks are served by a woman in a violet niqāb. Mosche hands you yours after looking at it with dismay, Mosche tips her a fifty dollar bill and you can't help but notice Mosche has no pockets and carries no purse as you're led to an elevator where a man, woman and a nonbinary person were all over each other. Kissing, licking, groping, feeling, biting, wanting. Two of the three invite you to join them but Mosche declines on your behalf while taking in their sight, sounds, aroma and aura.

The third floor is a hookah bar and smoke lounge with terrible tiki lounge decor and a terrific live band. Mosche walks the room, takes a random hit from a hookah, introduces you to Kevin Spacey, takes another random hit, is waved off by Seth Rogan, briefly makes out with a waitress and you're back in the elevator before finishing your drink. You ride with a woman who looks like Megan Merkel trying hard not to get noticed. The Gull Terrier sniffing up her skirt made it impossible. Mosche informs you out of respect the two of you are going to exit at the next floor.

The music of Phinehas 12 decibels too loud, as the doors open to reveal a bondage dungeon.  Nothing but leather and steel visible between the bodies. While dragging you to the bar, Mosche stops to introduce you to Joe Biden, who is wearing only a diaper and being walked on a leash by Mistress Rouz. Rouz is 30 years old, 1.77 meters tall and weighs 73 kg. She was born, raised and usually resides in Port Louis, Mauritius. She speaks with a heavy Mauritian Creole accent as she exchanges pleasantries with you and Mosch. She wears a black leotard with far too many accessories to be considered tasteful. She is accompanied by Zelmire, a 14 year old Austrian girl with charming features and curly hair. She is dressed as a bunny girl. Mosche asks Joe where their Lord is but Biden responds but he only barks, as Rouz had commanded. Rouz then says, “But if I were looking for anyone, I’d check the observation lounge.” Mosche thanks her and drags you to the bar where you’re served by a Papuan lad clearly too young to be serving drinks. Mosche orders a dirty version of the drink from before and a light beer for you. Mosche vows not to linger but is distracted by Taylor Swift riding Robert Kraft side saddle, allowing you to correct your drink order and catch a breath. What can only be described as a young Arsenio Hall with stunning golden brown Farrah Fawcett hair, wearing a red leather dominatrix outfit and far too much makeup, stands next to you and says, “I hope you don't mind me coming over, but I've been watching you all evening.” They pause to suggestively eat a speared cherry from their Mojito, “And I want to tear you apart. Your friend as well.” 

Before they could move in for the kiss, Mosche pulls you hastily to the elevator where two midgets dressed as cupids are smoking massive cigars, and verbally degrading a red headed obese woman who is loudly masturbating with a Bratz doll.

“The next floor is the S & M suite.” Mosche laments, “I’ve no need to go in, do you? Well we can always come back. I can say the same thing about the Sanguine Suite above us. Let us move on to the school. That’s where our Lord and Master awaits.” 

The elevator ride was a bit cramped with Polish strong man Andrzej Zieleniecki and a constantly performing mime joined the five of you in the elevator. The doors open to reveal a hallway filled with lockers and classrooms. All the other occupants exit and a rubenesque Samoan woman in a black and yellow Korean high school uniform beckons the two of you to the first classroom on the right. Her black hair is worn in curled pigtails and side-swept bangs. She smells like ripe cloudberries. Through the window you see what appears to be Bill Cosby giving a lecture about jazz to a class of teenagers. She takes you to the classroom diagonal to the first where R. Kelly is teaching an all girls choir to sing. Moving diagonally again, the next room reveals Kevin Spacey reading to an all boys class. He was wearing nothing but a velour silk robe that clearly wasn't tied. Mosche introduces her, “This is Sophia Wind. She's mute but not deaf. She gets off on showing people things.” Sophia bows and Mosche asks her, “We're looking for our Lord and master, have you seen him?” Mosche doesn't understand her sign language but you correctly guess the library based on her gestures. Mosche is impressed by your cleverness and escorts you back to the elevator where a guy who looks like Skipp Sudduth cosplaying as Jalen Hurts was trying to persuade a cheerleader who favored Madison Curry to give him a blow job. You ride the elevator down back to the smoke lounge so you can use the bathroom purposely designed and decorated with a cold, mechanical feel. Like the kind one would expect to find on a WWI battleship. When you’re finished, Mosche is waiting with drinks. Your’s appears to be what your previous drink was, garnished with an added speared cherry, olive and lime wedge. 

Mosche escorts you to the elevator where four guys who resemble Beavis, Butthead and their fathers are standing in the now smoke-filled elevator giggling at each other

You feel a touch light headed as the doors open and the four morons rush out saying, “We’re gonna tip over a cow,”

You’ve entered a stable with the obvious hay, smells and noises, some of which were clearly human. Mosche simply mutters, “Oh no, the dierentuin. We don’t want to be here.” and takes one step before a high pitched voice squeals, “Mosche! Thank God you’re here! I need your help to settle something.”

The voice belongs to a blonde woman with big blue eyes and a model’s figure dressed in an all too sexy cowgirl outfit. The kind only a stripper would wear. 

“Please Judy, I'm working.” Mosche laments, gesturing at you.

“What? Oh Hi! I’m Judy Punch, nice to meet you.” She squeaks at you and shakes your hand. Before you can respond she’s back to Mosche, “So I have a problem and you’re the first person I thought of.”

“But Judy, I’m busy.”

“But, you’re already here.”

Mosche dramatically laments before pulling you along while being dragged by Judy. She leads you past three sheep, two horses, two cows and a man fucking a goat while she explains the problem.

“So Viktor and Arse Splitter were arguing about who had the largest dick. I offered to measure for them but I couldn't make Arse Splitter hard.”

“Of course my dear, you're much too old and the wrong gender for that.”

“And now they're trying to fight.” Judy lamented with her squeaky voice.

Viktor, no surname, hails from South Sudan and is very tall at 224 cm. He possesses a hulking, muscular build at 130 kg. His hands are massive enough to close around the entire head of many of his opponents. He is bald and wearing nothing but tape around his hands and feet to protect his knuckles and shins. The man known only as Arse Splitter is 28 years old and hails from Sheffield, England. He has the look of a satyr. He wore a short sleeveless tunic that revealed his genitals.

