#Boston leather bag

[epiklab]

Unboxing Starbucks Gold Card Exclusive Cowhide Leather Bag Set スターバックス マ...

[vismiintrend]

Get mini boston red handbag for women By Vismiintrend

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[pinkwishlist]

Fendi Ombre Zucchino Fabric, Leather and Sequins Forever Bauletto Boston Bag

[luvangelbreak]

Deprived

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 matthew sturniolo x layla venita (female!oc) summary: everyone knows the story of the bad boy and the good girl but what happens when the school's most popular boy, Matthew Sturniolo, and the girl who notoriously is never there, Layla Venita, cross paths. warnings: none? word count: 1.2k a/n: hi!! this is my first fanfic on here so im still getting used to the tumbler format but this will be a series. pls lmk ur thoughts or feelings or concerns or all of the above <3

pov: third person

Layla walked down the busy hallway, making a B-line for her locker that was further away than she needed it to be. She didn't want to be at school any more than she had to. The only reason she still went was to ensure she didn't get expelled for her attendance or lack thereof. Her shoulders were slouched as she pushed through the busy narrow hallway, her peers rushing to their classes.

The bleached blonde girl didn't care if she was late to her English class, it was the easiest class for her to pass even if she wasn't there. As the hallway started to filter out, she reached her locker and quickly punched in the numbers on her padlock. She swung the door open lazily, regretting her choice of rolling out of bed already but knew she might as well follow through with her choice now that she was here.

After throwing her bag into the locker, sliding her phone into the pocket of her black sweatpants that matched the black hoodie she wore. As she always did, she had her black leather jacket over the top since the cold Boston air seeped into her hoodie easily. She left her headphone in, grabbing her books for English even though she knew she would barely use them. She slammed her locker closed, easily heading to her English class now that no one was in the hallways.

She reached the closed door that was her class, swinging the door open and instantly felt the eyes of her peers bore into her. She closed the door, her teacher giving her an unsatisfied look but clearly not surprised.

"Layla, you're late," her teacher stated the obvious and Layla resisted the urge to roll her eyes, hearing that sentence at least twice a day.

"I'm aware," she replied blandly, earning a scowl from her teacher.

"Take a seat," Miss Piler demanded and Layla didn't respond as she slid through the students, eyes pouring into her. She brushed their looks off, being used to it by now, "And take your hood off."

Miss P glared at Layla as she sat down in the back left of the classroom. With a sigh, she slid the hood off of her head, her hair still covering the headphone that was playing music at full volume in her ear. The lesson continued as per usual but Layla could feel someone looking at her as she stared at the wall blankly.

She turned her head to the right to see a pair of blue eyes staring at her from across the room. She instantly recognised the cocky smirk that was plastered on the brown-haired boy's face, rolling her eyes as she looked back to the wall in front of her.

"What are you looking at dude?" Chris whispered to his brother who was looking to his left before he spun around to face Chris again.

"What?" Matt whispered back and Chris leaned back, looking over his brother's shoulder at what he was looking at, realising he was looking at Layla.

"Why were you staring at her?" Chris questioned, keeping his voice low so that the teacher wouldn't scold them. Matt shrugged, a smirk still on his face as he looked back to whatever the teacher was writing on the whiteboard, hardly paying attention.

"Was just looking," Matt mumbled back, giving a vague answer. He heard all the rumours about Layla, how much bad news she was. He also heard all the rumours about himself, all of the lies that people conjured up to make him seem better than he was. He wondered if it was the same situation with Layla, if the rumours about her were lies people made up to make her seem worse than she was.

The rest of the class, his mind wandered to all the things he had heard about her, realising that he never paid much mind to her. That wasn't unusual for him, he never paid much mind to most people except his immediate friend group.

Layla sat in the corner, drumming her fingers against her desk to the beat of the songs that played in her ears as she scribbled random doodles on her paper. Since English was the one subject she found came to her easily, she spent it daydreaming. She wondered why Matt was staring at her, he had never paid any mind to her before.

She didn't want to let it bother her, people stared at her all the time at school. But for the most loved guy in the school to be staring at her, it felt weird. He only paid attention to his friends on his hockey team and the cheerleaders that were always neat and tidy with their hair and makeup done pristinely, their outfits put together and a tad bit revealing but never enough to get dress coded.

Before she knew it the bell rang loudly through the school, interrupting her thoughts and students lept out of their chairs, desperate to talk to their friends in the hallway before their next class. Layla followed behind her peers, always being the last one to leave the room and the last one to enter.

After doing her routine of trudging her way back to her locker, grabbing more books she needed for her next class and being told she was late, again, she realised she would have to continue this cycle until her lunch break which was at 5th period.

+++

Layla had finally made it to her lunch break without leaving the school and she decided that she would give up on her last classes of the day, her brain already half-fried from the math and social studies classes she had just endured. She pulled her bag out from her locker, throwing the heaping pile of math books back into her locker with a groan. She suddenly felt a presence next to her and she looked to her left to see none other than Matthew Sturniolo.

"Hi," he beamed at her, leaning against the locker beside hers as he crossed his arms, his letterman jacket rustling as he did so, "I'm Matt."

"I know," she blandly replied as she started placing the books that she needed to take home into her bag.

"You're Layla, right?" he asked, earning nothing but a quick glance at him from her deep brown eyes, "I don't think we've ever actually talked."

"I wonder why," she mumbled sarcastically, only driving Matt to talk to her more. She observed him from her peripheral vision, taking note of his brand new blue jeans and white air forces.

"What class do you have after this?" he asked, clearly wanting to keep the one-sided conversation going that she had no interest in. She slid the bag onto her shoulder, sliding her hood back on.

"None," the quick reply from her didn't stop the dark-haired boy's attempts to talk to her further.

"What do you mean?" he asked, pure confusion on his face as she slammed her locker closed, turning to face him with a deadpan look.

"As in, I'm leaving," she spoke slowly as if she were speaking to a child and Matt nodded, biting his lip so he could think of something to say before she left.

"Mind if I come with?" he asked hopefully and she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

Not thinking he was serious, she replied with, "Knock yourself out."

She began walking down the hallway, hearing the rattle of lockers behind her as she walked towards the exit with her squeaky old white high-top converses. By the time she reached the door, she heard a pair of footsteps jogging down the hallway and she turned around to see Matt holding his backpack on one shoulder with a smile still on his face. With a roll of her eyes, she opened the door and he followed behind her shortly.

[christinarowie332]

life of the party

(sturniolo triplets x oc fan-series)

chapter 1

“college will be different”

—————

————

starting college was a fresh start for mackenzie , one that she needed . growing up as the quiet grungy girl with messy eyeliner and outlandish style didn’t get her very high on the popularity chain . what it did get her was fans , and an amazing musical taste . in high school she preformed gigs in downtown Boston , her peers from Revere didn’t manage to find her in the dirty bars downtown so she was able to blow off the steam by screaming into a mic and ripping the guitar to a crowd . slowly , she grew an instagram following of 100k , then followed the stares of people in high school , then the names . “yo that’s the famous chick” “yo can u shout me out” “who even is she ? is she new?” . anybody else would probably get an ego from this but god did she hate it . thank god college would be different.

the journey to boston was one she knew like the back of her hand , getting to college alone however … this was not something she preplanned . with her guitar on her back , along with her backpack filled to the brim , getting onto a train was quite literally impossible, the busy carriage filled with sweaty bodies and anxious freshmen is enough to give anybody a headache . so mac did what any sane person would do ? blast deftones full blast .

with her music ,the journey was quick , and in what felt like seconds she found her way infront of saint auburn itself . it’s only until she sees the large sign it hits her . she made it . the summer heat in the train carriage made her brown locks stick to the sweat on her neck . so after taking off the leather jacket , and folding it over her arm , she takes the large claw clip from her bag and twists the messy strands together , fastening it away from her face . her slight heeled boots click against the pavement as she makes her way through her new home , passing the people playing live music down the hallway , or the kids making out against the elevator.

