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endless-ineffabilities · 7 months ago

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chemical override (4)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Ewan wants to clear things up about the night out and his mystery companion, and the reader gets another surprise in LA. Will the two finally have their first date or will something get in the way once more?

Ewan's publicist Donna has never had any issue with her client before. Always present and accounted for, on time for whatever interview, photoshoot or audition he has booked for the day.

But she hasn't been able to get a hold of him in the past two days, which is worrying her to no end, because he is set to meet with a major casting director in New York some time in the coming week.

Donna may have a clue as to why. It's only been two days as well since the pub incident, when The Sun ran a story speculating on Ewan's lovelife - the exact kind of thing he's always been trying to avoid.

It had taken a life of its own, with fans taking it upon themselves to track down every clue of the girl on the internet. Her instagram. Her relation to the cast - apparently she is a cousin of Luke and Elliott. Even the marketing agency where she works. Louise, a 26-year old graphic designer, admittedly harbours a crush on Ewan, and when she heard that her cousins were hanging out with him at a pub nearby, she almost immediately invited herself and her friends over.

But that's all, according to Ewan. After talking to Luke, memories of the night came rushing back to him.

Stumbling out in the alley to send you that voice message. Rejoining the boys to see that they've got new company. Being introduced to Louise, with Tom joking that he should be careful with the missus. Wouldn't want her - you - to think that he's flirting with anyone else.

Even though that's exactly what happened. Not the flirting, per se. Not from Ewan's side, at least. Louise had been brazen with admiration, barely leaving his side the rest of the night. Asking him a bunch of probing questions he had neither the interest nor the patience to answer.

They had all thought the pub was safe from prying eyes. No one approached them for anything, not even a single look of recognition followed by the question, “Are you that guy from House of the Dragon?” Unfortunately, it only takes one rat for a headline to surface. Ewan Mitchell’s mystery girl has been the talk of the fandom and Donna has been trying hard to quell the rumours.

Such is the nasty nature of the business, as she knows Ewan has quickly learned.

She dials him again, and to her surprise, the call actually patches through.

Her client's throaty voice is heard on the other line, "Hey, Donna, sorry if I've missed your calls."

"It's alright, it's alright, Ewan," Donna stammers. "Just glad to hear from you. Where are you? I've managed to do some damage control about those rumours and - "

"Oh, I'm in LA. I just landed about an hour ago," Ewan responds casually, not mirroring the stress in Donna's tone. Has he gotten over the fuss so easily?

"LA? You know your meeting is not till next week, right? And it's in New York. It's very, very important that you don't miss it, Ewan."

"And I won't," Ewan affirms, laughing dryly to console his worried publicist. "I just need to see about something over here."

Someone, he thinks. He's got his priorities straight.

"Work-related?" Donna asks, curious.

"Uhhhm," Ewan dithers, but decides against telling her about you. Not just yet. "Just visiting a friend. I'll stay here for a while then fly out to New York, don't worry."

"Okay, just keep in touch, alright? I'll send more details about the meeting soon."

"Sure thing. Thank you, Donna."

"Talk soon, Ewan. Take care of yourself."

Donna feels a huge sense of relief wash over her when the call ends, knowing the whereabouts of one of her biggest clients. But why LA? Perhaps Ewan just needed some time off after the flurry of annoying headlines put out in the UK.

Or maybe he's visiting with a friend? Who is stateside right now? Fabien's filming in Philly. The rest of the boys are still in England. But then...

Her thoughts land on the one thing - the one person - that would make him fly out on such short notice. Without giving thought to anything else, especially after the speculation on his romantic life.

Ewan's never been one to share about personal affairs, not even to his close-knit team, but no matter how reclusive he is, no one can deny the way he looks at you. The way he lights up when you're brought up in conversation. The number of times he had excused himself from their meetings to make a call, standing in the corner with a permanent smile etched on his face.

Oh, Donna knows now just who he is in LA for.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Like inevitable spectres haunting someone of his profession, Ewan noticed the papparazzi snapping away as he arrived in LA.

He told no one he would be coming, so it must be an automatic thing in the city. The photogs are always scurrying in the periphery, ready to catch anyone of note, no matter the degree of fame or notoriety.

If you were keeping up with such news, you would know he is in the city.

But according to your assistant Clara, who was kind enough to inform him of your schedule, you are still finishing up on another day of rehearsals for your upcoming rom-com. Ewan checked in the same hotel as you, planning to seek you out as soon as you arrive back from work.

He hasn't spoken to you since the voicemail, and since those false news broke out. Not that he can blame you - wouldn't anyone be suspicious of a drunken confession made by a guy who was allegedly in the company of another girl?

He hates it, being subject to all of this. This nonsense that is keeping you from him, not even worth any consequence.

But he will deal with the blows. As long as he sets things right with you. As long he gets you in the end.

He settles in his suite, getting ready to meet with you once more. He showers, shaves, tousles his hair. He even checks whether he smells decent after all of that - once, twice, and another time. Being nervous to stand in front of a crowd is one thing; it's a whole other conundrum for him finally see you again.

Maybe the crowds are more manageable, and it baffles him to realise so. He can put on a persona, be the actor, and disappear inside himself as the cameras flash bright enough for him to disassociate.

But not with you. He wants to show you everything that he is, who he truly is, and it scares him. There is no team to help him get ready now. It's all him, just Ewan.

Clad in his trusty black jeans and a comfortable hoodie of the same dark colour, he looks in the mirror one last time after receiving a text from Clara that you've arrived at the hotel about half an hour ago.

He contemplates opening the bottle of bourbon from the minibar and taking a shot of liquid courage - something to help him get his explanation ready. Just so he wouldn't stammer in front of you.

Just so you he can make you see, without any error or trace of doubt, that he meant every word in that voicemail, no matter how embarrassing it might have sounded.

He decides against it, imagining the wrinkling of your nose as you catch a whiff of the alcohol. It's cute when you do it, and he adores it so dearly, but he knows that it isn't the right moment.

He rights himself, rolls his shoulders, and he's out the door.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Jacob trails you inside your hotel suite, laughing at some shared remark about the scenes you rehearsed for the day.

They were emotionally demanding and even after tossing around ideas for hours, the two of you were unable to achieve a satisfying approach to the scenes.

Which is why he had proposed practicing well into the evening, and you found yourselves heading back to your suite together. He has his own house in LA, but your hotel just happened to be closer to the rehearsal studio.

"Care for a drink?" you asked him.

"Why the hell not?" he immediately assents in that easy, Aussie drawl. "We might need it for this shite."

You laugh in agreement, "Indeed. I've got some canned gin and tonics if that's alright.. or beer... or whiskey... " you trail off as you study the contents of your fridge.

"G and t, please, mate," he settles down on the couch, legs stretching in front of him. "We were so unproductive today. I just could not get that line right."

"Tell me about it." You hand him his drink, and he clinks it with yours with a mumbled cheers. "It was me who can't land the right tone," you say. "I mean, is my character supposed to be confused in that moment? Or angry? Or sad?"

"Or all of 'em." he shrugs. "Tricky, isn't it?"

You hurriedly fetch your script from a table, getting right down to it. "So for the first scene in the third act..."

Moments later, with cans of gin and tonic discarded on the coffee table, you and Jacob sit with legs crossed on the couch facing each other. Scripts in hand, you go through the lines over and over, with only seemingly minor tweaks each time. To an actor though, even just the slightest change of pitch or expression makes all the difference.

"Is that better? I think we almost got it," you say after a read-through.

"Yeah, so much better," he grins, holding his hand up for a high-five. Just as your hands smack in the air, another sound echoes faintly from the door.

"Someone's knocking?" Jacob asks. "You expecting anybody? Room service or anything?"

"No," you shake your head, trying to think of whether your assistant or publicist said anything about dropping by. "Maybe it's just housekeeping?"

"I'll get it," Jacob states, already padding his way to the door.

A beat later, you hear Jacob loudly exclaim, "Ewan, mate! It's good to see you!"

Ewan? A shiver runs up your spine. Craning your neck to get a view of a doorway, you catch sight of him, half-obscured by Jacob's tall frame.

Confused, surprised, and feeling some other emotion you can't pinpoint, you head over to greet him.

"How are you doing?" Jacob greets, shaking Ewan's hand, oblivious to the poorly hidden distaste in his eyes.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Ewan finds himself asking Jacob, a bit rudely, just as you ask him the same.

"What are you doing here?" you mirror his question at the exact same time.

"Oh!" Jacob breathes out a laugh, "Well, I'll go first. We were just practicing lines."

"In her room? Isn't it a bit late for rehearsal? I thought you're supposed to be off work." Ewan asks, and it sounds like an accusation. He starts to feel all kinds of uneasy - were the twins right about life imitating art?

You narrow your eyes at him. "We decided to continue running lines after rehearsal. There's a scene we can't get right. It's quite tricky - "

"Just the two of you? Alone, here?" Ewan tilts his head, gesturing towards the room like it's some forbidden place.

Jacob shakes his head, smile steady on his lips. If he's caught on to how Ewan must be feeling, he doesn't let it affect him. He gives you a look, as if to check your reaction, and you give him a reassuring shrug.

