#when he said ronan it mean ronan

[thebearer]

lips absence making ronan just not having a connection with him. and ronan is 1000% mamas boy, so even when your super pregnant ronan still needs to be held and when lip tries to take him it’s ww3 getting ronan away from you

i don't think it would be an absence with the kids because he knows 1) you'd leave him right then and there, and 2) he wouldn't be able to live with himself genuinely. he never actually leaves (unless you kick him out to cool off bc you're both fighting) but he's not leaving leaving. he's absent more in the way of just not in the moment. always looks like he's somewhere else. might be there physically but not emotionally.

still, ronan is such a mama's boy, he picks up on it subconsciously. he'd still so little when you get pregnant, a little over a year old when you're pretty heavily pregnant. he just wants to cuddle and cling to you all day, but it gets pretty hard to with your growing bump.

lip tries to take him to bed one night. you're supposed to be on bed rest, not moving a lot- definitely not lifting a baby. ronan sobs- wails for you.

heart broken "ma-ma!"'s all the way down the hall, and you're emotional as it is, but it tears your heart right down the middle.

lip is in hell trying to get him to settle. all he wants is you. he's not a very mean baby, never super fussy or dramatic (not like freddie and jude) but he is then. agitated, angry, upset, won't settle at all.

"just let me have him." you whisper after the last hour of ronan's sobs.

"hey, no. you're not supposed to be up-" lip frowns.

you roll your eyes at him, reaching for ronan who stretched for you. "no," lip turns. "you can't lift him. the doctor said-"

"-i'll be fine." you huff. "jude and freddie have school tomorrow, and he's going to make himself sick crying like this. i'll be alright."

lip's still not giving in. his ego is hurt, his pride too. why he couldn't get ronan to settle, he wasn't sure, but it was driving him insane.

he finally agrees to keep him in the bed with you two for the night. keeps you in it, and keeps ronan happy.

[finders--keepers]

“His feelings for Adam were an oil spill; he’d let them overflow and now there wasn’t a damn place in the ocean that wouldn’t catch fire if he dropped a match.”

“Creature was a good word for him, Ronan thought. What the hell am I?”

“Ronan said, ‘Matthew’s mine. He’s one of mine.’ Adam didn’t understand. ‘I dreamt him, Adam!’ Ronan was angry - every one of his emotions that wasn’t happiness was anger. ‘That means that when - if something happens to me, he becomes just like them. Just like Mom.’”

“Was Adam injured, was he bored with Ronan, did he prefer the company of his urbane new friends, calm down, Ronan, stop being needy, Ronan, get yourself together, Ronan, you’re always the car crash, Ronan.”

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

If it's not too much to ask, could you do 3, 8, and 14 from that list? I think they would work together really cute!

Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Asexual!Tav, Astarion x Bard!Tav

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Protective!Astarion, Asexual Angst

Warning: Tav has a shitty ex, allusions to past coerced sex (if unknowing at the time), mild acephobia

Prompt(s): hiding face in neck, shielding the other one with their body, putting an arm around the other’s waist

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

A/N: My first thought was pain. Apologies.

It was supposed to be a good night. You sought, you found, you looted which meant a warm place to sleep, plenty of food and celebratory atmosphere. Astarion had even gotten his hands on wine he wouldn’t turn his nose at. Everything was perfect, until a new bard began to play.

The second you heard his voice, your hair stood on end. Hoping against hope it was just your imagination, you turned your attention to the performance. A familiar half-elf took center stage, armed with a lyre and devastating smile; Ronan.

Your whole body froze on the spot as old feelings rushed back to you, a mixture of shame, anxiety and the sensation of being so utterly small.

“My love? Are you alright?”

You blinked, realizing Astarion was standing next to you, concern clear in his eyes.

“Yes,” you said, automatically. “Just, taken by surprise is all.”

He frowned, unconvinced before following your eye line to the stage.

“Do you know him?” he asked.

“I, ah…yes,” you said, your hands starting to shake. “We used to be…together. It was a long time ago.”

There was no point in lying, but Gods why did you have to have this conversation now? And why were you acting like this? It had been years. You had moved on.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Astarion reached out, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.

The effect was instantaneous. Whatever tension your body held melted away. The speed of your heart slowed. The scent of rosemary filled your lungs and you remembered where you were, safe and sound.

He pressed a kiss on top of your head, taking a deep breath of his own.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, nothing like that. He didn’t do anything on purpose.”

Astarion’s grip on your tightened ever so slightly. You didn’t need to look up to know he was staring daggers across the room. His hold on you was likely the only thing keeping Ronan’s neck out of his teeth.

“Meaning?”

“He never forced me to do anything,” you assured, trying to remain calm for both your sakes. “I always said yes. Being intimate is what you’re supposed to do when you’re in a caring adult relationship. He wasn’t abusive or cruel, so there was no reason for me to say no…even when I didn’t really want to.”

“That’s reason enough,” Astarion said, firmly.

“I know that now,” you amended. “At the time though, it didn’t feel good enough. We had more than one argument on the subject. Eventually though, I came to the conclusion that, if it weren’t for the feeling of obligation, I never would have said yes in the first place. He wasn’t happy about that and we ended things.”

“Less than amicably I imagine.”

You had to laugh. “Understatement.”

Astarion remained silent for a long moment, his fingers rubbing absent minded circles into your skin.

“Explain to me then, how you can confess all that and still claim he didn’t hurt you.”

Something hard twisted inside your chest, as if he had pressed his finger right into the tear of an old wound. “I wasn’t as if he were holding me at knife point,” you said, feeling the need to defend yourself. “Like I said, I didn’t know saying a blanket no was even an option. Sex is well…expected at a certain point. I can hardly blame him for not questioning the script society had laid out. He just–”

“Made you believe you needed an excuse,” he finished.

Your lips parted, ready to argue, but you found yourself unable to think of anything. Fresh shame rose inside you, but you couldn’t for the life of you name its source. For defending him? For not leaving sooner? For even thinking that your pain was worthy of acknowledgement? All of it swirled together until you became sick to your stomach.

Astarion’s eyes softened, as he pulled you into a proper embrace allowing you to hide your face in his neck. You weren’t going to cry. Not here. Not now.

“I’m sorry,” you said, unsure of what else to say.

“Don’t be,” he said, softly. “It’s not a competition, you know.”

Your instinct was to argue. There was still a guilt you felt at having him hold you like this, as if your experience were in any way comparable to his; but, that wasn’t the point. You had been hurt and he wasn’t going to let you pretend you hadn’t. If you didn’t already love him before, this would have sealed it.

You pulled away, feeling your ability to speak come back to you, just in time to catch his expression shift into something hard and dangerous.

You turned in the direction of his gaze, your own stomach turning as you and Ronan made eye contact. He was coming right for you.

Astarion’s whole body went rigid. Instinctively you grabbed his wrist, keeping him from going to the dagger on his belt.

“Don’t,” you hissed.

The clear and present fury in his eyes, cooled at your warning, enough to let you know he wasn’t going to kill Ronan; at least, not right away.

Ronan, somehow, remained oblivious to all of this, his focus seemingly all on you.

“Well, isn’t this a small world?” he said, greeting you with a disarming smile. “You’re looking good. Who's your friend?”

Your lips pressed into a fine line. Either he was an idiot or being purposefully obtuse. Both ground down on your nerves.

“It’s nice to see you too,” you said. “Ronan, this is my partner, Astarion. Astarion this is–”

“The ex,” he concluded. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Whatever confident facade Ronan started the conversation with faltered slightly at Astarion’s bold dismissal.

“And really darling, I thought we discussed this,” Astarion continued. “Partner always requires unnecessary explanation. I stand by "lover”, it suits us much better.“

You held back a smile. You had discussed this, at length. Your impression, however, had been that he liked the air of mystery the title "partner” provided. Something about leaving people guessing whether you were partners in business, crime or romance. Apparently, current company required something a bit more obvious.

“Lover?” Ronan questioned, his brow rising. “Changed your mind about a few things then?”

“Not even a little,” you said, coolly. “What do you want?”

He raised his hands up in surrender, his expression a parody of innocence.

“I was simply intending to say hello and catch up. No need to be frigid, but I suppose some things don’t change. Best of luck to you, partner, they’ve got their legs locked tighter than a counting house vault.”

Rage flashed across Astarion’s features as he took a step forward, his body acting as a shield between you and Ronan.

“Would you mind repeating that?” he said, his voice low and full of teeth.

Ronan’s eyes widened slightly, his mouth falling open. You just knew he was about to say something stupid.

“Astarion,” you warned.

He glanced back towards you, his expression intense, but not unreasonable. You knew then, all you had to do was say the word and Ronan would be reduced to nothing but a bag of blood. It was tempting, but not worth it. At least, not worth it while in public with countless eye witnesses.

You shook your head.

He nodded in understanding and turned back to Ronan, his lips parting in an amicable smile.

“It seems you get to survive that comment,” he said, cheerfully. “I suggest you don’t take such mercy for granted. Now, run along.”

Ronan didn’t need telling twice as he shot you one last bewildered look before making his exit.

The second he was out of sight Astarion turned all his focus back to you.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to kill him?” he offered.

You had to smile. “Waste of an evening.”

He considered that, nodding his head from side to side. “I suppose. Still, a little nibble just to scare him wouldn’t hurt anyone. At least, not much.”

“I think you scared him well enough,” you laughed. “Besides, I’m selfish at heart. I want you here, with me, for the rest of the night. No more distractions.”

Astarion grinned, pulling you back into his arms. “If it’s me you want, my love, it’s me you shall have.”

And there he stayed, keeping you safe in the present with the promise of more in the future. The past could not be undone and would no doubt follow you in small and big ways for the rest of your life. The difference was, you had somebody who understood and loved you enough to carry some of the weight. It was more than anyone could hope for and he was yours.

[aroaceleovaldez]

was thinking about next-gen kids and decided to doodle a couple. elaborated thoughts below:

Iphis is named with the same naming conventions that Sally used when naming Percy - primarily, mythological figure who had a good fate. Nice for Percy to honor his mom by naming his own kid the same way and Annabeth gets a fun nerdy mythology name. Also sending good vibes to their kid. Plus middle name directly in honor of Sally, of course.

Specific myth is Iphis and Ianthe, with the idea that a.) it's gender-neutral so works regardless of kid's gender and b.) not only does Iphis have a good fate, but arguably nothing bad happens to them ever and they get helped out by like three whole pantheons who show up in a literal parade and they live happily ever after. Percy and Annabeth are pushing for the BEST vibes possible.

(Also I am a very strong proponent of the "I don't think they'd name their kids after dead family/friends" so none of them have that)

Iphis of course inherited the Jackson family early grey hairs <3

Virginia is named after Juniper (cause Juniper is specifically implied to be Juniperus virginiana). She's probably been childhood bffs with Iphis since Iphis was born.

Chuck is Chuck. I gave him a Yankees jersey cause you know he's being raised as a sporty kid.

Do you ever think about how OP Frank and Hazel's kid would be. It's ridiculous. Quadruple legacy, including 2/3 of the Big Three. Frank by himself was already so OP the gods had to nerf him. Hazel came back from the dead and Frank kinda just said "nope" to dying that one time. Hazel presumably has every power that Nico has which is. A lot. Not to mention what Hazel has been shown to just be able to do on her own (including but not limited to SINKING AN ENTIRE SMALL ISLAND). Ares/Mars kids can functionally be completely invulnerable sometimes and also have some limited necromancy. Combo that with Hades/Pluto kids also being hard to kill and having necromancy as one of their main powers. Not to mention how Pluto geokinesis might combo with Chloris (goddess of spring) powers? And this kid is 100% being protected by both Nico (who is probably a deity by that point) and probably Pluto himself as well? Hello?

Anyways Hazel and Frank's kid is a total powerhouse. Possibly functionally immortal. Easily strongest demigod of her generation.

I like to think the latent Chloris legacy would crop up (probably in combo with Mars and Poseidon's plant aspects) and give them an accidental Persephone-type theme and that's fun. Frazel's goth daughter who takes after her grandmother (and uncle).

Figured since Frank is Canadian and Hazel is from Louisiana they'd go for a French name. The flower theme was not intentional on their part it just happened. Law of demigod naming conventions appears nonetheless.

I figure Leo might not have kids of his own but he probably still hangs around with Hazel and Frank so of course he's going to make their kid a cool thematic robot pet. He's probably her godfather or something.

Ronan is literally just some kid who showed up at the Chase Space who coincidentally was a legacy of Freyr and could shapeshift. Magnus and Alex obviously can't have kids cause they're dead, BUT some orphan with essentially a combo of their powers just shows up on their doorstep? Their kid now.

The ironic part is of course their shapeshifting powers just happen to be because they're distantly related to one of Annabeth's friends. Ronan finds himself suddenly gaining two parents and two cousins (Iphis and Lily) in rapid succession.

He only picks up Magnus' last name though cause Alex has 100% disowned her mortal parents.

He has a seal flipper cause shapeshifting and apparently "Ronan" means seal. I just wanted to draw those two showcasing their shapeshifting a lil bit.

Might try to doodle the other next-gen kid thoughts I had at some point but idk when. anyways yeah.

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

xiii. and all the pieces fall right into place

— the one where he’s in love with you.

warnings: mykonos inaccuracies, mentions of anxiety, language, not proofread sorry! have mercy and ignore the mistakes, i feel like this is very romcomish and i actually quite like it! 3.5k words (+articles!)

currently playing: i'm in love with you by the 1975!

masterlist ✢ next

IT doesn't come as a surprise that actress y/n y/ln is surrounded by rumors and he-said-she-saids, her life has been a constant rollercoaster since March of the present year, when the news of her breakup to superstar Aidan Kim due to her cheating were made public by various outlets.

