#she could have asked Michelle for my address??

[omni-scient-pan-da]

I already get anxious enough when I open Snapchat messages from people who don't normally message me on Snapchat

Only to get a text from Bella that just says "what's your address??" And nothing else

SNDKWKSKEKDIN LIKE WHAT??? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?? WHY DO YOU NEED TO KNOW?? I'D LIKE CONTEXT PLEASE??

[formulaforza]

—everywhere, everything

keep my hand in yours ('til our fingers decompose) pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: parent death, angst, language, driving under the influence, underage smoking/drinking love, mackie... 6.6k. part two of this guy (but I think can be read stand-alone). I hope I make u all sad enough that you never ask me for a part two ever again <3

I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine—the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.

— —

Danny is notably absent from your mom’s funeral. Granted, he is in Budapest at the time, and he had two races this weekend. You know this because you still keep tabs on him, even if he’s not yours to keep tabs on anymore, even if there’s nobody to blame for that but yourself. 

If you didn’t know better, hadn’t spotted Grace, Joe and Michelle a dozen or so people back in line to greet you and your dad, you would have been able to convince yourself Danny didn’t have a clue your mom was even sick. She went quick, less than eight months from her death sentence to… well. From death sentence to death. 

Two hundred and thirty-one days since her diagnosis means two-hundred and twenty-eight days since you broke things off with Danny. So even if he was in town, you probably wouldn’t have seen him. You wish you would have though, that he would have appeared in the plethora of grieving faces. Not for you, but for her. She always loved him, even before you did. 

Grace’s arms feel like the light at the end of a dark tunnel when she finally gets to the front of the line. She squeezes you tight, the only way a mother knows how to, and you cry in her arms. Grace doesn’t tell you how sorry she is, or that your mom loved you so much, or that she’s in a better place now. She just hugs you and wipes away your tears. 

“Danny wishes he could be here,” she tells you, but you don’t want to think about him and you don’t want to believe her. 

“Tell him I said ‘thank you?’” you say, a forced smile on your face. It’s got to be the hundredth of the afternoon. If there’s one thing your mom is—was. If there’s one thing she was, it’s loved. Tell him I hate him, is what you wish you could say to Grace. Or maybe tell him I love him. 

A million and two hugs later and you find yourself missing his arms more than you should. He was always a good hugger, and you could use a good hug right now. 

— —

You showed up at the property fifteen minutes after the event started. You’d hoped to slip in and out, to at least be able to say you went, that you tried. You had no intention of trying to find Daniel, and you figured it would be easy to avoid him, especially if you showed up after everyone else did—it’s his show, he’s the man of the hour, everyone will be fighting for his attention. 

You don’t even know why you came, really. Maybe it’s to figure out how the hell Daniel even got your address to send the invite in the first place. You’d moved half a dozen times since he last knew you. Or maybe it’s that you don’t believe, even after seeing it with your own eyes, that somebody actually had success with growing berries in the heat. It could be that you just… It could be simple, that you miss your Mom, and that everything about that place reminds you of her. 

Whatever the reason, you put on a long, flowing sundress, tied your hair back, and slipped on a pair of comfortable sneakers and a denim jacket. You didn’t even bother to tell your Dad—knew he’d want to catch up with Daniel, or maybe want to strangle Daniel. You didn’t want to give him the chance to do either. You park on the dirt road that leads to the vineyard, because the parking lot is overflowing, a pattern you’re beginning to notice since he’d taken over. 

The place looks the same as it did last time you were here. DR3 Wines still adorn the fleet of ATVs out front, and the wooden letters on the perfectly red barn are still perfectly white. You give your name to the woman working the door, regret it as soon as you catch her announcing your presence over the radio-headset she wears. 

Momentarily, you consider turning around and walking right back to your car. But, you aren’t one to waste a good outfit, not if you’d gotten all dolled up like this, so you walk into the Barn with your head down. 

It smells the same inside; wood, lavender, citronella and alcohol. There’s candles burning to make it feel cozy, but they do a poor job at changing the aroma in the air. The walls are still hung with photos, and the counter is still that slab of wood. It’s exactly the same as it was a few months ago, and manages to remind you of the place you grew up without wearing your childhood memories like a costume. 

Daniel has always been easy to find in a room. He’s loud, his voice and his laugh vibrate off the walls of whatever room he’s in. He’s loud and he’s confident and sometimes it feels like he’s the only person in a room that’s really alive. That’s how it felt then, at least. 

It’s been thirteen years since you last shared a space with him, but the fact you can hear his laugh on the other side of the crowded room assures you that while everything has changed, some things have stayed exactly the same. 

You can’t see him, but man can you hear him. 

You sign the guest book—proof, in case anybody asks. Proof that you did show up. It’s the top of a wine barrel, DR3 2023 branded into the oak—two tops, because so many people are here. It’s covered in signatures and messages from people he loves. You feel guilty even signing it, but you do. 

Congrats Dan—your marker pauses. You scoff at yourself. Congrats Daniel. Time flies, 13 years! The place looks beautiful. Wishing you continued success, you write, finishing it off with your signature. 

He still wears the same cologne, you realize, when you look up and he’s leaning against the table watching you write. He wears the same cologne, and the same smile, even if less crooked. Everything else about him is different. His hair is shorter, eyes older. His arms are covered in art, face is all together thinner, and his five o’clock shadow is less of a pipe dream and more of a full-fledged beard. He’s taller, maybe. Or you’re shorter. It doesn’t really matter, you suppose. 

You purse your lips into a curt smile. He matches—you didn’t even know he could smile like that. “Hi, honey,” he says, leaning over to read your message. 

“Hi.” “Who’s Daniel?” He teases, the smile on his face growing into one you’re much more familiar with. You look back at your writing, but you don’t laugh. If anything, you’re sure you look a little scared. “I’m teasing.”

“I know,” you nod.

“Okay,” he nods right back, slow, apprehensive over your apprehension. 

“Sorry,” you force out a chuckle. “I’m being so weird,” and you adjust the strap on your dress. He shoves his hands in his pocket, rocks back and forth on the sole of his shoes. Do you know how weird it is to be face to face with someone you were head over feet in love with? It’s really fucking weird. You put your best smile on your face, “Hi, sorry,” you continue, opening your arms for what you think might be the most awkward hug you’ve ever given. 

He’s quick to pull his hands back out of his pocket, like he’s worried if he doesn’t act fast enough you’re going to rescind the offer. 

His touch is uncanny; familiar and comforting and unsettling. It melts the years away and you feel just like you did some twelve years ago when you wished so desperately for one of his hugs. You’re nineteen again, and he’s twenty, and everything feels like it’s going to be okay. 

“How are you,” he asks quietly, his arms tight around you. “You look great.”

“I’m okay,” you say over his shoulder, and then again, as if you’re trying to convince yourself: “I’m okay. How are you?”

“Oh, y’know,” he shrugs, pulling away from the hug, gesturing your question away. “Same old, same old.”

“Yeah,” you nod, even though you don’t know. Even though it’s been eleven years since you forced yourself to ignore his existence, since you last kept any sort of tab on him. You can’t get over how different he looks. How you’d still recognize him without a second glance. “You look different.”

He laughs, looks down at himself. At his arms, his hands. He can’t look at his face, but it’s different, too. “Yeah, I guess so, huh?” He keeps looking back at you every time he laughs. He makes sure you’re laughing, or smiling at least, before he lets his slip. “Is your Dad here?”

“No. He uh, he wasn’t feeling well.”

Once upon a time, Daniel could spot your lies from the other side of the vineyard. You get stiff and stuttery, he told you, it’s easy when you know what you’re looking for. That was once upon a time, though, and this is now. Now, you don’t know if Daniel remembers any of those little things about you. 

His eyes go momentarily soft, worried, almost. “Just a cold, yeah?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, can I get you a drink? Give you a tour?”

You look around the place—not much to tour. Not when it used to be yours, not when one of his teenaged employees gave you a tour a few months back. He seems so excited about the idea, though, so you go along with it. “Sure. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Nice, awesome,” he says, looking around the place like he forgot where everything is. He claps his hands together, pulls them apart into a snap, and points at you with both hands. “Stay here? I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you chuckle, and it’s genuine. “Staying here.”

“I know you, Bee,” he says, walking backwards away from you. B. He totally knows you’re full of shit about your Dad having a cold. “Don’t try to sneak out while I’m gone.”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

You nod. “I promise.”

— —

You, Daniel, and your Mom worked the closing shift that night. When he was around, that’s almost always how it went, because the two of you were the only ones who’d worked there long enough to know how to properly close up without a babysitter. 

Your Mom worked tediously in the office counting all the money—she was the slower counter of your parents, but it wasn’t like anyone was ever sitting around waiting on her. There was always something to be done, and Daniel was always good at making sure those closing tasks took up more than a chunk of the evening. 

You’d cleaned inside, swept the floors and vacuumed the rugs and cleaned the tables and the counters. You washed glasses behind the bar and restocked displays. The landline on the counter rang while you were writing up the day’s inventory, and you almost didn’t answer it, but your parents had told you to improve on your customer-service skills, even when you or the customer weren’t on site. 

To your surprise, the voice on the other end was Daniel’s. He was calling from the cellar, is too lazy to come over there to get shot down. “Is your Mom finished counting?” He asked, and you pulled the phone away from your ear to try and listen past the office door. 

“I think so,” you say, bringing the phone back to your ear. “We should be heading out soon.”

Sometimes you feel like you can hear Danny’s smile. “You wanna do the lock check with me?”

You slot the phone between your shoulder and your ear, returning your hands to the task of finishing up your paperwork for the night. You needed to be done when he got here, or there was no chance your Mom let you go with him. “How do you know I’m done with my shit?”

You can hear the lull of the old beat up golf-cart engine in the background, can almost feel the vibrations, can see clear as day Danny sitting there, lounging on the leather seat—tanned skin, unruly hair, toothy grin. “You always finish fast so you can daydream about your boyfriend,” he says, turning the last word into his own little sing-songy ballad. 

Your pen pauses on the paper, and you roll your eyes. “Jake isn’t my boyfriend.”

Danny laughs, and you roll your eyes again, pretend like you aren’t smiling. “Oh? But you knew who I was talking about!”

“Because you never shut up about him being into me.”

“Because he is!”

You set the pen down for good, now, grab the phone again because you want to make sure your next words come across loud and clear, even if it is the millionth time you’ve told him. “He’s my friend, Danny!”

“Oh, come on!” His laugh intensifies. “I don’t think a guy has ever been just friends with you.”

“You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

His laughter quells, and you’re sure he’s picking on the plastic of the steering wheel. There are so many scrapes on it from the same thing. He’s always picking at it, ever since you told him to give his poor nails a rest. He has to destroy something, you suppose—teenage boy and all—but you prefer a destroyed golf cart steering wheel to a destroyed Danny, so you let it slide. He sighs, and then he clears his throat, and the memory of your question dies in the silence. “Are you coming with me or not?”

“Are you coming to get me?”

— —

The air is chilly—nippy almost, especially with the sun dipping below the horizon like it is. You’re walking stride for stride with Daniel over the gravel path to the cellar, glass of sweet pink wine in your hand. He’s taking you to the strawberry field, per your request, because even after tasting it, even after telling you which field it’s in, you still don’t believe him.

“So,” he asks, one hand deep in his pocket, the other hanging in the space between your bodies. He’s very hesitant with you today, you’ve noticed. It’s nothing like the brash boy you called your first love. He’s gentle, softer, like he’s scared of his next words. “Who finally put that ring on your finger?” The threat of a smile is weak, but the idea of it alone is charming. 

You look at your free hand, carefully decorated with several different rings. “Which one?”

He drops his head to his shoulder, gives you a pathetic smile and a matching chuckle. “The only one an ex-boyfriend would ask you about, Bee.”

The sunlight—the little bit that’s left of it—catches the diamond on your ring finger. “Oh,” you shrug, dropping it back to your side. “It’s Mom’s.”

“I know,” he nods solemnly, and your head shoots over to look at him. You don’t know why he would remember that. “Who put it there, though?”

A smile pulls on your lips, and you bury it in the lip of your wine glass. “I’m not engaged, if that’s what you’re asking,” you laugh. “I just wear it… I don’t know, it makes me feel close to her.”

Sunsets at the property have always been gorgeous. When you were younger, you thought that maybe it was the most beautiful place in the entire world. The blues and the pinks and the yellows all mix together into some grand watercolor and tonight is no exception. 

The silence that lingers in the air should be awkward, but it’s not. It should be harder to be here, to watch the sunset, to walk the paths you have memorized, to stand next to Daniel after all these years. It’s not hard, though. It’s comfortable, like it was when you were sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and barely nineteen. Like it was all the time you knew him, even before you loved him. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally speaks. “She was really cool.”

You chuckle softly. It’s a familiar routine, consoling those attempting to console you about her death. “That’s what everyone says,” you say, even though Daniel might be the first person to posthumously describe your mom as cool. Lovely, you’d gotten more times than you could count. Beautiful and kind and oh honey, she loved you so much, you knew already. She was really cool, that’s a Danny-original if you’ve ever heard one. 

“I should have been at the funeral.”

“It’s okay,” you nod, because his presence wouldn’t have changed that your Mom was lovely and beautiful and kind and that she wasn’t around to be any of those things anymore. There wasn’t anything Daniel could have done to remedy that reality. “You were busy. We weren’t together,” and before he can come back with something, insists that it’s a bigger deal some decade later than it was, you change the subject. “What about you, though? Putting rings on anyone’s fingers these days?”

He laughs. A person can only get poetic about Daniel’s laugh so many times before it’s easier to just leave it at that. He laughs, everyone around him lights up, and he laughs some more. “Believe it or not, my work-life balance isn’t super great at fostering long-term relationships.”

You don’t exactly know what Daniel’s work-life balance looks like. The last time you paid any attention, he was racing with Toro Rosso. Every update you’d heard since had been one you weren’t looking for—commercials and posters and billboards and word-of-mouth; more than a couple ex-boyfriends and a few stray friends. 

You never cared much about racing. It was Daniel you cared about. 