“I think I understand Judy.” Mosche giggled and took the tape measure before handing you an empty glass. Mosche then whispered sweet nothings into Arse Splitter’s ear all the while making sure not to touch him. And it worked, after 222 seconds he was fully aroused, displaying a penis that is bent saber fashion, it’s head, or glans, is enormous, it is 21 cm in circumference and the shaft 20 cm length. A fine curve to this majestic prick. Viktor’s measured three cm longer but four less in circumference. Judy tips you both twenty dollars after thanking you at a pitch no one would find pleasant. Mosche mutters, “Stupid bitch tipping me like I'm part of the help, what's wrong with her. I hope she gets pregnant and fat.” Mosche concealed the twenty despite having no pockets and escorts you back to the elevator where the red headed obese woman is loudly masturbating while an effeminate anorexic man verbally degrades her. He looks at the two of you and says, “She's not the one who should skip dessert.” And the look Mosche shoots him would've backed down Mike Tyson. He exits as soon as the doors are open wide enough and enters Barack Obama, a young Caucasian man and an older black woman. Mosche introduced you to Lady Eloise Gripenasty, 68 years old and wearing a gold and black Chong sim that revealed her lack of underwear. Christof Select, the youngest capo in the syndicate, wearing a white Armani tuxedo. And the former president is wearing a tuxedo by Versace. Christof is going on about how he can't get a giraffe here on the ride down to the dierentuin, so you don't have an opportunity to chat with Obama before they exit. The elevator stops at the lobby and four elderly white business men enter having a loud discussion about the stocks of aerospace companies and defense contractors. They exit at the club, Mosche calls them perverts and enters a 183 cm tall female bodybuilder from Romania making out with a Mexican boy who was 152 cm tall on his toes and weighed 50 kg at max. Mosche is intrigued and participates as only Mosche can, taking in the sights, smells, sounds and aura, but never touching. The couple exits and Mosche exclaims, “Oh, I’d forgotten about the preschool prostitute ring, shall we indulge? Oh, but I need to introduce you to our Lord and Savior, one more floor up.”

The next floor is the observation lounge which has monitors everywhere displaying the other floors from multiple angles. Everyone who exits is wearing a gray trench coat and matching fedora. Mosche introduces you to TJ Whittenhouse, a man who looks and dresses like a cliched ISTJ. Mosche has him confirm Lionel Virtanen is indeed in the library before heading there. When the elevator arrives a skinny white twink is getting quadruple penetrated by four big buff sweaty black guys vigorously, while they shout every epithet and slur possible. You silently agree when Mosche suggests waiting for the next one, which arrives 100 seconds later with a fresh batch of voyeurs looking to not be noticed. The two of you enter along with a dead ringer for Timothée Chalamet dressed as Raggedy Andy, a 222 kg French chef, the constantly performing mime and Honey Boo-boo. The elevator stops at the S&M suite where the chef exits and three softball players in full West Texas A&M uniforms enter, gossiping about who could fit a bat up their cunt like the whore they did it to. They and Timothée Chalamet exit at what looks and sounds like a gymnasium and a Pakistani couple enters, arguing loudly. This doesn't deter the mime one bit and in fact he incorporates them into the act, which causes them to yell at him and each other. The couple exits at the dierentuin and enters Crown, you know because Mosche gasped his name. Crown is 200 cm tall and a muscular 147 kg. He has long black hair spilling out of his purple and black lion mask and light brown skin. He’s wearing a light blue cowboy jacket with a dark blue poncho, white pants, a black belt, brownish gray shoes and white fingerless gloves. His presence is so commanding it was easy to miss the three other people who entered with him. An Armenian woman in a cute pink Loza Maléombho dress, a Libyan man in a Thebe Magugu tuxedo and a small man in a green screen suit who were clearly intimidated. The mime on the other hand tries to get Crown into his act, to which he respnds, “Déjame en paz antes de que te rompa.” The mime expresses a lack of understanding but continues the act, seeking an explanation from the other passengers. Crown then says, “¡Fuiste advertido pendejo!” and hits the mime with an uppercut that bounces his head off the doors just before they open revealing the Sanguine Suite and its cliche vampire decor. Crown then body slams the mime, mounts him and punches him in the face four times before transitioning to an armbar. The mime’s scream is drowned out by the sound of his ulna breaking then the doors closed. Clearly frazzled, Mosche drags you out of the elevator and into the triage ward, one of the few areas without a full service bar. Mosche is on the verge of a panic attack when a voluptuous woman in a black dress that showed a lot of leg approached. Her steel blue eyes meet yours, she gives you a wink and a smile, then a whorl of curly black hair as she approaches Mosche. And like that, you know everything is going to be alright. 

“You’re looking a little ragged right now.” She says in a deep, breathy voice, “Anything I can do to help?” 

“Oh Raven!” Mosche laments and hugs her, which shows clear indifference to. “Oh Raven,” Mosche pauses to sob, “I’m just trying to take this one to meet Lionel Virtanen for the first time.”

She pulls a cigarette and a lighter from god knows where and lights it, prompting one of the orderlies to shout, “No smoking in here!” 

“Relax sugar, we were just leaving.” 

She leads you to the elevator, followed by a man 1.2 meters tall and dressed like an accountant from the 1920s. He was trying desperately to get her attention. 

“You know what they say Mosche: The harder the journey, the better the destination.”

The elevator doors opened and four orderlies moved a gurney out. On it, you couldn’t help what appeared to be a mime with a face of pureed beef on it, followed by a skipping Anita Sarkeesian. The green screen suit guy was break dancing to DeBarge was inside as was 

Jacinda Ardern, who no one recognized. The three of you, Sendhil Ramamurthy in blood stained scrubs and WNBA star Brittney Griner with a heavily taped left knee enter the elevator. The accountant tries to dash in as the doors close but Raven kicks him in the chin to stop him.

The elevator doors open to a lobby decorated to look like the street front of a discreet Jakarta bar with a half moon rising. There were three people standing outside chatting; Vince McMahon, former president Donald Trump and Kim Belair. Inside is a very classy and impressie decor guarded by two men so large Mosche verbally assumes they were bred for security. But they look at Raven and say, “Welcome back boss.”  then eye the rest of you menacingly. Raven turns around with her hands on her ample hips and says, “Mosche and guest. And…”  You turn around to see the options only to see everyone followed you out of the elevator and joined the trio standing outside, but they were joined by a cowboy, a female construction worker, a biker, a female GI, a Tsuutʼina Nation chief, a Chinese admiral, a female British cop, three non-discript straight white men and what appeared to be a Syrian gigolo; all wanting the same thing, admittance. “...Jacinda Ardern.” Raven pauses to laugh in a manner uncharacteristic of her look and voice and adds, “And the green man.” There is audible disappointment from those not admitted as they return to whence they came.