Ewan does not overlook this exchange. He clenches his jaw, irate from the assumptions popping up in his mind. Before he forgets his manners, he says, "Excuse me, I just... wasn't expecting... I just wanted to speak to you."

"I didn't even know you were in LA," you say, before moving aside to usher him in. "But I'm glad you are, of course. Come join us - "

He nods, making his way to the seating area, where he spies the discarded cans of alcohol and dog-eared scripts. Maybe he should have taken that bloody shot after all.

He laughs joylessly to himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, you guys. I just flew in today, and I must have been exhausted from the flight."

"Hey, no worries, mate," Jacob says. "You know what, I'll be on my way. Give you time to catch up and all." He picks up his own tattered script then gives you a kiss on the cheek, bidding you with a, "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night, sweetheart."

If looks could kill, and if his dear mother hadn't raised him right, he would have incinerated Jacob in that moment.

He is snapped out of his thoughts when Jacob claps him on the shoulder, "Great to see you again, mate. Have a good night, eh?"

Ewan knows he's being ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with two friends and co-stars spending some time alone to rehearse. Besides, last he heard, you were adamant that you and Jacob are just friends.

So why is he being so irrational? Why does the idea of you spending more time than necessary with Jacob, possibly falling for him, bother him so much?

Ewan realises that this is what jealousy must feel like.

He's had career envy before. Another actor landing a role he vied for. Someone else getting the praise he deserves.

But nothing like this. It's petty and possessive.

He wants you to just be his.

You stand in front of him once more after you walk Jacob out of the suite.

"Hey," you say, smiling weakly.

"Hi, darling."

Both of you want to do more. Say more. Usually you would greet each other with a hug and a kiss on a cheek, his hands lingering on your forearms even after you pull away, but the air is thick with tension.

You look at him with those bright, expecting eyes of yours, and Ewan just wants to cave in and make a sloppy confession. But not after that voicemail, no. He's determined to do this right. Words not slurred, head clear.

"So I got your voicemail," you finally say, smiling coyly. "That was... something."

"Hmm," he can't help but mirror your smile, as always. "It was, wasn't it?"

"I understand," you continue, taking a step closer, "if you were drunk. We all say things when we're off it that we maybe don't mean - "

"But darling, I meant every word," he says, way too quickly.

You laugh, the sound of it erasing whatever apprehension remained in him. "Do you even remember what you said?"

"I do," he counters, moving even closer to you. Another step and he'd be able to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to him. "At least, some of - no - most of it."

"Oh yeah?" you ask cheekily, aided by the effect of gin. He still has your heart racing, but a part of you now knows that the feeling is mutual. "What did you say again?"

He sees that glint in your eye, and it causes him to smirk. "Why don't I make it simple for you, darling?" He closes the distance, one hand brushing the hair from your face.

"Okay," you swallow, getting lost in his blues.

"I missed you." He kisses your cheek. "I like you. A lot." He kisses the other. "And I, uh, I would like to take you on a date."

His eyes meet yours. His voice is steady, but you notice some nervousness in his gaze. How the tables have turned. You make Ewan Mitchell's heart go awry.

"Please, darling?" he timidly adds, the sentiment so sweet you want to blurt out yes immediately. Before you can, he's already leaned back, an explanation rushing out of his lips, "And... I'm not sure but you must have seen those headlines? They're not true, I swear. We were out drinking and - "

"I know, Ewan." You cut him off with a hand pressed gently on his chest but he keeps going.

" - some other people joined us. One of them being - "

"Luke and Elliott's cousin. I know. Elliott called and told me everything."

"Oh. He called you?" A huge sense of relief washes over him, better than any comfort he might have found in a shot or three of bourbon.

"Mhmm, he called me yesterday. So, you know, you didn't really have to fly out. I was about to call you eventually."

He smiles bashfully, eyes cast down as a blush spreads across his cheeks. Damn it, Elliott, you brilliant lad. He reminds himself to treat Elliott to a pint the next time he sees him.

"I still wanted to see you," Ewan maintains, pressing a kiss to your forehead and you're immediately enveloped by the familiar comfort of his scent. Surprisingly without the staple hint of cigarette smoke, due to his frantic scrubbing after the flight.

"I'm happy you're here," you say, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his chest. "And no offence to Louise or anything, but she needs to learn some boundaries with my - "

Ewan looks down at you fondly, squeezing your arms to prompt your next words, "Yeah, darling? Your what?"

"My - " you attempt to bury your face in his hoodie, but he keeps your gaze with a hand cupping your jaw. So you end up saving yourself with " - my Aemond."

"Hmm," he hums, lips curling, and it's so very Aemond of him it makes you feel warm all over. "Your Aemond.Your Ewan. I'm all yours, love."

The whole thing couldn't have gone any better, all things considered, and Ewan feels content to have gotten over his first brush with the rumour mill. What matters is right in front of him, and you know the truth.

"Are you staying in this hotel? How did you even know I was here?" You take his hand, guiding him over to the couch.

"Clara," is all Ewan says by way of explanation.

"Well, thank you, Clara," you declare. Ewan shuffles closer to you and rests his arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on your forehead again. The gesture is already becoming instinctive, providing the both of you with a sense of ease.

"Darling?"

"Yeah?" you respond absentmindedly, fingers toying with the soft fabric of his hoodie.

"Is that a yes?"

You exhale deeply. As if it wasn't clear enough already. "What do you think, handsome?"

"I don't know, angel. You tell me," he counters cheekily, his fingers playing with your hair as you playfully glare at him.

"What if I say no, baby?"

"Then I'll have to work hard to change your mind, princess."

"And how would you do that, honey?"

His gaze darkens, and something flashes across his blue eyes as he whispers intensely, "Use your imagination, bunny."

"Ri-right," you bite your lip, then shake your head to snap out of it. "We'll have to draw the line at bunny."

He laughs at your flustered state, pleased by the effect he has on you. "What's wrong with bunny?"

That elicits a groan out of you, but you smile anyway. "I already said yes, Ewan. Quit it with the bunny."

"Alright, beautiful," he relents, making you lean even closer against him.

The haze of gin after a long work day starts to subside and the rush of emotion is coming back to you. You find yourself gazing at Ewan in mild disbelief, in awe that he just confessed that he wants you.

Feeling antsy, you stand and pace around the room. You start tidying things, putting your scattered knick-knacks back in your handbag. If you sit with him any longer, you just might end up hurrying things through and jump his bones already, kiss him the next time he does that hmm.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask.

"No," he says smoothly. "I just need you." The words make you stop in your tracks. He still sits in the same position, looking at you with that undeniable desire in his eyes.

"Uhhhm," your mouth feels dry all of the sudden. Nothing his tongue past your lips can't fix, your intrusive thoughts barge right in. "So... the... the media rollout's still going on isn't it? Should we check and see?" You take your laptop and plop back down next to him. He doesn't miss a beat and cuddles against you once more, wrapping his arm around your tense frame.

"I think so, darling." The media rollout is how the interviews and promotional material filmed by the cast is being released gradually, on a weekly basis, after each new episode comes out.

A simple search on Youtube confirms it, and the first thing that popped up is the Where is The Lie? video you did for Elle.

It was slated for just Tom, Phia, and Ewan but your Blackwood character became such a fan-favourite that they asked you to join in. Not to mention the frenzy you and Ewan caused online with the initial interviews you did together.

"Shall we watch this?" Ewan offers, solely for the intent of seeing you in the video.

You click on it, and for the next 8 minutes or so, all you can take note of are the signs that had clearly already been there. The fans were on to something when they claimed that you and Ewan are a really good ship.

The video starts with a clip of Phia hitting her head on the overhead lamp when she stands, prompting her to uncontrollably giggle along with you and Tom. Ewan, being the exception, is beside himself with worry, and he appears to instinctively reach for your hand as you sit beside him.

"Huh," Ewan smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Tom is the first to be put on the hot seat, and he slowly recites the three statements he prepared. "Ewan, pay attention," Tom blurts out when he notices that Ewan kept sneaking glances at you. "Sure, I'm locked in," Ewan says right back, as you and Phia share a look.

"What were you looking at?" you ask playfully, poking him in the side. "You seem plenty distracted there."

He snorts at himself in the video, when he ends up smiling as he caught your eye. "It was your fault. You were distracting me."

"I was not!" you exclaim. "I thought you were just being competitive then."

Phia is next to have a go. She tells you of a Wifi repellent necklace, a wrestling career, and saving a squirrel from a drainpipe. "The Wifi thing sounds like something Ewan would have," Tom jokes. "Oh sure," you concur, "except that he'd actually keep it so he can watch films." Ewan smiles at your acute observation.

"I'd also keep it to stalk your Instagram," Ewan mumbles from beside you. "And you know, just stalk you in general."

"I'm sure you do, Mitchell," you respond casually, but your face warms up anyhow.

It's Ewan's turn, and as he sits on the hot seat, you see Tom and Phia casting a look at each other then at the two of you, a secret message shared between them. "I bet she will know the answer right away," Phia says. "Yeah, how do we know the two of you didn't conspire together?" Tom asks. "Are you kidding me, you guys?" you laugh at them, thinking how silly they were being, not knowing then that they were definitely on to something.