There aren't a lot of specifics you remember about Daniel’s schedule, but you remember that he was almost always coming or going. There wasn’t much staying, and that was before he’d even made it to the big show. “You mean, women like it when their partners are around for most of the year?”

“They do, yeah,” he nods, dimples digging into his cheeks. “Crazy, right?”

“Crazy.”

— — 

Danny didn’t go down without a fight. He caught what had to have been the first flight home—home, you’re not sure that he can call Perth home now that he doesn’t live here. He caught the first flight to you, threw wood chips at your window at three-in-the morning. He didn’t need to wake you up, it’s been two weeks since you had any kind of meaningful sleep. You spend the majority of your time in bed looking at the ceiling fan spin or staining the sheets with your tears. 

You let him throw mulch for twenty minutes though, hoping that maybe he’ll give up and leave so you don’t have to face him. 

You’d done the breaking up over the phone for a reason. It wasn’t that you couldn’t wait until whenever he was home next. You could. It was that you couldn’t break up with him while looking him in the eyes, and you knew it. 

Eventually, though, you pull your pajama-clad frame out from under the warm covers, drag your feet the entire way to the window, pulling the curtains open just enough to confirm what you already knew—that it was him in the driveway. His entire face relaxes when he sees you there, forcing the window open. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the fuck am I doing?” He scoffs. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You cross your arms over your chest. The night air is cold and your pajamas are scarce. “I’m trying to sleep.”

He rolls his eyes, always dramatic, always over-the-top. “Come down here, honey.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You stand there in silence, shivering in your bedroom window. He stands there in silence, thick jacket on and a handful of wood chips from the garden in your driveway. It’s a stalemate, and you don’t know which of you is more exhausted. Appearance points to him, but you dread that fact that you’re standing, that you’re tired enough to give up the fight this quick. 

“Fine,” you relent, and it’s less than two minutes before you’re running into him on the back porch, slowly closing the sliding patio door behind you so as to not alert anyone else in the house of his presence. “What do you want?”

“Where are your clothes?” He asks, and is already taking his coat off to wrap around your frame. You huff and puff the entire time he’s doing it, because your lack of clothing was a choice—you were hopeful that he wouldn’t keep you long if you were shivering. 

“What do you want, D?”

“I want you to talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

Your lip trembles, and you bite down on it to try and stop it, chew on the skin until you taste copper and then it still trembles. You don’t look at him, you can’t. “You can’t fix it.”

“No, no,” he argues, grabbing your elbow in a plea, stepping closer to you, speaking hardly above a whisper. “Just tell me, baby.”

You yank your arm away, tone a direct contrast to his when you insist: “You can’t fix it this time, okay!? Nobody can fix it.” You point an accusatory finger, like there’s actually something he’s done to deserve this. There isn’t, there never will be. “You can’t fucking fix everything just because you want to.”

He matches, points his finger at you, presses it into the middle of your chest. Your heart races. “You can’t just fucking break up with me because you want to.”

You swat his hand away, offended by the accusation that you wanted this, that any part of you is enjoying this, finding relief in this. You hate this. Fucking loathe it, but it doesn’t change any of the facts. “I don’t want to,” your lips downturn into a frown, all pathetic and trembled, and your voice cracks and shakes half as much as your lips. The tears that burn in your eyes are reflected back in his, tired and bloodshot and wet. 

“Then don’t do it,” he pleads. 

You gulp around the lump in your throat, voice leaving your body meekly through tears. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t,” he assures you quickly, his hands slotting on either side of your face, the pads of his thumbs wiping your tears, his fingers locking into the hair at the nape of your neck. He shakes his head before he speaks, brown eyes searching yours, begging you to change your mind. “You don’t.”

His hands on your face are what push you over the edge, turn you from poised and sniffly to half-wrecked—choking on sobs and swallowing snot. It all hits you at once, all the weeks of testing, the days of trying to come to terms with a diagnosis, the hours spent grappling with the fact that nothing will ever be the same about you. You’re changed, now, and you’re only going to continue to change. It’s not Daniel’s responsibility to see you through any of this fucking shit.  “I do, I do,” you sob. “I have to, I’m so sorry, I have to.”

He presses his forehead against yours, your tears mixing with his every time your noses bump. It calms you, if only slightly, and your eyes close, mind focused on remembering this, on remembering what it feels like to have his skin on yours, to feel his voice in your bones, to breathe in the same air, the same space, the same atoms. 

Your breath is shaky, but the pattern is steady. In, out. In, out. Your nose is so stuffed you can’t breathe through it. Your lips are all but touching his, a stray tremble holding the power to force them together. You don’t know if you want to kiss him or not, if it would make things better or so much worse. 

He swallows hard, pulling your faces apart. “I love you,” he mutters softly, like a wounded animal, and then he presses a long, hard kiss into your forehead. 

You sniffle, your hands holding onto his wrists. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, drops his arms, your hands falling into his. “Yeah.”

He lets your hands go, lets you go. You feel like you might be sick watching him walk down the steps of the patio, along the path of pavers to the gate. A shiver runs up your spine, and you pull his jacket closed over your chest. His jacket. 

You wipe a new set of tears from your cheek with the back of your hand. “Your jacket,” you sniffle, “hold on.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even turn back to face you. “Keep it,” he says, unlatching the gate and slipping through to the other side. You sigh, and then you cough, and then you cry some more before finally finding the ability to move again, to go back inside and up to your bedroom, and that was that. That was the last time you saw Danny. The last moment that he was yours. 

— —

You’re walking back from the unbelievable strawberry field, quickly approaching the still lively barn, people and smiles and conversations pouring out into the adjacent spaces. Someone appears in front of you with a camera, with two cameras—one professional, and one a cheap polaroid. Smile, they said, and you laughed, your cheeks burning red. 

Daniel slinks his arm over your shoulder, and you step closer to his side. He flashes a toothy grin and a shaka sign to the camera. You hear the shutter of the camera take a dozen photos, and then the photographer holds up the polaroid—one for the road, she says, and Daniel pulls you that little bit closer, you blush that little bit harder. 

There’s a flash, and then you both relax, the photo printing out of the bottom of the camera. She holds it out Daniel, but he nudges you with his elbow to take it. You do, even though you aren’t sure you want it. 

You shake the polaroid while the two of you make your way into the barn. “What do I do with this?” You ask, looking carefully at the developed print. 

Daniel shrugs, leaning over. You flip the photo in his direction so he doesn’t have to lean as far, but he still does. “It’s cute,” he says. “You don’t want it?”

“I mean, I’ll take it, but…” But. But I’m going to throw it away when I get home. But it only reminds me of you. But it only represents what won’t be. 

He looks to the wall of photos behind the counter, eyeing the display carefully. You follow his sight line, your eyes going to the exact place you remember the photos of you being. You don’t know why you’re surprised that they’re still there, like you knowing they exist means they’d vanish. “Hang it up,” he says. 

You laugh. “Where?”

Daniel shrugs. “Anywhere you want.”

— —

The best part about only being able to afford cheap workers, was that you spent every day at the property with a new teenager looking to have just as much fun as you were. Between that, and the plethora of college kids that were constantly leaving to go back to school, to get a grown-up job, to get any job that paid more than your family could offer—there was always an opportunity for going away parties. And party, you did. 

You and your coworkers turned friends had slept down by the river more summer nights than you could count, hiding six-packs in the staff locker-room and hiding ziploc bags of joints behind the six-packs. 

Tonight, the going-away party is to honor someone whose face you won’t remember in a year, much less thirteen. He’d worked there for the holidays and not much more, and there wasn’t much memorable about him. 

The bonfire on the back of the property snaps and crackles, sparking off into the night and lights everyone in flickers of orange and yellow. The breeze has picked up after dark, and the tank-top and shorts you’d donned earlier in the day aren’t appropriate any more, one of Danny’s hoodies—a purple one that sits in his locker just for you to steal and smells like weed and wood from all the past nights just like this one—takes the chill out of the night and keeps the goosebumps off your exposed legs. 

The sky is clear and cloudless, a big moon staring back at you and a million shining stars fill the night sky. It’s times like these you think there’s no prettier place on Earth, nights like these where you feel completely rich. 

Two joints are being passed around the circle lazily, laughter and conversation filling the air. The first one comes your way from the left, from Daniel. He takes a long hit, the embers at the end of the paper burning orange with his inhale. He holds it in, nodding his way through someone else’s joke, and exhaling into a laugh. 

He looks at you, hesitates to hand it over. “I really don’t want a lecture from your parents tomorrow morning,” he teases, playful smile pulling on his lips, mischievous glint in his eye. 

You roll your eyes. “They won’t know,” you insist, to no avail. Daniel chuckles, but holds his resolve and passes the joint around you to the next person. 

Undeterred, you keep your eyes on the joint that moves clockwise, that comes to you from the other direction, a path with no Danny-sized roadblock. With practiced ease, you take a hit, exhaling slowly, savoring the warmth in your chest. You meet Danny’s eyes on exhale, find them half-amused and half-concerned, brows raised and smile drawn. 

“Whatcha got there?” He laughs, gently taking the joint from her. “I told you not to,” he continues, taking a hit himself before passing it along again. You grin, a wave of giddiness washing over you. It always goes like that when he laughs—makes you all warm and fuzzy and silly. 

“It’ll be okay, Danny-boy,” you laugh, leaning against him. Lazily, without hesitation, he tosses his arm over your shoulder and pulls you that much closer. You like being closer, can feel his laugh instead of just hearing it. You like the way his arm rests on your shoulder, the way his fingers trace patterns over the fabric of his sweatshirt, every touch echoing on your skin for minutes. You like being close, even if it makes your palms a little sweatier and your heartbeat a little faster. You could get used to being closer, you think. 

The fire is starting to die out now, and the air gets colder. You wonder how long your parents waited up for you to get home. The original excuse was that Daniel had forgotten the lock-check, that you wanted to come along and really, it’s no problem to drive her home. After about fifteen minutes, you’d snuck away from the newly-built fire to make a phone call, to let them know you were grabbing food on the way home and don’t wait up for me. You’re sure they did, though, even if only for a while longer. 

Anyway, the air is colder and the joints have been smoked through and the beers have been drunk—not by you, you’re too messy when you’re crossed. And not by Daniel, either, who refuses to drive drunk but insists on driving high. 

You yawn under Daniel’s arm, find a way to somehow lean in closer. “Sleepy?” he asks, and you nod. Carefully, like he’s done it a million times before, he presses a kiss into the crown of your head. It’s not the millionth time, it’s not even the second time he’s kissed any part of you. It’s the first time you've felt the press of his lips and you think that you’ll feel it there forever. “You wanna go?”

“No,” you say. “I’ll stay, make sure the fire gets out and everything.”

It’s not much longer, anyway, until the fire is being doused with water bottles and beer and everyone is taking turns spraying the same perfumes and colognes over their clothes in a poor attempt to mask the smell of smoke and weed. 

Daniel drives you home. It’s not the first time you’ve been the passenger in his old Ford Bronco. It’s not even the first time you’ve been in the truck while he was high. Usually, car rides with Danny consist of cranked down windows and loud music, of louder conversations and excessive laughter. This drive is quiet, though. 

His hands are steady on the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead. There’s no music, the windows are up, and he doesn’t talk. You watch him carefully from the passenger seat, study him in your paranoia. You haven’t done anything, you don’t think. There’s no reason for him to be mad at you. Unless there is. 

“Did you have a good time?” You ask. Danny nods. “That’s good.”

He turns to face you at a stop sign. “Sorry,” he laughs. “I’m trying to focus.”

“It’s okay,” you nod. 

“It’s harder,” he explains. “It’s hard with you here.”

— — 

The evening you’d anticipated is far from the evening that unfolds. Fifteen minutes, maximum, in and out. That was the plan. But then Daniel—Daniel, and all the far-fetched dreams of him making himself at home in your life, all the passing thoughts you’d had over the years about the what-ifs; the grocery bills and the taxes and the white wine and the rusty barn doors. He glues you to his side for hours that feel like minutes. 

The event is winding down, people keep coming up to him, firm pats on the back and handshakes and hugs goodbye. They tell him how great the place is, how great the wine is, how great he is, and you move around like his shadow, smiling awkwardly whenever someone catches your eye and waiting for the next joke Daniel has to crack quietly, just to you.

You stand at a high-table next to him, elbows on the tabletop, shoulders bumping everytime one of you moves. There were people around the table, a reason—an excuse—for the proximity, but they’re long gone now.  “You know,” Daniel says quietly, dropping his head against his hands, speaking to nobody in the room but you. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“Yeah,” you nod, speak just as softly. “Me too.”

He takes a long drink from the wine glass in front of him. Liquid courage, you know now, for what he was going to do next. The glass returns to the tablecloth with a soft pat, and he lets out a heavy exhale. “I heard there’s a new coffee place opening in Northbridge?” He asks, and you assume it’s because he knows your neighborhood, wants to know more about it. The wine has made you naive, or maybe you’d just pushed the reality of his implication so far from your mind that it’s an impossible thought. 

“Yeah,” you nod. The new coffee shop in Northbridge is a seven minute walk from your apartment, and is on your way to work. You’ve been eyeing the place since the empty building went up for lease. “It’s got this super cute bakery right next door,” you add. “I think they opened last week.”

Daniel nods. “I’d love to try it out.”

“Yeah,” you continue, still genuine and naive and oh-so silly. “You should. I’ve heard good things.”

He laughs, then. Laughs this specific kind of Daniel laugh that you used to get so excited to hear. It meant he was going to do something for—or to—you. He’d laughed like that before he kissed you for the first time, and he’d laughed like that while orange juice ran down his arm and he asked you out for the hundredth time. He’d laughed like that on every anniversary, every birthday, every holiday. It’s Danny’s you laugh. “I’d need someone to go with, though,” he says. And the laugh and the words and the whole thing clicks. Daniel is trying to ask you out. “I don’t really know my way around Northbridge.”

A lie, objectively. One that confirms the assumption you’d just jumped to. Daniel’s first apartment was in Northbridge. He lived eleven minutes from where you live now. He knows the place like the back of his own hand, knows the streets like he used to know you. 