“Welcome to the VIP lounge.” Raven breathes as the green man clears the metal detector. In the first booth was a man in a gold lion mask surrounded by a harem of girls far too young to be in such an establishment. They were eating from a cuminall five gallon bucket of neapolitan ice cream. The second was a man in a black bull mask surrounded by a harem of boys far too young to be in such an establishment. They were wrestling for his amusement. A woman in a taxidermy deer mask was choking and cursing at a server in Chinese accented English. The next booth had a man in a yellow panther mask and a man in a polar bear mask smoking massive cigars and casually chatting until they saw you looking at them. You look away but they continue to stare until you’re out of sight. A woman in a gold eagle mask is in the next booth beating a dark skinned man wearing only a loincloth with her fan. Her profanities flow from English to French and back again. The next booth is empty and Raven invites you all to sit as a classical jazz version of What’s Goin’ On plays. Raven takes everyone’s order and is the only one not shocked when the green man speaks in a deep voice with a heavy Welsh accent when ordering a pint of Newcastle. Raven is only gone for 90 seconds before the man in the polar bear mask approaches the table. He is wearing a shiny purple sequined sports coat with a black button up shirt, black slacks with violet pinstripes and the 1994 Nobel Economics prize on a gold chain around his neck. He says, “What kind of rabble are they letting into the VIP lounge these days?” like he’s impersonating Jack Nicholson.

“I know, right?” Mosche laments with a limp wristed dismissal. The man folds his arms, poorly pretending not to be agitated and says, “Seriously, I want to know who you people are and what gives you the right to be in my presence?”

“Who the fuck is this cunt?” Jacinda Ardern asked. The man attempted to strike her but the blow was intercepted by the shin of Baek Hae-Ryeong the rising star in the Taekwondo world. Mosche recognized him and remarked how handsome he was. You notice he’s wearing a loincloth and remember seeing him on the way in. The man in the yellow panther mask was trying to console the man in the polar bear mask who clutches his arm like it’s broken.

“Gāolí bàngzi!” he hisses, “Do you know who I am, how much money and power I have?” he doesn't pause as Raven returns with the drinks and a wink that tells you to let the man finish. 

“Of course you don’t and I like it like that! I have enough money and influence over this world to keep my name out the mouths of you people who jumped a border to sell drugs, hijack planes and not speak English as they’re getting railed up the ass by some twink in a turban that jumped another border to escape the Jihad or their corrupt government or some sort of ethnic cleansing or cartels or whatever abomination the Cafri want to infect the rest of the civilized world with!” 

A blonde middle aged woman in a gray pants suit that showcased her flat ass, with a white blouse that showcased her flat chest silently stepped from behind the ranting man and asked Mosche, “Mr. Virtanen was expecting 20 minutes ago, what is the delay?” 

“This man here said he was more important than anybody else and insisted he had to listen to him.” Mosche blurted out.

“Is this true?” she asks, ignoring her tablet for the first time.

“Yes Ms. Prentiss.” Raven replied. Prentlss looks at the rest of the table and all you can do is nod along with them. Prentiss then turns to the masked man, who only now noticed his friend was nowhere to be seen. “You’re the reason for their delay?” she asked while backing him up by advancing.

“Delay?” At this point he’s backed up to the bar, “Okay look I may have had some choice words for…”

“Save it.” she cut him off, her attention back on her tablet, “You and Hae-Ryeong will accompany us. Mr. Virtanen awaits.”

Mosche urges you to finish your drink while not doing the same and rises, silently urging you to follow. 

“And we’ll take the stairs so no one gets lost.” Prentiss says leading the group. The man in the mask tried to protest, but after two words Prentiss stopped walking and sternly asked, “Do I need someone to carry you there?” and continued walking before he actually said, “No.”

The stairs were old stone work. It was up to flights before a heavy wooden door opens to the library. The stone walls were seven meters tall with bookshelves three meters high on every wall. Above those were two meter tall windows that revealed a windy moonlit night. But you recall it being daylight when you arrive. It smells exactly as it looks.

Lionel Virtanen is standing in the middle of the library wearing blue gray slacks and a matching button up shirt and a navy blue vest and tie. His height, hair, weight and face are unremarkable, plain and average. He’s reading an old copy of The Odyssey.

“Mosche and your guest sir.” Prentiss announces. “They were delayed by this man Simon Javier Malhotra born the 20th of January 1963. He is the global chairman, CEO and controlling shareholder of Metal Mammoth Mining and the founder, chairman and largest shareholder of FirstOrder Corporation. In 2022, Malhotra was named to Forbes' annual list of the world's billionaires. Wife, Barbara. Children…” 

“We get the point you fucking bitch, you know who I am. You can shut the fuck up now. Goddamn stupid cow wasting everybody’s goddamn time running off at the mouth with all the yakety yak yak.”

Lionel threw the copy of The Odyssey so the corner hit Malhotra on his penis. He then choked him into a standing position and said, “That’s enough out of you! I know everything! You disrespect my guests, my staff, in front of me, but the most grievous thing you did? Telling that private eye about this place. And why? Because you raped your son's wives on their wedding night and blackmailed you!” 

He released Malhotra and a pair of obvious sicario pick him up after playfully kicking him. Lionel slaps the mask off Malhotra, thrusts his middle and ring fingers up Malhotra’s nostrils and said,

“Low order scum. Prince, pauper, president, pawn, no one is beyond my reach.” He removed his fingers and gut punched Malthora who fell to his knees. The sicario held him up, pressing their crotches into his face. Lionel then looks into your eyes and says, “He’s all yours, what will you do with him?”

[jamesludwig]

The Highs, Lows and Drama in Britney Spears' Life Since Her Conservatorship Ended

The excitement over freeing Britney Spears in 2021 has fizzled. In the wake of her split from husband Sam Asghari, see where the pop star's post-conservatorship life got complicated.