“excuse me?” she says quietly , looking towards the blonde boy with his tongue down another shorter boys throat , gripping his neck as he leans against the metal doors . she gets no answer , the loud strums of guitars and muffled bass from the classrooms near drown out her voice . she purses her lips and turns on her heels , looking around the busy hallway for a second elevator , or possibly some stairs , not wanting to get into an awkward interaction with the two behind her .

she finds no other way up to her dorm , so she turns back around , swallowing her pride and accepting that she was going to have to have a conversation with them .

turning around she was met with just the blonde boy looking at her . she blinked a few times at the surprise , noticing his sharp cheekbones and jawline , his fluffy bleached hair falling over his blue eyes . “can i help you?” his voice was emotionless , a stark difference to his face displaying a very openly annoyed expression.

“sorry, i’m just trying to get to the elevator….” she replies , nodding to the elevator behind him . his eyebrows furrow and he double looked behind him ,realising what she’s talking about . “oh fuck my bad dude , i thought u were just being a weirdo i didn’t even notice sorry!” his face lights up as he talks , kindness literally bleeding from his words , mac can’t help but smile as he defends himself and rambles ….. still not moving ….. “shit sorry ! yeah” he continues, pressing the button and getting into the elevator gesturing her to follow .

“thanks” she says as she makes it in the cold metal box , sending him a tight lipped smile and adjusting the guitar and bag on her back . “sorry about that , i got carried away . do u play ?” the blonde boy asks , pointing towards said guitar . “uh yeah i play bass , do you ?” the girl replies pressing the button for her floor .

“uh yeah i do , we’ll not bass but i dabble” he shrugs his shoulders , smiling at him own words . “i’m nick by the way” he continues .

“mac , or mackenzie”

“nice to meet u mac” nick replies as the elevator door opens .

college will be different .

——

boring chapter but i am literally writing chapter 2 rn , this was just a cute lil intro and i want nick to be a big part in this story .

taglistttttt:

@mangosrar @soursturniolo @biimpanicking @querenciasturniolo @ermdontmindthisaccount @recklesssturniolo @tackycrown @udonotknowme @urmyslxt @iheart2021chris @its-jennarose @oversturn @paper-crab @strniohoeee @slut4chr1s @daddyslilchickenfingers @freshlovehacker @flowerxbunnie @kenzieiskoolaid @kvtie444 @loveesiren @lustfulslxt @lunarsturniolo @lovingsturniolo @chrisenthusiast @bluesturniolo333 @nickenthusiast @mattslolita @mattsbratt @chrisolivia4l @fredswh0re @rac00ns-are-c00l4

[octuscle]

I'm interested in IST, but I'd need help getting a passport. I've never been outside the US..

At least you got your suitcase back. Otherwise, this whole trip to Turkey was a complete humiliation. In the wrestling tournament, as the star of your college, you were knocked out in the first round. Against this half-monkey, which was half as large and half as heavy as you. Pissed off, you asked your parents to book you a flight home right away. You didn't feel like waiting for the team's return flight. Not to mention that going from Istanbul to Boston in economy class is unbearable. At least you consider the luxury of a business class flight as compensation for the humiliation you suffered to be appropriate.

Since the other team members are still at the tournament in Turkey, you have to train out with the juniors and the B team. Another humiliation. You take your wrestling singlet out of the suitcase. Fuck, you can still smell the sweat of your opponent. Funny, somehow the smell gives you a hard-on… Anyway, off to training. And take out all your anger on the younger, smaller and weaker ones. When you take off your singlet again, you still have a semi-stiff cock. And a pretty big wet spot from your precum. No idea when you last jerked off after a workout in the shower. But today it's necessary again. And the other lads are welcome to watch.

You are still suffering a bit from jet lag. There was no more partying last night. When you wake up in your frat house, it's still very early in the morning. And something stinks in your room. You find the reason relatively quickly. Instead of your suitcase, there is an old sports bag in the corner. In it you find, among other things, the sweaty singlet of your opponent. And an oily pair of leather pants. What the hell is this shit? Since you don't see any other pants, you pull a pair of sweatpants out of the sports bag. And an undershirt. Maybe a little small. But it fits. You go down to your communal kitchen and take a big gulp of milk straight from the canister. Two of your frat brothers come home after a night of drinking and ask you when you got a beard. Stupid question, since you've been growing one. It's not even 06:00 yet, but you grab your laptop and books and head to the library in your old clothes. If you fail at wrestling, at least you can study. But the longer you sit, the harder it is for you to follow the texts. What language is all this written in? At some point you pack up your things, annoyed. You are hungry now. And you could also use a shisha.

It's almost dark when you arrive at the dormitory for the exchange students. You have to hurry, you only have a few minutes until your shift as a janitor in the lab buildings starts. So you jump into your overalls and hurry. The floors aren't going to mop themselves. And you want to make your parents proud. Even if you're still struggling with the language, you could be the first in your family to graduate from a foreign country.

A week later you organized a small tournament with a few other Turkish and Bulgarian wrestlers. Primarily to finally be able to proudly wear your leather trousers again. But also to show that you may not speak perfect English. But you are a first class wrestler. The coach of the wrestling team thinks so too. The previous star has lost a lot of energy. He takes you into the team. And you will not disappoint your coach!

[mysteryfleshpit]