You nod into the bottom of your wine glass, watching the liquid spin around the clear glass. “You don’t?”

He purses his lips, looks all deep in thought. “No,” he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Oh,” you frown, your eyes meeting his. It’s really hard to mess with him when he looks at you like that. Hard, but not impossible. “My dad’s usually around.”

He chuckles. “Your dad, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod, a smile pulling impossibly hard on your lips. “Retirement and all, you know.”

“Oh, sure.”

“I guess…” you shrug, stop spinning your glass and set it down altogether. You push it slowly across the tablecloth towards the center. “I could always show you around, too.”

He leans back, stands up straight and scratches his beard, makes a piss-poor attempt at wiping the dimpled smile off his face when he cocks his head to the side and says, “As much as I like your dad…”

“As much as you like my dad.”

And, because Daniel was never really Daniel, because he’s always going to be your Danny, no matter the time or the distance or anything else that should get in the way, he says: “You’ve always been my honeybee.”

— —

“Don’t call me that, Mom,” you shouted from the office, gathering your morning gear. You were working tours with Danny, today, and the two of you had spent all morning bickering over who gets to be lead and who has to be secondary guide. While you shoved the batteries into the walkie-talkies, you could overhear Danny successfully pleading with your Mom. Honeybee, she’d called out to you. Let Danny take Lead today, won’t you? 

She laughs. You roll your eyes, slipping behind the counter where she leans, where Danny lounges on a stool. You toss Danny’s walkie at his chest, and he catches it before it hits him. She raises her brows pointedly, meets Danny’s eyes in some shared language, a shared silent remark about you. “Why not?”

“Because. It sounds like something Grandma would say.”

Your mom smiles, twirls the end of your ponytail around her finger. “But you’re so sweet”

Danny chokes on his laugh, shooting up straight in his seat to clear his throat, to cough into his elbow. “She is NOT sweet.”

You scowl, shove his shoulder gently. It only makes him, and your mom, laugh harder. “Hey!”

“You make my life sweet, baby girl,” she hums. 

Danny nods, falling back into his comfortable spot, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re kinda like a bee,” he says, leaning back even further. Your entire day would be made by him losing his balance and falling flat on his ass. “You make her life sweet but for me…” he pauses. “You’re just this annoying little buzzing I can’t shoo away.”

Silently, you hold up both middle fingers to him, walking backwards out from behind the counter, towards the back door. Your mom only laughs at you, always laughs at you and Danny. “Love you, Bee,” she calls to you, and winks at Danny. 

“Yeah,” he calls, the stool creaking underneath him as he properly stands up. “Love ya, Bee!”

[artdcnaldson]

looove the patrick’s sister au where art is super mean to her but hear me out im having thoughts and behaving in ways

im gonna emoji sign this if i may just in case you’d like to enable me

alt au where patricks sister is just super super mean and unapologetic like patrick. think sarah michelle gellar in cruel intentions kinda. like fully a bitch and she has a craaazy corruption kink with repressed art

like mayyybee patrick mentioned art wanting to save himself for marriage or smth like that to her and her brain goes brrrrrr i need to defile him… maybe everytime arts at their house she’ll like flirt with him unabashedly… suck on lollipops while looking him in the eye… rub her ass against him pretending to reach for things… and her just having so much fun when he gets all red and flustered and hard :(

idk just some thoughts

- 🐚 (if its available)

This made me need to take a walk. Had to crack open a cold Diet Coke to address this.

But yeah :(( art comes to stay with you and Patrick a lot for summers and holidays since, y’know, he can’t exactly stay at his grandmother’s nursing home.

You and Patrick have lived in the pool house forever— pool house is actually a stupid name for it. It’s a guest house, two full bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a whole loft upstairs. It’s obscene how fucking rich you two are.

And he gets so squirmy when he’s around you and Patrick, but even more when it’s just the two of you alone. He’s been staying up in the loft, pads down the stairs after a lazy, midday nap. And it’s just you on the couch, watching a movie. It’s dark, maybe he slept later than he thought he did.

“Where’s Pat?”

You shrug, pat the sofa beside you. He sits, but leaves an entire cushion between the two of you. “I think he’s fucking the neighbor. The one with the cute curly hair.” Art flushes, ducks his head. You smile, showing off pretty teeth. “Aw… I’m sorry, should I have said he’s making love to the neighbor?”

“Shut up,” he mutters. He’s pink to the tips of his ears.

It’s interesting, you think, that he told Patrick he’s saving himself. It’s sweet, very… admirable. But it’s such a fucking waste. He looks so yummy in his flannel pajama pants and grey tank top that shows off his muscles.

“So, you’re a virgin?” You ask, turning to face him. His eyes go wide before his face twists in annoyance. He splutters out weak— what did Pat say— That’s none of your business— you’re so out of line— but you interrupt. “No need to be shy about it, Art. I think it’s… very cute you want to wait until your wedding night. I’m sure you’ll have a really riveting time figuring out where it goes.”

“Shut up.” It’s the second time he’s said it that night. He really needs to work on his comebacks.

“I can give you a hint,” you say with a grin, scooting across the empty cushion until your knees touch. “There are two main holes down there, and it’s the one that gets all slick and wet when she’s turned on.” He clenches his jaw, looks away.

You laugh and sit back, only slightly. “Aren’t you going to thank me for the tip?”

He turns back, eyes narrowed. “You’re not very funny.”

“Was I joking?” You trail a finger up his arm, give him a crooked smile. “Really, Art, it’s sweet. Maybe I should’ve saved my virginity for a nicer boy instead of losing it in the golf cart shed at the country club.”

He stammers. “You— you could always—“ he can’t even meet your gaze, it’s too humiliating. The smug expression you wear pins him in place. “Start now. Promise to not have sex anymore, not until it’s with someone you love. It’s— it’s more special that way.”

You stick out your bottom lip. “You think I deserve special?” You ask softly. He shivers as your fingers trace swirls onto his chest. “That I need candles and rose petals and soft jazz music when someone stuffs me full of their cock?”

It’s too precious. Too good. His cheeks flame and he sits back. He stands suddenly, doesn’t even look at you as he marches back upstairs. You grin and listen to the sound of the shower turning on upstairs.

You wait until you hear the scrape of the shower curtain closing to pad upstairs and sit outside of the door. A smug grin spreads across your lips at the sound of him jerking off.

All whiny, poorly muffled moans, the slick sound of him beating his dick. All, ah! ah! ah! oh, fuck! god— fuck! You can tell when he cums based on how pitchy and whiny he gets, and the way you hear his head knock against the tile.

You fight the urge to let him know you heard, instead you slip back downstairs. When he comes down, you’ve switched the movie, act like you’d never left at all. You can see the guilt in his expression, like he knew he’d done something bad.

God, he’d be so easy.

[athenasdaydreams]

pairing: jess mariano x fem!reader

summary: jess does not want to, and would never dance. except this one time

chapter warnings: none to my knowledge!!

A/N: Guess what dumbass pressed ctrl z and deleted all her work so she had to type it out again. OKAY IT'S BEEN A WHOLE YEAR SINCE I POSTED OR SOMETHING BUT I GOT TIRED OF STUDYING AND DECIDED TO FINISH THIS UP TO TIE UP SOME LOOSE ENDS

You had your legs on a table of Luke's diner, and you could not fathom how anyone could ever be more bored than this. You had to sit through Liz Danes' bachelorette party. You could imagine anything that would have been better than this. Being out with Rory and Paris, talking to Lorelai, or even letting Michel show you pictures of his chow chows. Letting out a sigh, you went back to reading Anna Karenina while the middle-aged women were talking about women not being monogamous creatures. "Is this how turkey legs are supposed to look?" Luke asked with a pained expression on his face. Carrie, one of the louder ones, said something about him taking his pants off so they could see for themselves. As much as you hated it, their conversations were kind of interesting. "Get your legs off my table I've got customers eating on 'em," Luke scolded as he looked at the turkey leg in his hand, as if he hoped that it would tell him whether it was cooked or not. You put your legs down and continued reading.

"I need to get some batteries, I'll be back," Jess said as he walked down the stairs. He noticed you were at the diner and stopped in his tracks. "Didn't know that you liked spending your afternoons with middle aged women." That comment made Carrie and the other women gasp. "The old ladies I wanted to knit with were busy, so I had to find company."

"Good book though," He said while you hummed in response. "Jess, Jess! Come over here and meet my oldest friends!" Liz said as she beckoned him over. Jess looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. "Girls, this is Jess," Liz said proudly. A chorus of 'hellos' sounded. "Hello, handsome," Carrie said as she winked. You had to stifle a laugh for the sake of Jess. "He's going to walk me down the aisle! Is that cool or what?" Liz said to her group.

"It's no big deal," Jess said, trying to draw away attention from him. You found this funny. "It's a very big deal," you said with a dramatic look on your face. Jess gave an unimpressed look. At that time, a deliveryman walked through the door.

"Can I help you?" Luke asked with the confusion written across his face. "Got a package here." "From who? I'm not expecting anything?"

"It's a very important package," the deliveryman said with a serious look on his face. Luke stepped closer. "But there's no address on it?"

Jess smirked as he looked over to you. "I was going to go to the bookstore after getting batteries. Care to join?" he said, extending his hand to you. Looking for any way to escape this situation, you obliged. "Bye Luke, see you later."

"Have fun," Jess said with a laugh as you left the diner and heard a muffled "Have fun with what?!" as music started blaring from the inside.

-

"I was already having a bad day and then some guy had to spill his coffee all over my new blouse and my copy of crime and punishment," you lamented to Jess while you walked towards the bookstore which you frequented. "I didn't have enough money to get myself a new copy and a new blouse, so I decided to get the blouse because of my internship." Jess smiled at that. You were hardworking and diligent, while he was... less of that. You just got the coveted internship at one of the most competitive law firms in Connecticut, and you needed to make a good impression; a shiny copy of crime and punishment accompanied by a coffee stained lavender blouse wouldn't exactly do that.

The jingle of the door chime woke you from your thoughts about your precious copy of crime and punishment. Jess bent his head and didn't say anything to Kirk, the acting cashier, while you smiled and greeted him. You knew he wasn't one for politeness, so you tried to compensate.

"There's something I think you'll like." Jess meandered towards a shelf hidden at the back. You cluelessly trailed, wondering what book it could be. Knowing Jess, it could be a 2000 page book about a whale or a 20 page romance novel; the man read anything and everything with words on it. When he pulled a book off a shelf, your jaw dropped.

The blood-red lettering reading "crime and punishment" contrasted starkly to the obsidian binding that you ran your fingertips across.

"wow, this must cost a fortune, maybe i'll get it once my paycheck can get me more than one cup of instant ramen."

"let's go, i need to see what the guy at the diner did to luke,"

-

"does this dress look like too much?" you ask while twirling around in front of Lorelai. "no, this one is perfect. It makes you look like you'd be sitting in a tower waiting for your prince to save you from a dragon." You looked at her while she lounged on the couch in the house you had graciously invited yourself into. Well, she wasn't wrong. The dress was a light blue, silky fabric billowing around your ankles. The sleeves added to the whimsicalness of the dress. "only if the prince was Jesse Bradford,"

"you know what would make Prince Bradford fall in love with you even more? this flower crown," Lorelai said as she got up and pulled out a pretty-looking headband from a shelf. She put it on you and turned you towards a mirror.

"rory never let me dress her up like a princess; i should adopt you."

-

"hear ye, hear ye! announcing the arrival of her Royal Highness, the Princess, finally gracing us with her presence!"

"shut up, i was five minutes late; being a princess is hard work, you should know," you joked to Jess. You two met up near the gazebo, his reasoning being that he needed to make fun of you all dressed up as long as he could before he had to walk his mom down the aisle. "do you want to go get a seat? you're gonna be here for a long time. or maybe not, i've only been to three of my mom's weddings. "aren't you gonna sit down too?" you asked. "my mom wants me there to give her "emotional support" whatever that means," he joked as he led you to a seat next to lorelai and luke. Carrie from the diner yesterday was talking to them. lorelai looked concerned and luke just looked uncomfortable.

"hey, is everything alright?"

"no, there's gonna be a delay since liz ripped her dress and it's gonna take some time to fix it," carrie explained. "she told me to spread the message,"

"well, spread it car." luke got a suggestive look from carrie. "the message, the message." When carrie walked away, luke looked like he hadn't gotten oxygen in a good five minutes. "that woman makes me uncomfortable."

"poor liz, does she know how to fix something like that?" you asked jess and luke. "she was never one for household skills-" "i used to stitch up her renaissance fair costumes. trust me, she can't" jess interrupted luke. "i'll go see if she needs some help. where did you say she was?"

"she's at miss patty's,

-

You could hear Liz's laments from outside miss patty's. "my dress is ruined! how am i going to get married in a torn dress?" you pushed open the doors to Miss Patty's and gave Liz a concerned look. "I heard you needed some help? can i do anything for you Liz?" you asked, moving over to take a look at her dress. "I'm such a klutz, i tripped standing up and now its torn," she held up the side of her dress where there was an obvious tear. You grimaced and picked up the Doose's brand sewing kit from the table next to her, attempting to fix her dress.

"There you go! as good as new," you finished up the last stitch on her dress. "Oh, you're such a darling," Liz fixed up her hair. "you'd make a great daughter in law to a lucky lady someday. Could you tell jess to get ready for my grand entrance?"

The implied message didn't go past you. With cheeks redder than what your dollar store blush could get you, you thanked her and went down to the gazebo.

-

The ceremony passed by quickly, with you and Jess trying to think of sad and miserable things to make you stop laughing at the proceedings. "Oh man, i swear to you my wedding's gonna be better than whatever that was," you said, wiping the tears of laughter from your eyes as everyone went to the buffet line to get some food. "We'll see that," jess said as he inspected a turkey leg before putting it on his plate. You gave him an offended look. "Do you not think my wedding would be so much better than this 1500s medieval thing going on out here? I'd totally pick out a better theme," you said as you piled some mysterious looking food onto your plate. "I highly doubt that, and I hope you know that what you're putting on your plate is minced liver."