Love at First Sight

Britney Spears met Sam Asghari on the set of her super sexy "Slumber Party" music video, which dropped in November 2016. Onscreen chemistry? Check! About five months after filming, they began dating, making joint appearances at places like NBA games and on social media.

Sometimes it's difficult to tell how Britney Spears has really been doing since her nearly 14-year-long conservatorship was terminated on Nov. 12, 2021.

Most would agree that she was not okay before it ended. The platinum-selling pop star had become increasingly vocal about her unhappiness and the barriers she alleged were in place to prevent her from living as she saw fit. (Dad and co-conservator Jamie Spears always maintained he did whatever he thought was best for his daughter's well-being.)

But once Britney was left to her own devices, much to the delight of many of her famous peers and the fans who hashtagged their hearts out in support of the cause, it's not as if life all of a sudden became uncomplicated.

And now, with her 14-month marriage on the rocks, what's next for the "...Baby One More Time" singer is once again unclear.

Breaking her silence two days after husband Sam Asghari filed for divorce, Britney wrote in an Aug. 18 post, "I've been playing it strong for way too long and my Instagram may seem perfect but it's far from reality and I think we all know that !!!"

Sam had a fair point when he took to his Instagram Stories last December to point out that NSFW photos (let alone airing dirty family laundry) were pretty par for the course and yet, for whatever reason, his wife sure came under a lot of fire for her posts.

And in May, without naming names or entities, he slammed those who claimed to know the inside story about Britney, both now and back when "she didn't have a voice."

"Not gonna allow that," he wrote. "And that should stop. It should stop absolutely. The gaslighting and all that s--t gotta stop."

But after nearly seven years by Britney's side, much of it spent supporting the fight to free her, he's out.

Sam proposed in September 2021 as light started to appear at the end of the legal tunnel. And days before Britney—"the person and the estate," as the judge put it—was released from her conservatorship, she excitedly shared that wedding planning was underway.

Sources : https://www.eonline.com/news/

[avbbb77]

Platinum End | Headers

please like/reblog if you use/save

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) || Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b (I Sing A Song of Love) || Chapter 15c (You Can Do This If You Try) || Chapter 16 (Let That Feeling Grab You Deep Inside || Chapter 17A: Never Tear Us Apart || Chapter 17B: It’s Tough To Be Somebody, And It’s Hard Not To Fall Apart  || Chapter 17C: I’m Wishing, Lord, That I Was Stoned || Chapter 18: Turn The Page || Chapter 19A: When You’re Alone, Do You Let Go? || Chapter 19B: Heading For A Spin ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 20A: I Don't Need Nothing When I'm By Your Side

So hold me close, better hang on tight Buckle up, baby, it's a bumpy ride We're two kids hitching down the road of life Our world, our fight

-- “Born To Be My Baby,” Bon Jovi (1988) [click here to listen]

North Carolina || February 1989

Jamie frowned, looking back and forth between the shelf he’d just put together and the three unpacked boxes of books (two marked CLAIRE, one marked JAMIE).

Would she like them organized alphabetically by author? Genre? Size?

He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. Or perhaps she wanted medical books in her workroom? And maybe he could put his music books on the cabinet in his studio –

“There you are.”

He hadn’t heard Claire pad into the room – at some point they would need to get throw rugs to protect the gorgeous old hardwood floors – and smiled as she effortlessly stepped into his embrace.

They held each other for a long moment – his lips against her hair, her face buried in the safety of his neck.

Almost three months since the acoustic tour had ended, the night before Claire’s birthday. About six weeks since they had closed on their dream house, nestled against a mountain in the forests of North Carolina, not too far from The Ridge. And about two weeks since the items in storage – from her packed-up apartment in Boston, and his packed-up house in Los Angeles – had arrived.

The property had everything they needed. Privacy and solitude, of course. An old barn that they were using as a garage for Jamie’s motorcycle and cars. The house – an old cabin, really, dating from the 1800s and which had been lovingly expanded over the years – was perfect. A spacious living room, complete with the original stone fireplace. An eat-in kitchen, with newly replaced appliances. Two small rooms off the back that were now his music studio and her workroom – spaces to pursue their interests. A modestly-sized master bedroom. And a small extra bedroom – which for now was for guests, though God willing would be a nursery very soon.

Claire had insisted on doing two things quickly, before spending their time unpacking all the boxes.

The first was to hang his six gold and two platinum records in his studio – and he agreed, after he had hung her framed medical school diploma on the wall of her workroom.

The second was to install the fax machine on the bare floor of the studio – which, together with the phone, was their only link to the outside world.

For as much as they isolated themselves in this beautiful, peaceful place – the world pushed along without them.

In March, they would leave for L.A. and three weeks of rehearsals with the band. Maybe play a few small gigs in clubs on the Sunset Strip – Jamie had always wanted to do that. And in April, they’d fly to Europe, and kick off the tour that had swelled to 120 dates and stretched into 1990.

Colum was busier than ever – finalizing logistics, negotiating with local promoters, running interference with the suits from the label, upgrading the concerts from arenas to soccer stadiums. He had a conference call with the band every Tuesday – with Ian calling in from Lallybroch in upstate New York, and Angus from various resort spots in Mexico and the Caribbean (“I can’t believe Charlotte and Molly haven’t worn him out yet,” Jamie had mused to Claire one day. She had only shrugged and said, “they take care of each other”). Colum would always have a punchlist of decisions for the band – OK to book studio time during the week off in Scandinavia in July? The roadies couldn’t figure out the pyro setup without the band, OK to wait until rehearsals? They would need to film at least three music videos, which one could be a live performance? – and follow up with decisions in a fax sent later that day.

Jamie had been clear with Colum that he had three conditions for the tour: that Claire would be with him, that Raymond would be traveling with the band, and that the same no alcohol/drugs/groupies rule from the acoustic tour would carry through to this tour. Of course Colum had agreed. Just as he’d agreed to make provisions for Jenny to periodically fly out to visit Ian, and for Angus to always have a suite with two bathrooms to keep his girlfriends happy.

Claire and Jamie knew that this tour would be difficult, for so many different reasons. But they would be better prepared this time, to draw strength from each other, and to have Raymond for support. And maybe, just maybe they would return home from Europe with the best souvenir of all…

“Another fax from Colum,” Claire murmured after a long while.