Depending on who you talked to, James Jackson was either a con man, a genius, a degenerate gambler, a reincarnated shaman from ages past, or some combination of all four. “Jim”, as his friends and detractors called him, was a strange man. He was a self-educated thinker who was absolutely convinced that he was possessed of talents that approached the supernatural.     He may have been right: in the history of American enterprise there was no one quite like Jim Jackson. His overall demeanor and presentation to all who interacted with him was that of a self-styled cowboy; he wore ostrich-leather boots, always had a Marlboro cigarette in his mouth, and owned a ten gallon hat in every color in the catalog, and spoke with a drawl so thick that he could easily be mistaken for a man out of time. This man, who came to embody every myth of the western oilman and whose exploits would someday captivate a nation, had not stepped foot in Texas until his twentieth birthday. He never made a dime from oil. Jim was born in Boston on July 16th, 1945 at the exact instant that the first atomic bomb was detonated two thousand miles away in New Mexico. He was the youngest of four children to Walter and Evelyn Jackson; Evelyn was a classically-trained stage actress who came from old money tied up in real estate in the northeast. Walter was a prolific and brilliant chemist who directed a research group for Bell Telephone Laboratories. During the war, Walter’s team was instrumental in developing the membranes necessary for the gas-diffusion method of enriching uranium for the Manhattan Project. Walter moved his family from Boston to San Jose, California in 1949 to partner with one of his former colleagues in founding a new applied science company. This new venture, Allied Micromaterials Corporation, would become one of the pioneering institutions in the development of semiconductors and later transistors. Contacts Walter had maintained in the defense department led to Allied receiving a contract to manufacture guidance systems for a new range of ICBM missiles, and by the middle of the 1950s, Walter was a very wealthy man. As a boy, Jim was bright but had no patience for school. On several occasions he was found cutting class to wander along a creek that ran through the family’s estate. The land had been an apricot orchard before being purchased by his father, and a young Jim spent every spare minute he could find playing cowboy in the pastoral grove of trees. His patient mother indulged his fantasies and sent him to dude ranches and paid for horse riding lessons in the hopes it might instill a sense of discipline. By Jim’s sixteenth birthday he was showing signs of restlessness in the rapidly-urbanizing Californian environment, and entered into frequent arguments with his exasperated father. When he told Walter that he had no interest in attending college, and instead mentioned the then-escalating conflict in Vietnam, his father shouted him down. Angry but determined, a seventeen year old Jim walked to an army recruitment station the very next morning. It was of no use, however; through Walter’s many ties to the U.S. defense industry, it was essentially guaranteed that Jim would never see combat. For the young man who yearned to see the world and longed for an adventure to break the monotony of his sheltered upbringing, this was the final straw. On a spring day in 1962, James Jackson packed a small bag and left home. From San Jose he took a train to Carson City, Nevada with the intent of finding work at one of the horse ranches from his childhood. When he arrived, a new subdivision had taken its place, with any traces of the ranches long gone. For two months he washed dishes in a casino buffet in Reno to pay for accrued gambling debts. From Nevada he hitchhiked to Idaho where he cut onions for 80¢ a day until the winter season forced him to move on. For three years he stumbled from job to job, lumberjacking in Washington state, fitting irrigation pipe in Arizona, welding in Alaska, mining Molybdenum in Colorado, and eventually working as a roughneck in an oilfield outside of Odessa, Texas. These three years had hardened young Jim and for the first time he felt at home among the wildcatters and oilmen in the dust and sun of west Texas. The challenge of the work invigorated him. The harsh conditions of the desert inspired him. The boom-bust cycle of the petroleum industry, however, did little to help secure the human needs of food and shelter. The men who made the real money on the drilling sites, Jim had noticed, were the geologists; those who only found the oil and didn’t stick around to do the hard work of pulling it out of the ground. Jim was charismatic, and it wasn’t long before he found work as an assistant for a local surveying office and began to learn the fine art of finding things underground. (edited) He was almost ready to settle down when he received a call from home: His father had suffered an intracranial aneurysm and had died before emergency medical treatment could be administered. For the first time in years, he went home. In the days after Walters funeral, Jim was forced to confront his future. Jim was twenty, with little occupational prospects, but now had a twenty-five thousand dollar inheritance; enough in 1965 to get into nearly any business he wanted. He knew he still didn’t have the patience for college, and he had already figuratively “gone west.” Out of either a feeling of guilt, or a desire to not cause any further trouble to his family in California, he returned to Texas with the goal of finally striking out on his own. By 1973, James Jackson was a man who, at least on the surface, betrayed no insecurities about his expertise. He exuded confidence and, after a few lucky breaks locating petroleum where none was thought to have existed, was billed as a “guru of the underground”. A small office was leased in Midland, a clerk and eventually a geologist, a few engineers and surveyors were hired. For a short time it was a mundane but generally honest living. What he lacked in experience as the chief of the small firm he more than made up for in the energy and zeal he brought to every job he undertook. He detested office work and would personally show up to every site, rain or shine, with the enthusiasm and showmanship of a circus ringmaster. The job for Dale Whitmer was no exception.

[felysline]

SPORTS GAME-DAY LOOKBOOK: NBA TEAMS INSPIRED 🏀🕹️

01. LOCKIN' QUARTERS, general fit. hair ⭒ earrings ⭒ necklace ⭒ top ⭒ skirt ⭒ watch ⭒ shoes

02. WAVIN' BLIZZARDS, okc thunder-infused fit. hair ⭒ earrings* ⭒ top ⭒ shoulderbag** ⭒ nails ⭒ shorts ⭒ shoes ⭒ socks # *: midam earrings › **: chain pouch leather bag.

03. ICIN' LEAVES, boston celtics-infused fit. hair ⭒ glasses ⭒ necklace ⭒ top ⭒ nails ⭒ handbag ⭒ pants* ⭒ shoes** # *: courtney pants. › **: platform sneakers 01.

04. BUZZIN' STARS, houston rockets-infused fit. hair ⭒ shirt ⭒ jacket* ⭒ skirt ⭒ boots # *: farrah bomb jacket.

thanks to all cc creators: @rimings @sclub-privee @pralinesims @busra-tr @trillyke @charonlee @bergdorfverse @glacierbrand1 @xurbansimsx @arethabee @jius-sims @ceeproductions @babyetears @vittleruniverse @ts4eve!

this lookbook was made in honor of boston celtics, oklahoma city thunder, and houston rockets who all won yesterday! as a fan of them i'd never thought such things would ever come, especially at once. i literally was bawling. so, i tried to infuse the teams' main colors into each outfit; combining sporty looks with something chic, casual, semi-formal, and edgy. especially for rockets, damn, the outfit really reminds me of toyota center. also, icin' leaves is basically just sweet-tatum-infused, lmaooo.

the fits are not too nba-game-day vibes, i'm aware. but game-day is all about having fun and it's coming together! i just had so much fun creating these. so, please, enjoy. ˙ᵕ˙ ⭑

[funstealer]

Mihara Yasuhiro x Jas M.B. A/W 2008 ‘Boston’ Tornado Zip Cowhide Leather Bag

[liaromancewriter]

Stand By Me

Premise: Cassie experiences the downside of having Ethan Ramsey as a mentor.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angsty Fluff Format: Prose + Text and Pic Fic Words: 2,610

A/N: Submission for @choicesaprilchallenge24 prompt, two-word sentence starter: "you're wrong"

Part 1: The Calm

Cassie Valentine had never traveled quite like this. The cargo plane’s interior was cavernous and dimly lit, a stark contrast to the tightly packed but bright commercial jet that had flown her and Ethan Ramsey from Boston to Miami for the first leg of their trek to assist humanitarian efforts after an earthquake in Haiti.

Cassie thought idly that the jet had been more comfortable with its plush seating. She sat cross-legged on the cold, metal floor, a duffle bag shoved behind her, cushioning her lower back from the unyielding steel, and scanned her surroundings.

The sparse interior was devoid of the usual comforts of commercial flights. There were no overhead bins, seatback trays or in-flight entertainment to pass the time. Just an expansive, unadorned metal hull echoing with the sound of the engines, a constant, deafening roar that made any attempt at conversation futile.

“Hope you’re strapped in tight, folks,” Hank, the team leader, shouted above the noise.

Standing in the center of the plane, his legs spread for balance, he stretched his long arms to grip one of the loops hanging from the ceiling.

“It’s going to be a bumpy ride, but at least there’s no middle seat to fight over,” Hank continued matter-of-factly as the plane gained speed on the runway, its sides rattling in response. A few people chuckled.

He finished his safety instructions a minute or two before the wheels lifted off the tarmac, and quickly strapped himself into a jump seat on the far side. He caught her watching him, and winked flirtatiously.

Back on the ground, Ethan had greeted Hank with an easy familiarity borne out of their shared experience during the Amazon mission years earlier. The casual insults had rolled off their tongues as they needled each other jokingly.

Cassie suspected this trip would be eye-opening in more ways than one as she spied on Ethan’s relaxed profile out of the corner of her eye. As if sensing her scrutiny, he glanced askance at her and she gave him a thumbs up signal.

She huddled inside the leather jacket, shivering from the chill that permeated the aircraft as it began its ascent. Leaning her head on Ethan’s shoulder, she smiled ruefully at Libby, the petite red-haired fifth-year surgical resident strapped in across from her.

They’d gotten to chatting in the hangar as they waited for the plane to be loaded with boxes filled with medical and food supplies and humanitarian aid packages. Libby, on her third trip to a disaster zone, had been a fount of information on what to expect and advice on how to manage in crude living conditions.

Cassie felt a sense of adventure mingled with apprehension. The headlines coming out of Port-au-Prince had painted a bleak picture of destruction, death and despair.

When Ethan’s contact in the WHO reached out asking for medical volunteers, Cassie knew she wasn’t going to be left behind this time. She might not have experience in field hospitals, but it was time she got it.

Ethan hadn’t argued or tried to talk her out of it. They were doctors; this is what they did.

As the plane reached cruising altitude, Cassie peered out of a small window near the floor. The view was obscured by a thick mesh covering the outside, but it did little to diminish the sense of wonder at the vast blue sea below, the calm surface broken only by the white crests of waves.

The flight was long, longer still, with nothing to do to pass the time. Cassie found herself drifting off to sleep, lulled by the monotony of the engine’s roar and the comforting feel of Ethan’s arm around her.