"Darling, you have to know this," Ewan tells you specifically as you all try to guess the answer. "Oh, darling!" Tom mouths to Phia, dramatically flipping nonexistent long hair over his shoulder. Phia laughs at his antics, before nudging you and saying, "Which one is it? Which is the lie? I trust you." You respond, "Why me? You two should know this too!"

"Because I wasn't trying to date them, my love," Ewan says, smiling at the screen.

"Oh, come on now." You crane your neck up to press a soft kiss against his cheek before turning your attention back to the video. So you don't notice the switch in Ewan's breathing. The jumps in his heartbeart. The way he subtly clears his throat to deal with his flustered state.

The video comes to a close after your turn and even at the very end, Ewan can be seen admiring you as you give the closing remarks with Phia.

Admiring you, as he does in the moment.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he says, when you turn to look at him.

"Thank you," you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

Some time passes with the two of you catching up, talking about your upcoming projects, his big meeting in New York - all the while his fingers trace patterns on your exposed skin, his arm wrapped around you snugly.

"Have you been keeping up with the show?" he asks.

"The last episode I saw fully was... the second one? I got pretty busy after that. How about you?"

"Oh," he looks down in thought, piquing your curiosity, "so you didn't get to see the third episode yet then?"

"No, not yet," you shake your head, "but I've seen some stuff here and there."

He hums again and he wants to ask, have you seen his stuff? There are around a dozen or so potential jokes at play here. He has an inkling to tell you to watch the episode so you can see just what you're in for. So you can see him and all he has to offer. He'd also fumble through a justification, as he had done in some interview, about the new studio they had filmed in being cold as a fridge freezer.

What to say? What to say? He picks at some lint on his jeans, smirking to himself.

"Yeah," you eventually giggle at his obvious hesitation. "I've only seen some of the episode. But what I've seen... is enough to make me jealous of Madame Sylvie."

He stiffens, throat suddenly dry, but one look at your smile does away with his concerns.

He soon finds himself laughing, a muffled, "Oh, darling," whispered lovingly against your hair.

"That was very brave of you, Ewan," you express sincerely.

"Thank you, love."

"So... just how cold was it in there?"

Your shared, unrestrained laughter echo throughout the room.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Your first date was meant to happen the following night, but such is the nature of the job that Ewan's schedule gets moved up all of a sudden.

Once the bigshot casting director in New York found out that Ewan is already stateside, he requested that the meeting be held at the earliest possible opportunity.

He calls you while you are in rehearsals, profusely apologizing and promising to fly back to LA in the next two days, right after his meeting is all sorted.

"It's okay, Ewan," you reassure him, genuinely understanding. "I will see you when you come back. Good luck, I know you're going to smash it, whatever opportunity this is!"

"Thank you, darling," he says, already wanting to have you back in his arms already, mentally kicking himself for not kissing you when he had about a hundred chances to do so. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," you respond, blushing silly with the phone pressed to your ear. "But it'll only be two days."

"Hmm, doesn't matter. I need to take you on our bloody date, darling. I've already taken so damn long."

"Don't worry," you say, "I've already seen you way more than I should before the first date."

"Wha - " a protest forms on his lips, but he gets your point right away. "Oh. Clever, darling."

"I know."

"But I'm planning to give you something that's just for you. That the whole world won't ever be privy to."

You swallow hard, your very being heating up at his insinuation. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Mitchell."

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

Bonus chapter!

Nocturnal file 🤫

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The cast's Where is The Lie? video is an actual thing! I hope yous got the reference!

Notice how the two nerve-wrecked shites didn't have their first proper kiss yet??? Will they ever?? 😩😩😩

Taglist is officially closed for this one. Please bookmark this series or the masterlist (or follow my page) to keep up with updates <3

I can't even overstate how mad all the love for this series has been! I'm always looking forward to hearing from you guys - suggestions, comments, complaints are always welcome!

See you in part five! (preview: something will happen in NY that might cause Ewan to question things!)

#ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell imagine #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #chemical override #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd

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petermorwood · 11 months ago

Text

More on pre-electricity lighting.

Interesting to see this one pop up again after nearly two years - courtesy of @dduane, too! :->

*****

After experiencing a couple more storm-related power cuts since my original post, as well as a couple of after-dark garden BBQs, I've come to the conclusion that C.J. Cherryh puts far too much emphasis on "how dark things were pre-electric light".

For one thing eyes adjust, dilating in dim light to gather whatever illumination is available. Okay, if there's none, there's none - but if there's some, human eyes can make use of it, some better or just faster than others. They're the ones with "good night vision".

Think, for instance, of how little you can see of your unlit bedroom just after you've turned off the lights, and how much more of it you can see if you wake up a couple of hours later.

There's also that business of feeling your way around, risking breaking your neck etc. People get used to their surroundings and, after a while, can feel their way around a familiar location even in total darkness with a fair amount of confidence.

Problems arise when Things Aren't Where They Should Be (or when New Things Arrive) and is when most trips, stumbles, hacked shins and stubbed toes happen, but usually - Lego bricks and upturned UK plugs aside - non-light domestic navigation is incident-free.

*****

Here are a couple of pics from one of those BBQs: one candle and a firepit early on, then the candle, firepit and an oil lamp much later, all much more obvious than DD's iPad screen.

Though I remain surprised at how well my phonecam was handling this low light, my own unassisted eyes were doing far better. For instance, that area between the table and the firepit wasn't such an impenetrable pool of darkness as it appears in the photo.

I see (hah!) no reason why those same Accustomed Eyes would have any more difficulty with candles or oil lamps as interior lighting, even without the mirrors or reflectors in my previous post.

With those, and with white interior walls, things would be even brighter. There's a reason why so many reconstructed period buildings in Folk Museums etc. are (authentically) whitewashed not just outside but inside as well. It was cheap, had disinfectant qualities, and was a reflective surface. Win, win and win.

*****

All right, there were no switches to turn on a light. But there was no need for what C.J. describes as stumbling about to reach the fire, because there were tinderboxes and, for many centuries before them, flint and steel. Since "firesteels" have been heraldic charges since the 1100s, the actual tool must have been in use for even longer.

Tinderboxes were fire-starter sets with flint, steel and "tinder" all packed into (surprise!) a box. The tinder was easily lit ignition material, often "charcloth", fabric baked in an airtight jar or tin which would now start to glow just from a spark.

They're mentioned in both "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings". Oddly enough, "Hobbit" mentions matches in a couple of places, but I suspect that's a carry-over from when it was just a children's story, not part of the main Legendarium.

Tinderboxes could be simple, just a basic flint-and-steel kit with some tinder for the sparks to fall on...

...or elaborate like this one, with a fancy striker, charcloth, kindling material and even wooden "spills" (long splinters) to transfer flame to a candle or the kindling...

This tinderbox even doubles as a candlestick, complete with a snuffer which would have been inside along with everything else.

Here's a close-up of the striker box with its inner and outer lids open:

What looks like a short pencil with an eraser is actually the striker. A bit of tinder or charcloth would have been pulled through that small hole in the outer lid, which was then closed.

There was a rough steel surface on the lid, and the striker was scraped along it, like so:

This was done for a TV show or film, so the tinder was probably made more flammable with, possibly, lighter fuel. That would be thoroughly appropriate, since a Zippo or similar lighter works on exactly the same principle.

A real-life version of any tinderbox would usually just produce glowing embers needing blown on to make a flame, which is shown sometimes in movies - especially as a will-it-light-or-won't-it? tension build - but is usually a bit slow and non-visual for screen work.

*****

There were even flintlock tinderboxes which worked with the same mechanism as those on firearms. Here's a pocket version:

Here are a couple of bedside versions, once again complete with a candlestick:

And here are three (for home defence?) with a spotlight candle lantern on one side and a double-trigger pistol on the other.

Pull one trigger to light the candle, pull the other trigger to fire the gun.

What could possibly go wrong? :-P

*****

Those pistol lanterns, magnified by lenses, weren't just to let their owner see what they were shooting at: they would also have dazzled whatever miscreant was sneaking around in the dark, irises dilated to make best use of available glimmer.

Swordsmen both good and bad knew this trick too, and various fight manuals taught how to manage a thumb-shuttered lamp encountered suddenly in a dark alley.

There's a sword-and-lantern combat in the 1973 "Three Musketeers" between Michael York (D'Artagnan) and Christopher Lee (Rochefort), which was a great idea.

Unfortunately it failed in execution because the "Hollywood Darkness" which let viewers see the action, wasn't dark enough to emphasise the hazards / advantages of snapping the lamps open and shut.

This TV screencap (can't get a better one, the DVD won't run in a computer drive) shows what I mean.

In fact, like the photos of the BBQ, this image - and entire fight - looks even brighter through "real eyes" than with the phonecam. Just as there can be too much dark in a night scene, there can also be too much light.

*****

One last thing I found when assembling pics for the post were Folding Candle-lanterns.