Jamie snorted against her hair. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed.”

“I do admire how hard he’s working for you and for the band. And how much he’s keeping all of you in the loop on the decisions he’s making. He doesn’t want any surprises.”

“I’d imagine not. The amount of bullshit he has to be putting up with right now must be insane. I just hope he doesn’t crack.”

“He never said if he’s bringing Tricia on the tour.” Tricia – Colum’s wife of more than ten years. She stood a head taller than her husband, still impossibly beautiful in her late thirties, smiling for every frown on her husband’s face. Claire had only met her once – couldn’t say she really knew her – but she knew enough about her.

How she had first met Colum at a party in 1970, when he was a roadie for Led Zeppelin and she was part of a gaggle of groupies that held court at the Riot House in L.A.

How, when she and her girlfriends joined the Led Zep tour the following summer, he had punched out the lighting guy at the Cow Palace in San Francisco when he heard the guy didn’t understand what Tricia meant by saying “no”.

How Geordie Ash – the reporter who had put Jamie (and, in a way, Claire) on the map last year with that Rolling Stone article – had sent flowers to her hotel room every day for a month during Led Zeppelin’s 1973 U.S. tour. Not knowing, of course, that she was allergic to lilies – or how Colum, who knew more about her by that point than he cared to admit, had wordlessly disposed of them for her, every day that month.

“I don’t think she likes to tour.” Jamie’s thumb traced lazy circles on the skin of Claire’s back. “Too many bad memories.”

If you asked any rock journalist or musician who had found Alex MacGregor – assistant to Led Zeppelin manager Peter Grant – dead in his Seattle hotel room in the spring of 1975, they would all say quite confidently that it had been Colum Laird, who by that point had advanced to lead Zeppelin’s touring crew.

But a handful of people – Peter Grant, and Colum, and Jamie, and now Claire – knew the truth.

Tricia woke up, Alex cold beside her in bed, a needle in his arm. The only thing she knew to do was slip quietly down the hall, tumbling into Colum’s room…and finally, his arms. Where she had remained ever since.

“I couldn’t imagine being away from you for so long.” Claire sighed. “I don’t know how they make it work.”

Jamie shrugged. “They love each other very deeply. They fixed the broken pieces in each other. And now she has the two boys to keep her busy.” He kissed her forehead. “Something for us to aspire to, perhaps. What’s in the fax?”

She held it out for him to read. Sharing a smile at Colum’s scrawl.

J+C: I’m not calling because I interrupted enough moments between you on tour and I’ll probably do it again this year. I don’t have Raymond’s info pls have him get in touch so we have a copy of his credentials and the travel agent can make all arrangements for Europe. I got the label to foot the bill for his travel meals and hotels, convinced them it’s a business expense, you’re welcome. Stay out of trouble. Colum.

“We’ll have him give Colum a call after he arrives this afternoon,” Jamie mused, folding the fax and sliding it into the back pocket of his jeans.

Claire nodded. “The guest room is all ready. And I’m glad Dougal and Gillian and William will be here tomorrow – I’m so happy they’re so close by.”

Jamie squeezed her shoulder, and released her. “As am I. Now, I have a question for you about these books…”

[erotomania-if]

Welcome to your life as a film star!

At 19 you broke onto the scene after your debut role in a low-budget independent movie became a film festival favourite across the globe. Sky-rocketing you into the public eye and opening doors into the industry most could only dream of, you decided to grab the opportunity, moving your whole life across the pond to America, determined to follow this path wherever it would lead.

Now, at 24, it seems like you can do no wrong. A popular and well liked household name, with a string of acclaimed performances under your belt, you’ve quickly become one of your agency’s favourite stars. And, with your biggest role to date just within your grasp, it seems that your shine is only going to continue to get brighter.

Behind the scenes, however, is another matter. 

After a whirlwind romance, and an impulsive Vegas wedding, with Tinsel Town’s most notorious trouble-maker, it took less than a year for you to walk in on them in bed with someone else. It’s been a month since the woman sold her story to the press and, since then, life has felt like one long damage control event as you try to figure out how to get through this with both of your careers intact.

Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Features 

Customise your name, gender, appearance, filmography and personality.

Explore 5 romance options, 2 of them gender selectable.

Navigate the press, your fans, your agency and your loved ones, while you try to keep your house of cards together.

Throw parties, attend an award ceremony or two, head to Vegas for the big fight, star in a movie, do interviews... the world is your proverbial oyster!

Please keep in mind that this is meant to be a **fun** project, a place to play around with coding and try to find out exactly how much variation is too much, all to better help me with my demo for my main project. This is going to be a perpetual WIP, the main thing I’ll be focusing on first is the character creator, and getting to know the characters a little better. Then, this story will be updated in chunks rather than chapters, hopefully with plenty of feedback from the people who choose to come along with me on this lol. Also this is 18+ 

So, for those of y’all choosing to stay.... 

Character Descriptions Under the Cut!

RO’s

Hope Holloway, 29 (m / f / nb)

- The Spouse - 

With platinum blonde hair, pale skin, and a myriad of tattoos, they look every bit the celebrity wild child the general public knows them as. A lean 6′1, and infamous for their quick temper, they’re the charismatic frontman of the band Lost Hope, a gossip page favourite, and the person who broke your heart. 

Will you be able to work through it? Or has your whirlwind romance finally reached its end? 

American / Caucasian 

Christian/Christina Russo, 35 (m/ f)

- The Co-Star - 

5′10 with sun kissed skin, big brown eyes, and lightly tousled shoulder length hair, your two time co-star, and one of the biggest headliners in the industry, has taken the public shipping of the pair of you by fans with nothing but grace and good humour. A dedicated single parent, talented actor, and well-known hardworker, there’s plenty of reasons to admire them. 

And, if the gossip pages are to be believed, you’ll soon be working together more closely than ever. 

British / Italian

Samata Boateng, 26 (f)

- The Documentarian - 

An athletic 5′2, with rich brown skin and braids that fall to her waist, she has already proven herself capable of hiding her more cutthroat tendencies behind a smokescreen of sweetness and smiles. Frequently the smartest person in the room, her determination knows no bounds and, unfortunately for you, you’re the person now standing between her and her next big break. 

Will you manage to keep your act together? Or will this documentary prove to be your downfall?