The next thing she knew, he was nudging her awake. The plane’s vibration beneath her had changed, gradually descending as they approached their destination. The atmosphere inside was abuzz with anticipation. Shortly after, the plane touched down on the tarmac, the landing rougher than the take-off.

“Ready?” Ethan asked as they unstrapped themselves once the plane had come to a halt.

Cassie nodded, stretching her arms and legs to shake off the stiffness. “Next time, remind me to grab a sleeping bag and some snacks.”

He chuckled, but his smile was soft as he stared into her green eyes. He ran his index finger down the side of her face, tucked back a lock of blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail, and tilted her face up.

The kiss was a mere brush of the lips, whisper soft, barely there before it was gone. It was the last moment of normality. Once they disembarked, everything would change.

Part 2: The Storm

The oppressive heat and humidity were unlike anything Cassie had experienced before, although she’d certainly been to the tropics. Her brother’s island home on St. Thomas was a few hundred miles east, but its luxurious, air-conditioned environs were worlds apart from the rows of beige-colored tents spread out in every direction.

The back of her short-sleeved cotton scrub top was damp from perspiration, so she lifted the hem to air it out. Exiting the stuffy interior of a medical tent housing non-urgent cases, Cassie took a deep breath. The pungent smells of human waste and unwashed bodies hit her nostrils immediately, and she started gagging.

Sweat dripped down her face, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. In the last few days, she’d lost her weight in fluids as they dug latrines, carried supplies from one end of the field hospital to another and spent hours in airless spaces treating patients whose eyes were inconsolable with loss.

It had taken her more than a minute to get her bearings, but Ethan had been in his element. She knew he’d volunteered with Partners in Health when he was a resident and fellow. But she’d had a hard time picturing the sophisticated, opera-loving Dr. Ramsey in such crude surroundings, digging ditches, boots covered in mud, grime staining his clothes.

They had both been busy in their respective areas, retreating every night, bone tired, muscles aching, to their assigned bedroom in staff housing near the hospital. All they did was sleep before waking up early to do it all over again.

Suddenly missing him and desperate to feel his arms around her, Cassie marched down the dirt path between tents, her green eyes searching for him or someone familiar who could tell her if they’d seen him.

Her ears pricked when she heard his deep voice and distinctive laugh close by. Changing directions, she followed her instincts and turned left, slowing down when she saw him standing in the middle of a clearing, his back to her.

Ethan was with an older man she hadn’t met before. His gray hair was long from the back, brushing past his collar, with deep-set eyes and a hooked nose. He spoke English with a heavy accent, gesticulating with his hands for emphasis.

The other man caught her spying on them, and his voice boomed, chiding. “Ah, another acolyte for my young friend. It’s always the same story, eh, Ramsey?”

Cassie flushed when she realized he was referring to her.

Surprised, Ethan spun on his heels and relaxed when he spotted her. “Cassie.”

Her earlier euphoria faded, replaced by a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach as she joined them.

“You know each other?” The other man asked, glancing between her and Ethan.

“Klaus, meet Dr. Valentine.” Ethan made the introductions. “Cassie, this is Dr. van Rijn, special missions head at the WHO. We go way back.”

“Valentine, Valentine. Why do I know that name?” Dr. van Rijn tapped one finger against his lips before his eyes cleared in recognition. “Ah, yes, of course.”

Cassie felt a momentary high at being recognized by someone of his stature, but his next words had her deflating like a balloon popped with a pin.

“You’re the intern!”

“That was six years ago,” Ethan shook his head in amusement. “She’s hardly an intern anymore, Klaus. Dr. Valentine is—”

“Your mentee, or rather, your protege,” he interrupted. “Yes, yes, Ethan, I remember. My hair is more gray than when we last saw each other, but my memory is sharper than ever.”

“But your hearing could use some work,” Ethan retorted, shoving his hands in his pant pockets. “As I was saying….”

Cassie saw herself standing in a long tunnel, the dismissive words spoken by the other man echoing around her. Intern. Mentee. Ramsey’s protege. Reduced to nothing more than that.

“Cassie, are you alright?”

Ethan’s concerned voice broke through her reverie, and she looked up, startled. They were both staring at her, one in disquiet and the other with curiosity.

“Sorry, I was miles away,” Cassie said. “What were you talking about?”

“Ethan was just telling me you’re now leading his former team,” van Rijn said. “That’s quite an accomplishment for one so young. You made a smart decision when you chose to train under Dr. Ramsey. He’s one of the best and most astute physicians I’ve ever met. You’ll go far if you keep following in your mentor’s footsteps.”

Incensed at the implication that her success was not of her own making, Cassie opened her mouth to deliver a cutting retort or at least defend her record. But Ethan stepped in front of her, figuratively, and beat her to it.

“That’s unfair, Klaus,” Ethan said sternly. “Dr. Valentine is brilliant. She diagnosed and found a cure for Naveen when he and I had both given up. She’s the keynote speaker at this year’s AADM conference, just like I was all those years ago, and is a special advisor to a Congressional national committee on healthcare affordability.”

He paused, frowning slightly before continuing. “And before you shove your foot even further down your mouth, you’ve apparently forgotten that she’s also my wife.”

Cassie stared in shock at Ethan, her ears ringing. His wife?!? That’s how he chose to end this? She thought they were partners and equals first, but clearly, she’d been mistaken.

“I heard you’d gotten married,” van Rijn said, flustered, “but I didn’t realize it was to…”

His words trailed off, and his cheeks turned red with embarrassment as he glanced at Cassie.

Ethan, too, watched her warily as she continued to stand there in stony silence, arms folded tightly across her front.

As she grappled with her emotions, feeling the old imposter syndrome return, Cassie knew she would blow her top if she didn’t walk away now. Preferably with her dignity intact.

“It was a pleasure,” she almost tripped over the word, “to meet you, Dr. van Rijn. I have to get back to work.”

She nodded rigidly at Ethan. “I’ll see you later.”

She was practically running once she was out of sight, unable to slow down despite the heat making her lightheaded.

Cassie often counted her blessings that she’d gotten a chance to work with Ethan, the compassionate and caring doctor who’d captured her heart. But for the first time in her life, she wished she’d never met Dr. Ramsey.

Part 3: The Aftermath

Part 4: The Closure

Ethan poured Malbec into a long-stemmed wine glass for Cassie the moment he heard her keys rattle in the apartment door. He’d had his ears cocked for the last half-hour, the trepidation building with every passing minute.

He heard the swoosh of the hallway closet door as she likely hung up her coat and the clatter of her shoes hitting the hardwood floor. Just as she walked into the living room, he took a large swallow of his wine and promptly started coughing when it went down the wrong pipe.

“Are you okay?” Cassie asked, her brow furrowed in concern as she approached him and brushed her hand up and down his back.

Ethan nodded, wheezing as the cough tickled his throat. He set the glass on the counter before he spilled the drink all over the kitchen floor. Finally, he managed to get himself under control.

Cassie lifted the glass of wine he’d poured for her and sipped slowly, her eyes closing as she savored the taste.

“You always know just what I need,” she said with a deep sigh. “M&M was particularly long and exhausting. Tell me, why did I choose to stay in academic medicine?”

“You’re wrong,” Ethan said quietly, causing her eyes to drift open and stare at him in surprise. “I don’t always know what you need. Something’s gone wrong between us. Things haven’t been the same since Haiti.”

Cassie pursed her lips and watched him above the rim of her glass, not reacting to his statement in any other way. Then she finished her wine and set the glass down on the counter.

“We already discussed this back then and today on text,” Cassie reminded him. “What else is there to say?”