They were used from about the mid-1700s to the later 20th century (Swiss Army ca. 1978) as travel accessories and emergency equipment, and IMO - I've Made A Note - they'd fit right into a fantasy world whose tech level was able to make them.

The first and last are reproductions: this one is real, from about 1830.

The clear part was mica - a transparent mineral which can be split into thin flexible sheets - while others use horn / parchment, though both of these are translucent rather than transparent. Regardless, all were far less likely to break than glass.

One or two inner surfaces were usually tin, giving the lantern its own built-in reflector, and tech-level-wise, tin as a shiny or decorative finish has been used since Roman times.

I'm pretty sure that top-of-the-line models could also have been finished with their own matching, maybe even built-in, tinderboxes.

And if real ones didn't, fictional ones certainly could. :->

*****

Yet more period lighting stuff here, including flintlock alarm clocks (!)

#period lighting #tinderbox #too light too dark #social history #writer notes #research #period tech #sword vs lantern #c. j. cherryh

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marcsburnerphone · 1 year ago

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And they were roomates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: angsty (very minimal), smut, jealousy, possesiveness?

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7 - part 8!!!!!

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

When you get to the restaurant he has a large hand resting on your lower back. This spot is in the most crowded part of the city, meaning the ride was a bit over half an hour. He opens the door for you, stepping aside to let you in first. You sigh at the heat that radiates from inside as you step onto the hardwood floor of the very extravagant restaurant.

“John, I don't think I’m dressed for this kind of place.” You should’ve asked where you were going, god why didn’t you ask.

“What do you mean?” he asks confused, he looks down at you noticing the way you slightly sink into his side.

“I mean I’m underdressed for this place.” You whisper up to him, he looks around then back to you not seeing the problem at all.

“I actually think you're overdressed.” He says winking at you, making you look away bashfully.

“John, I'm serious.” His eyes remain on you admiring the way your hair falls just above your collarbone, how you have your gorgeous legs on display for everyone to see. He simply doesn’t know what you’re on about.

“You look beautiful, cut it out.” He says softly kneading at the meat on your hip, you pass up the long line of walk in groups and wait for the hostess to return which she quickly does.

“Reservation for John.” He says in his usual deep tone. Every so often you swear he lightens it for you.

“Okay follow me.” She gives you both a wide smile and collects two menus.

John follows her and leads you through saying his ‘excuse me’s to the servers you pass by, keeping you tucked firmly to his side. Although it’s an intimate spot it’s also bustling with business inside. You realize this place is probably hard to get a reservation at as the walk in line piles up.

Once you’re sat and given menus she lets you both know your server will be with you shortly before leaving.

“Have you been here before?” You ask as he glances over the drink menu.

“I have actually, Laswell and her wife got engaged here.” He smiles and remembers the very eventful night. Him and some old friends had hidden in a booth so they could watch it all take place and ended up getting caught in the end.

“How long has she been married for?”

“Nearly a decade.” You sigh with a smile. You want that. You want that terribly.

“Hi, can I get drinks started for you guys?” The server asks, John orders himself a scotch as you decide on what you want.

“I’ll just get an iced tea.” You say before looking up. But when you do you’re surprised to see an old friend.

“Adam?” You say with an awfully wide smile.

“I knew that was you.” He says leaning in for a hug that you gladly reciprocate.

“I’m so happy to see you.” You exclaim, last you heard of him he was in America. You wonder when he got back to the UK and how long he’s been back for.

“Me too, it’s lovely to see you. Anyways I’ll be back with your drinks.” He leaves as quickly as he came, stopping by other tables to check in.

“How do you know him?” John asks, you notice his gruff voice has an interesting pitch to it.

“Childhood friends.” You reply.

“Ah has it been awhile?” He asks curiously.

“A long while, he moved to the states and now he’s back I guess.” You shrug not really knowing what else to say.

“interesting.” You notice the way his eyes slightly trail your old friend as he walks around.

“Okay, do you know what you're going to get?” You ask him to regain his attention.

“I think so, you?” You nod your head also looking over the menu once more before making your final decision.

“Here you guys go.” Adam says setting the drinks down at your table.

“Are you ready to order?”He asks, keeping his eyes firmly on you. You don’t notice it but your very watchful date does.

“No actually, could we have a couple more minutes?” John says, catching your attention as you give him a puzzled look.

“Yeah, take all the time you need, by the way I heard from your sister not too long ago she told me you and Brian broke up. I was shocked, truly we all thought you guys would get married .” He says turning back to you.

“Well they didn’t.” John says lowly beneath his breath. You and your old friend look at him for a second before you reply.

“Yeah, it just didn’t work out.” You reply a little awkwardly in remembrance of the breakup. Brian had also been a childhood friend and a highschool sweetheart.

“You were always too good for him.” you can't think of an appropriate way to answer that so there's a second of silence before he takes the hint. “ Okay then I’ll be back in a bit.”

“He’s flirting with you” John says once he walks away.

“You think?”

“You don’t.” He feels like he just watched the man’s pupils turn into hearts at the sight of you.

“Are you jealous?” you ask, trying to read his expression.

“Of the childhood friend, or possibly family friend that's flirting with you, no.” He feels like it’s childish but in the end he’s just a man.

“John.”

“Please doll, don’t.” You can't believe your eyes as you watch his jaw tick.

“Okay.” you try to suppress the smile that makes its way onto your lips. John has absolutely nothing to worry about but nonetheless is pent up.

He changes the topic and asks you about your next painting project, what you think it’ll be and where you think you’ll put it. You ask him about his own work, where did he meet his task force or rather how until Adam is back for your order.

You guys go back and forth on whether princess diana's death was an assassination or simply a horrible accident you say it was an assassination while he calls you crazy till your food is brought out to you.

There’s still light conversation between bites and sips. He’s not jealous, he tells himself, just bothered, bothered that you’ve known that man longer, how he knows your sister and had recently spoken to her, how he looks at you like you're more than friends.

When dinner finishes up you offer to pay out of kindness and he just laughs shaking his head. When the check comes and he reads it he notices how your items have been paid for and prays dearly to remain collected.

“Did they double charge you or something?” You are confused at the subtle scowl on his face.

“More like undercharged, do you see your friend anywhere?” He says looking around and you do also.

“No.”

“It looks like all your items are paid for.” He’s clearly upset and although you sort of understand why, you can’t completely understand.

“It’s probably just a nice gesture John.” Why did he have to do that?

“Doll I’m a man, I know what this means.” He sighs, jaw clenching.

“Okay but we’re old friends.” You say trying to calm him down but failing miserably.

“Oh you don’t say.” He says pressing his lips together.

“Let's just forget about it, come on.” You softly plead.

“I’m not leaving without paying for your meal.” And he means it. When your unfortunate friend comes back around to collect the check, John's talking before he can get a word in.

“I’m sorry but I’d like to pay for these items.” John says to him with a husky deeper, irritated tone.

“I thought I’d treat an old friend.” Adam says looking to you while John’s holding onto every inch of his patience.

“I’d like to treat my girl if you don’t mind.” Adam looks back to you for whatever reason but your eyes are stuck on John like you're in a trance.

“Okay sir I’ll um I’ll rerun this.” He says walking away. It’s awkward silence and he’s still breathing in an unnatural pattern. But my girl, my girl, my girl. Is all you could think about.

“Here you are sir.” He says handing back the check. John gives it a quick glance before placing his card inside and handing it back.

When he comes back around to give John his card back and a receipt for a signature you guys both get up to leave.

“It was nice seeing you, maybe we can hang out soon?” Adam says facing you.

“It was nice seeing you too.” John patiently waits for you to join him at his side.

“Maybe I can get your number?” The tone is one you’d only identify as flirtatious. You shut your eyes for a second realizing John was right but regardless of that he has nothing to be jealous about.

“I'm sorry if you hadn’t noticed but I'm actually here on a date and I think that would be a little inappropriate.” You say politely while walking away. Once you're next to John his hand is around your waist as he is now the one trying to suppress a smirk. You walk out into the cold air huffing as you tighten your hands around yourself.

When you get to the car John opens your door as he always does, waiting for you to sit before closing it. He gets in quietly turning the key in the ignition as the car hums to life, you look towards the window and out into the city, in another life you're definitely a city girl who sits at bars with friends and smokes cigarettes on fire escapes. As he’s driving he can’t help but notice the pout on your face. He fears he upset you in some way as your eyes stay on the road.

You can’t help but feel like he’s upset with you for not shutting it down sooner. His silence only leaves room for your mind to take over. This is the common dance between you two. He feels bad for how his jealous tendencies may have affected your first date and you feel guilty for letting this man openly make a pass on you infront of John.

“Doll.”

“Hmm.” You reply not looking towards him. You’ve entered the long highway that leads home. The city is now in the rearview mirror getting smaller and smaller. With his right hand he caresses your chin turning you to face him.

“What’s with this look?” He asks softly as his eyes bounce from you to the road. The hand that’s on your face makes its way to rest upon your upper thigh.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m genuinely asking.” He says a little confused.

“I truly didn’t think it meant anything.” He sighs realizing you're overthinking, that’s why you're quiet.