American / Iranian / Ghanaian 

Jamie Walsh, 28 (nb)

- The Stranger - 

A complete unknown. Appears to work at least a dozen different service jobs that keep your paths crossing, sometimes in the strangest of places. 5′9 with perpetually unkempt hair and a penchant for black clothing, their world could not be any more different than your own, a fact made only all the more obvious by the fact that they seem to have no idea who you are.

Will you set them straight? Or will you play along and indulge in the charade of normalcy for just a little longer?

American / Irish

Anjelo Manu, 25 (m)

- The Bodyguard - 

Hired by your Agency in response to some of the more concerning fanmail that’s been sent your way since the story broke. Despite his relatively young age, standing at 6′4, and nearly 300lbs of pure muscle, this mountain of a man came highly recommended and is known professionally for being quiet, polite and unerringly dedicated to his job. 

He may be your employee, but with his kind eyes and surprisingly gentle nature, will you find there’s more to this man than meets the eye?

Tongan / Japanese

Side Characters

Harriett ‘Harry’ Langford, 24 (f)

- Your PA -

You’ve known Harry your whole life, your best friend through thick and thin, when you made it into the big leagues it only made sense that she would come with you. A constant lifesaver and your proverbial rock during the low times, you don’t know what you’d do without her by your side through this.

Molly Russo, 5 (f)

Adorable and charming, truly a miniature version of her famous parent, she lives her life the way only a five-year old can, believing she is the centre of the universe. For better or worse, and whether you like it or not, she seems to have taken a shine to you in particular.

Mack and Cheese, 6 and 2 (m)

Hope’s not-so faithful hounds. Both Rottweilers, Mack is calm, gentle, and a trained guard dog, while Cheese is... none of those things. Truly the idiot child of the family but no-one would have him any other way. Except, possibly, Mack.

[artsninspo]

Hiii hun, could we have a jamie fic where he meets the reader at a house party, I’m seeing him as very unsocial-able in a setting like that but he has his eyes set on the reader. Thank you :) love your work btw!

HOUSE PARTY I

Author's Note: Thanks for the request, it’ll have more than one part. Hope you all enjoy it.

Pairing: Jamie (Topboy) X Reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Language

Jamie stands in front of the mirror looking himself over. He continues brushing his hair forward until the waves are laying flat. Putting the brush down he takes a few pumps from the bottle of lotion rubbing it over his arms, hands and face. Once that's done he opens the medicine cabinet to get his cologne, spraying it as he remembers a time where he used to use it sparingly. Parties had stopped being his thing some time ago for a multitude of reasons - safety chief among them. Who he’d become came with extra’s he didn't account for during his rise. Everyone had their own intentions and motives with him, everyone had their own perspective. All it brought was isolation. He grabs his platinum byzantine link chain putting it on before he fastens his watch around his wrist. Optics are everything, there isn't a time where he can be caught lacking. Buzzing takes him from his thoughts. Looking down he sees Kit’s name on his screen.

“Yeah?”

“I’m outside” Kit responds.

“I'll be right down” Jamie mutters, giving himself another once over. His t-shirt looks simple enough but his jeans and sneakers look the part for a man with his income. 

“Jamie, when will you be home?” Stef asks the moment he opens his bedroom door. 

“Late, go to bed” Jamie smirks, embracing his youngest brother. “Lock up behind me” he adds, stepping through the door.

…

Jamie looks at Kit practically foaming at the mouth at all the pretty women. His mind is on other things, like the size of his mates new house and the decor. Liquor and pretty women are the easiest ways to get caught up, and that wouldn't be him. People whisper as he passes letting him know his name rings bells even in this area. It's a little mad what a year of accelerated success and beating a case can do for reputation. 

“Jamie!” he hears and turns to see Rowan the host and an old friend. 

“Ro, what’s up bro?” Jamie asks, giving him dap.

“Not much just living” Ro shrugs and Jamie takes another look around the home.

“I see that, this is nice” He compliments his old friend. They’d both played football together as children and they remained friends as they grew and grew apart. Jamie with a mind for school and business while Ro was fully committed to his athletics. 

“Thank you, there are some vacancies in the neighbourhood you should see about moving in, we can be neighbours” Ro smiles.

“I don't get those kinds of P’s, not yet” Jamie smirks looking around at the sea of people enjoying themselves to the music. Good area or not he’d rather be anywhere else, but showing up for Ro is more about loyalty than comfort.

“I told you, you need anything,  give me a shout. You were supposed to be my agent and business manager, remember?” Ro asks.

“We were kids” Jamie swallows as someone comes over to Ro. He greets Rowan then turns to make conversation with Jamie who raises a hand in a motion that says he’s had enough before stepping off. Putting his hands in his pockets he keeps to the house’s periphery making note of the layout and the people until a woman catches his eye. He stops moving suddenly as his eyes grow before narrowing to improve his sight. He looks the woman over as the hair on the back of his neck stands up. It's been four years. Swallowing, he gets his legs to continue walking as he watches the woman smile before laughing at something another woman is telling her.

“Want to dance?” a female voice says.

“Nah” Jamie responds without even looking  at his admirer.

He continues moving around as his mind goes to you. A lot had changed since that end of year party years ago. He’d been so different, things were different. He wasn't shotting, for one. His parents were still alive and he definitely wasn’t the guy everyone looked to when he entered a room. He hadn’t expected anything to come of the night except for a few dances, maybe a snog or two, a phone number and a good time. But, he’d received far more. Your name comes to him instantly, it's not a name he’s forgotten. He’d never forgotten how you made him feel. You were definitely the catch, smart, confident, beautiful. Not in an overtly sexy way but in a way that made people want to be around you. Something about you was enchanting and naturally charismatic. He’d expected you to turn him down because of his lack, but when the guys from the nicer side of town snickered you didn't. You held eye contact and maintained courteous conversation. That's how it started but it turned so seamlessly from that to something organic. The conversation was flowing naturally, you both had so many shared interests. You’d never felt anything like it, neither did he, but the connection was there and it was strong. Then the cops came to shut down the wild house party full of rowdy teens. Neither of you wanted it to end. Jamie offered to take you home but you had your own car. As the designated driver you offered to take him home before your best friend joined with a guy she was interested in and proposed a lookout. Jamie sat shotgun as you drove up the winding roads to the top of the hill. Jamie and you went into the back seat as your friend and her guy went for a walk. You and Jamie snuggled up against each other in lazy conversation fighting sleep only to be woken up by a beautiful sunrise. It didn't feel like an end, it felt like the beginning of something special. 