She shrugged, and then her eyes turned hard like steel. “I need to stand on my own, but who you are, what you are…well, it casts a long shadow. I didn’t like how you and Klaus reduced me to someone who exists only because of what you saw in me. And not because I worked hard for it.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Cassie cut him off. “You might not have meant to, but you defending me without giving me a chance to do it myself, you might as well have.”

“Why can’t I stand up for you?” Ethan said, frustration leaking through as he stabbed his fingers into his hair.

“I need you to stand by me, not for me,” Cassie said, her tone measured in response to his heated one. “I will always be measured by your reputation, just like you have to contend with Naveen’s legacy. We can’t control what others say or do. I’ve accepted it.”

“Then why are you angry with me?” Ethan shot back.

“I’m not angry.”

Cassie closed the distance between them, her smile throwing him off. When she took his hand and laced her fingers through his, he felt as if the tight band around his heart loosened.

“I’m not angry,” she repeated, squeezing his fingers. “But I resent that, despite what we talked about in Haiti, your natural inclination on seeing that Pictagram post was to respond defending my honor.”

“Don’t deny it,” she cautioned when he started to do just that. “If I wanted to shoot down small-minded individuals, I’m more than capable of doing it myself.”

Ethan took a deep breath in and then exhaled. “I did want to do that,” he admitted. “I saw red because what they said was so far from reality.”

“If you thought that was bad, it’s good you’re not on Reddit,” Cassie said, twisting her lips in a wry smile.

“You know, if someone attacked your reputation, I’d be upset too.” She nestled against him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“But we both know the truth. I respect you enough to let you tear into shreds anyone that came at you. Give me the same courtesy, at least professionally,” Cassie added, angling her lips to kiss the underside of his jaw.

“If it was a personal attack, you have my permission to destroy them with that deathly Dr. Ramsey glare.”

Ethan snorted with laughter when she perfectly mimicked his angry expression.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he said, framing her face between his hands. His lips hovered above hers, waiting, prolonging the anticipation.

“You may kis—”

But she didn’t need to finish for he was already kissing her, and she was kissing him back. Everything was finally right in their world.

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[nateyweb]

Fendi Ombre Zucchino Fabric, Leather and Sequins Forever Bauletto Boston Bag

[idiototheinternet]

Infodump about the ideas for the highschool idol au

So. Character info.

Cross: His dad is the principal (but they aren't on such bad terms, they just don't get along the best), he lives on campus with Ink (this is kinda a private school situation, you live in the dorms, but the uniform isn't really enforced by anyone but the actual principal, and it's usually just a stern warning.) and he may have some gender dysphoria, because I enjoy jumping on the bandwagon of using Cross as a punching bag. He wears the uniform pretty consistently, with a gold locket under the tie. He does always insist on wearing red Chuck Taylors all the time, which is the only pop of color on him other than the red scar on his cheek he got from falling down a hill as a kid. He was forcibly added to the band as secondary vocals and drums

Killer: Chaotic, loud, and possessing some godforsaken mix between a Cockney and a Boston accent that sounds surprisingly good when used to sing, he's the epitome of everything Cross isn't. He enjoys ghibli movies, my melody, and cats, but also feels like a bolt of lightning. When he actually wears the uniform, it's usually with a signature studded leather jacket with pins in it. he never takes the jacket off. if he isn't wearing the school uniform, it's usually a shirt with Kel holding an orange joe or a cat hoodie under the jacket. His voice and outgoing nature got him the spot as the lead vocals and guitar.

Horror: He doesn't speak much, but when he does, it's slow, and full of thought. He likes to make food for people, and one of the first things he said to Dust was "Do you like pie." (much slower, but you get my point.) He never really wears the uniform, and everyone is fine with that, i don't think he's even met the principal. The best bear hugs in the school come from him. He plays bass.

Dust: He speaks snarkily to combat Killer, or to help Nightmare talk him out of a terrible plan to get that one guy finger drumming and mouthing the words to Fine to come and play. He wears the uniform sometimes, but always finds something to make it different, never removing his scarf.

Nightmare: He writes the lyrics to all the songs they sing, and drills everyone on the lyrics matching the beat exactly. EMO B- He always insists on visiting this one coffee shop, and always either wears casual wear or a full suit like

And high heels. He's hot and he knows it.

Error: Works on audio editing, and seems to be getting gradually more interested in theater. if you think he wears anything but his pajamas, you're wrong. Bro learned how to code a free no download version of FL studio, but won't do his math homework.

Ink: Ultimate art and theater kid, does everything, always covered in paint. how does he manage this. Pretty good grades, and he can sing well, but he usually keeps his singing to himself and this one guy who used to go to school with him.

Dream: Writes scripts, and plays smaller character parts, very gay for blue. That's all I can really say without having a whole ass essay.

Blue: Builds the sets for plays, and finds ways to get the school budget large enough to get all the materials for the plays.

Ccino(I'm just gonna refer to him as coffee guy until nightmare actually learns his name): works at the only good campus food store/cafe, and makes, and I quote "The only black coffee that you can actually enjoy"-Noot noot joku, 2023(/24, Idk when he'll say that.)

[nuzzle]

hii this isn't lolita related but do you have any shop / item reccomendations for jk uniforms or kogal outfits :OO i loved your brown cardigan & plated skirt fit sm!! ♡♡♡

no problem at all, this is such a fun question!!!

in the outfit you're referring to, i got the cardigan and skirt from a jfashion store that doesn't carry them anymore.. but the cardigan color is "milk tea" and it's by the brand "cecil mcbee" the skirt is from "liz lisa doll" and i believe the store i got them from has some other pleated skirts at the moment! i also picked up the sanrio seifukus from here, the two cinnamoroll ones! but i think you would like the my melody one ^_^

most of my items are from a brand called "eastboy" they're good quality and pretty affordable, and even more so if you look for stuff by them secondhand on mercari.jp. i especially like their synthetic leather bag, their blazers and sweater vests. they make great winter coats too in a bunch of styles. they're all super thick and great for the winter.

i've gotten a couple of bows, cardigans and pleated skirts from this "wego" website as well. decently good quality, but the cardigans are slightly thinner and better for lighter weather. this one is from conomi!

i also have the other style boston school bag in navy by the brand "CLEAT" from this general jfashion store by the name of "multipal" but the website seems to be glitching out at the moment and it won't let me click it! but for these bags i find it's super cute to dress it up with a bunch of keychain decorations and such on them.. maybe those can styled badges if you have any! i like putting a little plushie in the center pocket.

i've found some authentic custom seifukus on kei market in the past. it moves a lot slower than lace market, but pretty cool stuff pops up every now and then!

and socks/tights you can get anywhere really! but i've found nice slouchy socks from amazon and aritzia. for tights, i usually get a sturdier pair from sheertex because i tend to get rips and tears in them a lot from my nails

[mermaidgirl30]

Look for the Light Chapter 10

- Summary: Aly finds herself trying to escape the Boston QZ. What Aly doesn’t know is Tess is pairing her up with Joel to go on a dangerous mission to find Tommy. Will Aly survive the brooding, moody Joel or will she find herself falling hard for him?

The weather was cold as November rolled around. You had been traveling through Kansas for three days now, getting closer to Colorado with every mile that passed. You were miles away from Boston at this point. You’d spent days on the road with Joel. They were long and tiring. Some days you wanted to wring Joel’s neck for being insufferable with his arrogant ass. Other days weren’t so bad. Today was one of those days. You didn’t much mind his company. You actually invited it on this particular day. The past few days you grew closer to him, especially after the day in the barn together. The way he held you in his arms. His warmth so inviting…

You were standing in the middle of a gigantic open area. There were small hills sprawled around the area. Lush trees surrounded you. It didn’t matter which way you turned, they were everywhere. This would’ve been a good hiding spot for other survivors or even for infected. You made sure to watch your back. Shimmer was grazing in the grass a few feet away from you, taking a rest break from the long road ahead.

“Aly, come over here. I think I found something useful,” Joel called from the near distance. You followed his voice into a shaded area. You cringed the moment you walked over to where he was.