Your hand froze right right before you almost dumped another spoonful food onto your plate. You promptly pushed off the whole serving of minced liver back into the serving bowl. "That was so uncouth of you, private school girl. Did they not teach you manners at your finishing school?" You elbowed jess in the side as you chose a much more appetising looking burger prepared specially, from luke's. "one, i'm in college now; two let's sit down. I don't think they taught you table manners either city boy,"

-

After finishing up your dinner, you two decided to walk around to socialise. If socialise meant to make fun of every person in renaissance attire.

"the guy in the pantaloons probably thinks energy drinks count as water," jess pressed his lips to your ear, narrowly missing your cheek because of how much you were laughing. Everyone must have thought you two were drunk or high, from how hard you two were laughing. That was when you heard medieval sounding music playing where everyone had gathered.

"jess. you have to dance to this. i physically need to see it," you clung onto his arm, bringing him to the area near the gazebo, where Liz and TJ were dancing. They were doing some complicated looking dance straight out of the middle ages. "no way am i doing that. i'd rather slam my tongue in a car door." "please...?" "no." "...pretty please?" "fine, but you're coming out there with me." and before you could say no, he'd already dragged you to the dancefloor.

you'd be lying if you said you didn't have fun embarrassing yourselves. you'd only been dragged out of the dancefloor because TJ wanted to seranade Liz with a special dance just for her, and boy, were you glad you didn't have to see that.

-

Jess was walking you over to the gilmore house, where you'd been crashing with lorelai since your exams had been over. You, being a rich international student who's parents knew Richard and Emily Gilmore, had been asked to stay with them when you went to Chilton, and to Yale subsequently. Of course you could always tell them that your exams hadn't ended yet, and you were still staying at Yale, but where's the fun in that? You, lorelai, and rory, were planning on having a weekend of binging old movies and junking on the most unhealthy food you could find, so being a few days early wasn't a problem.

"after this is back to new york?" you asked him while approaching the door of lorelai's house. "maybe not, this time. might stay here for a bit; it's not that bad," he responded, leaning on the door. "any plans for summer?" you looked up at him. "you know, i've always wanted a summer romance. you know the type you read in the books, the notebook and stuff like that," you played with the straps of your purse. "maybe that'll be one of my plans," he said as he grabbed your waist and held you right up to him. "want it to be longer than just summer though." he pressed his lips to yours as he ran his fingers through your hair. you took a second to react, but you were kissing him back too. when you pulled apart for air, breathing heavy, you smiled.

"can't wait"

wc: 2.1k

[galactickle]

Jealousy

James Maguire x reader

Summary: reader is jealous of james and katya, and becomes really good friends with david donnelly, but james thinks david and the reader are something more.

Masterlist

“Who is this?” Katya asks, her accent thick.

“Oh, that's just James,” Erin replies.

“You are handsome,” Katya says, “and also sexy.”

Everyone in the room was shocked by this revelation.

“Is her English not great?” Michelle asks.

Katya looks James up and down before getting up and kissing him.

The girls continued to make comments as you all watched them kiss, but you heard nothing they said. You had been secretly crushing on James for a little while, unbeknownst to your best friends, and the sight of him kissing the Ukrainian had you seeing red.

~~~

You were at Brennan's eating lunch with the gang. The girls were all fighting about something or other while you picked at your food silently, when Jenny showed up with her Ukrainian lad.

“Listen, I have a feeling Artem and a few of the others are a bit homesick,” Jenny explained, “It'd be nice for them to spend some time together. So I’m having a soiree at my place tonight. It's going to be great!”

Just then, Erin’s longtime crush and a good friend of yours, David, walks in. You were closer to David than the other girls, as your parents were friends with his.

He looks around the restaurant until he sees Jenny. “Hey, do you have the playlist for tonight then?” he shoots your group a smile and a nod.

Jenny hands him a piece of paper, “I'll need the sound system set up by 7.”

“Is your band playing at this thing?”

“Oh no, I just do a bit of DJing on the side.” he laughs and heads to order some food.

“On second thought, I think this party might be good for Katya,” Erin says to Jenny.

Just then you look up to see James and Katya making out right in the middle of the restaurant. You look down at your food in disgust, then excuse yourself to go to the washroom.

~~~

At the party, the first thing you saw when you walked in was David at his DJ stand, you waved hello to him before going to find your friends.

You mingled at the party a bit before you got tired of Erin freaking out about Katya taking James’ virginity. You found yourself hanging out with David, talking and drinking beer. David was cool and you enjoyed talking to him, it got your mind off of James for a bit… until you all heard a commotion upstairs, you followed David and the others to the stairwell, only catching the end of the argument.

“--How dare you? I am poor Ukrainian, so I must be prostitute!” Katya yells. You raise your eyebrows in shock.

Erin comes to address the crowd forming on the stairs, “Hear me out, first she comes on to James here. What would possess her?” you roll your eyes, “Financial gain, that's what!”

“He attractive boy, Erin.” Katya reasons.

“He's English, Katya.” Erin replies offhandedly.

“I have no problem with this.”

“You should,” Michelle butts in.

Erin continues yelling about the condoms in Katya's bag, and the money the Ukrainians have been giving her all evening.

“How the hell do you explain that?” Erin asks Katya in regards to the money.

“I organize, how you say it, whip round. We like to buy Jenny present to thank her for nice party.” Katya explains in her normal, but angry voice.

“Ohhh, you guys!!”Jenny replies sweetly.

Erin is left speechless, as is everyone else.

“So not only you insult me, but you've also spoiled Jenny’s surprise!” Katya adds.

“I think you should leave,” Jenny states. you sink back behind David in the crowd, not wanting to associate or even be seen by your friends. You could feel their eyes on you though, as they passed by in shame.

“You can still hang with me for the rest of the night,” David offered, you smiled slightly at him and nodded.

You spent the next little while drinking and talking, but David could tell you were a little off.

“So what’s up?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, taking a swig of your beer.

“You seem… distracted, sad even.”

“Nah, it's nothing,” you try to brush it off.

“Obviously it's not, so spill.”

“I… I.. have a wee bit of a crush on James…” you say with a pained look on your face.

David nods and hums in agreement. “So the whole Katya thing…?” he trails off.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.. that sucks, well, if it's any sentiment, he's gotta be into you too, because like every guy in Derry is into you,” He nudges you shoulder.

You laugh, “Yeah, OK.”

“It’s true!!” David chuckles.

“Okay, okay, I believe you!” you look around at the dwindling party, “Well… I should probably get going,” sigh, getting up from your spot on the floor.

“Want me to walk you home?” David offers, getting up as well.

“Yeah, I’d like that, thanks,” you smile at him as he sticks out his elbow for you to take.

The walk home is full of drunken giggles and nonsense.

When you reached your house, you turned to David to say thank you again, and, unbeknownst to you, James was looking out his window watching. He had been waiting to make sure you got home alright, after he realized you hadn't followed the group out of the party.

“Thank you,” you smiled up at David.