Jamie's eyes narrow again as he tries to decipher if it's really you. You turn and your eyes lock for a moment but Jamie sees no reaction. There's no recognition in your familiar eyes. Swallowing he turns to head back to Ro who is already behind him.

“Who’s that?” Jamie asks only wanting to hear one name - yours.

Ro scoffs, “Trouble, she’s notoriously bitchy, that's why she’s being left alone as bad as she is” Ro says drinking from his red cup.

“If she’s that bad, why's she here?” Jamie asks.

“Family friend and she’s taken to styling me” Ro explains.

“What's her name?”

“Y/N but seriously Jamie. Making a fool out of men is like a sport for her - she can be rank and you don't need the disrespect” Ro says only for Jamie to feel his chest tighten. What are the odds that four years later he’d see you again in the same way, at a house party.

You’re in the middle of listening to Carmela when the blood drains from your body sending a chill through your spine. You turn back in the direction of the man you just shared eye contact with, your mind searches for a name only to arrive at the one.

“Jamie” you whisper.

“What?” Carmela asks as you turn away from the man talking to Rowan. You take Carmela’s hand heading into another room.

“I think that's Jamie” you whisper and there's no need to play dumb. Carmela was there while you waited for your phone to ring. She was there while you searched social media for him and while you cried frustrated tears for being ghosted. Nothing had ever felt so real. Jamie made eye contact, he wasnt overly suggestive or sexual and he was kind. Nothing like the lads at your school who were all trying to have as much sex as possible before the uni semester began. Jamie had substance, decorum and home training most of your classmates lacked. You were sure he’d call you - there was no logical reason for him not to, but then he didn't.

You sip from your cup as your mouth gets dry.

“You look smoking love, fuck him and let him life a life of regret” she says reaching into your clutch to hand you your lipstick for a top up. Your eyes close as the blood begins to rush again making you hot and dizzy.

“I need to go to the loo” you huff heading to the toilets. You find a private washroom that hasn’t been occupied by the other guests. Carmela gets to work blotting your face and doing all the other touch ups while your brain overheats.

“Fuck” you mutter as anger, frustration and resentment creeps in. “What a twat”

“The man is clearly daft Y/N, or maybe he saw the truth - you’re out of his league”

“Looks to be doing pretty well for himself now, he was speaking with Rowan - they look familiar” you reason.

“Are you sure it's him, the lad I remember was kind of … grungy, nerdy borderline clapped” she says making you smile.

“To be fair, you’re right it could be someone else” you agree feeling settled by that thought.

“Right, so let's go” Carm says and you look yourself over in the mirror. Your hair looks just as good as it did when you left the house, so does your face. You turn wishing you picked something a little more special but you hadn’t planned to need to potentially stand on necks.

Exiting the bathroom you walk around the party to find Rowan. He’s standing in a corner speaking to a woman when you stand at his side clearing your throat. The girl turns to face you then leaves without a word.

“Why are you always so mean?” he smiles.

“No one ever takes me seriously when I’m nice” you shrug and he smiles.

“Who’s the guy who’d be better off taking a picture of me?” you ask, feeling the man's eyes on you again.

“Y/N, I know better than to tell you what to do -”

“But what?” you interject looking up at him and he sighs.

“Reserve your attitude and witty humiliation tactics for someone other than him. He’s a friend of mine, a good friend of mine - he’s here as a favour” Rowan explains.

“He, he, who are you Michael Jackson, does the bloke have a name?” you ask and Rowan chuckles at your rudeness before nodding.

“Jamie”

Your ears ring as a wave of nostalgia washes over you. Jamie felt different and so did the few hours you spent with him. 

“Alright, I’ll be good” you concede, recovering quickly and looking up at Rowan with a smile.

“Doubt it” He mutters and you turn off to find Carmela beyond ready to go.

_____

Jamie stands baby sipping as he keeps you in his peripheral vision, he can't shake the feeling, just being in proximity with you makes him want to smile. Your sense of humour was a pleasant surprise. So was how naturally you were yourself without any extras. College seemed to be a time where everyone was pretending to be someone else - not you. He’d felt self conscious about not having a car or nice things only for you to remind him candidly that none of the things you had you’d acquired on your own. He heads over to Ro as he watches his old friend separate from a woman - he’s lost you.

“Where’s Y/N” Jamie says looking around.

Ro looks confused, “Huh?” 

“Y/N Rowan the one you were just speaking to?” Jamie clarifies looking at his friend who’s even more confused.

“I told you she’s difficult, wait, am I missing something? Do you know each other? How? She’s from West End” Ro questions trying to make sense of it.

“Remember the girl I met years ago”

“The one you lost contact with and no one else could measure up to?” Ro asks only for it to begin making sense. “You said she was nice?” Ro questions remembering the details.

“She was”

“Bro whatever it was leave it alone, I don't want her doing something ignorant like throwing a drink at you in my party” Ro mutters and Jamie turns seeing you head out the door. These days he doesn't rush for anyone but he moves quickly to get outside. It’s dark but the house is well lit and he follows you toward where all the cars are parked within the gate. He watches a range rover light up as you unlock the doors.

“Y/N” he calls, causing you to turn around. He’d thought of this day more often than he’d like to admit. It was to be happy, a true reunion. He feels sick beginning to overheat as you look at him pensively.

“Can I help you? Do I know you” you ask. He runs his hand over his head, smoothing his hair in a nervous gesture. His mouth is dry and he doesn't know what to say. “Okay, then. Goodnight” you smile when he’s silent.

“We met at a party and got on, we didn't want the night to end so we went to a lookout, fell asleep and woke up to sunrise before you dropped me off at my station.” he says to your back. Your grip on the car door loosens at the memory you’ve been trying to bury for nearly half a decade.

“You said you’d call” your voice is much smaller than it normally is, your chest hurts. Playing your role is out the window - your reaction is visceral. You turn to face him and he looks smaller than the big man getting respect in the party.

“I know, I” Jamie stammers before taking a deep breath.