Right under the tree sat two rotting corpses. Two men as far as you could tell. Their flesh smelled of bacteria and spoiled eggs. You gagged and covered your nose, trying your best to cover the horrendous scent. “Gross! I wonder how long they’ve been here?” you asked while backing away from the horrible smell.

Joel knelt down and grabbed something behind one of the dead corpses. The corpse tipped over and landed with a crash on the ground. Flies surrounded their bodies. The sight of old, dried blood made you sick.

Joel stood up and held out the object he discovered. He held a small bag with a leather strap that could fit around you. In it sat a sturdy wooden bow with arrows to go with it. He took it out of the bag and grabbed an arrow to accompany it. The arrow was black with a fletched feather on the end of it.

Joel held it up and got in position to test it out. He put the arrow in the middle of the bow and made sure he was in the correct stance. He closed one eye, pulled on the string, and the arrow shot across the field hitting the center of a tree. You watched him in awe. His movements were so smooth. He had perfect aim.

He looked over at you and raised an eyebrow. He had a questionable look on his face. “Have you ever used a bow before?”

You shook your head. “No. I’ve only ever watched others use one.”

“Do you want me to show you how to use it?” he asked as he ran his hand against a smooth arrow.

You considered his offer for a minute, but you wanted to show him you could teach yourself. “I can figure it out myself.” You stomped up to him and grabbed the bow and a single arrow out of his hands. You could do this. It couldn’t be that hard, right?

He threw his hands up and said, “Suit yourself. Let’s see what you got.” He stood back and crossed his arms, leaning against a tree.

You walked out to the edge of a small hill. Over the hill you could see the tall grass sway in the wind. You watched some hawks fly overhead as they quickly disappeared into the trees. You closed your eyes and focused.

The wind softly blew some long locks of brunette waves into your eyes, and you secured them back behind your ear. You took a couple of deep breaths and tried to concentrate. “Come on, you can do this,” you said to yourself wordlessly. You could do this.

Joel cleared his throat behind you, and you looked back at him. He raised an eyebrow and nodded to the bow and arrow. He was now relaxing against a tree trunk and seemed to look amused. “Any day now,” he said, waiting patiently. A smirk played at the corner of his mouth.

“Just a minute,” you said, annoyed while rolling your eyes. He seemed to chuckle under his breath. You looked back towards the open field. You quickly scanned for a target to shoot at. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a runner. It was moving slower than how you usually saw them move. It peeked its head out from behind a giant willow tree as it made its way across the grass. This was your chance. It was the perfect target to have.

You slowly raised the bow up with your left hand and tried to place the arrow against the string. You were struggling to get the arrow to click into place. Where exactly does this sit again? You felt like an idiot not knowing exactly where to place it. Were you supposed to pull the string back first or place the arrow at the front of the bow? Were you even standing right? You tried again to place the arrow, but it slipped out of place. You were getting more frustrated with every second that passed. You huffed and almost threw the arrow down on the ground.

Joel laughed gently and walked up to you. “Let me help you.” He reached for your bow, but you wouldn’t budge.

“I said I got it,” you said irritated. You weren’t giving up so easily. You wouldn’t surrender the bow. You couldn’t. You held on tightly and looked away from him. You brought the bow and arrow up to your chin. You were stubborn and wouldn’t show weakness. You gasped as Joel walked up behind you.

“Here. I’ll guide you.” He placed his hands gently on you. A chill went down your entire spine. His left hand went to your left shoulder as he pushed down slightly so you would relax your muscles. His right hand carefully settled to your right hip. You shuttered at his touch and lost your footing. “Relax,” he breathed into your ear. His voice was so steady, so warm. It instantly eased you. You relaxed into his touch.

“Good, now ease the arrow in. Place the shaft of the arrow on the arrow rest, right in the middle.” He watched you place it carefully in. Your hands were shaking. He was making you nervous standing so close.

“Now, attach the back of the arrow to the bow string. It’s called the nock, this little plastic piece that holds it in.” He placed his hand on yours as he helped you with the arrow. A jolt of electricity shot through your body, and your heart started speeding up. You swear it sounded like a thousand horses galloping with every breath you took. The arrow was hooked securely into the bow now.

“Okay. Now you want your body to be perpendicular to your target. Stand up straight and place your feet shoulder width apart.” He positioned your body to where you were aligned with your target perfectly. The infected walked slowly towards you. It was still more than 20 feet from you, but got closer with every step it took. Joel placed his foot in between your legs, spreading them an inch wider. You gulped. Your mouth suddenly becoming dry.

He drew closer to you, his chest right up against your back. His right hand was still on yours. His left hand slid up and found yours right beneath the arrow rest. You could feel his hot breath against your ear. It was warm and almost seemed inviting. He was being calm and collective in the moment, unlike the nervous wreck that you were being.

“Steady,” he said as he raised the bow so that it was met at eye level. “Focus on your target. When you’re ready, gently pull back on the string.” He didn’t move away at that moment, he only moved closer to you.

Your heart thundered in your chest. You found it hard to concentrate, so you closed your eyes for a minute and focused on deep breaths. In and out, you tried to calm yourself down. Joel’s scent filled the air. He smelled like fresh pine trees and firewood. It was intoxicating.

You pulled back the string as you kept a tight grip on the bow. You focused your sight onto your moving target. “Remember to relax and breathe. Focus your eyes on your target. Imagine the arrow hitting exactly where you want it to go. Clear your mind,” he said as his fingers slowly stroked your hand.

Your breath hitched again at the shift of his fingers on yours. Your hand felt as if it was on fire. Sparks shot through your body, and suddenly you were burning. The flames were so hot, you were about to burn alive. You were holding your breath.

“Breathe,” he whispered into your ear, warmth trailing down your neck. Your eyes went wide and you could’ve just melted into him right then and there. You tried your hardest to focus on the target that was in front of you, not on the smoldering man that was pressed up against you.

The air was thick and hot around you. It felt like you were suffocating under a raging hurricane that just crashed into you. Your legs felt like they could cave on you at any second. Joel stole your attention again as he shifted your body slightly to the left.

“On three you’re going to release,” he coaxed against your ear. You swallowed hard. He was affecting you in ways you couldn’t explain. Was he feeling the same way as you did right now? You could stay like this for hours. You were afraid to release the arrow, scared this moment would fade away and never return.

“One…” Joel counted slowly. You closed your eyes for a moment and focused on his voice. “Two…” his lips brushed against your cheek. God, his lips against your skin felt magnetic. You were treading into dangerous waters, but you didn’t care.

“Three…” You let the arrow fly through the air. It sliced into your target like a speeding bullet. The arrow hit the runner straight in the head. Bullseye.

“Good girl,” he whispered seductively into your ear. Your breathing spiked as soon as those words came out of his mouth. You wanted to turn around and run your fingers through his smooth hair at that moment, but you couldn’t move. You were frozen.

Joel’s hands lingered on yours just a few seconds too long after you brought the bow down from eye level. It wasn’t long enough though, not even close. You wanted to freeze time and stay in that moment forever. You were in pure bliss right now.

Joel slowly dropped his hands from you and took a few steps back, probably realizing what he had just done. You turned to him as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. He slowly looked back at you. His eyes were the color of syrup with a hint of hazel. You could get lost in eyes like that. They pulled you in and kept you wanting more. Your eyes didn’t leave his.

He stared back at you intensely, his eyes hungry. He pulled his gaze away and looked down at the ground, taking a deep breath and trying to focus on anything other than you. “That was good, Aly. If you keep practicing, I think you’ll be a pro. You keep the bow. It’s yours now.”

You shyly smiled up at him and bit your lip. “It was only good because you were right next to me, guiding me every step of the way. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He smirked up at you. You tasted hunger like you never felt before. It would eat you alive, but it was too late. His eyes were burning into yours again. You felt the flames, and you wanted to dance in the fire.