Since she decided to 'speak up' not two months ago, after letting the world drag her throught the mud, which in this writer's humble opinion, is the clearest sign of guilt. y/n has been on the road of digging her reputation out of the cemetery, not minding that what's dead should stay that way: Dead AND buried.

The public's opinion on the 'Queen of Romcoms' is progressively changing to her benefit, call it manipulation or excellent PR, word on the street is that y/n has landed a role that will mean the complete turnaround for her career in Greta Gerwig's version of 'Little Women' (as if we needed YET another version), alongside industry figures such as Timothée Chalamet, Meryl Streep and Saoirse Ronan.

One thing's for sure, this role will make or break her sorry excuse of a career. I hope you have taken acting lessons, y/n, because actual actors are about to give you a run for your money.

SEE ALSO:

→ Aidan Kim's 'In Your Pocket' M/V features ex girlfriend's belongings.

→ y/n y/ln and Charles Leclerc meet again in Paris.

→ Matilde Bassi takes on the role of Elphaba in her return to Broadway.

August 18th, Mykonos, Greece.

It's true what they say: everything is worse in your head.

It isn't like you to prove motivational Pinterest quotes right, but they are right. This trip looked wildly different in your head and not exactly in a positive way, though, to be fair after the shitshow you've lived through for half the year, your head is not the happiest place on Earth. Or the one that sees the glass half-full.

Anxiety was the only thing fueling you (besides a shaken espresso, again not the brightest idea) as you left Paris with Charles. Hyper-aware of his presence next or behind you as if he was this magnet you couldn't tear yourself apart from.

"What is it?" he'd asked a couple times when he felt your gaze on him as you waited by your gate for the flight to Athens. Charles was the textbook definition of confident and composed, hiding his expression behind a pair of Bvlgari shades. At the end of the day your destination had been his choice, which was fine by you. If you had to think any more than absolutely necessary about the trip and everything it involved, you would have backed out and ran back to New York with Matilde. And Charles knew this, so he took charge.

You only had so many 'it's nothing's in you before admitting that you were terrified. Not of him, of course, but the jumble in your brain and your heart didn't translate properly into words and it only added on to another fear: making a fool of yourself. After all this was, in its reason, absolutely terrifying. Confronting your feelings for Charles after months of denying you had them felt like some twisted exposure therapy. And the voices in your head that sometimes sounded a lot like Mati and others way too close to Victoria and Aidan, went from telling you that it is obvious Charles feels the same way to reminding you of how unlovable you truly are.

But it was all worse in your head.

Your brain has toned the fight or flight instinct per your insistence that it is supposed to be for actual life-threatening situations, not seeing Charles Leclerc in a bathing suit.

So you're enjoying the sun on your skin and the breeze in your hair. It's a beautiful place and you deserve to have a good time with someone you have grown to care about so much.

“Having fun?” You ask, letting your sunglasses slide past the bridge of your nose to look at Charles properly.

It’s yacht day, and although you don’t usually fare well in boats and were dreading the nausea even before you set foot in the thing, you’re doing pretty well.

“Of course I'm having fun, I'm with you.” Charles replies, smiling. He's lying next to you in a lounge chair, basking in the sun.

It's probably not a good idea for you to be tanning, since, if you get lucky you'll be playing a girl in a piece taking place in the United States Civil War. But if anything, you'll find a way to solve it.

"Are you sure that's going to look good?" you question, raising an eyebrow as Charles points the Polaroid in your direction. The quite strict 'no phones' policy was his idea, and you agreed in a heartbeat. You were willing to let the outside world outside. Which is what led you two to buy an extremely overpriced Polaroid camera in a tourist shop. "There's too much light."

Charles shrugs, snapping the picture while you still have your eyebrows raised. "We'll see."

You already have a collection between the pages of the book you carry with you in your suitcase, and it's only been one day since your holiday started. Charles and you take turns with the camera, but to be honest it's mostly him taking candids of you and showing them off excitedly.

"Gorgeous," he says after he's shaken the little square enough to reveal your image glaring at him. "Even if you are giving me a dirty look."

You laugh before rolling your eyes. His compliments come more often now, and he awaits your reaction with a slight anxiety that recedes when you smile. "My turn to have it."

Charles holds the camera close to his chest. "Not yet."

"You're so unfair,"

This makes Charles laugh again, but still doesn't give the camera up. "Fine. Let's take one together, soleil."

This would be your second picture together in the whole trip. The other one is a very bright depiction of your confused faces as you tested the camera for the first time. You wanted to throw it to the trash before Charles took it from you and kept it in the pocket of his trousers.

Charles makes the most space for you to sit down in the lounge chair as he possibly can, but there's a reason they're individual, so you're still halfway on top of him as you try to fit in the frame. His skin is warm, as it was expected from being in the sun, but your body reacts in the opposite way, exploding in goosebumps.

"Are you okay?" he asks, lowering the camera. His Adam's Apple bobs as he swallows, trying to keep his eyes on your face and not the bright pink top of your bikini.

"Perfect," you retort too quickly to be truthful, "I just— I'm in your personal bubble."

Charles chuckles. His free hand goes down from your shoulder to your bare waist in a second, pulling you closer to him and over-confident movement that shocks even Charles himself. "I like you being here."

You don't know how to react to the most obvious flirting you have been subjected to by Charles. You are not even sure you're capable of flirting back.

Your relationship with Aidan just happened. That's the only way you could describe it for the three years that you were with him. It happened because it was supposed to, you met in the set of a romcom, you kissed and kissed and kissed, and suddenly you didn't have to act as much in love as you had to just live it in front of the cameras. It made sense, at least for a while.

You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment in which you had fallen in love with Aidan Kim. You had just let your relationship from coworkers to fictional lovers to actual lovers run its course the way you thought was normal and expected. Maybe that was the first mistake in a long line you can't seem to stop dragging around. It's not like you didn't love him—in some moments more than others—but it didn't feel like you had fallen in love with him.

And with Charles, it couldn't be like that. It hadn't been like that from the start, but you still felt like you could fuck it up any second just by not being able to make a flirty retort without sounding like you were being strangled.

"You do?" you reply, letting your weight fall a little more on his legs. Maybe words can be left behind if you can get a grip on your actions. You don't want to be afraid, and you want to cross that threshold with him, finally.

He only holds your waist tighter, clearing his throat before readying the camera once more. Charles wants to kiss you, of course he wants to kiss you. He has probably wanted it since he saw you that day in his Driver's Room sneaking away with a granola bar and a bottle of water. But he also doesn't want to do it in the middle of a yacht, rushed and mostly hormone-driven.

"Ready, soleil?" Charles asks, his breath tickles your neck and you sink your fingers into his shoulder.

"Ready." you smile, enjoying the warmth of his body more than you do that of the sun.

─────────

You finish applying your peach colored lipstick three seconds before Charles knocks on the door to your room. Although you're exhausted from the sun, you're also relaxed and content, you can't wait to spend more time with Charles.

"Hi," you greet as you open the door. Charles is wearing khaki shorts and a half-unbuttoned white shirt, and the same Bvlgari sunglasses he's been carrying everywhere rest low on his chest. "I'm ready!"

Charles nods, holding his hand out for you. "You look beautiful, soleil."

"Thank you," you smile at him, taking his hand, although you wish you could have wiped it on your sundress before giving it to him. After the yacht, the whole aura shifted. Charles' gaze lingers on you more than usual, your fingers look for his, grazing each other until he finally intertwines them. You hope the sun melts you into one another.

Though maybe you should start by hoping you finally get the guts to kiss him.

It was your idea to get some drinks before dinner, and after a simple Google search you found a pretty place where you could chill while watching the sunset. Regrets came after that, when you found out you had to walk uphill to get to the place. Charles can't stop laughing as you whine and drag your already sore feet.

Once you are led to your seats—a pair of cushions on the floor of the terrace—you stop complaining. The view is magnificent and the expectation hanging in the air has you buzzing in the best way. Something is going to happen, and you know for the first time in months, it is going to be good.

Charles is talking about last year's Dutch Grand Prix, when your phone rings. While the idea of no phones allowed was lovely, it was a little unrealistic considering both your careers. But you have made it work with the "only urgent calls" feature and automatic response texts, so you know this is probably really important.

Matilde is staying at your house per your insistence that, even if you weren't there, she could make herself at home. But sometimes she still calls you to make sure that whatever she's doing is okay with you.

"Go ahead," Charles nods gently, thanking the waiter as he places your drinks in the tiny table between your cushions.

The unregistered number appears familiar as you stare at your screen, and you snap back to reality before missing the call. "Hello?"

"Hello," it's a female voice on the other side of the line, chirpy and clear. "Am I talking to Amy March?" she laughs, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Charles notices the way your demeanor changes and he's unsure of how to react in return. The hand holding your iPhone against your ear has begun to shake and your mouth is hanging slightly open, lower lip trembling.

You did it. You got the role.

You are coming back.

"y/n?" Charles ventures, anxiously.

"YES!" you speak to the phone again, unable to moderate your tone. "Yes, this is her!"

The casting director on the phone laughs again, although her ear is probably ringing. "Hello y/n, I just called to let you know about the role you got in..."

You try your best to pay attention to her as your eyes drift to Charles, your free palm pressed to your mouth, yet unable to hide your grin. The muscles in your face are still trembling with a mixture of excitement and the urge to cry. You thought happy tears would never come back to you.

Still unsure of what's happening, Charles looks at the people around you. Some have started to stare, others have already made up their minds about you being some crazy, noisy tourists and aren't interested in that. At least he's starting to feel relieved that you're smiling, although there are tears in the corner of your eyes.

You agree to a meeting next week and thank her around a million times before hanging up. It's official.

Charles remains silent, anxiously waiting for you to share the news.

"I got it!" you screech, and tears roll down your cheeks. The salt in them touches your lips, but you relish them. You are happy, ecstatic. "I got the role, Charlie!"

An audible sigh escapes from Charles' lips and before he knows it, you're throwing your arms around him. Not even giving him time to speak.

You're still crying as he envelops you in a hug that leaves you breathless. His hand runs down the back of your head and pulls you closer by your lower back.

"I knew you could do it," he whispers softly, before his lips brush against your temple. "Congratulations my sun."

The possessive has your stomach filling with butterflies and you hug Charles even tighter. You are grateful for him, because he did believe in you, and he has stuck to your side no matter how crazy your environment gets. He cares about you, genuinely and deeply.

Later you will have a recollection of moments that are tinted pink in your mind. Reminding you of all the times where you realized you were in love with Charles. But this one right here is the one where you realize you are so in love with the man holding you in his arms you can hardly breathe.

"Thank you, Charlie," you hiccup slightly, overwhelmed with every single emotion in your body. "Thank you."

Charles kisses your cheek gently, holding your face with both hands. "I'm really proud of you."

You smile widely as he runs a thumb across your cheek to wipe your tears. "Thanks."

You return to your own cushion hurriedly, too happy to feel embarrassed about the show you just put up for the rest of the tourists.

Now there's just one thing left for this to be perfect.

─────────

You're walking hand in hand back to the hotel, stopping with any chance you get. Attempting to make the night longer before you have to part ways at the door of your respective hotel rooms and spend yet another night tossing and turning, haunted by what could be or what could have been between the two of you.

But time is running out as you reach your floor and neither has given that step that will throw you both off the edge. In a good way, though.

"So, goodnight?" Charles rubs the back of his head anxiously, letting go of your hand as you rummage your beach bag for the key to your room.

You look up at him, the keycard already between your index and middle finger. "Goodnight, Charlie."

It's all awkwardness as Charles reaches for your hand again and gives it a gentle kiss. His stubble feels raspy against the back of your hand. You wrap your arms around him again letting your hand touch the back of his neck. Neither of you want to actually say goodnight.

"See you tomorrow," you mutter, aware that you've already hugged him more than what's socially acceptable.

Charles nods, squeezing your hand one last time before letting you disappear inside your room.

You want to scream into your pillow and hit yourself in the head. But Charles would probably be able to hear the banging against the wall and it would mortify you. You make yourself busy for a few minutes by removing your makeup and changing your clothes, before you finally listen to the impulse nagging your brain.

Go and find Charles.

You open the door to your room before your anxiety makes you hesitate and you find Charles closing the door to his.

"Oh," you say, slowly.

"Do you want to sit with me on the balcony?" Charles rushes to say, fighting against his anxiety much like you.

Both your rooms are the exact same, so when he points to his room, you move out of the door to yours instead.

"Yes."

Charles enters your room slowly, as if it's unknown territory, although it mirrors his. Maybe a little messier since you just threw your clothes all over the place as you ranted to yourself about how stupid and childish you were being just ten minutes ago.

"Sorry for the mess," you cringe, throwing the bottom of your bikini to one side with your left foot. You will probably be looking for that thing like crazy tomorrow, but you're trying to focus on the now.

"It's okay," Charles assures, smiling as he crosses the room to the glass door that leads to the balcony. Two lounge chairs and a simple table await.

You follow after him once you've grabbed some tiny bottles from the mini bar, two Red Labels and one Hennessy. Offering one to Charles before sitting in the chair next to him. Liquid courage, if anything.

Charles uncaps his Red Label and jiggles it gently towards you. "Toast?"

"To what?" you question, placing the tiny cap on the table. You've toasted to your new role several times already, and honestly it doesn't get old, but you want Charles to say whatever is on his mind.

"To us," Charles smiles, his eyes never leaving you. "For being here, together."

You clink the tiny bottle against his before downing half of the whisky in one gulp.

Both stay silent for a few minutes, listening to the waves crash against the shore and the sounds of people getting back to their rooms on the other side.

"I can feel you looking at me," you hum, still staring out the balcony and not back at Charles. "Charles?"

"That's because I'm looking at you," he responds nonchalantly. "Because you're beautiful."