“Don’t let that bother you, it’s okay.” He reassures you.

“I just don’t know what kind of man sees a woman who’s clearly on a date and is still so bold. Although when it comes to you I fear I’d be the same way.” John says and you scoff with a small smile looking away.

“I would, you're gorgeous, a gem. But my gem.” You can’t help the rise of warmth to your cheeks. You realize John is always complimenting you, always making sure you know how valuable you are. Does he not realize how you feel about him?

“And how do you think I feel about you?” You say in a tone close to a whisper. His eyes search yours wondering where this is going.

“Getting jealous over a man who doesn’t compete with you and never could is beyond me.” You continue when he doesn’t respond.

“John, you're the most attractive man I’ve ever met, and I’m gladly all yours. My mind is too full of john price to think about anyone else” He groans quietly at the admission, not quite enough for your sensitive ears to pass up on though.

“Yeah?” He says shifting in his seat as your words go straight to his cock.

“Yeah.” You gaze at him with the widest eyes, his hand clenches and unclenches around the steering wheel as he tries to remain gentlemanly.

You unbuckle your seatbelt causing him to turn his head at the sound. You’re still about five minutes away from home so he's slightly confused. Though all that dissipates when you lean up against the center council placing a hand on his thigh grazing over the growing erection he knows you know is there to plant a kiss on his cheek then one on his lips before sliding back into your seat.

“Thankyou for dinner.” It’s laced with seduction.

you approach home at a faster speed than usual. He’s out of the car the second it's set in park rushing to your side to help you out. You can’t read his current expression as he practically drags you inside.

“Are you alright?” You ask, he scoffs at your audacity, fumbling with the keys to get the door unlocked. He’s ushering you inside quickly so the heat doesn’t escape from inside the home. You remove your boots by the door as John locks up. When you look up he's closer than you expected and his eyes are staring at you hungrily.

“Have I ever told you that you have a staring probl-“ his mouth is on yours before you can finish. There’s no easing into the kiss this time. He’s forcing his tongue in your mouth taking you by a welcomed surprise. He lifts you up like it’s nothing, hoisting you firmly around his waist.

His lips drag messily down your neck as he pulls your sweater down further, any and all access to your skin available to him he wants to taste. You’re pressed up against a wall one second and then being walked towards his room another. He’s impatient and it's unlike him, yet he’s never felt more like himself.

Your hands are in his hair pulling up his mouth to meet yours. His pants are so strained in the crotch area that he’s bucking his hips unintentionally searching for any kind of attention. You've grown embarrassingly wet in a matter of minutes, being turned on doesn’t describe how you feel. Your skirt has become scrunched above your bum from all John’s touching and kneading.

“Please.” You whine. He meets your lustful stare, smiling at how submissive you’ve become from just a little touching.

“What do you want?” His voice has dropped octaves and his accent sounds extra thick as he says it in the short space between you. When you refuse to answer he presses more into you sparking friction so intense and so needed that your eyes shut softly.

“What is it, hmm?”

“You John, I want you.” You admit, you’re truly trying your best given what you want sounds too raunchy to speak aloud.

“Well I’m right here, gonna need more of an explanation.” He’s trying his hardest to not just give you it all.

“Your fingers.” You can’t look at him as you say it. But the smile that forms on his face is so large and proud.

“Don’t be an ass.” You say watching as your words definitely go to his ego. He knew you had a thing for his hands as he often caught you glancing at them when you got the chance.

“You’re making my greatest wishes come true, why can’t I just be happy about it.” You smile now as his lips return to yours. He walks more down the hall this time you believe he’s heading into his room until your backs pressed up somewhere else. You open your eyes confused looking around before you notice you’re up against the candlelight painting, before you can question him he reads your mind.

“Don’t think I ever told you how much I love this one.” He says as he begins to remove your top. You raise your hands for him as he throws it to the floor beside you. You feel his hips stutter a bit when he sees the black Lace bra that adorns your chest.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“Promise?”

His hands waste no time in finding the space between your thighs as he rubs an experimental finger over the damp spot that’s soaked through your tights. He nearly drops to his knees for a taste when he realizes just how wet you are.

“Is this all for me?” he asks, pressing more firmly into the area.

“Yes.” it lacks that poised tone you always have. He grips the thin fabric and rips it in the crotch area and just like all tights, once one thread becomes undone the rest basically tears itself. He peers down looking at your matching panties clicking his tongue. His eyes go immensely dark at the sight of your arousal smeared on your plump thighs. He pushes your panties to the side shamelessly dipping a finger into your glistening cunt. Your back arches off the painting at the new sensation, mouth dropping a bit In anticipation. You hear how wet you are as he slides a finger up and down through your folds simply getting familiar with you, committing this to memory.

“Please john.” you whine. His eyes find yours as his index finger begins to prod at your sopping entrance. He watches your face intently as he slides it inside, groaning at the way you clench around the single digit. His fingers are thick and coarse and your newest obsession. He can't get enough of the look of pleasure on your face as he begins to pump it in and out of you. You've sucked your bottom lip between your teeth to keep your moans mostly muffled trying your best to make little noise but that just doesn’t work for him. He leans in sucking it into his own mouth before kissing you deeply as you try your hardest to reciprocate. He begins to introduce his middle finger slowly easing it inside next to his other, your mouth falls open as a sound of pure pleasure escapes at the stretch.

“D’s that feel good?” he asks breathlessly as the nearly painful erection in his pants twitches. You can't bring yourself to answer as your eyes fall to the hand that’s delivering you this feeling of ecstasy. He too watches in awe as your arousal leaks into his palm.

“S’good all yours john.” you cry out as he presses his thumb to your clit. He can feel you getting close by the way his fingers are fighting to keep pumping inside your tight hole. He keeps the pace as he places sloppy kisses on your breasts sucking a little roughly on the soft tissue and watching the little bruises that immediately arise.

He watches you in admiration, this is a paramount moment in his life. He curls his fingers towards that spot that makes you mumble incoherently, creasing your eyebrows in diversion.

“John, I'm close.” you're not close you’re practically there and he can't wait to see how pretty you look coming on his hand.

“Come on doll.” he wishes his eyes were cameras, he wants to keep the look on your face as you moan out his name forever. How your hands are holding onto his shoulders for dear life as if he’d drop you. And the way your long eyelashes flutter close. You're a dream, an absolute spectacle. His fingers continue to fuck you through the intense feeling, making sure you’re more than sated.

He waits for your breathing to slow as he pulls his fingers from you. You whimper at the empty feeling. Your eyes that are struggling to fully open don't miss the moment he sucks them into his mouth gathering every ounce of spilled arousal. He moans loudly around them and you feel that switch come back on as quickly as it did the first time. He takes you to his room kicking the door open and setting you softly onto his bed. He removes your panties discreetly tucking them in his pocket as you still struggle to fully regain awareness.

“May I?” He asks kindly, leaning down as he begins to hook your thigh around his shoulder.

“Oh John I never you don’t-“

“You never what?” He questions in absolute disbelief.

“You know this.” You gesture down to him with your hands, slightly embarrassed.

“I won’t if you don’t want me too.” He wants a taste desperately, truly doesn’t know what he’ll do if you deny him.

“It’s not that I don’t want you too, it's just don’t feel obligated.” He laughs and you feel the air of his breath fan against you.

“You're the one doing me the honor here, if you don’t like it just nudge me with your hand.” You nod nervously at him as he gains some focus onto the matter at hand.

He’s eye to eye with the most mouth watering sight on the planet. You’re perfect in a way that would seem unachievable if you weren’t a living testimony that it is.

He opens his mouth laying his tongue flat against your folds, your hips buck unintentionally and he moves to grip your hips and hold them firm.

One taste and he’s sure you will truly be the death of him. He immerses himself in you, lapping at everything you're willing to give. You moan softly as your hands find their way into his hair. It’s good, better than anything you could’ve expected. His beard burns the inner part of your thighs and that mixed with the way John has his eyes on you while his tongue finds ways to make your back arch off the bed is mesmerizing. You try your best to not grind down onto his face every time his nose makes contact with your clit. You wonder if he can breathe, deciding he probably can’t by the way his face is snug against you, the ungodly sounds of slurping and grunting is making you woozy all around.

“tastes so good, all f’me.” He says as he eats you out. It’s muffled into your folds, like if it wasn’t meant for you to hear. You feel that familiar build up of something hot and liquidy poor into your lower belly. A hand of yours kneads at your breast adding to the overwhelming senses of pleasure, with your other hand you pull on the locks of John’s hair, when he looks up he can’t contain it, the way his cock senselessly grinds into the mattress begging to be touched, he removes a hand from your hip carefully sliding it down the bed to release and stroke his aching red cock. He watches you lose yourself in pleasure as he fucks you on is tongue, your needy cries are melodic too him, they make him hungrier than ever before as he fucks his fist in fervor imagining the day he can split you open with it. Before he can think correctly he’s spurting loads more than he thought was possible onto his hand and dress shirt. The groan that he pours into you sends an intense feeling through your body, like thrashing waters that pull you under and keep you there before letting you back up. You don’t mean to, didn’t even expect it so soon but once the vibration hits you your clamping down onto his face. He doesn’t seem to mind, just continues to lick and prod at you letting your hips move slowly on his face.