“No problem,” he replied, “we should hang out more.���

“I agree,” you laughed. You leant up on your tiptoes and gave him a peck on the cheek, “Goodnight, David.” With that, you turned on your heel and walked into your house, David yelling ‘goodnight’ after you.

~~~

The next couple weeks, James didn't talk to you, which you didn't mind because you had been ignoring him before anyways. Plus now you were in a good mood due to your blooming friendship with David. It’s not that you had romantic feelings for him, but you did really like him, although you would never do something to hurt Erin.

The whole friend group watched in confusion as you and David became closer friends. After a couple weeks of silence James finally blew up.

“Why are you hanging out with him?” You were at Michelle’s house, you and James were alone in the kitchen getting drinks.

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“David, why do you keep hanging out with him?” James repeated.

“I don't know, he's nice and fun to be around..”

“So are we!” James countered.

“Fine. Why did you let Katya kiss you?”

“I--I..”

The girls had heard the commotion and came into the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Erin asked.

No one said anything for a second..

“I saw Y/N kiss David Donnelley!” James exclaims. You gape at him.

“What?” The girls gasp.

“No! I didn't! I kissed him on the cheek-- which is a totally different thing! I was just saying thank you for walking me home!”

“How could you Y/N?” Orla asks, cradling Erin's head.

You shake your head, then turn and leave. James follows you outside, “So what? You're just gonna leave?”

“Yeah! Well, it doesn't feel like I’m welcomed there anymore!” you yell back, exasperated.

“Y/N!” you could hear a change in tone in James’ voice, was that desperation? “Wait! I've been a dick, I’m so sorry!”

You slowly turn towards him, “Yeah, you have been.”

“I’m sorry I just.. didn't like seeing you with him,” James reveals.

“How do you think I felt about Katya?” you say quietly.

James looks at you, confused, for a moment, “Wait-- you mean?” you nod in a response, smiling crookedly.

James runs forward, enveloping you in a hug, “I’m so sorry,” he whispers in your shoulder.

“Me too.” And your lips collide in the most beautiful kiss either of you have ever experienced

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

The common thread I've seen in a lot of posts about Ted's decision to return to Kansas is the question of whether he's happier there or in Richmond. Here's the thing, though: in my view, Ted's character arc is not about (or not only about) finding a place where he is happy, but rather learning to coexist with discomfort so that he can be present for the people and in the place that matters most to him.

When Ted is sixteen years old, his father commits suicide. His mother doesn't know how to process her grief or help Ted process his, so she pushes all her messy, painful emotions down under a blanket of cheerful optimism and Ted follows suit. He grows into adulthood unable to acknowledge his sadness or anger, which leads to the dissolution of his marriage. (Ted's reaction to Dottie during her visit illustrates how wearing this attitude would be from the other side.) Michelle asks for space, very likely intending for him to move into another house in the same city where he could do an equal share of co-parenting, and instead he moves halfway across the world to coach a sport he knows nothing about.

Ted builds a community in Richmond, because of course he does: he is very, very good at connecting with people. Part of that is because he's determined not to let anyone get by him who might be hurting, as he says, but he's also clearly a naturally sociable person — there is virtually no way he didn't have these kinds of connections in Kansas. While his life in Richmond seems more "real" to us, the audience, because that's the part of his life we see, for Ted, his "real life" has always been in Kansas. He misses Henry, obviously, but he's also intensely homesick: for most of the show, he fails to integrate to a degree that seems almost wilful; he only tells stories about his life in Kansas and the people he knew there; he goes to a terrible American restaurant in Amsterdam and the first thing he thinks of when he sees Van Gogh's Sunflowers is home.

All of which is to say that while Ted creates some deep and hopefully lasting connections in Richmond, it's not where he fundamentally wants to be. He wants to be present for his son; he wants to live in the state where he grew up and which he clearly loves — and that means facing his grief and anger at his father's suicide, and the fact that Henry will one day grow up and leave him, and the reality of his divorce and his ex-wife's new relationship (although I really, really wish they'd chosen literally any other man to be the new boyfriend if they didn't want to address the implications of Michelle dating their former marriage counsellor).

[graceandfamily]

Edward Quinn meets Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier of Monaco

I was lucky to have been there when they first met.

During the Cannes Film Festival in 1955, an editorial director of Paris Match, Gaston Bonheur, suggested that a meeting between the Hollywood star Grace Kelly and the bachelor Prince Rainier of Monaco could make a nice story.

When he was asked, Prince Rainier agreed and an appointment was arranged. As I already knew and had photographed Prince Rainier and also Grace Kelly, I was asked by Match to go with their team. There was Pierre Galante, then married to actress Olivia de Havilland, Jean-Paul Olivier and Michel Simon. Grace kept us late, so the American car that was to bring her had to speed off. Just as we got to the main road, the driver, Monsieur Lapinière, a Metro Goldwyn representative, suddenly braked. As I was driving very close, so as not to be left behind, I could not stop and crashed into the back of Grace’s car. Fortunately, there was no great damage and we were able to go on.

As there had been no time for lunch, Grace said she wouldn’t mind having a sandwich, so we went to the bar of the Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo.

Grace Kelly at the bar of Hotel de Paris.

We got to the palace just after three o’clock, the time set for the rendezvous with the prince. Colonel Severac, the commander of the Palace, came to greet us and explained that Prince Rainier was delayed, but he had telephoned to say that Miss Kelly’s visit to the palace could begin without him. One of Prince Rainier’s personal servants, Michel Demorizi, guided us around some of the great number of rooms in the palace.

In the “Salle du Throne”, Monsieur Demorizi explained that all the reigning princes of the Grimaldi family had been enthroned in this room. We moved through the York Chambers, the “Salle des Glaces” and into the Napoleonic museum, where Grace was obviously impressed when she was shown a lock of Napoleon’s hair. The only one amongst us who did not seem to enjoy the visit was Monsieur Lapinière. It was now nearly four o’clock, and he said that Grace had to leave at once if she was to be ready in time for the official American reception for the festival.

After a while, we all got worried and began to think that Prince Rainier might not come. By now even Grace showed some signs of nervousness, but perhaps not for the same reason. She looked around for a mirror to make sure her makeup was alright. While we all waited, Grace questioned us: How does one address a prince? Could Prince Rainier speak English? How old is he?

Finally, the prince arrived and Grace Kelly, who had rehearsed her royal curtsy several times, hardly bent her knee when she was face to face with Prince Rainier. With a reassuring smile and a simple “Hello, pleased to meet you”, the prince seemed to put Grace at ease.

Grace Kelly meets Prince Rainier. The moment of the first formal handshake.

It was amazing, however, that these two famous persons seemed shy and intimidated. Grace looked at Rainier and seemed at loss for words.

Sensing this tension, I thought it might be an appropriate moment to suggest that I would like to take some photos in the palace gardens. This broke the ice. Prince Rainier was relieved and agreed at once. Naturally my main reason for asking them to go outside was just a photographer’s reaction. The light was better outside and of course the garden would make a better setting. Prince Rainier took Grace over to a spot where he could show her the view over his principality. They were both relaxed now. Their conversation became easier and they seemed to be getting on well.

Prince Rainier took Grace down to his exotic gardens and then to his lions’ cage. Grace seemed astonished and quite frightened when Rainier put his arm into the cage and stroked one of the lions. We were all quite happy to prolong this enjoyable visit, but the merciless Monsieur Lapinière seemed on the verge of a nervous fit and kept pointing to his watch. Grace had to take the hint and explained to Prince Rainier that she must go back to Cannes as soon as possible.

Probably not even Prince Rainier realized, while he was doing the honour of showing his palace to Grace Kelly, that she was to be the future sovereign. Grace was quite silent as she was driven back to Cannes. Her only remark was: “He is charming, charming.”

The pictures of Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier appeared in Paris Match, but the story was quickly forgotten by most people, except by Prince Rainier and perhaps by Grace Kelly. Prince Rainier arranged for showings of all of Grace Kelly’s films in his private screening room at the palace. According to his friends, the prince was intrigued and fascinated by the cool enigmatic star from Hollywood.

When Prince Rainier visited the U.S. a few months later, there were a few discreet meetings with Grace Kelly, thanks to the kindly American priest who was Prince Rainier’s palace chaplain, Father Tucker.

Prince Rainier asked Grace Kelly to marry him during a private party in New York. The unofficial news of their engagement travelled very fast and on January 4th, 1956, I was awakened in the middle of the night by a telephone call from New York. At that time long distance calls were still an event. It was Charles Eisnitz of the famous Globe Photo Agency, who called to inform me about Prince Rainier’s engagement and asked me to send all the photos I had of the couple.

The end of the story is well known. After the marriage of Prince Rainier and Grace Kelly, it became more and more difficult to get exclusive pictures. I decided to concentrate my work on the artists, and especially on Pablo Picasso.

Edward Quinn

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Meghan's Prostitution Resurfaces amid her Links to Prince Andrew

I think everyone on tumblr knows that when Dorito told Joshua Silverstein that Meghan was "traveling the world as a MODEL" (5'2 ordinary looks and political ambitions) she was doing more to earn money than take photos in tacky clothes.

I'm a big fan of TRGs work. In a video, she addressed the recent article that connects the transactional relationships that put Meghan Markle into Harry's orbit.

What surprised me most was the large number of comments from people who really had no idea that Meghan's past most likely put her in Jeffrey Epstein's orbit. Even Lady C has spoken about rumors that Meghan allegedly met Prince Andrew before she actually met Harry. Lady C also said she knows things about Meghan that are encased in cement: "the press knows, everyone knows."

While I'm glad TRG finally told her audience that both Harry and Meghan were in Istanbul Turkey in April 2015 she did get several other details wrong. It's important to connect the dots but the people in her comments section aren't doing their own research like what we do here on Tumblr which is the reason I get concerned when misinformation is spead on YouTube etc because it makes people question the validity of the entire thesis.

Here are my notes to TRG:

1-According to Bower, Fitzpatrick---- MM met via golfer Rory McIlroy. MM pursued Rory like everyone else, via her social media & she used the ice bucket challenge to meet him. He sent her the challenge and she told him to come over and do it himself. Rory was staying at John Fitzpatrick's nyc hotel. Rory helps John with good PR for Ireland.

I think you actually spoke about this mtg bc I recall you speaking about the notorious late night parties at Chiprioni's. Perhaps you forgot. Use the Revenge index to read the full story. Mm pursued Rory. Fitzpatrick seems to tag along with Rory for the celebrity social scene. Back then, Mm was desperately searching for an athlete (or prince) boyfriend bc Chef Cory wasn't good enough to be the future father of her kids (clearly she didn't consider harry's low IQ). Whatever she has been trained to do in bed, it ruined Rory's golf game and yet he still went back for more the next day. Mm also documented their mtg on her social media & featured Rory on the blog something she wouldn't do for cory.

2-Fitzpatrick & Sarah Rafferty are also close. He may have known Rafferty b4 markle. He works to unite Irish celebrities & to back ($) globalists like the Clintons on behalf of Ireland. I consider him to be a lobbyist. He's rumored to be gay but perhaps like mm he's fluid. He has met Charles on multiple occasions in his "lobbyist" role and he knew charles b4 he met mm. He invited her to meet Obama at the WH. Allegedly they flew or met up with her buddy Ron Burkle (Soho House owner) whose plane she frequented as did Bill Clinton. BTW-When Clinton staffers were asked why they allowed Clinton to hang out with slimy Ron Burkle they said, "let us know when you figure it out." Check the daily mail for a pending sexual assault law suit against bill clinton filed by 3 or 4 females who were teenagers when bill was flying around with burkle on air*uck1. The law suit resurfaced about 3 or 4 years ago. Of course our American media didn't cover it. The Daily Mail helped the girls reach out to Burkle & Clinton for hush money.

3-Fitzpatrick is responsible for hillary obtaining that ridiculous "chancellor" position in Ireland after she lost the 2016 election & after the UK approved Brexit.

4-mm wasn't the 1st girl "sent" to date harry. Several years ago, the brf was warned that their participation was expected & if not, "they" could put someone in their inner circle.

Enter the Obamas. They invited Harry to Chicago & filled up his head with woke nonsense. He decided he wanted to find his own "michelle obama." He specifically was interested in a left wing, black woman.

A very brown skin black woman (who lived in Texas) was asked to date harry. We know this bc after mm popped up, the very sweet, pretty young woman revealed that she had been asked to date harry but she turned (the backers) them down. She said, "I couldn't do THAT to harry. This explains Barack Obama's hot mic-ish convo w/harry during an invictus basketball game. Instead of watching the game, Obama had made a special trip to Toronto to check-in with harry on how things were going w/mm.

This also explains the reason mm thought she could gatecrash Michelle's London book event to meet her. Mm really thinks of herself as that vip who infiltrated the brf on behalf of the world's globalists. She feels like they owe her and she's one of them. She thinks she became a first lady who deserves billions of dollars bc she slept w/harry. She's delusional.

Remember when she cleared the stands at Wimbledon? Watch the video and you'll see her friend Lindsay Roth Jordan telling her "smile. look happy." The other friend said "put your hat on." That hat is a message, a symbol to her clients & in this case those backers. Shortly after the Wimbledon fiasco Hillary Clinton went on the record to say the press was racist. You can watch both of Hillary's statements- one recorded w/Chelsea & the other for a uk radio program.

5-Allegedly mm was involved with Jean Luc Brunel's MC2 model management which was financed by JEpstein. There is an infamous photo of Mm with Epstein's Rachel "Ray" Chandler.

6-we know mm was traveling the world "modeling" bc Dorito told Joshua Silverstein those exact words. We've seen many of the hideous photographs & a few videos🤢 Remember she also knows Harvey Weinstein who labeled her hopeless as an actress but told her she should use her long legs.😂

7-there is evidence to indicate that she attended NXIVM training---the clintons (& soros) used nxivm to blackmail the majority of new york state. It's possible that mm even recruited for nxivm nyc or toronto. NXIVM was also THRIVING on Vancouver island.

Fun fact: Trump had no idea that mm had made ugly comments about him during the campaign. So why did he go on the record and say I'm not a fan of hers & Harry's gonna need a lot of luck? He said that BEFORE he was told about the things she said during the campaign.

I believe he had classified info on her. He probably also knew about her nyc reputation w/business men like those at cantor fitzgerald. And we all know she allegedly slept with Trump's former treasury secretary who attended the UK state dinner (steve Mnuchin)

8-we also know that mm is desperate for security. Harry's job was to clean up her past which included IPP status. She wants to wear blood diamonds, but she wants to be protected from the men who gave them to her. She's afraid of her past. The rumors are that Tyler Perry is her next mark. The irony is that she would have invited him to the wedding had he been white. But back then, she was too good for Madea. Now she's desperate. Perhaps she will seduce Tyler Perry into a marriage for his billions, his island & for SECURITY. He's revealed himself as a thirsty liar who can be bought. (btw-he's trying to purchase BET).

No one else cares about her. She & noprah had no idea how those manipulated headlines and the lies out of their mouths would cause even the LA paparazzi to despise her. She went from being a wanna be covergirl whose covers didn't sell magazines to a lying "royal" that the paparazzi don't want to photograph.

9-no one seems to know what issue the Queen was told (or Charles) "they" (the world's globalists) or rather threatened over. I think it was Brexit but it also could have been global warming??? But Hillary and Obama were so bold in their UK appearances & threats over Brexit that I tend to think they wanted QE to persuade the people to go against it. Good for her letting the people decide. Too bad Charles seems to be so wishy washy.

Allegedly Mm went to Tony Blair and requested his help. She wants an ambassadorship or something similar. Why did she think Tony Blair would help her??? IMO Tony might have been the person who shared the "your participation is expected" message, meaning he's in on this mess & most likely some UK judges & church bishops as well.

10-Harry wasn't allowed to marry Meghan because of her "proximity" to Prince Andrew. It was the RACE card. Meghan did however play the Prince Andrew card during MEGXIT negotiations and we've watch her deranged squad bring up Andrew everytime there is a criticism about Meghan.