You finally look at him, shaking your head lightly. "Thank you."

"And I'm in love with you, y/n," he's almost breathless by the time he says your name, but doesn't stop to take a sharp breath. He doesn't even hesitate as he changes his position in the lounge chair, his whole body facing you. "I am so in love with you, I don't understand how the fuck is my heart able to keep beating."

It's like the world has paused for Charles to continue with his confession in peace. All of Mykonos is holding its breath, even the sea.

"I know you already know," he adds as you open your mouth. "But I have to tell you because I cannot keep swallowing the words every time you look at me like that. I'm in love with you, and you don't have to say it back."

You're moving in slow motion as you leave your chair, you can feel your hands shaking but fight against the motion of pinching your thigh or pulling on the string of your shorts. You're nervous, but you're not about to back down. Charles holds his breath when you stand in front of him, but stands up too.

"I'm in love with you too," you breathe, placing a hand on his chest. His heart is going so fast, it's like the words he spoke not a minute ago float in the air. "I really am in love with you, Charles."

Charles is mildly afraid of touching you, as if by doing so you would disappear. But the urgency to finally kiss you is bigger than his fear, and he wants to hold you and blend your bodies together and so, so many things all at once.

His hands grip your face firmly, but not with enough strength to hurt you and you close your eyes, melting into the way his lips touch yours. Softly, tentatively at first. As if testing the pieces of a puzzle you're not quite certain they fit together. But you respond immediately, moving your mouth against his and taking your hand to his jaw.

And it's like overflowing gates have finally opened.

Charles stumbles back to the low chair, pulling you with him swiftly yet with care. His hands have traveled down to your hips and he helps you settle on his lap, straddling him. He has wished for this moment so many times, has fantasized about it on countless occasions, and none of those daydreams compare to the way your lips feel against his. The way your hands move to his hair and how you grip his shoulders to maintain balance.

And it's only when you really need to breathe again that you break the kiss. Your chests rise and fall frantically, matching your heartbeats. You can't wait to kiss him again. You never want to stop kissing him.

He's staring at you, and he has never looked more beautiful than right now with his disheveled hair and reddened lips. And his eyes are so bright when he looks at you, your heart races even more.

So you kiss him again, pressing your chest tighter against him as he holds the back of your head and your lower back. His tongue tastes like whisky and mint as he runs it down your lower lip, and you let him deepen the kiss as much as he wants to. Both of you have wanted this for months, and it's enough and nothing at all, at the same time.

"I'm yours, y/n," Charles says between kisses, breathless and with a tinge of desperation. "Je suis à toi, mon soleil."

And you kiss him again, and again, and again. Because you're his too. You have been his for so long.

─── team principal radio: ❝in the wise words of taylor swift: it's been a long time coming! thank you so much for reading I hope you enjoyed this chapter because i LOVED writing it. also, thank you so much for being so patient and waiting for an update! i'm glad you're still here❤️❞

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[cloveroctobers]

string of lights — 4. Armando Aretas [Winter Prompts]

A/N: The list keeps on growing for this man but I couldn’t help but to imagine what he would be like during the Christmas season…yet it’s never that simple with me ofc! Also never watched Vikings a day in my life so I’m not entirely sure how Travis’ character is but I’ve seen enough TikTok’s on him outside of his character lol so this is more oc than anything and I thought it would be fun to throw a little connection in there. Hope you like 🤍

PROMPT IS FROM HERE & I’m using: SITUATIONS — We broke up and I'm asking someone else to go home with me for the holidays because I know my ex will be there with someone + DIALOGUE PROMPTS — “I'm not drunk!" // "Oh yeah? Then why are your eyes crossed?”

WARNINGS: ended up longer than intended, language, heartbreak, corny Christmas one liners, one night stand + slight intimate scene.

<- read my previous anthology winter prompt here.

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She warned you.

She meaning Kelly.

Kelly warned you that Armando would be here with his supposed ex fiancée and you’ve never known Kelly to be a liar. In fact, you considered her a friend outside of AMMO and her blunt nature could be harsh majority of the time but you can always trust her to give it to you straight. It was simple over text but she knew already before you responded that you needed an explanation, which later resulted in her sending over a voice message about ten minutes later—she got distracted okay!

You already had a sense of dread going to Christine’s annual Christmas party (it was mostly for charity) single because who really wants to be single on the holiday’s? but you made a promise that you would show your face. You never broke a promise, this many knew. Yet you couldn’t say the same for your ex. Now that Armando was parading his ex in your face, the same ex from Mexico City, that he decided not to tell you about because his past life was meant to be kept there although you got a pretty good glimpse of it, that relationship was actually some sort of arranged marriage (that Isabel set up) until she mysteriously disappeared, yeah that ex was also going to be in attendance.

It left a nasty taste in your mouth but you didn’t want to be the bitter one. You could hold a grudge and be in your feelings but why did that have to automatically mean you were bitter? Angry and hurt, sure but bitter? Just felt misplaced. There was nothing else to talk about, Armando made his decision to want to explore what that relationship could be like again, like you were supposed to be put back on the shelf and sit pretty until Armando was ready to try again when it didn’t work out.

Notice how you said when?

You were never going to be someone’s second option.

Especially not to someone who claimed they would die for you and without you.

Armando’s dark eyes were burning into you from across the hall but the more cranberry martini’s you threw back, his stare honestly just felt like a gnat you would have to lightly fan away. So you angled your body in your fancy party dress so your gaze wouldn’t dare look his way over your shoulder, further tuning into the conversation with Dorn’s cousin, Ronan Steffensen, who told you that he could basically be Dorn’s father—followed by a eye roll from the blond—with how involved he was in Dorn’s upbringing.

“Yeah, I always could tolerate you much better than Jax.” Dorn called over his shoulder, referring to Ronan’s younger brother, as Kelly pulled him away to mainly dance but to leave you alone to engage with Dorn’s cousin, with a wink tossed your way.

It was honorable how Dorn spoke so highly of the guy and now you can put the name to the face. You wished he would have put you on sooner but…there’s no time like the present! Ronan had the brightest of blues that no frame of glasses could shield with a hint of mischief in them the longer you stared. A hour and half had passed since you two got introduced but the conversation never got boring.

Armando can tell you were enjoying yourself. You barely acknowledged him when Detective Lowrey called you over after your attempt to sneak on by. His own low lidded eyes lifted a bit in annoyance at his…father trying to force you two to play nice. Working together was tense enough but regardless when things got hectic, the both of you would always look out for one another.

“Thanks for that back there.” Armando walked behind, butt of the sniper resting against his shoulder as the both of you made your way back to the van a few nights back.

He knew how much you weren’t a fan of weaponry, preferring hand to hand combat more than anything but in a case like this, where Armando let his guard slip in search of you through the smog, you landed a single bullet to the neck of your opponent, slightly clipping the tip of Armando’s ear in the process.

You scoff, “No need to thank me. That’s part of the job, watch your back and hope you watch mine in return.”

He blinks with a slight frown, “Of course I would. I’m just acknowledging what you did back there for me.”

“Mhm.” You exhale, fighting the urge to not roll your eyes. You couldn’t even lie and say that part of it wasn’t for him.

Armando was the one that was always a person of few words and he hated that he was getting this from you so he starts, “Look—

You shake your head, “Let’s just continue doing what we need to do so you can get back to Priscilla.”

Armando winced from behind you as you nearly spit out the woman’s name but you didn’t see that, “Y/N.”

“Armando. You should get your ear checked out when we get back.” You hissed with the back of your hand facing him, which meant you were done talking, and Armando took the hint, deciding not to press you.

Tonight was different.

Whereas Armando was supposed to be enjoying the party, he kept moving around the supposed hall, which was actually more of a mansion, zoning out of conversations to keep his eye on you and Dorn’s older cousin.

“I can give you something else to look at,” Priscilla purs as she stands in her tassled low-cut red dress, tucked underneath Armando’s shoulder.

He hums, slowly bringing his eyes to meet her green ones, not hiding that he had been caught.

“If you’re going to stare at her the whole night, you might as well tell her to come home with us instead of with Dorn’s primo.”

His jaw sets at the mention of you going home with someone else but he knows deep deeep down he doesn’t have the right.

“You decide what you want to do.” She runs her finger up his chest before sharply gripping his tightened jaw, her pointed acrylics digging into his flesh, “but don’t you dare embarrass me.”

Which means what exactly?

“Kinda like how you left me in the dark about your whereabouts…how long ago?” Armando easily furrowed his brows at the audacity of this woman.

“That’s just business baby, don’t act like you don’t know how it is.” She dismissed, which made Armando scowl as she began to strut away.

The night went on but Armando knew to keep his distance. From overly invasive questions from colleagues of Christine’s, who were just dying to know how a old cartel member with a highly respectable birth father for a detective managed to turn his life around for the better, to the overflow of the awful peppermint desserts, spiked hot chocolate, to trying to keep his eyes off of you and Ronan but didn’t falter when Ronan caught him and you attempted to be oblivious as you now held onto his arm like you were suddenly a couple now, to ignoring Priscilla’s advances for a quickie in one of the marble bathrooms, being disgusted by the white powder on her nose which definitely wasn’t her makeup, to small chatter with AMMO and Reggie, telling both Mike and Marcus to butt out on them checking up on him in regards to you, which resulted in Marcus threatening to stick his size 10 up his ass if he didn’t fix his behavior, all Armando could do was smirk at his new uncle, showing him that he wasn’t the least bit threatened, and to finally almost getting in Dorn’s face about bringing more than a plus one to this event.

Armando had to collect himself, straightening out Dorn’s business casual attire, “…My bad bro. I just…need a minute.”

“Well take one.” Kelly snaps, ready to shove Armando her damn self.

Dorn, always the one to give people the benefit of the doubt and diffuse his fiery girlfriend says, “Kelly,” he warns before turning his gaze to Armando who rubs at his face, “What was that about? Do you need to talk?”

“No. Definitely not.” Armando scowls, growing more iritated that people were concerned about his well-being when he said he was fine many times.

His eyes find you making your way out of the room towards the gigantic red and gold covered tree in the lobby that made you appear so tiny. He could tell from across the room that you were wobbly in your heels and sensed that you were leaving. His eyes quickly searched for Mike who sipped from his drink, eyes already peering at his son from underneath his eyelashes. A dip of his head to Armando makes him aware that you already had said your goodbyes for the night.

“Armando…let it go.” Dorn calls out, careful not to touch him but his hands were open as if he was ready to guard him.

Armando side eyed the blond as he pointed at the couple, “You two were trying to distract me.”

“Oh, boo-hoo! She deserves a good lay for the holidays and since you broke her heart like the dissociative asshole you are, Dorn and I decided to give her a gift of our own.” Kelly sends a smug smile his way, crossing her arms.

Armando flares his nostrils.

Dorn shakes his head at the Filipina before turning back to his team member, “That wasn’t exactly my plan. I actually didn’t have a plan really. Ronan’s in town and he didn’t have anything going on tonight so I thought why not—

Kelly shushed him, “Dorn baby, you don’t need to explain yourself to him.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Armando exclaimed, making the dark haired woman tilt her head.

“Hey.” Dorn cuts in as he notices some attendees whip their head at Armando’s language and also because he didn’t appreciate how Armando was speaking to Kelly, “Let’s be chill here.”

“Chill about what? You setting my girl up with some bozo who can’t even see how many fingers I’m holding up?”

Dorn frowns as Kelly lets out humorless laughter, knuckles going back to knock against her boyfriend’s chest, “Did you hear that? Armando still thinks he gets a say in what y/n does. Isn’t your fiancée around here somewhere? Or is she taking another bump of snow in one of the many corners of this place?”

Armando didn’t know why he was wasting more time going back and forth with Kelly. She often had no issue saying what was on her mind and right to Armando’s face, making them butt heads often but she was a helluva weapons expert and ultimately a good friend to you.

So he walks off, making Kelly also stalk after him but Dorn grips her wrist and shakes his head at her, deciding for the both of them that they’ve done enough tonight.

When Armando catches up to you, you’re staring up at the lights, a goofy smile on your face, and it sounds like you’re humming along to one of the sickening Christmas instrumentals, until a glare hits your face, getting a sense of Armando beside you.

“Leaving so soon?” Armando questions, clapping his hands behind his back, “The night is still young.”

You throw your head back as you laugh, “Of course it is, which is why it’s continuing…at my place.” You whisper the last bit as if it’s a secret.

“You’re not driving.” Armando states.

You snort, “Its not your business but I’ve got a beautiful man who’s gonna keep me entertained. I’ll be a passenger princess tonight. He should be coming back from the bathroom any minute.” Which was ironic as you unintentionally tell him, searching your satin clutch to reapply your plum colored gloss to your lips.

Armando flicks his eyes from your lips up to your face, “You’re drunk.” He sighs.

“I’m not drunk!” You yell while trying to roll your eyes and pluck your lipgloss back into your bag but you miss as it clutters to the linoleum floor.

Armando saves you the trouble of bending down, picking it up for you so you wouldn’t tumble over. You snatch it from his grasp as he says, “Oh yeah, Then why are your eyes crossed?”

You laugh, resting a hand against your cheek, “B-being worried about me is funny when you weren’t worried about me when you decided to leave me in t-t-the dust for the chica who belongs in whoville! Don’t worry though, Ronan will probably make my vision worse…and I’m not talking about stealing his glasses off his handsome face. So you can go now, I’ll be warm enough tonight.”

A clearing of a throat interupts your stare off and Armando’s stare turns heated as Ronan stands behind you two. You don’t even waste time, not wanting the two to chat as you let out a sigh, arms wrapping around his neck, as his hands rest on the big white bow on the back of your dress. Ronan is all grins as well, his hand going up in the air to wave at Armando as you practically drag him away into the night.