“John I’m-” you try catching your breath.

“You better not say sorry my love.” He can’t comprehend that this is real life. He tries to drink up all of what’s left of you before you push him away from over sensitivity.

You lay there breathless and heavy as he climbs above you planting a kiss onto your lips. You moan softly as you taste yourself from his mouth. When he pulls away you look at him with his wet beard and glistening stache.

“What about you?” You say looking down towards his now unbuttoned pants.

“Finished about five minutes ago.” He says smugly.

“What?”

“What can I say doll, you're divine.” He’s not even phased by it and you’re in complete shock. He presses his weight down into you once more for a kiss then gets up and heads into the bathroom, you’re not sure what he’s doing till he comes back with a warm cloth and cleans the mess you made up. You’re unfamiliar with your partner doing aftercare but it’s nice.

“D’ya want a pair of boxers or sweats, and a shirt or sweater.” He says while going to his dresser.

“Boxers and sweater.” You answer quietly, you’re spent, as sleepy as can be. When he approaches you with both those things he helps you dress and opens the comforters for you to get inside. He himself is dressed in pajamas as he scoots in next to you pulling you firmly to his chest. You scoot impossibly close and intertwine your legs with his, your face is in the crook of his neck inhaling him as you fall asleep. He doesn’t want to lose this moment so quickly though so he tries his best to keep himself awake for as long as possible just to savor having you in his bed entangled with him physically and mentally. Although it doesn’t last as long as he’d like it’s enough to get him through the hard nights, his eyes drift closed as he too falls asleep.

——————-

I too am ashamed of myself🫶

Comments and re-blogs are greatly appreciated (if you do know spiritually I’m giving you a forehead kiss) ❕

@beebeechaos @ttsbaby01 @arminarlertssword @quakeroaksguy @rafaelacallinybbay @bumblebeesfromvenus @glitterypirateduck @midnights-song @lovelythingsinternal @fruitymoonbeams-blog @kkaaaagt @kit-williams @enfppuff @kythefangirl25 @eviltheleon @here4thespice @dclore22 @raethethey @waves-against-a-cliff @novausstuff @darling006 @vampirekilmerfic @Dreams-of-qian-qian @spngingerbread21 @thepumpkinqueen93 @copiasratscheese @youdontknowe @spyderdoll @angels-gonna-play @viisgrave @lieutenantlashfaz @sunndust @beckythecatqueen-blog @aoioozora @o-birdseed-o @mothmothmothmothmothmoth @ihateuguys @oversensitivitea @spicyspicyliving

#angst #captain price x female reader #john price #barry sloane #captain john price #john price x reader #task force 141 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod modern warfare

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kinjalpatel-businesssetupdubai · 8 months ago

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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Mafia!Price warm up because I am… so tired. I’ve had back-to-back events the last few days and ya bitch canNOT hang. So, while I rehydrate and wait for caffeine to work it’s magic, here’s this:

Part 1 here

No Content Warnings

Mr. Price is the best boss you’ve ever had. He’s straightforward and blunt, but unfalteringly courteous. Likes things a certain way — his own way — but that’s nothing you’re unfamiliar with from rich men responsible for billions. At very least, he seems to respect when you challenge him.

“We’ve always done records this way,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” you answer serenely, “but that was before you had me.”

He stares you down and you beam right back, tablet balanced on your forearm. One beat, two. In the corner of your eye, you see Gaz shift. You tilt your head at your boss.

He sits back in his big office chair, thumb swiping over his index and middle fingers. A gesture you’ve been mentally cataloguing as “contemplative” — perhaps deciding if he’s annoyed or amused. You don’t let yourself get nervous seeing it; you’re good at your job and you know it. He’s going to know it too, by god.

“And what do you have to do with it, luv?”

Your smile stretches wider as you take that as an invitation to round his desk. He turns and shifts a bit to make room for you, eyebrows ticking up as you set a neatly paper-clipped report in front of him, highlighted for convenience.

“See here?” You point at one section, a list of finance records. “Inconsistencies that the accountants took two months to notice. Two!”

He grunts as you set it aside, face up, for further perusal and then show him the next set. Different highlighter (and a smiley face in the corner).

“And look here, doing it this way, we noticed the discrepancies within a week,” you explain.

He picks up the page, eyes scanning over it thoroughly before setting it down. Taps his index finger over the discrepancy (circled in bright red) twice.

“Would you happen to have the account — ah, thank you.”

You hum, smoothing the sticky note (hot pink, shaped like a heart) onto the page. “So what do you think, sir?”

He runs a hand down his face, palm rasping over his beard. But there is a grateful note to his gaze as he glances at you.

“We’ll be doing it this way from now on, then.”

“Thrilling, sir. I’ll send out a memo.”

He waves you off, frown already forming on his face. You politely leave his office, stop by the break room to make a fresh cup of tea (a dollop of cream only, no sugar) and knock on the closed door. It’s Gaz that opens it.

“For the boss,” you say. “Before heads start rolling.”

“You’re a doll,” he breathes, accepting the cup and slipping back inside.

You happily toddle back to your desk and begin calling appointment confirmations. You’ve got about a million emails and a hundred calls to make.

—

Working for Price also comes with some… eccentricities. For one, you have a driver now.

Usually Farah, sometimes her partner Alex. On the rare occasion it’s Gaz. They always usher you into the backseat. On rainy days (so, most days in the UK) they hold an umbrella over your head while you scurry into the luxury leather interior of whatever stupidly expensive ride you’re taking.

That was a non-negotiable when you and Mr. Price discussed the details of your employment contract with him. Something about safety…? You feel silly being driven to work as an assistant, but it was your first encounter with the Steel Gaze of Decision and it was unfortunately effective.

Not that you mind the rides! All three of your usual drivers are wonderful. So friendly and chatty. You love hearing about Alex’s niece and Farah’s hobbies, Gaz’s little “spats” with Soap. You spoil them with extra treats from whatever bakery you make them stop at for morning breakfast. (Always local, you love supporting small businesses and strong arm Price into doing so as well).

There’s the gun as well. You’ve only seen it once or twice, always discreetly hidden under his suit jacket. A shoulder holster, all black. Pretend that you don’t see it because… well, you’re not entirely sure it’s legal and you’d rather live in the blissful cloud of plausible deniability.

And speaking of — there’s his bodyguard. To be fair, bodyguards aren’t a new or weird presence with your bosses. Expensive men, they need protection. Ghost is a different kind though.

He always covers the lower half of his face — actually, he’s covered head to toe. Usually in black, sometimes with little skeleton or skull motifs. And he’s fucking big, which is saying something because Mr. Price isn’t a small man either.

Ghost hardly interacts with you, but he’s unfailingly polite when he does. Not talkative, but he holds doors for you, has walked you down to the car. Even once attitude-checked a guest that decided to be rude to you. Didn’t even say anything, just walked into the guy’s personal bubble and stared him down until he subsided. Then he turned, gave you a nod, and you squeezed his arm before toddling off to let Price know his appointment had arrived.

All around the vibes in the office are pleasant, if sometimes stuffy. A little odd. All of his employees are polite if not kind to you, and Price himself is a fair and reasonable man — at least with you.

(The first time you heard him raise his voice through the closed office door nearly scared the daylights out of you. He always uses a low, even tone when speaking to you, so to hear his voice booming like that was something of a shock. Even more shocking was when he opened the door — damn near throwing his “guest” out — before turning to you.

“Call Farah when you have a mo’, would you?” He asked, calm as you please.

You blinked, still having war flashbacks of your last boss. “Yes, sir.”

“Cheers, luv.”)

There’s also the “field trips” as you call them.

Mr. Price is something of a very “hands on” businessman (“micromanager” you tease when he’s in a good mood) who has a hand in several industries. One of them is shipping. Which means that sometimes you find yourself standing beside him in warehouses or at loading docks. And of course you have to go, you’re his assistant! You take meeting notes, provide information or report details. Basically act as his second brain while he reams out idiots or organizes plans.

You suck it up, but you rather hate the smell of low tide. And the occasional gusts of blood on the sea breeze from fishermen gutting their catches. Price catches you looking ill once or twice and at least makes an effort to keep things short after that.

“Poor thing,” Soap teases when you’re in the back of the car, fussing at your wind-swept hair. “Get a bit blown, did you?”

“MacTavish,” Price snaps.

That’s the other thing. Even the slightest hint of suggestive or inappropriate words at your expense are met with firm, almost harsh, reprimand from your boss. It does wonders for you nerves and your respect for him.

“Wish I’d known we were going to the docks,” you sigh, carefully picking at pins to fix your hair. “I would have used more hairspray.”

“Thought I told you?” Price says.

“No, sir, you did not,” you answer, long-suffering. “You know you can put it into the scheduling app, right?”

He blinks. “Scheduling app.”

You blink back at him. “Oh, dear. Here, look at this.”

You spend the entire ride back to the office showing him how your scheduling software works so that you don’t have to deal with any more surprise dock visits.