Even now, Meghan allegedly demanded HRH for the invisibles because Beatrice & Eugenie still use their dad's HRH. I've always thought that the Sussex attorneys have been using Prince Andrew as their benchmark in negotiations with the BRF.

Edit: it is important to note that mm made anti-brexit posts on her ig the same week she "officially" persuaded violet to become their public matchmaker. She also fed the writers of the lifetime movie script a racist narrative that stemmed from brexit. I dont think any of this was a coincidence.

The world is upside down. Maranatha!

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 8/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

She’s in the kitchen rinsing out her coffee mug when his arm snakes around her waist. She startles a little, a shock of deja vu making her ears ring at how similar it feels to the man, and the green countertops. Cal presses the front of his body against her back and whispers in her ear. 

“Good morning, mija. How did you sleep?”

She feels herself blush a little, but she turns her head to the side and accepts his kiss. 

“Good. You?”

“So good,” he says softly, his lips held against her cheek. 

He moves away from her, filling his own mug and saying hello to the children. He takes his medication and she shakes her head to indicate that she’s already taken hers. 

“Shit, we only have one vitamin left,” he says, shaking the last one into his palm. “Can you grab some on your way home from work?”

“I have an appointment with Michelle after my shift today. I asked you to pick Peter up from daycare, remember?” she reminds him, and he nods. 

“Right, I almost forgot. We can get them tomorrow, no big deal.”

He hands the last vitamin to Peter, then ruffles Abby’s hair and steals two bites of her waffle. 

“We’re running late, Pete, gotta get a move on,” he tells the child, and soon everyone is out of the house en route to school or work. 

-

“Are there any changes since our last appointment? Anything that jumps out as worthy of discussion?”

Dana sucks in a breath and Michelle’s eyebrows lift slightly, interested. She waits patiently while Dana gathers her thoughts. 

“Cal and I—we were…intimate,” she gets out, avoiding eye contact. 

“And what was that experience like for you?” Michelle asks. 

“It was fine. It was good, actually. It was nice to be—close to him in that way. But—”

The silence stretches on, and Dana finally forces herself to look at Michelle, who has a sympathetic smile on her mouth. 

“Take as much time as you need,” she says reassuringly. 

“I had hoped that being intimate with Cal would make the dreams stop, or at least taper off in some way, but it was immediately clear that they didn’t,” Dana says in a measured, practical tone. “In fact, I had the most vivid dream I’ve had yet just after we had sex.”

Michelle straightens up in her seat, her eyebrows furrowing. 

“Really? In what sense?” she asks. 

“He spoke, and I could hear and understand him,” Dana says, staring into the distance as she recalls the dream. “Once before I was able to hear and understand something I said in a dream, but typically when he speaks there’s no sound. I heard his voice, as clear as if he were right beside me. It was actually a bit unsettling.”

“What did he say?” Michelle asks, readying her pen. 

“He…he told me he loved me. And he called me ‘Scully,’ which is my maiden name,” Dana supplies. 

“Hm,” Michelle says noncommittally. “And what do you make of that?”

“I have no idea,” Dana answers honestly. “No one has ever addressed me by my last name without any honorific. Perhaps he was a patient and said “Dr. Scully” and I just missed it. But even so, why would he say “Scully” and not “Rose”? On top of that, the idea that I’d engage in an intimate relationship with a patient is even more difficult to believe than being unfaithful to Cal.”

“This bothers you,” Michelle comments, and Dana nods tersely. 

“The inscrutable nature of it is disturbing. I have just enough information to be thoroughly confused, but not enough to actually search out any answers. At this point, I think I’d rather just know, even if it means confirming that I was unfaithful. I guess I just wish I could somehow put it to rest.”

Michelle sits back and considers her for a moment, then sets her notebook aside. 

“We could increase the dosage on your medication,” she suggests. “If you feel prepared for the possibility of remembering things that might be hard to live with.”

Dana looks at her sharply. 

“Do you think the medication is having any effect? I have yet to recall any details of my life before the accident. I was actually going to ask about discontinuing it.”

Michelle shrugs. 

“It’s hard to say, Dana. It’s still experimental at this point. But if your dreams are, as we suspect, actually memories, then it’s possible that the Numerol is what’s increasing the frequency and vividness of those dreams.”

Dana runs her thumbnail back and forth across her bottom lip, debating. What will it mean for her if she remembers more, and those memories are painful ones? But the idea of continuing like this, being haunted by her own mistakes, also feels unbearable. 

“Okay, we may as well try it,” she tells Michelle. 

“If you aren’t comfortable with the effects, we can always pull back,” Michelle assures her. “You should be able to swing by the in-house pharmacy and fill it before you go. You can start your new dose tonight, if you like.”

“I typically take it in the morning,” Dana objects, and again Michelle shrugs. 

“You can take one tonight and another in the morning. It shouldn’t hurt anything, but it’s your decision. You can wait until tomorrow if that feels more comfortable.”

That night, she stands before the mirror in the master bathroom, trailing her fingertips over the scar on her belly. The new Numerol prescription sits on the countertop, and she wonders what she might see if she takes it tonight. Will she learn the man’s name? Will she recall more clearly how they came to be? Her desire to know is in direct conflict with her desire to move on, to learn to love this life, to be happy. 

“You coming to bed, mija?” Cal calls from the other room, and she feels her body tense a little. 

“Be right there,” she answers. 

She puts on her pajamas. She brushes her teeth. She washes her face. She takes the Numerol. She goes to bed with her husband. 

She doesn’t dream. 

-

“Ms. Gibbs said we’re going to learn about the ocean today,” Abby says excitedly, her slightly sticky hand joined with Dana’s. 

“That sounds fun,” Dana comments. “My favorite sea creature is a dolphin. What’s yours?”

“I like sharks ‘cause they eat people,” Abby says, then cackles. 

They are quiet as they near the bus stop, and Dana breathes in the sweet, warm air full of the promise of summer. Abby kicks at the sidewalk, breaking off a clump of moss embedded in a crack, and Dana lets her mind wander as they wait. 

“Mommy, is my other mommy going to come back someday?” the child asks, and Dana frowns, then turns to look at her. 

“What?” she asks, thinking she misheard the question. 

“My other mommy, from before. Is she going to come back?” Abby asks with a pensive expression. 

“What do you mean, Sweetpea?”

“I like you best, I don’t want the other mommy to come back,” Abby insists with a pout. 

Dana’s throat feels tight, and adrenaline begins to course through her veins. 

“Do you mean me from before my accident?” she attempts to clarify. 

“No!” Abby shouts, frustrated. “I mean the other mommy from before. The mean mommy who is not you.”

Dana slowly crouches down in front of Abby. She feels sick and afraid. 

“When did you have a different mommy, Abby?” she asks sternly. 

Abby shrugs. 

“I dunno. Before. I don’t really remember, except that she was not nice to me.”

Dana hears the screech of brakes, and turns to see the bus approaching.

“Sweetpea,” she says, drawing Abby’s attention. “I want you to think really hard about the other mommy today, okay? And if you think of anything else, like what she looked like or anything about her, I want you to tell me when you get home from school, okay?”

“Kay, Mommy,” Abby says, unaffected by Dana’s demeanor. 

The child boards the bus and Dana waves goodbye, forcing a smile onto her mouth. As soon as it rounds the corner out of sight, she runs back to the house. 

Inside, she picks up the cordless phone and dials, pacing the kitchen as it rings. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Tiffany, this is Dana Rose.”

“Hey, Dana, what’s up?”

“I’m not going to be able to come in today. Something came up that I need to deal with. Can you please let Dr. Polinkus know?”

“Sure, I’ll let him know. Is everything okay?”

A pause. 

“Yes, I think so. Thank you.”

She hangs up and dials again. She sits down at one of the chairs along the island but immediately stands again, her body a jumble of nerves. 

“Scully residence.”

“Mom, it’s Dana. Are you at home today?”

“Hi, Dana, it’s nice to hear from you. Yes, I’m at home, why?”

“Can I come over? Would that be okay?”

“...Sure, Dana, you’re always welcome. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I think so. I’ll be there within the hour. Bye, Mom.”

During the forty minute drive to Bethesda, her mind races with all the possible explanations for what Abby said. A nanny? A mistress of Cal’s? A child’s imagination? Children are prone to all kinds of fantasy and half-truths, and she shouldn’t put as much stock into the comment as she is. But still, something in the corner of her mind is screaming at her that it’s not meaningless, and she feels more than ever as though she needs to understand what happened before her accident, to fill in the missing pieces. 

By the time she arrives, the initial panic has worn away into an unsettling sense of disorientation as acute as the day she left the hospital. The sense of security and stability she’s been carefully building suddenly feels shaky and unstable, and she longs for the feeling of happiness and normalcy that had so recently seemed within reach. 

She knocks, and Maggie opens the door and immediately reaches for her, seeing the defeated look on her face. 

“Dana, what happened?” she asks, ushering her daughter into the sitting room. 

Tears flood her throat, and suddenly she is a child again, weeping at her mother’s feet. 

“I feel like I don’t know what’s real, Mom,” she sobs, and Maggie rubs wide circles over her back. 

“I’m going to put some coffee on,” she says with an air of practicality. “Whatever it is, we’ll work it out.”

A pot of coffee becomes lunch, and then tea, as Dana fills Maggie in on all that’s been happening, and just how lost she still feels. They are seated in two matching armchairs near the bay windows as Dana picks at a slice of lemon and repeats what Abby said at the bus stop. 

“Dana, children say all kinds of outlandish things,” Maggie says sympathetically. “You once swore up and down that you were a member of the Partridge Family and demanded that your father deliver you back to them.”

Dana smiles sheepishly and shakes her head. 

“I know I’m blowing it way out of proportion. There are just so many things that I still don’t know, so much I can’t remember. It’s hard to brush it off when I don’t have anything to counter it. I’m not sure if that even makes any sense,” she says as she sets her teacup on a small table perched between them. 

“What else is bothering you? Anything I can help with?” Maggie asks. 

“It’s honestly everything, Mom,” Dana says with a defeated sigh. “It’s like this giant black hole of information. I don’t have any context for anything, my life feels like an inside joke that I’m not privy to. And I have all these scars—it’s just…it’s a lot.”

“The scar on your stomach?” Maggie asks, and Dana nods. 

“I know it happened at work and involved a patient, but you can’t imagine how strange it is to have a massive injury like that and not remember any of it,” Dana says. 

“To be honest, Dana, I’m glad you don’t remember it,” Maggie says gently. “A man held you hostage for hours in the ER, along with several other people. The police tried to ambush him but he got spooked and he shot you. It was over an hour before you were able to get help. We thought you were going to die.”

Dana feels a flush of guilt. She’d never considered that some of her memories might be best left forgotten. 

“Are there other scars?” Maggie asks, moving on from that subject. 

“Lots of small ones. But there’s a little raised bump on my neck back here,” Dana says as she touches the scar she only discovered last week. “I can’t see it very well, but it looks like a surgical scar. It’s a clean cut.”

Maggie shakes her head with a small smile.

“You need to ask about these things, Dana,” she says as she reaches over and pats her daughter on the knee. “That’s your Manatua virus vaccine scar. We all have them.”

Maggie turns in her seat and moves her hair aside. Dana leans forward, examining the tiny pink line in Maggie’s skin at the base of her neck. She touches it, feeling a small lump just beneath the surface. 

“Manatua virus?” she repeats, and Maggie sighs. 

“Yes, it was awful. There was an outbreak in Texas and it spread across the US so quickly everyone was panicking. The mortality rate was so high, and those who survived were horribly disfigured. I’m telling you, Dana, you should be glad that you don’t remember some of these things.”

“When did this happen?” Dana asks, sitting back. 

“A couple years ago. The effort to produce a vaccine was very well funded, thankfully, and everyone was lined up around the block to get one within six months. The vaccine was awful, though. People were vomiting, passing out. It was so painful, they started using general anesthesia to administer it. But the virus was so aggressive, it had to be done.” 

“Abby and Peter got them too?” Dana asks, and Maggie nods. 

“I’m glad you don’t remember that, Dana,” she says gravely. “It’s traumatizing, as a mother, to have to put your child through something like that.”

Maggie stands and goes to the stereo, ejecting the disc changer and loading up a suite of new CD’s. 

“Are you staying for dinner?” Maggie asks with her back to her daughter, but Dana can hear the judgment in her tone. She needs to go home to her family. 

“No, I need to head back soon so I’m there when Abby gets off the bus,” she says, and Maggie nods approvingly.

“Let me go wrap up some of that banana bread for you to take home,” she says with a pat to Dana’s shoulder before she disappears into the kitchen. 

Dana watches out the window as two birds fight over the feeder, flapping their wings in an attempt to knock each other off. Fighting for resources, for survival. The instinct to survive is so basic to all living things, she thinks. The CD player clicks and whirs as the next disc is moved into position. 

Darling you send me. I know you send me. Darling you send me, honest you do. 

It feels as though a vat of hot oil has been poured over her head. It sends a shock wave of heat through her, every hair on her body standing at attention and her heart lurching into a galloping rhythm. 

You thrill me. I know you, you, you thrill me. Darling you, you, you thrill me. Honest you do. 

She feels his arms around her waist, his lips pressed to hers. She feels the rumble of his voice and she hears him, actually hears him singing to her. 

At first I thought it was infatuation. But oooo it’s lasted so long. Now I find myself wanting to marry you, and take you home. 

Those mossy green eyes, that impish smile. The music, she hears the music as they dance and kiss and fumble towards the bedroom. 

“Dana?” Maggie says, and she looks over to see her mother watching her with a concerned expression. “Are you all right?”

“What is this song?” she asks, her throat tight. 

“I think it’s Sam Cooke. I’m not sure what the song is. Why?”

“Do I know this song?” Dana asks, her breath coming out in pants. 

“I don’t know, Dana. It’s a very old song, I’m sure you’ve heard it at some point or another. Is something the matter?”

“I don’t know,” Dana says uneasily as the song comes to an end. “I don’t know.”

-

She’s wiping down the kitchen counters when Cal comes downstairs. 

“Both asleep,” he says as he retrieves a beer from the fridge. “Did you pick up vitamins?”

“No, sorry. I guess I forgot,” she answers flatly, running the sponge over the same spot over and over. 

“No big, we can get ‘em tomorrow,” he answers, then takes a seat at one of the barstools. He watches her for a moment, sipping his beer. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, not meeting his eye. 

“You sure? You seem kind of…I don’t know, off,” he says carefully. 

She moves to the sink and rinses out the sponge, contemplating. Just ask, her mother had said about her missing memories. 

“Actually, I heard a song today that felt familiar. It threw me off a bit.” She turns around and leans against the counter, facing him. “Can I play it for you?”

“Of course,” he says, looking concerned. 

She retrieves the borrowed CD from her purse. She’d listened to it over and over on the drive back from Bethesda, her bones buzzing at the way it brought her dreams to life. She pops it into the CD player in the living room and hits play, watching Cal’s reaction. 

Darling you send me. I know you send me. Darling you send me, honest you do.  

Cal listens with a neutral expression. After a few minutes, the song ends and she ejects the CD, returning it to its case. 

“Do you know it?” she asks, feeling nervous. 

“I don’t think so,” he answers. “I may have heard it before, but no specific instances that I can recall. Why?”

“I don’t know,” she says, dropping her head. “Maybe it’s nothing, it just feels so familiar.”

“Did you have the same feeling when you heard Sweet Caroline?” he asks, and she lifts her head to find a moderately wounded expression on his face. 

“I’m not sure,” she admits guiltily. “But you had told me about the significance of that song before I listened to it, so that may have impacted my response.”

Cal nods and takes a long pull from his beer. 

She crosses the room and steps up behind him, and he startles a little as she tugs on the collar of his T-shirt to expose the back of his neck. There’s a small pink scar, just like hers, at the base of it.

“What are you doing?” Cal asks, confused, and she wraps her arms around his shoulders. 

“I think I just had a weird day, memory wise,” she says, resting her cheek against his. “Can we go to bed?”

“Sure, mija. I’m just going to finish my beer, but I’ll see you up there in a few.”

“Okay,” she says with a small smile and a kiss. 

She lays awake for hours, watching the swell of headlights on the ceiling each time a car drives down the street. Finally, exhaustion overtakes her and she sleeps fitfully, waking each time Cal changes position or a dog barks next door. She waits for her dream to come to her, for some additional information or clarity, but it never does. She watches the yellow haze of sunrise fill up the room with bloodshot, weary eyes. She feels more lost than ever.  