Now it was Armando’s turn to feel a nasty taste in his own mouth as he watches you two leave.

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Although you were drunk, somewhere in your mind you managed not to scream Armando’s name once Ronan got inside you. He wasn’t Armando at all but he still knew what he was doing. You had no doubts in your mind with a man like this as you sat on his lap, his hand guiding you by the jaw so your lips could reconnect.

His glasses were so fogged up that you just decided to do the honors of taking them off his face as you sat on his lap. The both of you tasted like liquor and that was enough courage for the both of you to tis’ the season. You knew what it was as the night carried on at Christine’s party and after you let it slip to Ronan that you wanted to snatch Armando’s eyes out of his damn skull, he left the floor open for you to give a rundown of what happened.

Ronan had no problem accepting taking you home tonight in hopes that you could forget about Armando but that didn’t work out in your favor. You should have known better, Armando was your person and Ronan would just be for the night. You bit down on the tip of your tongue so hard that you should have had your own source of cranberry dripping from it as Ronan gave one last thrust up into you, finishing last by being the gentleman that he is, then one of his hands drags the rest of your ripped tights down your lower legs, before trailing his finger up your thigh, and nipping at your bottom lip.

“Wow…who knew you had it in you?” You joked, staring up into the blues through half lidded eyes.

He’s laughing against your mouth, “Joy to the world and all that is what they say, babe.”

You roll your eyes before pecking his lips once more.

He doesn’t stay and it doesn’t bother you as you manage to get into your lengthy night routine and being a giggly mess you order from doordash from two places, deciding to surprise yourself. You’re just about to doze off on your couch when knocks on the door and ringing of the door bell manages to wake you. Groaning you get to your feet, dragging yourself to the door and yank it open.

It’s Armando standing in your illuminated doorway, still dressed in his christmas wear from the party.

“You’re not doordash…don’t tell me you’re some sort of porch pirate?” You lean against the door, blocking his way in, still trying to sober up despite being in cozy wear and showcasing glass skin—for the next twelve hours that is—your skin has a mind of her own.

Armando scoffs, hand going to push the door back but you held on for a bit, which makes the bearded man quirk up a brow. “Let me in, mami. We need to talk…the only way I can get my mind right is if we have a convo.”

“Sounds more like you wanted to interrupt.”

Armando dips his head at your accusation, “Who’s to say his body isn’t already in the dumpster in the alley?”

Scrunching up your summerfridays covered lips you rasp, “…that’s not very jolly of you, ya know?”

“Y/n.”

You sigh, stepping back from the door and allowing Armando in, knowing this would probably be a mistake but instantly felt your heart race as he strolled around your penthouse. The curtains are wide open, showing the view of the city lights in various shades of white and rainbow.

He’s leaning against the window, legs crossed at the ankle as Armando rests his forehead against the cool of glass. Slowly closing his eyes, he exhales, while you try to roll the tension out of your neck, folding your arms as you awaited for him to say what he needed to say so you can kick him right out.

“Is Priscilla slumped out in the passenger seat or something…I don’t know why you’re here?” You begin, the drumming of your heart was getting too loud in the quiet of your home and Armando’s presence was the cause of that.

He rolls his eyes and steps back from the glass, which makes you feel a bit better since you always hated when he looked out into Miami like this. It was humorous, you being afraid of heights but snagged you a spot on one of the highest levels in the building. Sometimes he likes to do it just to work your nerves but tonight he needed strength from the lights that guided him here.

Armando clasps his hands in front of him, which lets you know he’s in serious mode, “We don’t gotta talk about her.��

“But we need to talk about Ronan?” You fired off.

His nostrils flare as he exhaled, “He ain’t important either. You’re a free woman and you’re open to do what you want…but don’t think for a second it’s gonna continue.”

“Oh?” You push your lips out in confusion, “You want to play mind games right now? You can let yourself out cause I’m not doing this with you.”

You make your way over to your couch, plopping down and search for your phone to check the ETA on your late night dinner.

“I said we should talk.” Armando restates while he plops right down on your coffee table, sitting in front of you so you had no choice but to meet his eyes, “…I realized that I really didn’t want to go home to Priscilla and not just tonight.”

“Because she represents everything that you’ve tried…for the most part…to leave in the rearview.” You answer as you tap your chin, “Sounds like something I said to you a minute ago huh?”

“I fucked up,” Armando admits with a nod of his head, “And I’m not gonna ask for you take me back because I know I don’t deserve it, not when it seems like I just dropped you like you dont mean the world to me.”

A tongue goes into your cheek, “If this is how you treat your world…I hate to see what your hell looks like.”

He’s quick with it, “I’m living it, without you.”

“I can’t tell.”

“You know me better than you think.” Armando tells, “I felt like I owed it to myself to just see if something was still there. Cilly and I—we had a connection.”

You pointed out, “That your mother set up.”

“Sure but we’ve leaned on each other with our struggles.”

“And that’s love?” You quizzed.

“I never said it was love. Just that we care for each other…had a partnership.”

You sigh, “I thought we had something special too once.”

“I’m in love with you, mami.” Armando stares hard at you, pressing his elbows into his knees as if to get closer to you but still respecting your space, “So much that it hurts to breathe…which I’ve never felt before in my life…and I didn’t just end up here because of my ego. I ended up here because I can’t go any more nights missing you. I’m sorry for picking my past over my priority.”

At a loss for words, you felt blood rushing to your face and possibly tears on the inside. You weren’t really an emotional drunk, more of a hungry and horny type and you aren’t sure if you wanted to remember any of this in the morning. Armando really hurt you good and to hear him say this while the room was spinning like a carousel, to be so vulnerable when he was used to being a shell, meant a lot.

Feeling like you would crumble, you just sink back into the couch, staring at him with glossy eyes. His hand goes to your knee, you don’t move and your eyes close. His touch seemed to only make your heart drum harder. Sweet words can mean anything but actions were always louder.

Maybe Armando did come to you by some unforeseen light. When your eyes opened to meet his, you saw him in a whole new one, a complex man that you were willing to love once upon a time.

Now it was up to you to choose what you would do with this.

Keep the lights on, let them flicker, or…simply unplug them.

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Continue with my winter anthology prompts here.

[chosetherose]

Updated as of 6/30

The Eras Tour *Surprise Songs*

Taylor said her goal is to not repeat each show’s surprise songs so I thought it would be fun to track them as the tour goes on! Black strikethrough is included in the main set list. Purple strikethrough are included in the main set list but have been switched up at some show/s. Blue songs Taylor played but might be repeated due to messing up.

Taylor Swift

Tim McGraw (3/17) • Picture to Burn • Teardrops on My Guitar (5/5) • A Place in This World (4/22) • Cold as You (4/23) • The Outside • Tied Together with a Smile • Stay Beautiful• Should’ve Said No (5/19) • Mary’s Song (Oh My My My) • Our Song (3/24) • I’m Only Me When I’m with You (6/30) • Invisible (5/20) • A Perfectly Good Heart

Fearless

Fearless • Fifteen (5/6) • Love Story • Hey Stephen (5/14) • White Horse (3/25) • You Belong With Me • Breathe• Tell Me Why• You’re Not Sorry (4/21) • The Way I Loved You • Forever & Always (5/13) • The Best Day (5/14) • Change • Jump Then Fall (4/2) • Untouchable • Come In With The Rain • Superstar • The Other Side Of The Door (4/28) • You All Over Me (6/3) • Mr. Perfectly Fine (6/16) • We Were Happy • That’s When • Don’t You • Bye Bye Baby • Today was a fairytale (4/22)

Speak Now

Mine (5/7) • Sparks Fly (5/5) • Back To December • Speak Now (4/13, Taylor restarted part of the song but did not confirm it could be played again) • Dear John (6/24) • Mean (4/15) • The Story Of Us (6/17) • Never Grow Up • Enchanted • Better Than Revenge • Innocent• Haunted (6/9) • Last Kiss • Long Live • Ours (3/31) • If This Was A Movie (6/23) • Superman

Red

State Of Grace (3/18) • Red (5/21) • Treacherous (4/13) • I Knew You Were Trouble • All Too Well • 22 • I Almost Do (6/9) • We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together • Stay Stay Stay • The Last Time (6/16) • Holy Ground (5/27) • Sad Beautiful Tragic (3/31) • The Lucky One (4/2) • Everything Has Changed • Starlight • Begin Again (4/23) • The Moment I Knew (6/4) • Come Back… Be Here (5/12) • Girl At Home • Ronan • Better Man (5/19) • Nothing New • Babe • Message In A Bottle • I Bet You Think About Me (4/30) • Forever Winter • Run • The Very First Night • All Too Well – 10 Minute Version

1989

Welcome To New York (5/28) • Blank Space • Style • Out Of The Woods (5/6, Taylor confirmed it might be played again) • All You Had To Do Was Stay • Shake It Off • I Wish You Would (6/2) • Bad Blood • Wildest Dreams • How You Get The Girl (4/30) • This Love (5/13) • I Know Places • Clean (4/1, Taylor confirmed it might be played again, 5/28) • Wonderland (4/21) • You Are In Love • New Romantics

Reputation

…Ready For It? • End Game • I Did Something Bad • Don’t Blame Me • Delicate • Look What You Made Me Do • So It Goes… • Gorgeous (4/29) • Getaway Car (5/26) • King Of My Heart • Dancing With Our Hands Tied • Dress • This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things • Call It What You Want • New Year’s Day

Lover

I Forgot That You Existed • Cruel Summer • Lover • The Man • The Archer • I Think He Knows (5/21) • Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince • Paper Rings (6/23) • Cornelia Street • Death By A Thousand Cuts (4/1, Taylor confirmed it might be played again) • London Boy • Soon You’ll Get Better • False God (5/27) • You Need To Calm Down • Afterglow • Me! • It’s Nice To Have A Friend • Daylight (6/24) • All of the Girls You’ve Loved Before

Folklore

The 1 (replaced IS multiple shows) • Cardigan • The Last Great American Dynasty • Exile with Bon Iver • My Tears Ricochet • Mirrorball (3/17) • Seven (spoken, 6/17) • August • This Is Me Trying (3/18) • Illicit Affairs • Invisible String (replaced by T1 multiple shows) • Mad Woman (4/15) • Epiphany • Betty • Peace • Hoax • The Lakes (6/2)

Evermore

Willow • Champagne Problems • Gold Rush (5/12) • Tis The Damn Season • Tolerate It • No Body, No Crime • Happiness • Dorothea • Coney Island (4/28) • Ivy • Cowboy Like Me (3/25) • Long Story Short • Marjorie • Closure • Evermore (6/30) • Right Where You Left Me •It’s Time To Go

Midnights

On 4/14 Taylor changed the rule: ALL SONGS ON MIDNIGHTS MAY BE REPEATED. I’m adding the dates to the midnights surprise songs but they will remain in black text since they can be repeated.

Lavender Haze • Maroon (5/26) • Anti-Hero • Snow on the Beach (3/24) • You’re on Your Own, Kid (4/14) • Midnight Rain • Question…? (5/20) • Vigilante Shit • Bejeweled • Labyrinth • Karma • Sweet Nothing • Mastermind • The Great War (4/14) • Bigger Than the Whole Sky • Paris • High Infidelity (4/29) • Glitch • Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve (5/7) • Dear Reader • Hits Different (6/4)

Other

I don’t wanna live forever (6/3)

[romantichopelessly]

invitation to speak more about the secret good td3 in your head, if you so desire!

Ok so I sat on this ask for DAYS because I wanted to have some cohesive, great answer, but the thing about The Dreamer Trilogy that haunts me is that I can never come up with good concrete thoughts about how to fix the issues I have with it, which is why I reference the “secret good td3 in my head” because it can never fully leave my head in any real way. That being said here’s a list of some elements I would change to make my secret good td3, in no particular order.

The visionaries don’t exist. Liliana, Persifal, etc. are just psychics that keep getting visions of the end, and die for reasons other than their power. Explaining what Visionaries are and subsequently over explaining the magic system of td3 is part of what made the trilogy so confusing and ruined a lot of the magic that the TRC universe already had for me. We don’t need concrete explanations, and psychics can still fill this role. The changing age and exploding added nothing?? to the narrative?? that I can think of?? We can even keep the age gap for Carliana if we want to, just make Liliana an older psychic like Maura/Persephone/Calla. It will even add to the excellent Carmen-Mr. Gray parallels.

Lean more into the themes of the age group. TRC is a coming of age story. It’s about being 17/18. It’s about learning your inner self and getting others to see the true you. TD3 should be more about being 19/20/21. To me, TD3 at its peak is like Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 6. Which is uniquely about the horror of being in your early 20s, losing support systems, having to learn to be a full self-reliant person, grappling with what your parents did to you, and the crushing loneliness of not being around Your People anymore. TD3 has all of these themes, but I really think they need to be fleshed out more, and given proper conclusion that isn’t just “yippee everything is fine now!”

Greywaren is longer. I think almost everyone agrees that Greywaren, as a book was just too short to wrap up all the plot lines set up, and does almost none of them justice. That book needed a whole rewrite. In theory, I’m completely fine with how it opens—Ronan being in a dream coma was foreshadowed from CDTH, and is an idea that I’d actually thought of as interesting before even reading the book. Other elements of this book like Declan’s rampage, Matthew going rogue, etc are great directions for the characters, I’d just want to rework them. I could make solo posts about any of these.