Previous | Next

Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #mafia!au #mafia boss price #mafia!price #assistant reader #oddly wholesome for a mafia au

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grozeo1 · 10 months ago

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Grozeo - Creating an ecommerce website

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ma1dita · 1 year ago

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anything you want

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> crazy little thing | next -> said he likes crazy words: 1.6k summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where you and him have your first kiss. It’s just Luke. He’ll do anything you tell him to, even if you talk too much. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader a/n: trouble is a yapper yall should know that by now. happy first kiss to you and luke! (posted 1/25/24 unbetad)

—

“Come on, Castellan, we’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry!”

Your foot taps steadily on the forest floor, waiting for Luke to finish his demonstration of how to slay a chimera, and at the sound of your voice, he sheathes his sword and claps Chris on the back to finish up the workshop.

“Where you off to, man?”

“Gotta help our favorite head counselor set up for Greek Legends & Theatrics,” he says matter-of-factly, setting his battle armor to the side and making the walk up the steep hill towards the amphitheater to meet you like he’s following a siren call.

“Simp,” Chris mutters before his best friend slaps him across the head and jogs away.

“My hands are full, Rodriguez!”

“You wish!” Chris calls out as he picks up his sword, watching the slight blush rise on Luke’s pale cheeks as he almost trips over his own feet.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Watch your fucking language,” you say sternly, which makes the both of you laugh when he finally meets you at the top of the hill. Instantly, you’re relinquishing everything in your hands: your water jug, the bag of costumes, a binder of scripts, and a ukelele. Luke’s juggling everything as best he can with no complaints, following your footsteps as he bumps the body of the uke against his hip to get a better grasp as he marvels at your excitement for your little drama club.

“What’re you teaching today, Trouble?”

“Orpheus and Eurydice, and it’s gonna be great! One of my personal favorites! The kids should be ready for the performance at the end of the month,” you grin, walking backward as you descend the stone steps of the amphitheater.

You’ve both grown into your roles here at camp, finding places you shine and excel at and together you bridge what the kids, your kids, are lacking. But he can see how you let yourself thrive here, being the operative heart of Camp Half Blood, and you’re radiating as you beckon him to follow you.

Following you around has become a habit as of late, one that he’s only recently made himself aware of. Sure, he’s always loved annoying you and doing something stupid to get a reaction, whether it be a snide remark or a smile, but something in your dynamic has changed. You’re head counselor after all, and even though he’s only in charge of busy cabin 11, his hand is always extended to whatever you have to offer. Quite simply, he loves it when you look for him, there’s no other explanation for it.

You’ve always troubled him, his thoughts, his life— but Luke can’t define it, or deem it something he can live without. It doesn’t make sense, and now he often finds himself wondering what it would be like to be more than whatever you are; not enemies, not necessarily friends, but perhaps a secret third thing, something he admittedly holds sacred.

Luke trusts you with his life, but wouldn’t choose you to be his quest companion again he thinks, not after the scar only you deem pretty is an evident sign of his personal transgression. He stares at you for a second too long while you ramble, organizing your thoughts out loud that he doesn’t notice any of the actual words falling from your lips because he’s entranced by them. Slight worry crosses his sharp features as he realizes he could kill someone if you got hurt.

Fuck.

There’s a space he’s carved out for you in his heart that he reminds himself not to name yet and now you’re looking for him again, turning to him when you realize he hasn’t followed.

When did you get so close to him?

“Luke!” you exclaim, nibbling on your bottom lip as you snap your fingers in his face.

“Are you even listening to me? I need an extra hand setting up smores stuff for the bonfire later if you’re free, and then we have night shift after…” You’re leaning against the table with a delicate smile on your face and in moments like these where you rattle off your routine that he gladly picks apart— Luke feels a sort of elation better than any quest or glory he can achieve. Only you can make unpaid labor sound like Elysium.

He nods absentmindedly, eyes flickering to your lips as you continue to speak, and he can’t help but admire how the way the sun filters through your hair…

Maybe Chris was onto something…

“You okay? If you need a break you can sit and watch us, the kids should be coming soon to start.”

Your fingers graze his bicep, and he blinks at you, your eyes wide with curiosity and a fire that can’t be tamed. You drive him crazy. He probably looks like a lunatic, frozen in place as he stares at you, so he shakes his head lightly, albeit unconsciously as he furrows his eyebrows, scar crinkling with his eyes as he smiles at you.

What a dork.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you laugh, your head falling onto your shoulder as you look at him sideways. You’ve noticed Luke is softer with you nowadays, hands always full when you keep him busy, and unlike the other cabin counselors, seldom does he fight you about camp duties. He’ll fight you about anything else though, just to get the last swipe at your attention, to make sure your eyes are on him.

And they always are, whether you can help it or not.

Luke steps forward, duffel bag still in hand and ukelele at his other side and suddenly he looks like he’s on a mission, his signature smirk stealing the air from your lungs as you forget what you’re saying.

“Like what, Trouble?”

Nervous laughter bubbles from you at the increasing proximity. It’s the first time he’s spoken since you got down here. His cargos brush against the smooth skin of your legs as you nestle your hips against the table, and the smell of sweat, musk, and citrus infiltrates your nostrils with a shaky breath.

“Like you’re about to make a mess of something. I can’t really tell,” you whisper. Why are you whispering? There’s no one here but you two and the sound of birds in the spring air.

It’s just Luke. Luke Castellan, who you glitter bombed when you were 14, who shoves you around every chance he gets, and steals food off your plate at every meal.

“I might. Not sure yet,” he swallows as he looms over you, the bag in his grasp falling to the side and the ukelele making a dissonant noise as he sets it on the table.

When did you let him past your defenses? The wall around your heart was well protected after years of whims of what you thought was love felt like running headfirst into concrete.

But Luke’s always been there, watching.

Though as a son of Hermes, sneaking in without a sound is what he does best. Perhaps a little too well, the both of you not noticing it for what it was until this moment.

“What are we doing?” you ask, and his reply is to pull you in by the belt loop of your denim shorts, snatching you closer with a curl of his fingers.

“You talk too much, you know that?”

Then suddenly, finally—his lips descend onto yours stealing your breath away like it's second nature, almost thoughtless and without anymore questions. There's a moment where you both sigh as if it was a relief to finally be touched like this, no hidden meanings, no ulterior motives, and nothing else makes sense but to be here kissing him.

Luke’s calloused hand weaves under your jaw and into your hair, propping you up as your knees buckle slightly, so intense and gentle at the same time, lips forging the undeniable connection between you that’s gone unspoken for so long. His hands are full of you, and he tastes like the strawberries you snuck onto his plate at lunch.

Your hands slide up the front of his shirt, a featherlike touch to confirm that he’s there though the feel of his tongue slipping in makes you wonder how much time you’ve wasted arguing with him when you could’ve been doing this.

Everything about this kiss feels familiar in a way you can’t describe, but this embrace lets you learn about him what you thought you were already so sure of. It makes you wonder if you’ve been here before in a different life, and then you remember who’s in front of you.

It’s Luke, who likes it when he gets to fall asleep to the sound of your voice telling a bedtime story, follows you around even if his siblings tease him, and never ridicules you for your innate madness.

Perhaps he’s just as mad as you.

Your eyes flutter open, and he’s already walking away, nervously chuckling like he didn’t give you a life-altering kiss. When your heart finally feels like it’s in your chest again, you grumble loudly, shaking your head with his name still caught between your teeth—

“LUKE CASTELLAN! Don't you dare run away from me!”

He's quite sure he hasn't sprinted away faster in his life. But as he runs up the steps of the ampitheater to try and clear his head, he stumbles when he looks at you, turning around every few paces until he finally catches the unmistakeable smile on your face. Luke eats shit at the top, falling against a tree and he hears the sound of your laughter.

He thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life running away if it means he can look back and see if you’ll follow.

—

“I don’t know how it is you are so familiar to me—or why it feels like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place—some other existence.”

-Lang Leav

ask to be put on general/luke taglists!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl l @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

#luke castellan x reader fanfic #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan x reader #pjo show imagine #percy jackon and the olympians #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #luke castellan fluff #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 4 days ago

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A Morning In Berlin.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

blurb masterlist !!

authors note - this is a sister chapter to this, you don’t necessarily need to read it 🩵

word count - 2k

in which, harry and madison are in berlin, whilst your back at home in the uk working, madison’s almost turning three in april, and harry wants to spend as much time with his two year old as possible.

The café hummed with the soft clatter of cups and quiet morning conversations, a welcome warmth against the crisp air outside.

Harry stood in line, his almost three-year-old daughter, Madison, nestled securely in his arms. Her small fingers played absentmindedly with the buttons on his coat as she rested her head against his chest, her curls still slightly tousled from the stroller ride.

He had already parked the stroller at a quiet corner table, making sure everything was set before stepping into the queue. Madison was getting tired, as her morning nap was soon approaching — her tiny yawns and slow blinks proof that the morning had been an adventure already.

The barista, a friendly-looking woman with a warm smile, greeted them cheerfully.