“Ro asked me to be respectful so I’ll keep it simple. Piss off!” you snap feeling vitriolic. It’s not a good look so you get in your car slamming the door before it gets worse. You’d waited, you’d been over the moon. Fucking smiling and humming. Borderline Aurora after she met Philip and was humming Once Upon a Dream. It didn't feel real because it was so perfect. Him not calling wasn’t even a possibility in your mind. Reversing out of the spot you drive to the entryway and find Carmela speaking to Ro in the door. Jamie walks in your car's direction only to see the familiar best friend hop in the vehicle and you speeding off. His heart falls into his stomach. Ro walks down his front walkway watching the car turn down the street before he looks Jamie over.

She’s gone again.

“Ro give me her number” he demands.

“Jamie I don't want to be involved”

“Rowan, do you know me to chase women”

“Jamie, that one will proper come here and do up my house if I do. I know her Jamie, she’s spoiled and bitchy and no one fucks with her because her get back is unmatched.”

“Fine then give me something. I didn't just air her. My parents were ill, I was going through shit - then they died and I had to grieve while making P’s and being mum and dad to my brothers” Jamie reminds. Rowan swallows feeling empathy.

“She always said none of us were good enough for her, it’s actually not a surprise she went for you” Ro nods as he resigns himself to your wrath by helping Jamie.

“I’ll text you an address, we’ll be meeting this week about a merch idea I have. It’s your best chance - for her to hear you out and not act out in public” Ro says thinking things through.

For Jamie it's not a question, “I’ll be there”

[missymurphy1985]

The Consolidation - Part One (Cillian Murphy X Fem!OC)

Warnings - angst / heartbreak / relationship breakdown

Requested? Yes, but I can't remember who by, so I'm sorry!! Your request was regarding Cillian pining for an ex girlfriend, who he reconnects with during filming Anthropoid abroad. Let me know if it was you and I'll add you to the taglist!

It's an OC fic because it works better for the story.

Masterlist

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton @jardinsecos @bitchwhytho @gypsy-girl-08 @queenofkings1212

Two years earlier...

Cillian was looking out the window while his girlfriend of two years, Mila, napped on the couch opposite him. She'd got home from a long night shift at the local hospital only an hour ago, and as he watched the birds flying around outside in their garden, he was trying to clear his mind.

An impossible task while it was full of so much uncertainty. So much concern. Insecurity. Anxiety.

Ultimately - distrust. He couldn't trust her.

How could he?

He'd only been away for a few months filming the latest series of Peaky, and she'd had another man in his house. In his living room. In his bed.

She didn't know he knew. She didn't know he'd seen the photos. Of her arms around this man on his front doorstep. Leading him through his front door. Up his stairs. The photo of his bedroom light flicking on.

The photos ended there, but he had enough evidence, and enough common sense, to know they were not likely to be doing anything else in his bedroom.

The bedroom of the house he welcomed her into with open arms, after being together for nearly a year, meeting in a London bar not long after she'd moved here from Prague after completing a medical degree.

The bedroom of the house he had shared with her for the last two years.

Three years of his life, lost to a woman who had been unfaithful to him how many times? Just this time? Or every time he'd been away? He'd been home to Ireland a few times in the last year - she couldn't get out of work, so she stayed behind. Was she at work?

And who had sent him the photos? The email address used didn't reveal anything about the identity of the sender, and when he replied he had a message to say the address was no longer valid.

The photos were all he had. And it was enough to trigger doubts in his mind about her fidelity...

The platinum and diamond ring he had upstairs in his bedside table was now worthless. The holiday he'd booked for them that summer in the south of France was a waste of time.

His relationship with Mila was over.

Present Day

He kicked her out that day. Blocked her number, refused all contact, erased her from his memory. She'd been hysterical, claiming some crazy ex boyfriend from the Czech Republic was stalking her, sending her threats, apparently the photos had been faked... All bullshit. Who the fuck would believe that?

He sold the house, and moved to Dublin for a fresh start. Heard through mutual friends that she'd moved back to Prague not long after he left London. Probably only stayed with him for the money, couldn't afford to live in London without his pay packet.

And all was going just fine, until that role.

He'd already signed up for it, alongside Jamie Dornan. The media had been notified. The original plans were to film Anthropoid in Ireland, but the director had changed his mind a week before filming was due to begin.

They'd now be filming in Prague. A few streets away from where he'd been told, unwillingly, she lived now.

And Cillian suddenly realised something, when he allowed himself to remember that day two years earlier, having blocked it out for so long...

He still loved her.

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N  Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months.  Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling.  Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies.  You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway.   The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head.  You people are a terrible influence!  Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those.   And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk.  The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality.  Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session.  The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb.  The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper.  It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world.  Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here.  Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended.  “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment.  Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.  

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services.  The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair.  People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms.   Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed.  They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible.  In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away.  The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.  

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really.  Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?”  But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile.  Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up.  And up.  And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley.  His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh.  As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product.  His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance.  But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea.  Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired.  He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled.  “That’s me.  And it’s pronounced Beecham.  Please, come in Mister Fraser.”  She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself.  Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied.  “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.”   She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached.  She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well.  His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment.  She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back.  The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh.  She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak.  This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal.  He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No.  That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid.  Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?”  His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time.  Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna.  Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.”  His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace.  She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused.  Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff.  Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office.  Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully.  “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser.  This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five.  There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea.  Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes.  I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression.  He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor.  I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do.  Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken.  She practically raised me.  And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face.  Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight.  As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie.  If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you.  That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting.  But I can handle it my own way.  I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits.  Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it.  The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it.  The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions.  None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you.  I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite.  Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea.  With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly.  When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment.  Maybe Geillis was right.  Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied.  “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out.  Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade.  If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all.  And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time.  It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art.  If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow.  Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?” 

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other.  Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?”  Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue. 

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.”  She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it.  Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air.  He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging  herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued.  It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic.  She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state.  Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up.  She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something.  Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape.  Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become.  Your sister obviously loves you.  Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes.  The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name.  No coded symbols flowed from her pen.  When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye?  Wee fox, tha’ one.  And he told me he liked my shortbread!”   Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.  “He’s very nice.”

“Nice!  Nice?  Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky.  Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”  

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know.  And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed.  “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late.  I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie.  Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself.  Jamie Fraser is your patient.