The Pynch breakup either doesn’t happen, or is set up further in advance and lasts longer. Personally, I lean towards the latter. Adam and Ronan’s conflict is set up from the very beginning of CDTH, or even from Opal (Adam warring between wanting to stay with Ronan and needing to follow through with his lifelong plans, and being frustrated that Ronan never asks for anything from Adam (specifically, to stay) ((side note: perhaps Adam’s insecurity here about Ronan respecting his boundaries so thoroughly stems from both having a family that never would respect his wishes, and Gansey (Adam’s model of love, Adam’s model of everything) having to learn not to ask things like that of Adam. What does it mean that Ronan never even tries?)) AND Ronan dealing with the crushing loneliness of being left and dealing with the consequences of having a long distance bf who is more successful than him). So they needed to have an argument about this. It’s also just in character that these two would not be perfect communicators. So. My idea: In CDTH we get no Adam POVs, just Ronan’s side of the story. We see, rather than Ronan just getting upset over one missed text, that Adam begins to pull away after the murder crab incident. We the audience don’t know why, other than Ronan’s unreliable narration and insecurity. So when Adam doesn’t respond to that one text at a vital fraught time, Ronan does what he does best, shuts down, pulls away and self destructs. Then MI rolls around and we start getting Adam POVs. We learn that after the murder crabs, Adam was throwing himself into trying to fix the nightwash situation for Ronan (Adam is not in contact with Declan here, unfortunately). After visiting for Ronan’s birthday and seeing the Lace, Adam starts to have dreams/premonitions about the end of the world (no visionaries in this universe, just psychics who are/were close to dreamers getting the visions!!). So he obviously sets out to fix this alone too. He calls his best approximations to contacts in this underground world that aren’t Declan. Henry and Mr. Gray. (+ maybe also Maura & Calla) ((Also don’t worry Henry doesn’t leave the Sarchengsey trip, just advises Adam on where to start)). Now that Adam has lost contact with Ronan (he was busy and missed the message and Ronan went off the grid like in canon), he goes full throttle into trying to solve everything while managing being his perfect Harvard persona (this gets him close to a breakdown, very reminiscent to Dream Thieves). Perhaps we get to see Adam and Declan working together to acquire sweet metals and understand the underworld of magic together. He and Ronan fight the one time they get to talk over the phone, Adam because he is truly scared Ronan will be the one to end the world, Ronan because he feels like this is another person perceiving him as a failure and wanting to control/baby him (+ he hates Adam hanging with Mr Gray and Declan of all people). By the time Greywaren starts, Adam is wrung out and hurting and Ronan is dead to the world, so yeah. He doesn’t think he can spend emotional energy playing safeguard to his boyfriend’s coma corpse. And then by the end of the book they have an actual argument/discussion no “they didn’t need words” cop out.

The number of Dreamers/Dreams has to be reduced. It’s cool to say that dreams were always integrated into this world, but it creates so many plot holes it isn’t even funny. There is no way Niall could have passed off the Greywaren being a box that brings dreams to life if Dreamers were such a common occurrence. No secret can be kept that well, someone in the black market would have known, and thus Greenmantle/Mr. Gray/Laumonier/ect WOULD HAVE KNOWN !!!

Declan does not have all his character erased by suddenly loving his mommy and daddy. Seriously what the fuck was that. Declan suddenly deciding to forgive his father because actually Declan was secretly the favorite child first is INSANE. Especially after seeing that that changed because Niall and Mor WANTED TO KILL HIS BROTHER!!! The two tenants of Declan Lynch in TRC were protecting his remaining family and fucking hating that Ronan idolized Niall just because Niall loved him best. So why make Declan turn around and do the same??? Suddenly Niall wasn’t so bad because actually he let Declan be shoved into a car trunk during a shootout out of love. I hate this plot line. Family doesn’t have to be forgiven. Understood, that’s one thing. Forgiven?? Not always. Sick of it. The real takeaway from seeing those memories should have been closure to Declan’s arc of learning that dreams should be viewed as people completely.

I definitely have other points but I cannot think of them right now. And I want to post this so I will. But TD3, as you can see, makes me an insane person.

[mychemicalrachel]

THE LONGEST NIGHT

part one!!!!

Part Two.

The not-prostitute's name was Parrish and he had the prettiest face Ronan had ever seen, coupled with the most obnoxious demeanor. It began as stolen glances from across the cell while Parrish– at least that's what they called him when they brought him in and tossed him in holding– reiterated again and again and again that he, unlike these other hardened criminals, did not belong here. Ronan was pretty sure he was in love, if not with Parrish then at least with his smile. It was a nice smile, almost as nice as his scowl.

“Racing,” Ronan said. “Got caught doing 110 in a 55.”

“That's fast,” Parrish remarked and Ronan was certain he looked at his mouth when he did. Then he sucked his teeth. “Too bad you still lost.”

A startled laugh pushed its way up Ronan's throat. This Parrish guy was an asshole. Ronan looked at his mouth again. Perfectly curved cupid's bow, straight teeth, slightly pointed canines that would leave delicious marks on Ronan's skin. “Who says I lost?”

“You're here,” Parrish said. “Which means you were slow enough to get caught.”

He laughed again and Parrish smiled. Ronan would throw a thousand races just to see that smile again, which was an insane thing to think when they’d just met. They didn’t know one another, and yet Ronan felt like they had been destined to meet. Maybe in another life, they were soulmates, bound together by true love, fated to find each other in every life after.

The Catholic in Ronan winced. It was too fucking late to be considering the possibility of reincarnation and the merits of meeting his soulmate in a jail cell. And yet, the blue of Parrish’s eyes had captivated him, struck him down like a bolt of lightning, and reinvigorated him in a way Ronan didn’t know was possible. Hell, he didn’t even know Parrish’s first name. He wondered what that said about his standards.

“What if we got out of here,” Ronan said, his voice low so Parrish had to lean closer to hear, “and then I show you how fast I can really go.”

“Yeah,” Parrish said. “Yeah. I’ll tell you what, man–”

“Ronan,” he offered, “Lynch.”

“Well, Lynch. If you can get me out of here, I’ll go anywhere you’d like.”

Just the thing Ronan wanted to hear. He slapped his hand down on Parrish’s knee when he stood up. A long time ago, when he’d spent his first night sleeping off a hangover in a cell, he expected the bars to be cold. Now Ronan knew that the metal sucked up all the heat in the room, the heavy snores from the guard and the sighs of the prisoners, holding it captive, so hot it could almost burn. Grabbing onto the bars, Ronan shook them until they ratted.

“Yo, Chuck!” he yelled. “Chucky, my man! Lemme out of this shithole!”

Across the room, the chair under Deputy Dumbass creaked. He groaned when he stood up. “Chrissake, Lynch,” he said. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Let me out now and I promise I’ll never call you Chucky again.”

“Oh, you promise, do you?” Chucky raised a dubious eyebrow. He was willing to play along, even if he knew it was a promise Ronan could never keep.

“Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t no goddamn boy scout. Back up.”

Ronan backed up. The cell wasn’t very big. Henrietta didn’t need a huge department when most of the local crime was confined to speeding and bar fights. The guys in here were regulars– Ronan saw them more than he saw his own family. They weren’t talkers and they didn’t ask questions, so Ronan enjoyed their company– until he didn’t.

Chucky unlocked the door and swung it open, letting Ronan step out.

“Go,” he gestured with the ring of keys. “Get, before I change my mind.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Ronan stopped. “But I want to take him with me.”

Looking back in the direction Ronan’s slender finger pointed, Chucky frowned. “Can’t do that,” he said. “Gotta see a judge first. Picked that one up on a count of solicitation–”

Huh. So Parrish had been telling the truth about that.

“Come on, Chuck,” Ronan said. He looked again at Parrish, the innocence in his wide eyes, the dirty khaki pants. He looked like he should’ve been in a pamphlet for community college, not sitting awkwardly between two dudes who looked like they’d escaped a ZZ Top cover band. “Look at him and tell me he’s a motherfucking hooker.”

“Can’t judge a book by its cover,” Chuck said.

“Chucky. He’s wearing a sweater vest. You ever seen a prostitute in a sweater vest?”

Chucky considered it. It was possible, of course, if he had been soliciting a very niche group of individuals. Eventually, he sighed. “If I let him go, will you get out of my office faster?”

“You won’t even see me leave.”

He groaned some more, but gestured for Parrish to get up. He pointed a finger at Ronan, threatening, “Do not make me regret this, Lynch. Keep your nose clean. And keep his clean while you're at it.”

But Ronan had already grabbed Parrish by the wrist, dragging him toward the door, gone before Chuck could change his mind.

Parrish, to Ronan’s surprise, followed quietly until they got to the parking lot. By the time they reached the BMW, parked illegally in a handicap space, Parrish had slowed, then stopped, seemingly trying to gather his wits.

“Uh,” he said eloquently, “what the hell just happened?”

Ronan raised his arms, motioning to the car and the mostly vacant lot around them. “I just got you out.”

“Yeah. How? Did you bribe a cop?”

Bribery didn’t work on cops around here. Too many obnoxious rich kids more than willing to pay off the local fuzz. Unfortunately, money did not buy everything, but it did help.

“My brother bailed me out hours ago. So about that ride…”

“Hmm, no,” Parrish waved his hand, like he was attempting to erase Ronan. “Go back. What do you mean your brother already bailed you out? You were free to go anytime you wanted and you just… didn't?”

“Sleeping in a cell beat the alternative,” Ronan unlocked the car with the keys he swiped off Chuck's desk. “Going home meant I had to listen to my brother bitch.”

“What kind of psychopath would rather take a nap in a jail cell rather than just talk to their own brother?”

“It's not about being a psychopath,” he explained. “It's the fact that I got caught, remember? And my brother is the asshole who was faster than me. Anyways,” Ronan climbed into the BMW, starting the engine. Through the open passenger window, he looked at Parrish. Even in the dark, with an incredulous look painted on his pretty features, he was a sight to behold. “Night's not getting any younger, Parrish. You coming or not?”

He didn't know what the plan was if Parrish said no. He'd hitchhike back to his car, allegedly broke down in the middle of nowhere, and Ronan would kill time driving in circles before making his way back home.

In the end, he didn't have to find out.

“My mother taught me it wasn't safe to get into cars with strangers,” Parrish said, though his lips turned up, curled with blatant, unmistakable flirtation. He was enjoying this game just as much as Ronan. “How do I know you're not a serial killer?”

He could turn it around and ask the same question, but he knew that he would probably go anyway even if Parrish did turn out to be a serial killer. Ronan’s answering grin was razor sharp, dangerous and delicious and charming. “I guess you'll just have to trust me.”

Parrish pretended to think about it a second more before opening the door and climbing in.

[astonmartinii]

always the ones you least expect | esteban ocon instagram au

pairing: esteban   x actress!reader 

when rumours circulate that y/n y/ln is dating an f1 driver people forget to root for the underdog 

(face claim is saoirse ronan because i love her and everything she has ever been in) 

popcrave 

liked by taylorswift, estebanocon and 512,801 others 

tagged: yourusername 

popcrave y/n y/ln is nominated for best actress for her role in little women, making this her third ever nomination. it girl. 

view all 11,027 comments 

florencepugh so so deserved 

loveletterstoyn i would jump in front of a moving train if she told me to 

user45 please seek help 

timotheechalamet literal royalty 

liltimmyt so like when are yall gonna admit you’re in a relationship 

emmawatson such an inspiration 

yourusername 

liked by timotheechalamet, charles_leclerc and 2,087,156 others 

tagged: florencepugh, emmawatson 

yourusername so so grateful for this nomination. this film was such an experience for me and led to me meeting so many amazing women. thank you so much to the little women family, love you all. 

view all 40,912 comments 

timotheechalamet miss you all already 

f1wagsupdates so charles, lewis, esteban, pierre and mick all liked, which one do we think it is? 

ynprotector31 it’s literally an oscar nomination post can you guys fuck off 

leclercies16 it’s definitely charles 

likedbypierregasly y’all set esteban up putting him on this list, be real 

gretagerwig my heart is always so full for you 

lewishamilton congrats y/n, very deserved 

sirlewy44 I TOLD YALL ITS HIM OMG 

estebanocon 

liked by yourusername, lancestroll and 201,651 others 

estebanocon 

view all 2,915 comments 

lancestroll dapper fellow 

estebanocon tears in my eyes bro 

estemcbestie he’s so ???

ynoscarwinner y/n liked.... thoughts being thunk 

user341 be fucking real 

estebanoconnnnnn i have faith in my frenchie 

user341 your delusion needs to be studied 

yourusername added to their story 

yourusername added to their story 

estebanocon 

liked by lancestroll, yourusername and 431,521 others 

estebanocon suited and booted 

comments are turned off 

yourusername

liked by florencepugh, emmawatson and 3,103,988 others 

yourusername i can’t even begin to put it into words what this means to me. thank you for all the support, everything has led to this and i’m more grateful than you can imagine. 

view all 51,023 comments

timotheechalamet LETS FUCKING GO 

charles_leclerc congrats y/n!! 

estebanocon beyond proud 

user123 mans thinks she knows who he is 

zendaya one of the best to do it 

estebanocon 

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton and 731,912 others 

tagged: yourusername 

estebanocon turns out the winning feeling is actually ten billion times better when it’s the one you love. so proud of you y/n. 

view all 23,871 comments 

user591 HOLY FUCKING SHIT 

pierregasly congrats to y/n and all that jazz but @yukitsunoda0511 you owe me £50 

yukitsunoda0511 idk whether i’m more annoyed i lost or that you backed the guy you supposedly hate so much 

timotheechalamet good now i can publicly demand paddock passes 

florencepugh yeah we kept this secret so long we deserve them 

estebanocon you got it 

esteoconstan este being besties with the hollywood big guns i SUPPORTED HIM BEFORE THIS LET IT BE KNOWN 

yourusername i love you estie, i’m so glad you could come with me (the suit was a definite plus) 

ynylnlover77 i love them your honour  

yourusername 

liked by estebanocon, zendaya and 2,871,045 others 

tagged: estebanocon 

yourusername i guess the cats out of the bag. i love the french 

view all 51,780 comments 

estebanocon did what the humble croissant could not. i feel unbeatable. 

lancestroll someone is getting a bit ahead of themselves 

yourusername no he’s right 

ynylnstan NOOOOO Y/N STAND UP STOP 

dannyric3333 she’s in love, but it’s not with me when will it end 

yourusername added to their story 

yourusername 

liked by estebanocon, timotheechalamet and 1,098,761 others 

tagged: estebanocon 

yourusername he didn’t lie when he said the winning feeling feels better when it’s the one you love. my baby is a racewinner, so so so so so so proud of you este 

view all 61,814 comments 

estebanocon thank you my love, you being there made it all so much better 

yourusername all my pleasure, this paddock life might be for me 

user889 NO MISS MA’AM YOU CAN’T QUIT ACTING 

yourusername don’t worry there’s still so much to come 

f1stan77 the way they all doubted him, my king came through 

f1 our new favourite couple, see you soon y/n!!! 

a/n this one is super long, hope yall enjoy. este bestie is severely underrated. 