Tagging @today-in-fic

[the-desilittle-bird]

Author's Note- Hiya after a long time! I just needed some time to think. Hope you like it.

Requests are always open and well appreciated

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

The White Dragon

Close Were They (Chapter 7)

Summary- the argument follows with an important announcement...

Tag List- @eliseline, @little-moonbeam-666, @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @shopping, @lizlovecraft, @dayane, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @all-things-fandomstuck, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @morganastrucker, @shrexy, @helloitsshitzulover, @daringboba, @minaxcarter, @b-tchymoon, @stargaryenx, @hukio, @targaryenmoony, @moon-light1415, @eudximoniakr, @themaze13, @candypurplebutterfly, @5moremin, @yariany02, @issybee0611, @beefbaby25, @shine101, @hopebaker, @andlizeth, @hyacinthus007, @lightdragonrayne, @prettykinkysoul, @mcam623, @marvelescvpe, @severewobblerlightdragon, @let-love-bleeds-red, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad, @ultrav0lence, @random-shit-i-like-2, @sunmoon-01, @savagemickey03, @kishie8, @watercolorskyy, @cherryaemond, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @praline357

Warnings- Daemon being himself, Arguments.

Chapter 6 Chapter 8

The room sat silent as everyone stared at the sniffling princess, a shawl belonging to the sister of his betrothed wrapped around her shoulders. The queen mother strided around the room, her eyes staring at her good brother.

"Is that true? What Aemond said," she asked, glancing between Aerea and Daemon, her eyes glaring holes into the being of her good brother. Aerea could see Cregan sitting on the edge of his seat, his hand clasped in front of him.

The Rogue Prince laughed, his skin crinckling at the corner of his eyes. "I admire your ability to judge me as a womanizer," Daemon commented, standing up from the chair to walk to the pitcher of wine. "You have time and again proven your ability to be that, brother," Alicent hissed.

Pouring two cups of wine, Daemon sipped from one while offering the other to his niece. "Kepus, paktot sir?" (Uncle, right now?) Aerea asked, her violet eyes widening gazed at him. Daemon only smirked in reply, his eyes taunting Alicent as the princess took a hold of the cup.

"I might be a womanizer, sister. But your daughter is too sweet to be ruined by me," he replied, casting a glance at Aemond who was seething in the corner. "But it seems, your son has evil eye on her," Daemon continued, his fingers carefully caressing Aerea's platinum hair.

Sara squeezed the Targaryen princess' shaking hand while looking at a distressed Cregan. She could sense the Wolf Lord's stress, prompting her to become more and more anxious.

Alicent huffed, turning to the Wolf Lord of the North. "I apologize for my son's behavior, my lord," she started, voice trembling as she thought of the possible outcomes of this scenario. "Nothing shall be forced upon you. If you wish to dismiss the betrothal, we understand."

Cregan was in a grim state. While on one hand, he knew that maybe what the One-Eyed Prince accused of the princess might be true given the Targaryen tendencies; he couldn't find it in himself to believe it.

"May I speak with Lord Stark before, mother?" Aerea asked, standing up as she addressed her mother. Daemon watched with curious eyes as Cregan nodded, standing up as well.

Not even a few moments later were they standing outside the room, in the empty corridor with no one to eavesdrop their conversation.

"You wish to speak, my princess?" Cregan asked, his hands clasped behind his back stiffly. Aerea nodded, her hands clinging onto the grey shawl belonging to Sara. The Wolf Lord nodded, his grey stormy eyes watching the dragon princess carefully.

Aerea gulped as she turned around, her eyes skimming over the courtyard. She could feel the towering figure of her betrothed behind her, his warmth caressing her body.

"My princess," Cregan rasped, his eyes glancing at the little gap between them. The bare skin of her neck was enticing enough for him but he reminded himself that they were still yet to be married.

Aerea turned around, her eyes meeting the broad chest of the Northerner Lord, a gasp escaping. His warm breath caressing her face softly. Piercing stormy gaze ready to look into her soul.

"Cregan," she murmured, eyes staring into his. His calloused hands circled around her waist, gripping them possessively. "Princess," his voice rasped, lips too close to speak properly.

"I..." Aerea's eyes tried to look somewhere else but she found herself wrapped around him; only finding him. "No." His hands caressed her waist, beard tickling her cheek as she inhaled and exhaled.

They stood there for a long time, staring into each other's eyes to find whatever answer they were looking for and for a split second, it all made sense.

Cregan found in her deep amethyst eyes, innocence. Aerea found in his grey cloudy eyes, devotion.

They didn't know how leaned in first, only coming to realize their actions once their lips touched each other, soft and slow, taking each other in. They savored the moment and each other in an intimate way none had expected to come so fast.

It was Aerea who stepped back, gasping for air. The sensation of his lips lingered on hers, a blush reddening her skin as she looked up at the Wolf Lord, who had turned on his feet, marching inside.

Once Aerea had composed herself, she strided in as well to a completely silent room. Everyone stared at either her or Cregan, trying to decipher their cold looks.

"My Lord," Alicent called softly, making Cregan stand up as he glanced at the princess. "The marriage shall place within a fortnight, after which I shall leave this place with my wife," he announced, making Alicent sigh in relief.

"Let it be known." Cregan stepped closer to Aerea, his fingers touching hers.

"That Princess Aerea shall be Lady of Winterfell."

[josefavomjaaga]

Marshal Ney in Galicia

In 1902, an author named comte de la Bédoyère (I do not know if and how related to the la Bédoyère executed in 1815) wrote a book about Marshal Michel Ney, mostly about his trial and execution. But the appendix also contains several other documents, among them excerpts from the memoirs of a certain general Béchet, Ney's aide-de-camp. The part I translated is about the first months of 1809, Ney's time in Galicia, after Napoleon in January 1809 had quit Spain for France and had left the task of conquering Portugal to his subordinates.

Marshal Soult was put in charge of this operation, in which he was to be assisted by Marshal Ney. The Marshal had sent me to Marshal Soult to discuss with him the positions which the troops of our corps would occupy as his troops moved towards Portugal. I found him near the place of Ferrol, which had not yet been surrendered (it was surrendered the next day). He didn't receive me too well, not because he resented me or even knew me, but because he wasn't on very good terms with my patron. I thought I would starve to death in that unfortunate town of Ferrol, where I had great difficulty in getting a bite to eat, as Marshal Soult had not invited me to dine with his officers.

Bad Soult! Don't kill the messenger (or in this case, don't let him starve) just because it's a messenger from Ney...

I'm unsure what the two marshals had agreed upon with regards to the placement of Ney's troops, who, as Béchet says himself, had the task to support and thus to stay in contact with Soult's corps in Portugal. However, given the two marshals were "not on very good terms" with each other, Ney probably followed a primal instinct and tried to get as much distance between himself and Soult as possible, in going north to La Coruna, while Soult went south into Portugal. Communications soon were interrupted not only with Soult's expedition corps but also with Madrid. But it seems Ney & C. did not mind too much:

Our stay in this town was not without its pleasures. Sometimes we played whist at the marshal's house at one napoleon a card. One evening I lost twenty cards, I didn't have such a large sum with me and I asked the Marshal to give me credit; he sometimes demanded them back from me in jest, I replied in the same tone, and I ended up not paying him. The Marshal, who had only rare relations with King Joseph because the roads were interrupted by the guerillas, was regarded by the Spaniards as the viceroy of the province and had all the powers.

To which I have two remarks: 1) Some people were accused of wanting to make themselves king whenever they found themselves in a similar position. Just saying. And 2) Ney and his aides were not alone in regarding the interruption of communication by guerillas as a given, and to pay little attention to it. Joseph and Jourdan in Madrid, too, waited for an explicit order from an exasperated Napoleon before sending Kellermann to reopen communications with Ney in Galicia (with Soult in Portugal there was no contact at all).

And now comes a rather ... interesting story about what "viceroy" Ney was up to in this new domain of his:

He had the idea of visiting all the women's convents, and there were many, and of telling the nuns and novices that all those who had entered them against their will could leave if they wished. It was playing the role of the tempter, but such was the spirit of the time, and we thought we were doing a meritorious work by acting in this way.

I'm sure you did, you little prick...

In a convent where the nuns had the reputation of being very fanatical, a young novice, with a charming face, threw herself crying at the feet of the Marshal and addressed him in Spanish in a speech that we still only barely understood. Our hearts went out to her, and already more than one gallant knight was offering her his services, ...

Uh-huh...

... but our interpreter told us that, on the contrary, she announced to the Marshal that the Virgin had appeared to her that night, and warned her that that very day she would obtain the dispensation of age necessary to make her vows, and that she had no doubt that the Marshal was the envoy from heaven who had come to grant her the grace she was seeking. The Marshal replied that it did not depend on him, but that he would write to the court. So much for our tender feelings. In fact, I seem to recall that only one of these ladies took advantage of the freedom offered to her; she left the convent to marry an officer who took her back to France with him.

Must have been quite a blow to the self-esteem of all those "gallant knights" trying to free poor enslaved women, for utterly unselfish reasons, of course.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Three

The air is still sweet and warm enough the following week to leave the windows of the print studio open, and in between my cleaning sessions, in particular the area around Gabriel’s desk which looks like an avalanche of cardboard and loose paper has crashed around his feet, I work on my Christmas card designs and occasionally gaze outside over the street below, cracked, patched pavements and sturdy old red brick council houses that belonged, once upon a time, to the lived in by workers from the biscuit factory and the brewery, but now have been purloined by the middle class. 

Simon comes over to check how I’m doing from time to time. He has the type of presence that makes me want to sit up very straight and address him like he’s a teacher at school about to quiz me on my multiplication tables, but Simon’s not really like that. He’s so chilled out he might as well be horizontal, and all he ever really does is say “cool.” or “looking good.”, so eventually, after some days the sharp edges of my terror of criticism fades and I stop freaking out every time I see him get out of his seat. It is art, after all. The most subjective thing in the world. 

“So this is design two? Or three?” He’s saying to me today, pausing at my desk on his way to the printing press. I hold up two fingers.

“Right. I’d love it if we could have six by the end of next week, if you can hack that. Just like, with the suppliers…” He trails off and I nod enthusiastically like I know what he’s talking about. “Of course, I think I have enough ideas to get six designs.”

“Cool, and at some point today could you pop downstairs to the shop and talk to Petra? She was asking if you’d do a favour for her.”

“Yeah, of course.” I resist grilling him about what she wants or rushing downstairs and insisting that she talk to me immediately, because I’m trying very hard not to be a person who seems desperate for anything lately. Even though I frequently am. 

“Thanks.”

He heads over to the press next to Izzy, and moments later Michelle comes into the studio with a coffee and a paper bag in her hand. He grins at her and leans down to kiss her cheek. “This is a nice surprise.” 

“I can’t stay long, Jen and I are heading into town for lunch but I know you’re working through it today so I thought I’d just get you a sandwich.” The idea of Jen standing outside this very shop at this very moment makes my heartbeat quicken.

“You’re a lifesaver.” Simon says to her. “Saves me making the intern get it for me.” He winks at me so that I know he’s only joking, even though he’s actually not, and that’s exactly what would have ended up happening, he just doesn’t want her to know about it, most likely. 

“Can you stay for lunch?”

“No, I have plans with Jen, but I’ll see you later on.” She glances around the room at everyone else. “I suppose I’ll probably see you all later on.”

“At Izzy’s gig!” Gabriel whoops. “Yes you will.” I smile at her and nod, already trying to come up with a plan as to how I will wrangle Shane and Claire into coming with me. It’s out of pure social anxiety, not because I think they’ll enjoy the music. 

When Michelle heads out and the rest of us start making moves for our own lunch break, Izzy asks if I’ll get food with her, since Simon and Gabriel are too busy. She says she knows a nice takeaway spot nearby, and I trust her because she seems like the kind of person who would know the best places to eat and drink in every corner of the city. 

The streets are busy that afternoon, the last gasps of tourist season leaving the foot traffic heavy enough to have to stop and start behind the people who want to take photographs of things like fan windows and the fronts of pubs. Izzy stops me to let a middle aged couple take a picture next to a statue of a teapot. I think about how that was nice of her, to stop walking for them when I’m sure I would have barrelled through and ruined the photo. I don’t think I’m the type of person to do things like that anymore, my patience has worn too thin over the last two years I’ve lived here.  

“Cute.” She comments as they smile and let us pass them by, and then we continue down a street that opens onto the Liffey. It really doesn’t smell very good on warm days, and as I peer down into it I count two shopping trolleys and a child’s bicycle. I wonder what else they’d find if they did an expedition of that river. Considering the possibilities of what could lie there under the silt kind of makes my stomach turn, and draws to mind the time I saw a dead poodle floating in a river on a family expedition to county Cork. Izzy guides me around a corner and up a hill to a cafe, and the sun is in my eyes.

My gaze slips over the people eating outside the restaurant as we approach. There’s a woman with a small baby who is kicking and writhing in her arms, fat little legs creased adorably at the knees. An elderly man on the next table tries to enjoy his newspaper, only he can’t help but glance over his shoulder at the infant when she babbles and shrieks, interrupting his concentration. There’s a girl with her back to me, long, wavy blonde hair that spills all the way down her chair, and a man sitting across from here with dark hair and sunglasses. He’s handsome, well dressed and has an upturned, clever little mouth that sends a jolt of recognition through me. I almost gasp out loud, but then I remember that it couldn’t be him. It never is. This city is full of good looking, dark haired men, and not one of them has ever been the one that I hoped. As if he’s ever going to be here… 

And then he lifts his sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, and those brown eyes could only belong to one person. My breath catches in my throat. I can’t look away from him, and I stand at the door of the cafe frozen still in anticipation of the moment he’ll see me too.

His eyes flicker over the blonde girl’s head for a second and then widen with surprise. He practically shoots out of his seat, the metal legs of the chair shuddering across the concrete behind him, and the look on his face is astounding, like he can’t believe I am real. “Evie.”

“Hi.” I say, and then somehow I am next to him, wanting to launch myself into his arms, but I stop myself. His fingers twitch outwards too, like he’s reaching for me but his hesitation matches my own. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch me anymore. 

“What are you doing here?” I manage. Jude looks the same as he did the last time I saw him, but somehow I’m surprised. I don’t know how I keep forgetting how gorgeous he is, as you’d think that something like that would be permanently imprinted in your memory, and yet it’s like every single time I’ve ever turned my head to speak to him I’ve been whipped across the face by his beauty. 

“I… we…” He’s flustered. He’s never seemed flustered before, and seems bewildered by himself. I watch a blush come over his nose and cheeks. “College doesn’t start for a few weeks.” He manages. “And I needed to help out with something at home, so we decided to make a holiday of it.”

We. I look to my right where his girlfriend is sitting. She is an unmistakable presence, and yet at first I almost missed her. She’s head to toe in black. They both are, as though they plan to attend an extremely fashionable funeral. Her clothes are so contrasting to her hair which is the whitest, blondest blonde I’ve ever seen. She’s slim, languid, long hands and wrists and sharp collarbones, full lips and a button nose, the kind of pretty that makes ordinary girls feel like monsters in comparison. I imagine a photo taken of both of us side by side, and how I’d never look nice next to her, my dull, limp brown hair and unremarkable features would make me vanish into the wallpaper while she would positively glow with beauty. 

I’m caught up in the situation, looking at her and looking at him, and I forget all about poor Izzy waiting for me at the door. She clears her throat gently and tells me she’s going to go inside and order her lunch. I feel a bit embarrassed that this significant moment happened right in front of her without her knowing the context of any of it, but I tell her I’ll follow her soon. 

“This is Astrid, by the way. My girlfriend.” Jude says, as if she needed an introduction, as if I didn’t know that already, and I smile at her. “Evie.” The smile she returns is a bit thin and lukewarm, and she doesn’t take off her sunglasses so I can’t really read her face at all. My skin prickles, and for the first time I start wondering if I’ve made my return appearance at the wrong time. 