"Good morning," Harry said, offering a dimpled grin. "Could I get a black coffee, please?"

Before the barista could respond, Madison stirred in his arms, lifting her head slightly. She rubbed at her sleepy eyes with her fist before peering up at the woman behind the counter.

“Wan… warm miiilk, peas,” she mumbled, her voice soft and dreamy.

The barista’s face melted into a gentle smile. "One warm milk? Of course!"

Harry pressed a kiss to Madison’s curls, swaying her slightly in his arms. "That sounds like a perfect choice, bug."

Madison hummed in agreement, already resting her head back against his shoulder, her little fingers now curling into the fabric of his sweater.

As the barista rang up their order, Harry chuckled softly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his daughter’s breathing against him.

“Think you might be falling back asleep on me,Maddie-Moo’s,” he murmured.

Madison barely responded, just letting out a tiny sigh, perfectly content in her daddy’s arms.

Harry carried Madison over to their table. He carefully sat down, adjusting her in his lap so she was snug against him. Her tiny hands gripped onto his sweater, her head resting against his chest as she nursed her warm milk from the small cup the barista had given her.

Harry smiled to himself, brushing a few stray curls away from her face. He could tell she was getting sleepier by the second—her long lashes fluttered lazily, her little body melting further into his.

“Getting sleepy, bug?” he murmured, rubbing her back gently.

Madison gave a tiny nod, letting out a soft hum as she sipped her milk.

Harry glanced down at his phone on the table and, with one hand, tapped the screen to call you. The familiar ringing tone buzzed in his ear for a few moments before the screen lit up with your face.

“Hey, love,” Harry greeted warmly, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You appeared slightly out of breath, your hair still damp from your workout, dressed in your gym leggings and an oversized hoodie.

“Hey, you,” you replied, shifting the phone in your hand as you locked the front door behind you. “How’s my little munchkin?”

At the sound of your voice, Madison stirred, lifting her head slightly to peek at the screen. Her face was still sleepy, her cheeks rosy from the warmth of the café.

“Mamaaa…” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes with her tiny fist.

You cooed, pressing your phone closer. “Oh, baby, you look so sleepy. Have you been having fun with Daddy?”

Madison blinked slowly, nodding as she leaned back against Harry.

“Had…. warm miiilk,” she said, her voice soft and drowsy.

Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“She’s just about ready to knock out, I think,” he mused, glancing down at her as she settled back into him. “Had a busy morning, haven’t we, Mads?”

Madison hummed in agreement, though her eyes were already drifting shut again.

You smiled, tucking your legs under you as you sat on the couch back home. “She looks so cozy. Wish I was there to cuddle you both. But I’m so glad you get to spend your time with her.”

These traditions were the moments Harry lived for.

Harry shifted slightly in his seat, careful not to disturb Madison as she snuggled deeper into him. Her soft breaths were steady against his chest, her tiny fingers still loosely gripping his sweater.

He glanced back at the phone, his green eyes warm as he smiled at you.

“So, what’s your plan for the rest of the day then, love?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

You sighed, stretching your legs out on the couch.

“Nothing too exciting,” you admitted. “Gotta go food shopping in a bit. We’re running dangerously low on snacks.”

Harry chuckled. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

“Exactly,” you teased. “I’d never hear the end of it from you two if I didn’t restock the biscuits.”

He grinned. “You’re not wrong. We’ve raised Mads to have very high biscuit expectations.”

You laughed before tucking your feet beneath you. “And then after that, I think I’m just gonna curl up on the couch and watch some Netflix.”

Harry tilted his head. “Ooo, what’re you watching?”

“Dunno yet,” you admitted. “Might start something new, or I might just rewatch something comforting.”

Harry smirked. “So basically, you’re gonna watch Friends for the hundredth time?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight back your smile. “Maybe.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Predictable.”

“Oh, shut up,” you laughed. “What about you two? What’s on the agenda after this?”

Harry shifted the phone slightly, glancing down at Madison. “Well, before this one started dozing off, she was very adamant that we go to the toy museum.”

Your eyes lit up. “Oh, she’s gonna love that.”

“Yeah, I figured we’d head over after she wakes up,” Harry said, running a gentle hand over Madison’s back. “She was going on and on about the dolls and the trains. Kept saying, ‘Dada, choo-choo!’ over and over.”

You laughed. “That sounds about right. She’s been obsessed with trains lately.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry grinned. “She spotted one in a shop window earlier and nearly launched herself out of the stroller trying to get to it.”

“Oh god,” you chuckled. “Well, knowing her, she’s gonna try and bring half the museum home with her.”

Harry sighed dramatically. “I know. I can already see the puppy dog eyes she’s gonna give me at the gift shop.”

You smirked. “And you know you’re gonna give in.”

He scoffed. “Hey, I have some willpower.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Because last week, she asked for a teddy at the supermarket, and you told me you ‘just couldn’t say no’ while buying three of them.”

Harry groaned, tilting his head back. “Okay, okay. Maybe I’m weak.”

You laughed. “You definitely are when it comes to her.”

He shook his head with a fond smile, glancing down at Madison, who was still peacefully asleep in his arms. “Yeah… but can you blame me?”

Your heart melted at the sight of them.

“Not at all,” you murmured. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

Harry grinned. “She really does, huh?”

You nodded. “And I love watching it.”

He gave you a soft look, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing small circles on Madison’s back. “Well, she’s got both of us wrapped around her little finger.”

“Completely,” you agreed with a smile.

For a moment, you both just sat there, miles apart but completely connected. The love you shared, for each other and for your little girl, filled every space between you.

“Alright, love,” Harry murmured after a beat. “I’ll let you get on with your day. We’ll FaceTime again later, yeah?”

You nodded. “Definitely. Give Mads a kiss from me when she wakes up.”

“Already planning on it,” he said, his voice warm. “Love you, darling.”

“Love you too.”

After finishing his coffee, Harry carefully adjusted Madison in his arms before gently easing her into her stroller.

She stirred slightly but remained in a peaceful sleep, her tiny hands curled up by her face. Making sure she was snug, he pulled the blanket over her legs, tucking her in just right.

With one last glance to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, Harry pushed open the café door and stepped out onto the crisp Berlin streets.

The city bustled with its usual morning energy—cyclists weaving through traffic, locals sipping their coffees outside tiny bakeries, and tourists snapping photos of the historic architecture.

Harry strolled along the pavement, taking his time as he pushed Madison’s stroller. He popped into a couple of small shops along the way, picking up a little toy train he knew she’d love and a book for himself.

The morning air was refreshing, and despite the gentle hum of city life around him, it felt peaceful—just him and his little girl, exploring together.

But as he turned onto a quieter street, a voice called out from behind him.

“Harry? Oh my God, it is you!”

He glanced up to see a young woman approaching, her phone already clutched in her hand.

“Hiya,” he greeted politely, offering a small smile as he continued walking.

“Would you mind taking a quick photo?” she asked, stepping closer.

Harry sighed softly, his tone kind but firm. “I appreciate it, love, but I’m just out with my daughter right now.”

He gestured slightly toward the stroller, making it clear he wasn’t in a position to stop.

The fan’s eyes flickered toward Madison before she pouted slightly. “Oh, please? Just one? I won’t be long, promise.”

Harry shook his head gently. “I’m really sorry, but I just wanna have a quiet morning with her.”

The fan huffed, clearly disappointed, but instead of backing off, she kept pace beside him. “I won’t tell anyone where you are, I swear. Just real quick?”

Harry exhaled through his nose, still keeping his voice steady. “I appreciate that, but no, not today.”

The fan groaned, frustration creeping into her tone. “It’s just one picture, though! I came all the way over here—”

A soft whimper cut through the air, making Harry immediately look down at the stroller. Madison shifted, her little face scrunching up as she let out a sleepy whine.

The noise, the persistent voice, the shift in atmosphere—it had disturbed her.

Harry’s brows knitted together as he crouched down, instantly switching his focus to his daughter.

“S’alright, baby,” he murmured, adjusting the blanket and rubbing her tummy gently. “Go back to sleep, love.”

Madison made another tiny noise before sucking on her thumb, her lashes fluttering as she tried to settle again.

Harry looked up, his expression now firmer as he turned back to the fan. “Look, I really need you to respect this. She’s just woken up because of all this, and that’s not fair on her.”

The fan’s face paled slightly, guilt flashing across her features. She bit her lip, glancing between Harry and Madison. “I—I didn’t mean to wake her, I just—”

Harry sighed, standing back up as he kept one hand on the stroller. “I get it, I do. But I’m asking you to please just let us be.”

The fan hesitated before finally nodding. “Okay… sorry.”

Harry gave a small nod, his jaw still tight. “Thanks.”

Without another word, he adjusted the stroller’s canopy slightly to block out some of the daylight and began walking again, keeping his steps slow and steady to soothe Madison back into sleep.

As he put distance between himself and the fan, he glanced down at his daughter, his expression softening instantly.

“Shh, it’s okay, bug,” he murmured, rubbing her little knee through the blanket. “Daddy’s got you.”

And with that, he kept walking, determined to make the rest of their morning as peaceful as possible.

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