[thebearer]

lip gallagher with baby mia when one of the boys accidentally hurts her while they’re playing🥺

"How long you think they'll stay out there?" Lip rasped, hands smoothing down your waist, your hips.

"Hm," You sigh, leaning back against his chest, his chin hooking over your shoulder. "Probably not long enough." You grin.

Lip presses a kiss to your shoulder- inviting. "Think we could make it quick." Lip muttered, hips flush against yours. "Just bend over f'me, I'll be real quick-"

A screech, high pitched and urgent had you both stilling, every parental atom in your bodies halting and jumping with alarm. Lip looked out the window over the sink. Jude, Freddie, and Ronan all standing in a half circle over Amelia.

"Shit," Lip muttered, bounding out the back door towards the kids. "What happened? What's goin' on?" He demanded, looking at his boys with a stern glare.

Amelia sobbed, big tears that streamed down her cheeks, hands and knees skinned and bleeding. "What happened? C'mere, Mia." Lip cooed, picking up the four year old, holding her to his hip.

All three of his boys stared at him, unmoving, a little guilty. "Hey, I'm not askin' again." Lip snapped, firm and commanding. "What happened? How did your sister get hurt?"

You came down the steps, a wet cloth in hand, just in time to see Ronan start to crack. He was your baby, never very good at lying, especially to you.

"Oh, Mia, what happened? Are you ok?" You cooed, running a hand down her messy curls. "Roanie," You looked at your youngest softly. "What happened? Did she fall?"

"Yeah," Jude said before Ronan could answer. "She-She tripped."

"Ronan," You hummed. "Did your sister trip?"

Ronan fidgeted under the looks of you and Lip, unsure and nervous with his brother's beside him. You and Lip knew better, knew that one of them got too rough and pushed her.

"Jude pushed her." Freddie rolled his eyes. "Jude just own up to it. You're gonna get us all in trouble." He muttered.

"I didn't mean to!" Jude snarled, diving at his brother to smack him in a way that contradicted his opposition. "She wanted to play with us, and-and she got in the way!"

"Yeah? You're supposed to be careful." Lip tried to contain his irritation. Jude was a kid, they all were, only seven. "You're not 'sposed to lie to us either. What'd we say about that?"

"It's not fair!" Jude whined, shoulders dropping in a fit. "You make us play with Mia, and she doesn't even know how to! She cries all the time!"

"Hey," Lip snapped.

"Jude," You pressed a hand to Lip's arm soothingly. "You just have to be a little careful with her, ok? She's still little." Jude bristled with anger, lip jutting and face scrunching- he looked just like Lip. "And Mia, when the boys are playing, you need to get out of their way, ok?" You turn towards your youngest.

Lip glares at you, hugging Mia closer to his chest. You fight back an eye roll, he babied her so much- so soft now.

"Take her inside. I'll get the first aid in a sec." You mutter to Lip, nodding towards the door. "C'mere, Judie." You coo, pulling the sulking, young boy close.

"I know you don't like playing with your sister all the time, but thank you for including her." You whisper, your forehead against his. "She loves playing with you."

"I know." Jude sighs, breath a little shaky. "She just... She gets in the way, Mama."

"I know." You hum, hand stroking down his curls. "Just let me know next time, ok? You don't push people down."

"I didn't mean to." Jude whined. "She was in my way."

"Still," You countered. "You don't push. Tell her to move, and if she doesn't, come get me or Daddy, ok?" Jude nods, still a little pouty. "Ok, go play. You guys have about an hour then it's bath time." You announced, pressing a kiss to the top of Jude's head, before the three boys scattered back out to play.

Lip had Mia in his lap, rocking her soothingly while he tried to wipe away the dirt. He was so gentle, holding the cloth to her hands and pressing kisses to the palms. It made your heart burst.

"How's it look?" You ask, reaching under the sink for the First Aid- with four kids, it was always stocked.

"Just scraped." Lip muttered. "Think it just needs Neosporin and some bandaids."

"Does it hurt, baby?" You ask Mia, frowning lightly at her quivering little lip.

"Yeah." Amelia nodded, curling into Lip's lap. "I fell'd, and-and hurt my hands and my knees, Mama." She lisped, rubbing her wet eyes.

"I know. Daddy's been taking care of you, though, hasn't he?" You coo, pulling the Neosporin out. "Here, this will make you feel better, ok? Let Mama put it on."

"Burn?" Mia asked, pulling her hands back frantically before you could put the cream on. You'd had to use peroxide on a cut for her a few weeks ago and she'd screamed at the burn. Now she was terrified all medicine would burn.

"No, not burn. You won't feel this one at all." You hum, slathering her little scrapes in Neosporin. "You wanna pick out your bandaids?"

[colonel--sarge]

THE DREAM PACK AS DESCRIBED IN THE DREAM THIEVES

Joseph kavinsky

- gold chain necklace (pg 26)

- refugee's face (hollow eyed and innocent) (pg 26)

- long nose (pg 49)

- hollowed out heavy-lidded eyes (pg 49)

- dark, arched eyebrows (pg 49)

- spiked hair (pg 49)

- a small earring (pg 49)

- chain around his neck (pg 49)

- white tank top (pg 49)

- always moving (pg 49)

- "something erratic and vulgar about the full line of his lips" (pg 49)

- lives in a "hellish affluent subdivision" (pg 95)

- screws up the shift from third to fourth (pg 97)

- "hummed with a restless, unpredictable energy" (pg 180)

- "...erasing the ribs from his concave torso" (pg 211)

- "with his hollow cheeks, he was a ghoul in this light" (pg 212)

- "...was late, as always" (pg 266)

- wears white-rimmed sunglasses (pg 267)

- "...wore a white tank top, and his exposed shoulder was raw and beautiful as a corpse" (pg 268)

- "...the vein-covered peaks of kavinsky's knuckles..." (pg 284)

- his father: rich and powerful and Bulgarian, lived in Jersey where he was possibly a mobster (pg 313)

- his mother: tanned and fit and make with non-factory-standard parts, lived in the suburban mansion with kavinsky (pg 313)

- the rumor was: his mothers nasal septum had been eaten away by cocaine and his fathers patriarchal instinct had died when kavinsky tried to kill him (pg 313)

- "is it true that you tried to kill your father?"(said by ronan) "I never try to do anything, man. i do what i mean to" (kavinsky's response) (pg 313)

- "he tried to kill me" (talking about his father) (pg 314)

-  "his eyes glittered. he had no irises. just black and white" (pg 314)

- "the line of this smile was ugly and lascivious" (pg 314)

- "his already keen expression sharpened when he saw Ronan's dream object" (pg 315)

- heavy-lidded eyes (pg 315)

- "he was too high for food to be very interesting as anything besides a concept" (pg 317)

- "my favorite forgery is prokopenko" (pg 369)

- "...with that slow, despicable laugh in his voice" (pg 403)

- "I got away with dear old dad. and prokopenko. and no offense to your brother, but they were a lot more complicated" (pg 403)

- wears cargo pants (pg 411)

- "kavinsky looked at ronan, his eyes dead" (pg 412)

- his last words: "the worlds a nightmare" (pg 425)

- "he crumpled to his knees and then slumped gracelessly off the car" (pg 425)

- "but he had been dying since ronan met him." (pg 425)

prokopenko 

- one shoulder crooked and higher than the other (pg 214)

- ears like wing nuts (pg 214)

- has a matching Golf with Swan (pg 268)

skov

- drives an rx-7 (pg 268)

swan

- has a matching Golf with proko (pg 268)

Jiang 

- drives a Supra (pg 268)

BONUS!

nicknames that kavinsky has called ronan

- sweetheart (pg 284)

- rain man (pg 299)

- princess (pg 309)

- sailor (pg 312)

- sweetie (pg 409)

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Notes from my Deathly Hallows reread: Slughorn returns with the Slytherins

So, most of you probably saw or heard of that interview JKR gave back in the day about how Slughorn came back to the battle of Hogwarts with the Slytherin students:

JN: And how much is it that being sorted into Slytherin is, you know, sorted into good guys and bad guys here? JKR: Well, they’re not all bad, that would- I know I’ve said this before, (JN: Yeah, I remember.) and I think I said it to Emerson, they are not all bad, and, well, far from it. As we know, at the end, they may have (laughs) a slightly more highly developed sense of self-preservation then other people because… SU: Yeah, right. JN: Yeah. JKR: A part of the final battle that made me smile was Slughorn galloping back with Slytherins, (SU: Yes!) (JN laughs) but they’d gone off to get reinforcements first, you know what I’m saying? But yes, they came back, they came back to fight, so I mean- but I’m sure that many people would say “Well, that’s common sense, isn’t it? Isn’t that smart, to get out, get more people and come back with them?” JN: Yeah.

(From this interview)

And like most fans, I always kinda assumed it was her retconning things in the books again, because I just didn't remember it happening and she added a lot of little tidbits (some more contradictory than others) in the years after the books, so I don't tend to take them too seriously. But I was reading Deathly Hallows last night and she might've actually written that in:

And now there were more, even more people storming up the front steps, and Harry saw Charlie Weasley overtaking Horace Slughorn, who was still wearing his emerald pajamas. They seemed to have returned at the head of what looked like the families and friends of every Hogwarts student who had remained to fight, along with the shopkeepers and homeowners of Hogsmeade. The centaurs Ban, Ronan, and Magorian burst into the hall with a great clatter of hooves, as behind Harry the door that led to the kitchens was blasted off its hinges. The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the entrance hall

(DH, 734) 619

Harry later mentions a horde of wizards, and we know Harry doesn't actually recognize all the students in his year, let alone all the students in Slytherin he doesn't interact with regularly. So, I wonder if she really meant by "they seemed to have returned" other Slytherins when she wrote it initially and how much of a retcon that interview really is.

Considering it was the middle of the night, the Slytherins likely were wearing pajamas, like Slughon, and maybe cloaks over them and not school robes, so it's possible Harry would have no way of knowing who's a student if he doesn't know them personally.

The only real issue I have with the canonicity of it is this statement from Voldemort:

"If your son is dead, Lucius, it is not my fault. He did not come and join me, like the rest of the Slytherins. Perhaps he has decided to befriend Harry Potter?" "No—never," whispered Malfoy.

(DH, 641)

But perhaps he's talking in hyperbole (or just being a shit to Lucius, as he does), since we know Crabbe and Goyle hadn't come back to join him either and he doesn't mention them.

Additionally, when the Golden Trio goes up to the headmaster's office Phineas Black says this:

and Phineas Nigellus called, in his high, reedy voice, “And let it be noted that Slytherin House played its part! Let our contribution not be forgotten!”

(DH, 747)

It doesn't sound like he's just talking about himself, Snape, and Slughorn, it sounds like he's talking about actual combatants, so...

JKR's statement about Slytherins fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts on Harry's side (besides Slughorn) is surprisingly, probably, canon.

The interview I mentioned was only 7 months after the book came out, so I wonder if she wrote a different version of that paragraph before editing and was thinking about that... It seems the intention might've been there even if she didn't write it all that clearly...

[seaemberthesecond]

declan csa parallels haven't left me since I made the connection

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk about this, because honestly same.

This is one of those things that I won't even say is a headcanon because it's not. It's a reading of the text, plain and simple. The evidence is all there.

Violation of autonomy, familial harm, and secrets are all big themes in tdt. The central problematic of the Lynch family is that the secrets in the underbelly tear them apart and prevent the brothers from connecting to each other in real and meaningful ways. They're deliberately denied the language and vocabulary to articulate their experiences out of fear of the family's secrets being exposed, leaving them unable to communicate with each other.

And in the middle of all of this, we have Declan.

Declan who, unbeknownst to his brothers, is experiencing a radically different childhood riddled with danger and violence and is forced to keep it a secret by his parents for the 'good of the family.' Declan who resents Ronan and Matthew for getting the idyllic childhood he's been deprived of, thus creating rifts in their relationship. Rifts that are further exacerbated because of the secrets he's forced to keep – he can't talk to them about what's actually happening in his life, he can't share anything real with them, so he constructs a fake persona to hide behind, even at home. But his brothers pick up on his artifice and withdraw from him, leaving him even more isolated.

This is…such a painfully obvious allegory for sexual abuse that I'm kind of dumbfounded by the fact that more people don't talk about it.