“I never expected to just run into you.” Jude says with eyes that leap all over my face.

“Me neither, I…” I feel bad about cutting him out of my life for a guy who almost ruined my life. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has. Over a year now.”

I grimace as the most egregious moments from our last conversation float into my mind and I feel as though I have to blink them away. “I hope you’re doing well.” 

“Yeah, I’m doing fine.” He pauses again, like he’s not sure how much I even want to hear. “We’re around for the next week. We’re going to be hitting some of the main spots in Dublin before flying back to Berlin. ”

“Touring around. Like tourists.” I cringe at myself.

“Yeah, it’s Astrid’s first time in Ireland.”

I look down at her and smile and tell her that she’s welcome, because that’s what I feel like I should say, but she doesn’t smile back, takes a berry from the top of her pancake stack and nibbles on it. 

“I think that tomorrow we might do the whole Trinity library tour thing. It’s hard to come up with things to do when you, like, lived here for so long, you know?”

“Yeah I know, I couldn’t think of much either. But it’s not like you ever really do all of the touristy things when you live here, do you? Like the leprechaun museum or whatever.” We pull identical faces of disgust at each other and I find myself laughing. I look at Astrid. “What kinds of things do you like to do?” 

She leaves a reluctant pause. “I’m not sure.” and her voice is gentle, accentless. She doesn’t even seem interested in looking at me, and then doesn’t say anything else when I leave the space for her to elaborate, so Jude finally explains for her, albeit a touch impatiently. “In Berlin we normally go out. Like, bars and clubs and concerts. We have a mutual love for music, so.”

“Oh, that’s so funny, I’m actually going to a gig tonight.” I point at Izzy through the café window. “Izzy is the singer, she’s playing later on, and actually I think Jen is going too.”

“Oh, well, she didn’t say anything to me about it.” A line appears between his brows. 

“Maybe she forgot?” 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

“Well, I’m inviting you. Inviting you both.” I attempt yet another smile at Astrid who is now scrolling on her phone and feel a bit rattled by her, aware of her displeasure at my interruption. I give Jude the breeziest smile in my repertoire. “You better get back to your lunch, or your food will get cold.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay.” Jude says, still watching me with some disbelief. “Maybe we’ll see you later on?”

“If you’re at the gig, you will.” I give them a rushed goodbye and hurry inside after Izzy, my skin buzzing all over, heart thumping inside my rib cage. 

“I’m sorry if that was awkward.” I mutter to her as I join her in the queue. “That was just my old friend, I haven’t seen him in a while. I think I should have just introduced you.”

“No it’s okay, it wasn’t awkward because you didn’t introduce us, I just felt weird about interrupting an argument like that.”

I blink. “Were they arguing?”

She looks out the window to where they’re sitting, their food uneaten, and it’s suddenly obvious. Their body language is tense and they’ve turned so that their torsos are angled away from each other, Astrid says something to Jude, and he says something back with a furrowed brow and a swipe of his hand. I suppose I didn’t notice it at first but now it’s so obvious, and I feel stupid. “Oh, they were.” 

“Don’t feel bad. You didn’t know. What are you ordering?”

“Oh, um, whatever you’re having. I’ll just have the same.” I drag my eyes away from them. Whatever it is, it’s nothing to do with me. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Hello! I was wondering what your thoughts on what the Hellfire club member's last and/or middle names would be :D idk it's just something going across my mind recently

(Also ack I meant to request this yesterday for my birthday but unfortunately I'm sick rn and I didn't because I was sleeping all day lol)

hello my love!! happy late birthday 🫶 i’m sorry i’m getting to this so late but i’m glad you asked!!!

I know that we already know Eddie’s full name from the show, and Emerson is a fanon last name for Gareth but i never see people talking about the other boys names!

I’m someone who often likes the idea of characters middle names being the same as the first names of the actors that portray them, i’ve found that most of the time it usually fits them quite well.

Edward Joseph Munson definitely fits him, especially with how both names sound more ‘proper’ given his personality. I assume his parents wanted to give him names that made Eddie seem like he was going to be a sweet boy when he was young but unfortunately they knew that probably wasn’t going to happen given his family history.

Gareth Gwydion Emerson 100% works in his case, especially given how i’ve headcanoned his family. His parents were hippies and they wanted their children to have fun names while still being able to be addressed formally by people. They knew they were naming adults, not babies, so they made all of their children have ‘normal’ first names and unique middle names to still give them a sense of their own personal style. (And while i’m getting into it, Claire’s middle name is Opal and Macys is Tigerlily)

I’ve never thought too much about last names for Jeff and Grant, especially because they don’t really have their own sections of the fandom, but i feel like their actors names work fairly well for them as well. Though i wished that we were given an actual name for Grants character inward as of just ‘freak’, from the few minutes of screen time they had you could tell they had very interesting personalities that all work so well together.

Jeff Trey Fisher i feel would suit him for how i’ve headcanoned his family. They’re upper middle class, never really struggled much, his family are very well put together and his older sister was actually quite popular when she was in high school but since she’s left she can’t do much to stop the other popular kids from being mean to her brother and the rest of Hellfire. It’s nothing super extravagant, but when you hear the name it sounds very casual, very normal. Which is exactly what his parents were going for. They didn’t care what their children’s personalities would be, which is why they have them both fairly neutral names. (And since i did it for Gareth i’ll also mention that his older sisters name is Patricia Michelle)

I’ve never really thought much about a middle name for Grant but i do know he would have a hyphenated last name.

Grant Baker-Peterson. Him, his younger brother, and his dad all agreed to also take his stepmoms last name when they got married. His dad and his brother are all fairly similar to him, bigger guys who stick mainly to themselves and never really have much to say. His stepmom is quite the opposite. She’s a sweet little thing who is always very bubbly and happy about anything and everything. (And because i can, his little brothers name is Thomas, and his stepmom was his elementary school teacher which is how her and his dad met each other.)

[scrapyardboyfriends]

So I watched the Charity/Mack wedding episode since I’m working from home today and happen to have not had a meeting during it...

I just can’t believe they actually had them get married and they’re dragging all of this out even longer. 

Also they need to name all of these babies better...Reuben?! I mean we’ve got a Rueben and an Esther and a Dotty and let’s not forget Moses. I mean I also hated the name Seb for a long time and got used to that but still...

But back to Charity and Mack and this terrible story...I just...

It’s the Charity/Jai/Rachel story mixed with the Robron/Rebecca story but worse than both. 

At least you were rooting for Robron and you could kind of hate Jai and see the writing on the wall because they fundamentally disagreed on the kids issue. With Charity and Mack, I’ve never known how to feel because it all just feels like a lot of last minute decisions to cover Michelle’s maternity leave. 

So on the hand you have Vanity who are the popular ship and all of their fans loathe Charity with Mack. And there’s the question of whether or not they will eventually try and put Vanity back together once Michelle stops having kids but is it too late for that at this point? Or will they still try?

And so the part of me that kind of likes some aspects of Charity and Mack in that he does seem to love her for her and not need her to change (kids issue aside, and even that I think he does kind of ultimately want her more than kids of his own even though that’s what he’s got now) is doubly frustrated because they feel doomed due to the story and due to a possibility of future Vanity. 

One of the things that always frustrated me about Vanity was that Vanessa never really seemed to get Charity in a lot of ways, was always trying to change her or getting upset at her for any scheming and such. And some of those changes were good but also it was just the same conflict over and over and that got exhausting and she never seemed to really trust her with the big stuff like cancer and Johnny. 

But, while majorly underdeveloped due to everything feeling like a last minute change, Mack does seem like a decent choice for her if you ignore you know the whole lying to her for months and cheating on her and having a baby with someone else part. And his bizarre age thing, but that’s a whole other story. So I could like that. 

But was this all set up to fail just to bide time for Michelle to return? Possibly. Probably. And then there’s the fact that they’ve done a whole lot of damage to both characters to facilitate this idiotic pregnancy story no one asked for. The kids conflict is annoying and already done with Charity multiple times. Charity looks like an absolute idiot not noticing anything is going on despite Chloe living with them and everyone acting shady. The fact that multiple family members know about the Chloe situation and no one has told her is even worse. And any character growth she has had now that she thinks she’s in a stable relationship is all just going to get trashed again and for what? 

And then of course it all makes Mack look like an asshole. At least Robert came clean and he and Aaron dealt with everything before they had their legal wedding. All this carrying on with Mack lying constantly just makes him look worse and worse and I don’t really know where they take his character after this. When he first showed up he was fun and snarky and full of possibilities and now...what? He just gets stuck in a revenge story with Charity? Plays Daddy to Reuben? Yells “My boy, my son” a lot with no reprieve? It’s just kind of a waste. 

That’s not even addressing Chloe who got sucked into this story after getting passed around to all the village guys for the sake of plot who has had so many convoluted revelations about her backstory that she’s just never been properly developed as a character but guess what! You’re a mom! And that’s all that matters on this show. Congrats, you’ve been fulfilled. 

(this isn’t even getting into the absolute absurdity that was the entire A Team wedding nonsense that seemed to have come out of nowhere just so they could do something dramatic and silly and promote it) 

Sigh...And this is why I usually only watch one episode every two weeks. Haha.

[tammyjackson50-blog]

FIVE YEARS AGO || P.5

Summary: What happens when you find your way back to a good friend from the past through a song he wrote five years ago?

<- Last part - next part ->

Eddies p.o.v

I was playing on my guitar and trying to learn a new song to play. It's much more quiet than what I usually play. Yeah, it's not really my type of music, but I really like it: Billie Bossa Nova by Billie Eilish. don't ask, it's a good fucking song.

"SHIT" I just can't focus, and it's so freaking annoying.

I guess that my mind is not here right now. No, not only right now. This past month,I've… ugh....I lost one of my favorite rings, and now I can't stay focused on my guitar.

I think that I can say that this is not my best month. I just can't seem to get my mind off of her. I can't believe that she kept that song, I can't even believe I saw her. I held her hand in mine.... at first I thought that she didn't recognize me, but.. she did, she really did.

Despite the fact that everything seemed to happen in a split second, I was able to look at her eyes…her beautiful, beautiful eyes. ugh I wish I had more time to look into those shiny eyes, I wish that I had more time to talk to her, even if it's just for a minute, just to hear her voice, to see her damn gorgeous face.

someone's calling Eddie

He got out of bed so quickly that he nearly dropped his guitar on the floor, which is completely out of character for Eddie, who values his guitar more than he values himself.

" Hello? what did she said? " He didn't even give the other person an opportunity to say anything " just like that? without Hey, how are you? Are you all right? Maybe I got hurt on the way- "

" Michelle, can you please come over?"

- Michelle came over to eddie,she was laying on his bed, tired, she might be a little older than Eddie, but she acts like some mom with five kids.

" Can you RELAX, kid? You're making me dizzy, please sit down."

He was walking back and forth in his room, not sure of what to do next.

"I'm sorry, but I dunno what to do, I can't just write back and say, Hey, yeah, Y/n, it's me Eddie, let's meet and catch up." He sat down and she said, " Yes, you definitely can do it, and I can show you how." She picked up her phone and texted Eddie. " Easy as that." She sent him Y/ns email address to him. " yeah, I believe I could have figured it out on my own " " so? you just gonna make me tell you everything she's saying or.. you are going to talk her ?

he smiled, not really sure what to answer

" no thank you young man, you want to to talk to her, no , actully , you NEED to talk her, not me "

shit man... I guess she is right.....

GIF by ellie-joel <-

Y/n's p.o.v

" Have you heard about the movie that is going to be at a drive-in this week? Bohemian rhapsody is such a good movie, I'm glad that they are showing it again " you and Kat are hanging out again - (of couse) but this time you are at her house .

" yeah, I'm going with Ross and his mom, she loves Queen " I looked at her pretending to be hurt " ouch, my heart ". " oh I'm sorry bae, do you want to join us ? " what a cutie " no no, you have a date with your boyfriend and his mother, I'm not supposed to there with you ". " I know what you can do, why don't you text um, Michelle.. right?and get Eddie's number, then invite him out to the movie, you've been to a drive-in before only once, right? don't miss it "

yeah, I don't think so bestie " uh uh, I don't even have the guts to ask Michelle about him in general. "

" But you've got this great opportunity to meet him, and I don't think it'll be too awkward because you'll both be focused on the movie, oh and he likes old songs like you right? that's perf- "

" Kat, let's- sigh let's relax okay? did you considered the possibility that he might not even want to talk to me at all? she sigh

" and why do you think so? Y/n I think you are overthinking it, seriously, he's a human being like you, and let's just say he doesn't want to talk to you for some strange reason, then you're going to know that you tried to contact him. "

I guess she's right.... I mean, I don't have a lot to lose anyways, right?

" you are probbly right Kat " " so does that mean that you're going to invite him to watch the movie? " she asked happily " no... but it means that I agree with you." she rolled her eyes for the hundredth time in this conversation and leaned back in her bed.

" oh my god Y/n, you are so annoying! " you laughed.

Few hours later

It was getting dark outside,you were in the living room, laying comfortably on the sofa, the TV was on but you weren't paying attention to what was on the screen because you were watching Tiktok videos on your phone.

( Imagine something like that )

GIF by rosycheeksmadeofgalaxies <-

Everything was pretty normal, you thought that if you were on Tiktok, it wil help you to distract yourself from thoughts about Eddie.

Maybe it really isn't that serious? Maybe it'll even be nicer than you think, of course. It doesn't mean you will go back to being good friends like you used to be,even though you really want to. we'll just meet, chat and-

huh? I got a new messege from an unknown number?

.....

I don't like it

shit

[disabledinwonderland]

Hey guys I think I need help with something a little odd, I need some of the David tennant fans to help me. This is a bit of the back story and I can't go into much detail but I need to know if David and his family I know they are aware of social media, but does he have a team to do it or does Georga and Ty do it for him as I have had " contact" with someone claiming to be him, but it was at the very hight of the strike and some things just didn't make sense.

He ( if it was him ) was promoting a paid fan club and was really pushy about it. I have had other "celebrities" reach out to me this way as I do occasionally blog about disability representation. I asked him about filming there she goes was there even a possibility of another season now that their real-life family it is based on have a diagnosis and care for their daughter in reality as David is friends with the person in reality he wasn't able to say anything I know that is normal but it just seemed odd to me the interactions as when I watch interviews and things I see that he seems to be really nice and a gentle person this was in stark contrast to this person so I am wondering if I reach out to his team to let them know as this type of thing and the AI thing could ruin him. I know that he keeps himself busy but not knowing about the Actors strike in the USA was a major red flag for me.

The other red flag was i was contacted on Google chats, this is very old school as well and its used alot in easten countries but I get why this would be popular as you can share things like scripts but it just seemed odd, like the pushiness when David has interviewed about that he doesn't like to be aggressive an when filming Good omens he would send in Michel to sort it out. ( wouldn't you use the intimacy coordinator if you had issues as that is their job making sure that people are safe on set, not only during " spicy" seens but throughout the whole process.

Can people help me to see if this is a scammer and to answer the obvious question, no I haven't given money or my address to anyone though this medium, I also live in a SIl house ( for the USA people basically a group home for people with disabilities but alot more freedom and when I mentioned this the tone became alot more judgemental so I am thinking its a scammer as the obvious question does David have social media.