Chapter 11

Series Masterlist

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 12A: Handle With Care

Been beat up and battered 'round // Been sent up, and I've been shot down You're the best thing that I've ever found // Handle me with care

Soundtrack: “Handle With Care,” Traveling Wilburys, 1988 [click here to listen]

New York City || January 1988

“Watch out!”

Claire Beauchamp hoisted her overnight bag to hang from her shoulder at a different angle, biting back an insult at the man who’d just shoved into her. Nothing good would come from a confrontation, but she still flipped a middle finger from the safety of her pocket.

It was a typical weeknight rush hour at Penn Station – the squashed labyrinth that was such a poor substitute to the grand cathedral to train travel that had been so ruthlessly demolished in the 1960s. Commuters flitted across the concourse, coattails and long winter scarves flying behind as they ran to catch trains to Oyster Bay or Pennsauken. Huddled up against the walls stood the motley crew of homeless, beggars, prostitutes, drunks, and hustlers who tried to stay invisible or plied their trade among the crowd.

She’d been warned against pickpockets, and accepting “taxi” rides from strangers who approached solo women. Her fist clenched around the piece of paper she’d torn from the notebook kept by the phone in her shoebox Boston apartment, where just yesterday she’d scribbled the instructions…

Cross the Amtrak concourse. Up the stairs to the street – the Eighth Avenue side. Up the stairs of the old Farley Post Office. Third column from the left.

Cold air blasted at the top of the escalator at street level. She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets, narrowly avoiding being hit by two boys wearing Rangers jerseys. Stepped around a large puddle as she crossed Eighth Avenue. Kept her head up as she approached the post office, counting columns.

Immediately she knew it was him – though he was a good fifty yards away. Leaning against the dirty old column, long legs crossed, collar of an ancient leather jacket turned up against the cold.

He saw her immediately, too. Stood up straight. Patient.

He took her hands – so cold – at the top of the stairs.

“Why didn’t you bring gloves?”

“Why are you wearing sunglasses at night?”

“I didn’t realize you were a Corey Hart fan,” he teased, grin widening.

She threaded her fingers through his. “Hi,” she breathed.

Jamie stepped closer, still smiling. Kissed Claire long and sweet in the shadow of the column, with hundreds of people bustling by. Anonymous.

--

“And you’re sure it’s not putting him out to have me there, too?”

He hadn’t let go of her hand, and squeezed it, shifting a bit to re-fold his legs in the cramped back seat of the yellow cab.

“It’s definitely not. I’ve told him a lot about you. I hope you don’t mind. He’s really eager to meet you.”

She watched the long string of streetlights dotted down the avenue shift to green. “All right. But I still don’t understand why you won’t tell me who he is.”

“You’ll meet him soon enough.” He brought the back of her hand to his lips for a kiss. “And before you ask – you’ll have your own room. Like we talked about.”

They’d finished treatment at The Ridge just a few weeks apart – he the day after Thanksgiving, she the week before Christmas. Today was their first time together since Thanksgiving morning, in North Carolina, where she cried as he kissed her goodbye and stepped in the limousine that took him to the airport and a private plane back to Los Angeles. He’d called her at The Ridge every day, and then at her apartment in Boston once she returned there.

Because it was definitely, truly real between them. Something in their souls called out to each other. Claire was right – they were each other’s reset from a life that they hadn’t wanted. Now they wanted nothing but a life with each other.

But the Real World was hard – so, so hard. She was still on indefinite leave from the hospital; his band Print was still on hiatus, though thankfully his bloodsucking manager didn’t harass him every day anymore (he’d broken off that business arrangement, thanks to the intervention of Ned Gowan, a fellow patient at The Ridge who turned out to have quite a sharp legal mind when he wasn’t smoking crack). They had returned to their “normal” places, but struggled to build new normal routines.

They talked every day – multiple times a day – running up an astronomical long distance bill that Jamie said he’d pay for Claire. They talked about the people they knew at The Ridge, and the mundane things each of them had done that day, and crazy people Claire had seen in the grocery store, and kind fan letters Jamie had received. They talked about Jamie’s plans to do a string of acoustic concerts in the spring, testing out the dozen new songs he’d written at The Ridge (and since his return) about Claire, and sobriety, and finding strength, and Claire. And they talked about Claire’s plan to return to work, but perhaps as a family physician rather than the pressure cooker of surgery. And they talked about the life they’d build, and the places they could live.

They agreed to take their relationship slow. Not just because of his history with women – but because they could. He invited her to his house in LA, and quickly said that the guest wing was really great and completely at her disposal. She invited him to her cramped Back Bay apartment, and offered her lumpy couch.

All of it was like a dream. So when last night Jamie had asked her to meet him in New York, she didn’t realize that he meant the next day. Because that would make the dream real. Transform the voice on the phone to the living, breathing man that had held the taxi door open for her, and insisted she meet his new sobriety sponsor.

“I know you told me last night how you were introduced to him. But it’s a bit of a blur. Would you mind telling me again?”

He traced the back of her hand with his thumb. “Dougal introduced us.”

“Dougal MacKenzie? From The Ridge?”

He nodded. “They’ve known each other for a long, long time. Ran in some of the same circles, back in the 60s. This guy was living down the street from The Vanguard – that’s a jazz club in Greenwich Village. He and his band would go there every night to check out Dougal’s quartet. I think Dougal played saxophone. Anyway, he and Dougal shared a mutual interest in two things – jazz, and smack. They had the same dealer and everything.”

“But I assume he’s clean now?”

“Yup. He and Dougal got clean around the same time. Dougal left the big city and started The Ridge. This guy stayed. Almost lost his band and his wife. But he’s stronger than ever. And I want to do that, Claire. I want to be like him.”

The cab braked to a stop in front of a handsome brownstone. Claire fished in her pocket for a twenty, and slipped it through the plexiglass divider next to the driver before Jamie could even blink.

He huffed. “I’ll get your bag out of the trunk.”

--

A kindly, middle-aged woman answered the door when Jamie knocked. “You must be Claire! Come in, get out of the cold.”

Claire stepped through the entryway and shrugged out of her coat, hanging it on the coatrack. The entryway opened into a foyer – a staircase hugged the wall at one end, and the long, narrow hallway ended in what could only be the kitchen. Framed gold records – at least a dozen – dotted the wall along the hallway.

“I’ll take your bag to the guest room.” Jamie was already halfway up the stairs.

Claire turned to her hostess. The woman appeared to be in her fifties – laugh lines creased her eyes, and her blonde hair was twisted in a chic bun. “Thank you so much again for your hospitality – ”

“Oh! How rude of me. I’m Glenna.”

Claire gently shook the offered hand. “Thank you, Glenna. You have a beautiful home.”

Glenna smiled. “My husband and I bought it with the advance from his second record, back in ’65. We’ve fixed it all up, over the years. Having projects here really helped him once he got clean, because he had something to really focus on.”

Claire nodded. “Are you – ”

“In recovery? No – I never touched the smack, or anything else. Our daughter was born right before his first record, and then our son a few years later. I couldn’t be high and take care of them, too.” She paused. “Jamie said you met at The Ridge?”

Claire nodded. “Pills. Halcions, mostly. I’m a surgeon, and I threw my career away after my divorce. It’s funny to say, but Jamie was the absolutely last thing that I needed.”

Glenna shook her head. “That’s how it always works, honey. It was the same with me and Alec. Here I am, minding my own business, working as a typist at Columbia Records, when this group of four scruffy guys in sunglasses and leather jackets and motorcycle boots shuffle in to see their A&R guy. Alec took one look at me, and the next thing I know I’m down at the Village Vanguard and he’s holding my hand. We got married six weeks later. That was 34 years ago.”

Claire blinked. “That’s some story.”