Both Ronan and Matthew recognize that Declan is treated differently by their parents, but they deliberately don't examine this too deeply because doing so would require that they acknowledge that something sinister lurked in the margins of their childhood and that's just not something they want to face. Declan's grief isn't as clear-cut as Ronan and Matthew's, because he's grappling with the very real harm his parents did to him, but he's demonized for his "sceptical and imperfect love" for Niall and Aurora. His attempts at getting Ronan to see that their parents weren't who he thought they were are met with hostility and scorn (and in Matthew's case, hesitant incredulity). Because again, Ronan doesn't want to hear it. He's actively standing there with his hands over his ears chanting lalalalalala. I mean in CDTH, we can see how very discomfited he gets when faced with Declan at the fairy market because it forces him to re-evaluate his own childhood in light of all this new information about his brother's secret life that was taking place right under his nose. And he does not want to do that.

I mean does that not drive you insane?? The subtext is THERE. Everything about how the Lynch Brothers' dynamic is set up allows for the reading that Declan has suffered some kind of sexual abuse at the hands of one/both of their parents.

And this is purely at a thematic level. It gets crazier when you consider Declan displays many of the characteristics and behaviours of sexual assault survivors.

"It wasn’t that he hadn’t gone on dates or hooked up, that unlovely euphemism for what was sometimes a perfectly nice time. It was that he didn’t get too close. Intimacy was allowed as long as it revealed nothing truthful." (ch 69, cdth)

His issues with intimacy

His 'hypersexuality'

“So he’s a man-whore. It’s not your problem,” Gansey said. (ch 4, trb)

His troubled relationship with physical touch

(He never initiates anything physical with Jordan, it's always her making the first move; his discomfort with Aurora's hug in the Dauntless Declan scene; his discomfort with Feniall's hug in CDTH; he avoids touching his brothers even and is surprised whenever Matthew reaches out to him.)

His disassociation from his own emotions

Declan Lynch had a complicated relationship with his family. It wasn’t that he hated them. Hate was such a slick, neat, simple emotion. Declan envied people who felt proper hate. (ch 10, MI)

So even if you choose to believe Declan wasn't assaulted by Niall or Aurora, there is still enough evidence in the text itself to suggest he's suffered from some kind of sexual violence during his childhood. Fairy Markets aren't exactly child-friendly places (the woman getting strangled in one of the rooms in CDTH anyone?) and it's not really a stretch to assume Declan had to put up with some fucky shit as a uhh* checks notes* 10-year-old in the uhhhh *checks notes again* black market for the rich and powerful.

And then there's the declan-adam-hennessy and the declan-adam-mor triangles which exist independent of whether you consider Declan a victim of sexual violence but certainly get reinforced if you subscribe to it. But I won't get into that.

All this to say, CSA survivor Declan you will always be real to me.

[bruhstation]

You seem like a Train Professional so where would one begin in order to get into the funny little talking train show?

these are all my own opinions so take it like a grain of salt -- the common go-to would be the thomas and friends tv show. start off from season 1 then work all your way up to the top (not actually really. you can skip some later seasons like s17 if you want to). the model seasons are considered to be some of the greatest because 1) they set the foundation of the cast (besides the railway series books) 2) they contain some of the most iconic scenes from the show like gordon's ronan kirk crash, the flying kipper accident, james and the shoelaces, etc and 3) they're the originals so you know what their personalities and relationships to their peers were like and how their characterization was supposed to be like before the cgi era flip flopped them up

also check out the railway series books in the meantime! the funny talking train show was based on the book series created by reverend awdry for his sick son! the first book feature edward, henry, and gordon. thomas appears in the second book. fast forward decades later and britt alcroft created a tv show called thomas the tank engine. there are many eras of the show, from models, to model/cgi hybrid, to computer animations where the show gets passed around like a volleyball from studio to studio

here's a google spreadsheet that contains all the thomas and friends episodes in various languages. feel free to watch the show for yourself and decide which seasons you like the most

some more of my thoughts under the cut

I recommend you steer clear of the big world big adventures seasons and specials because it's probably the most controversial seasons in the fandom. replacing two of the core cast members, "pandering" to certain audiences, putting in lackluster representation for the sake of selling toys, SAID representation turns out to be racist depictions, all of it reflected the current state of mattel when handling thomas and friends. they also didn't contribute anything to the overall show, like by the time the bwba seasons were out, people dgaf and just focused on the older seasons. you can ignore bwba and you won't miss anything important about ttte. not that I'm stopping you! you have your own free will.

the thing about ttte that made many adults get into it (if not for train autism) is how ttte was a show grounded in reality. idk if that makes sense but basically despite being a show about mean talking trains for little kids, reverend awdry and britt alcroft handled the characters with care. they gave the engines so much charm by making them bicker with each other like the cranky old engines they are BUT they're not reduced to singular personality traits too. thomas is cheeky and kind of a meanie but he wants to prove himself useful. edward is old and acts as a mentor to thomas but he also wants to show that he still got it despite his old age. gordon went from being a pompous grand young express engine to a humble old engine being a mentor to the newer ones and so on! they also put a lot of historical references related to the engines' basis too and tie their backstories in (henry's a stolen faulty design hence his cynical, miserable personality at the early seasons of the show). there's even irl engines mentioned in both the books and show (flying scotsman and city of truro) and it's just neat!!! because awdry cares about history so much!!!! that he even made an "encyclopedia" about sodor, its railways, and its history

the books and the earlier seasons of ttte didn't shy away from themes of death and usefulness and all that (the story of godred, henry being a faulty engine and getting cask of amontillado'd for being uncooperative, all of gordon's siblings scrapped sans flying scotsman) because the thing about them being engines are important to them. it's their reison d'etre. they get scrapped if they cannot be of use anymore, because that's how things have always been. they get into accidents often because their ego got to them. dieselization is starting on the island of sodor and the diesels are asserting their dominance over the oldschool steam engines. the engines just exist there. they just happen to have faces and talk. idk. I think it's interesting how they view life a bit differently than humans. thank you for listening to my ramble

[kelliealtogether]

The new barista at Fox Way Cafe was hot as shit.

Or Ronan Lynch hoped he was new. That was the only reasonable excuse why the barista sucked at barista-ing and seemed to provide the fucking worst customer service known to man. The way the guy’s thin smile faltered when he asked someone how he could help them said he’d rather throw himself into an active volcano — or possibly a tiny metal pitcher of freshly steamed milk, given the setting — than take another order for a nonfat pumpkin spice peppermint patty latte with almond milk or whatever, but damn, Ronan would stand in line all day if it meant watching the new guy epically fail at providing a good customer experience.

Ronan Lynch doesn't mean to become a regular at Fox Way Cafe, but when he sees the cafe's newest employee for the first time, he decides to keep going back again, and again, and again.

At least until the new barista learns how to spell his name...

-

Just Coffee is a 4.3k G-rated coffee shop meet-cute with all the trappings of a meet-ugly. Adam is horrible at customer service and Ronan can't get enough of it. Read it all below the cut or here on ao3.

The new barista at Fox Way Cafe was hot as shit.

Or Ronan Lynch hoped he was new. That was the only reasonable excuse why the barista sucked at barista-ing and seemed to provide the fucking worst customer service known to man. The way the guy’s thin smile faltered when he asked someone how he could help them said he’d rather throw himself into an active volcano — or possibly a tiny metal pitcher of freshly steamed milk, given the setting — than take another order for a nonfat pumpkin spice peppermint patty latte with almond milk or whatever, but damn, Ronan would stand in line all day if it meant watching the new guy epically fail at providing a good customer experience.

Ronan didn’t personally need a good customer experience though. He didn’t need any kind of experience at all. He just needed the plainest cup of black coffee Fox Way had ever served because he happened to be an idiot who forgot to add cheap, plain coffee to his last Instacart order. There had been coffee back at his brother Declan’s townhouse — expensive whole bean crap that tasted like battery acid had a baby with nail polish remover — but Ronan appreciated his fully-functioning stomach too much to drink it. That left him suffering the consequences of his mistake, waiting in line behind a bunch of blonde, Northern Virginia housewives decked out in their Lululemon and Patagonia.

At least he got nice scenery as he suffered. Not the cafe itself and the hand lettered chalkboard menu posted behind the counter or the mismatched overstuffed armchairs gathered around whitewashed antique tables, but dusty hair that fell unevenly across a forehead. Mirthless blue eyes that narrowed at the corners with every overly complex coffee order. Long, lean, knobby-knuckled hands that scrawled names on the sides of white paper cups in permanent marker.

It was a sight Ronan could look at all day. And nothing stopped him from setting up residence at one of the cafe’s tables to watch the hopefully new guy suck at his job. The rest of the morning — and afternoon, and evening — stretched in front of Ronan, impossibly empty. Not much filled the schedule of a high school dropout who had ideas about being a farmer until he abandoned that plan after realizing it meant he’d be stuck alone in western Virginia until retirement or the apocalypse, whichever came first. Now, with the luxury of money and time, he’d ditched his would-be farm for Alexandria and was reassessing his life goals while running out the clock on his brother’s hospitality and patience.

But until Declan sent him packing?

Ronan could keep forgetting to add coffee to his grocery order so he could become a regular at Fox Way Cafe, and he’d start that journey with a single cup of black coffee.

“Can I help you?” the barista — he had to be new because he didn’t even have a name tag pinned to the apron he wore over a red t-shirt — asked, pulling Ronan out his head, where he’d started daydreaming about getting to know the hot as shit barista through a series of snarky conversations while cash and cups changed hands.

At the front of the line and now up close and personal with the new guy, proximity rendered Ronan speechless for a long, awkward second before he said, “Just coffee.” After another awkward pause, Ronan — because while he was an asshole, he wasn’t about to be a dick to a customer service person — added, “Please.”

“Just coffee,” the barista replied, like he couldn’t believe someone would enter a cafe and only order a plain cup of coffee. And — fair. The orders Ronan overhead while waiting had all sounded like fantastic sugar-filled monstrosities that left plain coffee cowering in their shadows.

“Yeah. Just coffee, man,” Ronan said. “Not trying to make your life difficult.”

The guy should have appreciated the simple order, but if a sigh could be an expression, that was precisely how the barista looked at Ronan. And, honestly, unimpressed wasn’t a bad look on him. Yeah, it pressed his thin lips thinner and drew his almost invisible eyebrows together so the skin between them pinched, but it made him look even more done with his mundane counter position and Ronan appreciated the desire to opt out of the farce of capitalism.

“Name?” barista boy asked. Ronan didn’t know how he translated the unimpressed look on his face into the single-worded question, but he managed.

“Uh. Ronan,” Ronan replied. Because, apparently, this guy rendered him not just speechless, but stupid.

Some kind of magic put a cup in one of the barista’s hands and a marker in the other, and he scrawled on the side of the cup before capping the marker and using it to tap the register’s touch screen. “Three seventy,” he told Ronan apathetically. The he turned around to fill the cup from a giant stainless steel pot behind the register.

Ignoring the fact a plain cup of coffee cost almost four bucks, and also ignoring the fact this guy had a minimalist approach to talking, Ronan pulled out his wallet and thumbed out a credit card. As he tapped it to the card reader attached to the register, he watched the barista’s pleasantly muscled bicep and how it moved beneath his t-shirt as he pumped the lever on the pot’s black lid. Bewitched, Ronan’s eyes were still focused on where the guy’s upper arm had been when he turned back toward Ronan, which left Ronan staring at the hollow at the base of a very nice throat when the barista held out his full cup of coffee. And there was one of those gorgeous hands again, this time curled around the cup so fingertips bookended Ronan’s name written on white cardboard.

Ronan’s name, spelled Ronin.

“It’s with an a,” he said. Dumbly. Obstinately.

The barista held the cup in his hand so stilly that the coffee inside it went flat and dark and mirror-like as he asked, “Pardon?”

It sounded way cuter than Ronan wanted to admit. A little southern and lilting but sanded down, close to the way people had talked out in western Virginia before Ronan temporarily uprooted himself to Alexandria. It was also a lot more polite than a what or a huh, responses he'd heard a million times before. How Ronan himself would have responded in the same kind of situation.

“My name,” he replied. “It’s with an a.”

The guy blinked once, slowly, like Ronan was an idiot. And — fair. He was standing there being pedantic about how a barista had spelled his name on a cup that hadn't required Ronan’s name at all. With the coffee right behind the register, the cup didn't need to be put in the line waiting for the other barista — a short chick whose hair clips probably violated a dozen health codes — to fill it with a fancy ass drink. So it made absolute sense for the guy to set Ronan’s cup on the granite countertop far away from the register — a clear sign for Ronan to move out of line — before he said dryly, “Thank you for the feedback.”

“No problem,” Ronan told him. Dumbly. Sarcastically. But he got the hint. He picked up his cup and raised it in a toast to the hot barista as he added, “Have a good one.”

And he legitimately wanted the guy to have a good day. No one that hot should be subjected to a bad day, especially when they were stuck serving assholes like Ronan, even if they were kind of a dick themselves. Thank you for the feedback though? If someone in customer service cared about keeping their job, they didn’t say shit like that. And maybe the hot barista didn’t care about keeping his job. On looks alone, Ronan had a pretty high opinion of him. Add his absolute disdain for his current career? That skyrocketed Ronan’s opinion through the roof.

Ronan stopped at the milk, sugar, and compostable stirrer station to shove a lid on his cup before leaving the twee little cafe, but not before glancing back at the barista, who had moved on to serving the next person in line and looked no less disinterested in his work than when he’d taken Ronan’s order. Jesus shit, Ronan hadn’t seen someone look so joyless since he’d told Declan he was dropping out of high school. At least that had made Ronan happy. The barista’s misery please absolutely no one.

Yet the prospect of causing the guy more misery didn’t stop Ronan from returning to the cafe the next day. Sometimes he bent truths and avoided honesty, but he wasn’t a liar. He’d told himself he’d become a regular at Fox Way Cafe and he would. Later in the morning — a time most people would call midday, not morning — he sauntered into the coffee shop. During his drive from Declan’s townhouse, Ronan had mentally prepared for the possibility the barista from yesterday wouldn’t be working, but preparation had been unnecessary. Hot barista stood behind the counter looking as bored as ever as he took a woman’s order.