“It’s all true.” A middle-aged man appeared from down the hall, kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. “She almost divorced me when I blew ten grand on smack instead of pay the kids’ school tuition. But somehow she stuck with me.” He reached out a hand, smiling kindly. “Alec MacMahon. Welcome to our home.”

Jamie padded softly down the stairs.

Claire frowned a bit, then it dawned on her.

“Alec MacMahon?” she said a bit dumbly. “Holy shit. I had an Uprising poster on my bedroom wall in high school.”

“Which one? The Master of the Horse album cover?” Jamie stepped next to Claire, grinning.

She nodded, mind still processing. “I wore out the record, I listened to it so much.”

Alec smiled. “Well, thanks for buying it. Put my son through college, that record did. But I’m a terrible host. Let’s take a seat in the living room.”

To be continued...

[soulofapatrick]

The Last Dance - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You and Joel share a domestic moment before you have to leave the Boston QZ to deliver Ellie to the fireflies

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: Angst but fluffy too

Notes: Listen to We’ll Meet Again by Vera Lynn while reading 

Y/N’s POV

The air is thick with tension as Joel and I prepare to leave the QZ and embark on our dangerous mission. We’re silently pack our bags and checking our weapons, knowing what is at stake. Tess has gone to prepare things and scope out a route with the least about of danger before picking Ellie up on her way back to us. My heart is full despite the situation we’re about to head into as Joel and Tess trust me enough to bring me with them.

I had first met Joel and Tess shortly after arriving at the Boston QZ. I was alone and scared, everyone from the group I was travelling with dead or abandoned me and I was a scared seventeen year old trying to navigate my way through the unfamiliar streets. I remember feeling like a lost child, vulnerable and exposed. Then I saw them.

- - 

They were walking down the dusty street, their backs straight and their eyes scanning their surroundings with an intensity that made me feel like I was intruding on something private.

Tess was the first to turn and look at me, and I was struck by her appearance. She was tall and lean, with a lithe, athletic build that suggested she was no stranger to physical exertion. Her hair was a short, shoulder length mass of chestnut, and her eyes were a bright, almost electric blue that seemed to see right through me. She wore a tight-fitting leather jacket and dark cargo pants, both of which were worn and weathered from use.

Joel, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice me at first. His gaze was fixed on something in the distance, his face set in a hard line. He was a broad-shouldered man with a greying beard that matched his fluffy soon to be salt and pepper hair. His eyes a deep brown that seemed to hold a world of pain and experience, and his face etched with lines that spoke of a hard life lived. He wore a simple button-down shirt and cargo pants, both of which were practical and unassuming.

As I approached them, I couldn't help but feel intimidated by their presence. They looked like they had seen and survived things that were beyond my wildest imagination. But, as they turned to face me, their expressions softened, and I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe they could help me.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice shaky. "Do you know where I can find shelter?”

"Come with us," Tess replied finally after the pair studied me for a minute or two, her voice commanding and firm, making the scared child within me unable to say no, especially when she softened a little and that Illinois accent came through when she added, "We can help you.” 

And just like that, I was welcomed into their circle. They showed me where to find food and shelter, and taught me how to navigate the QZ safely. Over time, we grew closer, sharing stories about our lives before the outbreak and dreaming about what the future might hold.

- - 

I must have stopped packing as a large and calloused hand brushes my arm reassuringly, Joel appearing in my line of sight with his brow creased in worry and… nervousness? There’s a song playing on the old record player I had scavenged months ago: We’ll Meet Again by Vera Lynn. Joel’s hand moving down my arm until he’s holding it out for me to take and asking with a small and rare smile on his weatherworn lips, "May I have this dance?" 

I can’t mask the surprise, but I don’t decline, slipping my hand into his and letting him pull me flush against his chest. There’s something vulnerable in those honey eyes of his as the light from the single lamp casts a warm glow over the room and I think I’m still daydreaming as no way the tough, no-nonsense survivor who has been through so much is asking me to dance. But we are dancing. We start to sway slowly, his strong and safe arms wrapped around my waist and my head moving to rest on his shoulder, feeling his body against mine all muscular and warm. I’ve missed this kind of human connection, finding some peace and calm amidst the chaos. It's like time has stopped, and we're in our own little world, away from the danger and the fear or what’s to come this evening. We’ve been though so much, fighting tooth and nail to survive in this shitty post apocalyptic world and moments like this are now few and far between.

As we dance, I can’t help but let myself feel a sense of comfort and safety wash over me. Joel's presence is grounding, reminding me that even in this brutal world, there can be moments of tenderness and connection. I close my eyes and let myself get lost in the music, in the sensation of being held by someone who cares about me even if he’s unable to utter those exact words I’ve been wanting to hear for months. 

But then Joel speaks up, breaking the silence.

"I know… I know this is risky, what we're about to do," he says, his voice low and serious. "But I also know that it's important. We're doing something good, something that will make a difference."

I look up at him, struck by the intensity in his eyes. I can’t ignore it, a feeling of unspoken love that seems to flow between us. It's as if we're communicating without saying a single word, and in that moment, nothing else matters but the two of us. I can feel his heart beating against mine, and as we move together, I can't help but feel that this is where I belong, wrapped in his arms, lost in his gaze. It's as if the world around us has faded away, leaving just the two of us and the music. I know that we have a dangerous mission ahead of us, that we'll be facing untold dangers and risks, but for now, all that matters is this moment, this dance, and the unspoken love that we share.

"I know," I finally speak, my voice barely above a whisper. "But that doesn't make it any less scary."

Joel nods, understanding.

"I know," he says, voice just as soft and quiet. "But we have each other. We're in this together."

As we dance, Joel's hand rests gently on my back, pulling me closer. I rest my head against his chest again, feeling his heartbeat under my ear. It's a comforting sound, and I close my eyes, cherishing this moment of peace. Trying to ignore the silent weight of our mission pressing down on us and the knowledge that we might not all make it out alive. But in this moment, with Joel holding me close and the music playing, it's easy to forget. It's easy to imagine that we're just two people in love, lost in each other.

And maybe that's what we are, in a way. We've been through so much together, seen things that no one should ever have to see. But through it all, we've found something special between us. Something that's kept us going, even in the darkest moments. He feels it to with the way his fingers hook under my chin and make me look up at him again, his face dipping down and his lips ghosting over mine. It's so gentle, barely there, but it sends shivers down my spine. My eyes slipping shut, trying to savour the moment, and then the kiss ends just as quickly as it began. It's like a spark in the dark, and then it's gone. 

The music fades away and the dance comes to an end, Joel and I stare into each other's eyes, knowing that our moment of peace is coming to an end. The thought of leaving his arms and facing the dangers that lie ahead fills me with a sense of dread, and I can tell from the look in his eyes that he feels the same way. We’re both silent, lost in our own thoughts, neither of us wanting to break the spell of the moment. I can feel the warmth of his hands on my back, the gentleness of his touch, and the way his fingers caress my skin sends shivers down my spine but as we reluctantly let go of each other, I feel a sense of loss, aching to be back in his arms once more. We both know that we're heading into danger, that there's a chance we may not make it back alive, and the thought of not feeling his touch again fills me with a sense of desperation. 

The door is opening and I can feel the flush of embarrassment spread across my face as I realise that we've been standing there, lost in each other's eyes, while Tess and Ellie have been waiting for us to grab our stuff and head out, the darkness outside ready to cloak us. It takes every fibre in my body to look away from Joel, breaking the connection, and feel a sense of emptiness settle in my chest. The sense of loss, of longing for the touch of Joel's arms around me settles deep in my bones. It's as if I've tasted something so wonderful and now I can't have it again, and the ache in my heart only grows stronger as we move further away. 

I know that we have to focus on the mission, that there are lives at stake, but in this moment, all I can think about is the loss of that touch, the loss of that connection. And as we face the dangers that lie ahead, I'll carry this ache with me, this longing for the comfort and safety of Joel’s arms.

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