Ronan sidled into line behind her — the two pump sugar-free vanilla, two pump hazelnut, double-shot, extra hot oat milk latte she ordered made Ronan’s stomach hurt — and after she paid and the barista passed her cup off to the same midget working the espresso machine, the barista looked at Ronan, paused a beat, and then asked, “Just coffee?”

“Yeah,” Ronan replied, blinking his mild shock away. The guy had remembered his — albeit really fucking basic — order from the day before. “Just coffee.”

Again, the guy practiced some kind of magic and procured a cup and marker from thin air, and after he told Ronan his total, he turned to fill the cup from the pot behind him. Again, Ronan watched the barista’s arm while he fumbled through tapping his credit card for payment, and when the barista handed him his coffee, Ronan said, “That’s not where the a goes.”

Because the barista had scrawled Aronin on the cup.

“You said your name was uh Ronan,” the barista replied. “With an a.”

Probably, Ronan should have been flattered that a hot guy had remembered his name when dozens, if not hundreds, of customers streamed into the cafe every morning. And he would have been, if the barista hadn’t completely bastardized Ronan’s name. Okay, sure, Ronan hadn’t said the a went where the guy had put an i because it was common damn sense, but who was named Aronin? The barista had to be fucking with him. Or maybe he was too functionally illiterate to be working the register at a coffee shop.

God, Ronan hoped not. 

For a long moment, he stared at the barista, then — because no one had gotten in line behind him — he set the coffee down on the counter without spilling any. “It’s Ronan,” he said flatly. None of this mattered. The barista didn’t care whether he spelled anyone’s name right or not, but Ronan would be damned if he didn’t at least try to correct it. His name wasn’t Ronin or — what the fuck — Aronin. It was Ronan, a damn good name, and he wasn’t going to let someone get it wrong if he could help it. “Like — row, like a boat.” He mimicked holding an oar and stroked his hands through the air like he was sitting in a canoe and paddling down a river, not standing in Fox Way Cafe. “And nan. Like what you’d call your grandma or whatever.” He picked his coffee back up before he finished, “Ronan.”

The barista simply looked back at him for a long moment, his fair eyebrows and his lips both flat lines. Jesus, he was good looking, even through thinly veiled annoyance. Finally, just like he had the day before, the barista said dryly, “Thank you for the feedback and demonstration.”

Barely — barely — Ronan stopped himself from throwing his hands in the air and splattering the whole cafe with coffee. This guy had to be fucking with him, and if he was, Ronan gave him credit. He hadn’t so much as smiled. At all. Not once. No one could be that stoic for so long in such a ridiculous situation unless they were doing it on purpose. Which — made the guy about a hundred times more attractive to Ronan.

“You’re welcome,” he drawled, narrowing his eyes at the barista. Then, just like he had the day before, he said, “Have a good one.”

If Ronan’s mom had been alive, she would have called the guy difficult or a pill, and that would have only been under duress. Despite her raising him, Ronan had never been that nice. That benevolent. So he mentally called the guy an asshole as he walked out of Fox Way, and he smirked to himself his entire walk to his parked BMW.

He smirked to himself his entire drive back to Declan’s townhouse.

The next day, Ronan should have expected similar shenanigans. Or not shenanigans. Misunderstandings. Because maybe this barista was the type to dick around with every one of his customers, but Ronan didn’t think so. Except as soon as he stepped into the cafe — oddly empty for almost lunchtime — the hot barista grabbed a cup, scrawled something on its side in marker, and turned toward the coffee pot behind him.

“What if I wanted something else?” Ronan asked as he stopped in front of the register.

“Once is an anomaly,” the barista replied, putting the full cup down on the counter, strategically turned so Ronan couldn’t see what he’d written on it. “Twice is a pattern.”

“Okay, Einstein.” Ronan rolled his eyes before reaching for the cup and slowly spinning it until he could read his name. “Oh, come on, man.”

Because, this time, the barista had written Row Nan.

Nonchalant, the barista said, “It’s how you told me it was spelled.”

“I was being phonetical. Not literal.”

Then, the flat line of the guy’s lips twitched — just barely — into something that had ideas of being a smirk before the guy pressed his lips thin again and said, “I’ll take Hooked On Phonics into consideration next time.”

And there would be a next time, because the barista’s snark had become more than mildly appealing to Ronan. He’d come back again and again and again, even if the guy never spelled his name right. Frankly, he was running out of options, or at least normal ones. Not that that seemed like it would stop him if he wanted to get creative.

Ronan welcomed creativity.

Without much fanfare, Ronan paid, muttered have a good one through his teeth, and stalked out of the coffee shop.

Fucking Row Nan.

Mary, mother of God, he couldn’t get enough of the barista. He was awful at his job. Completely unapologetic. Borderline rude.

Ronan hoped he worked at that goddamned cafe until the end of the world. Or at least until Ronan — maybe, probably — moved back home.

Neither had happened by the next morning, but the guy still remained behind the register when Ronan walked into Fox Way. A miracle really, considering the universe had rarely worked in his favor so continuously. But that morning, as soon as Ronan made it to the front of the line, he stopped the barista before he had the chance to grab a cup and wield his marker.

“No,” Ronan said, continuing so quickly he didn’t leave space for debate or contradiction. “Today, I’m gonna spell it out. Since phonetics doesn’t seem to work for you.”

The barista stared at Ronan for a moment, and after his lean chest and wiry shoulders rose and fell with a long inhale and a long exhale, he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Spell it.”

For the first time since he’d probably learned how to spell it when he was a kid, Ronan spelled his name. He enunciated every single letter so plainly and clearly they couldn’t be misinterpreted. He tried to make it so foolproof that there was no way the barista could possibly get it wrong, and God save him if he couldn’t get it right with Ronan spelling it letter by letter.

In hindsight, Ronan should have been watching the barista’s pretty hands, not the concentration on his face — the knit of his eyebrows, the slight tuck to one corner of his lips. Because after he’d filled Ronan’s cup with coffee and set it on the counter, Ronan got a look at this attempt at his name and said, “That is the worst way anyone has ever spelled my name.”

In a single column down the side of the cup, the first letter of each line one atop another, the barista had written:

Ahr.

Oh.

En.

Ay.

En.

“It’s phonetic,” the barista replied, and as Ronan slowly shook his head, the barista finally fucking smiled at him, so elastic and amiable Ronan almost swayed into the person waiting in line behind him. “Can I get you anything else?”

Utterly speechless, Ronan shook his head again — quicker this time — before he floundered through tapping his credit card for payment and then muttering an unintelligible string of words that may have contained thanks, have a good one, I’m in love with you, or some amalgamation of the three before he wandered out of the cafe without putting a lid on his cup. He didn’t need a lid anyway. As soon as he made it to his car, he dumped the coffee in the gutter and used his black t-shirt to dry the inside of the cup because he was never throwing it away. He’d keep it as a memento of the day the still-nameless barista smiled at him for the first time. Hopefully genuinely. Ronan didn’t even care that the move left him smelling freshly brewed for the rest of the day either. That had the opportunity to irritate Declan or give him another ulcer, and Ronan couldn’t pass those chances up.

He still smelled freshly brewed the following morning because he rolled out of bed and grabbed a shirt from the towering pile of laundry on the chair in the corner of Declan’s guest room, not realizing it was the same shirt he’d worn the day before. Once Ronan had realized it, he’d been too lazy to change, and seeing as he’d blend right in with the aromas of the only place he planned on going, it didn’t matter anyway. It wasn’t like the hot barista could tell the difference between one plain black t-shirt and another. Ronan barely could, which was how he’d found himself smelling like a coffee shop again in the first place.

And that didn’t matter either anyway, because the hot barista wasn’t behind the counter when Ronan walked into Fox Way Cafe. In his usual place stood the short chick who’d been working the espresso machine — twice her size, so Ronan didn’t know how she’d operated it — the past few mornings, and a ghost-like guy worked the machine in her place. Ronan could have turned around and walked right back out the door — he didn’t need coffee the way all the caffeine addicts that kept the cafe in business did — but he stopped himself from retreating to his car when the chick barista called out, “Welcome to Fox Way.”

Caught before he could leave, Ronan gritted his teeth and approached the register. Stunted, he said, “Hi.”

“What can I get you?” this barista — BLUE according to the all caps name printed on the shiny label of the name tag pinned to her apron, and what the hell kind of name was Blue? — asked him when he stopped in front of her.

The completely different approach to serving customers nearly gave Ronan whiplash.

“Just coffee,” he told her.

She grabbed a cup from the stack beside the register and turned to fill it from the pot behind her, glancing at Ronan over her shoulder. “Room for cream and sugar?”

He shook his head as he watched her until he recognized a verbal response was probably warranted. Snapping himself out of his mystification from the one-eighty between how this barista and the hot barista operated, Ronan said, “No. No thanks.”

Pivoting back to Ronan, a little coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup as Blue set it down on the counter. “Lids are behind you,” she told him. “Can I get you anything else?”

And then it wasn’t only the superior customer service throwing Ronan for a loop, but also something Blue had neglected when she’d been taking his order. Something Ronan hadn’t been subjected to in days, though it had colored every single one of his visits to the cafe.

In what probably sounded like it came out of left field, he said, “You didn’t ask for my name.”

Blue blinked, so at least Ronan wasn’t the only one being thrown for a loop during this transaction. “Excuse me?”

“When you took my order,” he explained. “You didn’t ask for my name.”

Slowly, like Ronan had regressed to kindergarten and needed an everyday occurrence spelled out to him very simply, Blue told him, “We usually don’t when someone just gets coffee.”

“But the guy yesterday…” Ronan trailed off as he started putting two and two together. The hot barista had definitely been messing around with him. He had to have been. Which could have been the most fucked up way anyone had ever flirted with Ronan.

He found he kind of loved it.

“Oh,” Blue replied, dragging the word out as she narrowed her eyes at Ronan. “You.”

“Me what?”

“Adam mentioned you.”

“Adam,” Ronan said. He could not have thought of a more fortuitous name for the hot barista if he’d tried. “Mentioned me.”

“Yeah,” Blue replied. Her mouth twisted a little as she swept her gaze over Ronan, and when she met his eye again, she added, “You know what? That —” she jerked her chin at Ronan’s coffee “— is on the house.”

“Why?”

“Because Adam’s a shithead and you’re the only person who hasn’t complained about him.”

Ronan’s heart turned solid in his chest and started slowly sinking toward his stomach with the implication that the hot barista — Adam — wouldn’t be around Fox Way anymore. “Did he get fired or something?”

“No.” Blue shook her head and her dangling soda tab earrings rattled Ronan’s heart back into his chest where it belonged. “He has an organic chem lab. He’ll be back tomorrow. But some of our customers won’t be.”

More Adam for him, Ronan supposed. And he has an organic chem lab? Maybe Ronan hadn’t been too far off with the Einstein comment the other morning. That one sentence alone — combined with the Hooked on Phonics thing from Adam — proved he was way, way too academically overqualified to be working at Fox Way. He'd probably dicked around with Ronan, in part, to keep himself from dying of boredom. Even Ronan would pick an organic chemistry lab over working the cafe's register. Or possibly just a regular chemistry lab given he hadn't made it out of high school. 

Picking up his coffee, Ronan — with absolute sincerity he didn't often display — said, “Thanks.”

Not just for the free coffee, but for finally allowing him to learn the hot barista’s name.

“No problem, man,” Blue replied, pert. “See you tomorrow.”

Needless to say, Ronan would be back. Not only because he had confirmation Adam was on the schedule, but because a lightbulb turned on in Ronan’s brain as he walked to his BMW, and instead of driving back to Declan's, he brought up the closest office supply store on his phone’s GPS.

When he walked into Fox Way Cafe the next morning, Ronan was not empty handed, and he got in line and waited his turn until he stood on the opposite side of the counter from Adam. Again, before Adam could grab a cup, Ronan stopped him. Not with an explanation or display he hoped would finally coerce Adam into spelling his name correctly, but with an offering.

“What’s this?” Adam asked, looking warily at Ronan’s hand, palm-up and extended toward him.

“A name tag,” Ronan replied. “Since it looks like this place is too cheap to make you one.”

The night before, Ronan had had too much fun teaching himself how to use a label maker, and for months after Ronan moved out, Declan would find labels around his townhouse on things that absolutely did not need labeling: the watch he wore only on special occasions, the bottle of lotion in his bedside drawer, the bad art he thought he kept well-hidden in the attic. Most importantly though, Ronan had used the label maker to print a name tag for Adam, which Ronan had smoothed onto a plastic badge he’d scoured Northern Virginia for so it was identical to the one he’d seen pinned to Blue.

Ronan had also had too much fun coming up with horrible ways of spelling Adam’s name, but he liked the one he’d settled on.

Ahdym.

Though Adam pressed his thin lips into a thin line, they twitched — more than once — as he looked at the tag in Ronan’s hand. For a second, Ronan doubted he would take it. That Adam had really just been fucking with him, not flirting with him at all. But finally — without saying thanks because, as Blue had confirmed, Adam was a shithead — Adam took the tag with his long, lean fingers and smoothly pinned it to the front of his apron before he looked at Ronan and asked, “Just coffee?”

“Yeah.” Ronan nodded, fighting valiantly to stop himself from smiling but losing. “Just coffee.”

Despite not needing to, Adam uncapped his marker as he picked up a cup, and what he wrote on the side of it was definitely longer than Ronan’s name in whatever horribly ridiculous way Adam chose to write it this time. But when Adam filled the cup and set Ronan’s coffee down on the counter, Ronan saw his name hadn’t been written on it at all.

The side of the cup read Adam with a phone number scrawled beneath it, and just under the number, Adam had written call me.

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