#MOTHERFUCKER WANTING TO MAKE AN APPOINTMENT EARLY IN THE MORNING

[miguelo-hara]

moving out to my first own apartment has really made me understand why people hate contractors

[jacqcrisis]

Wrote up a story concept for priest man and fucking Darren

Newly appointed priest man moves to a small town in bumfuck wherever to help out at the old ass church since the current father is starting to age out. It's a bit of an adjustment, and the locals aren't super friendly to the new city boy preacher at first, but they grow on each other and he starts to fit it.

Almost immediately though, the priest has to deal with the volunteers, most specifically the early 40s something dad Darren who owns his own local construction company, who has a shocking amount of time on his hands as his business is big enough now he doesn't have to work 80 hours a week, and who has a vested interest in fixing the historic church's crumbling architecture. Now, this wouldn't be too bad, and Darren is a wonderful, jovial man, but the problem is he's every ounce the image of masculine temptation our priest joined the church to get away from. And this motherfucker, having marital issues and who is clearly avoiding spending time with his family, is around all the time.

So he avoids Darren as much as he can, keeping their conversations to solely about the church and this works. Sure, his incubus has a habit of doing work shirtless and he has a horrible personal space issue and he keeps touching the priest in all sorts of small town friendly manners and there are a lot of moments where they are alone but the priest is handling it. He wasn't going to go through life without temptation and this is merely another test from the Lord.

And then two things happen back to back that make things infinitely harder: Darren confesses to the sin of engaging in 'homosexual thoughts about someone within the church' and his wife requests the priest counsel them in their failing marriage, both together and one on one. God help this poor man, he is not going to survive late night talks with Darren, talking about how he needs to be a better man for his wife and put out more for the sake of his marriage. Intimate, potentially sexual conversations, alone and in a position of power with a man he knows isn't doing what he's supposed to be doing because he's struggling with the same shit as the priest and who the priest wants to ride into the mattress.

He does his job, the marriage shockingly gets better for the wife, but Darren is still spending a lot of time at the church. He and the priest become friends, those initial feelings of lust becoming subsumed into a blossoming romantic love that they do nothing about for a while, quiet moments filled with the kind of tension of two people thinking the same thing they could do but can't do at the same time. It's actually kind of nice as that initial panicked attraction has waned and the priest is excusing it for friendship and leaving it at that even if he's still catching himself daydreaming of something more.

Comes to a head one evening after another fight with the wife and Darren is at the church. They're both drinking, not a lot, but enough to start openly flirting and the guards come down, and a big old mistake happens here in this house of God. The next morning, neither of them are mad about, or feeling much guilt, but they agree 'alright we got it out of our system, let's not talk or think about it again'.

Obviously, that doesn't happen. It's hard to be alone now despite not jumping each others bones because the meaning of what had occured was more than they'd like to admit and the possibility of it happening again is all too real when no one but the saints adorning the walls are around. On top of that, there's gossip going around town due to how much time they're spending together, spread mostly by Darren's jaded wife who found some interesting things on his computer, and the town is beginning to turn hostile.

Eventually, they accept things cant continue this way and admit to wanting more. The priest gets kicked out of the church and becomes an accountant for the construction company. Darren gets a divorce thank fucking God and they move to the small city where most of Darren's business is anyways, both happier and more fulfilled than they thought they could be.

[andnowanowl]

Okay, I've gotta post more weirdness about my ex, because I have to tell someone and I don't want to burden my folks with too much. They'll probably hear the story eventually but I need to tell it now.

My ex likes to do things last minute. And I mean last minute. One of my pet peeves with him was that he'd wait until like the last ten minutes until we had to leave to get ready. Like showering, which wouldn't be a problem if he didn't spend as much time in the bathroom as a teen girl getting ready for school in the morning.

Back last year when we were still living with his mother, the fan in our room stopped working. So he made an appointment for some guys to come out to look at it. About thirty minutes before they showed up, he went into the bathroom to take a shit. (Sorry for the crudeness, I am a crude person.) His normal routine was to spend an hour in there. I told him that it was probably best he not (he had held it before when we had guests), in case the repair guys showed up early. He waved off my concerns.

Lo and behold, about ten minutes after he went in, they showed up early. I went and knocked on the bathroom door, telling him that the repair guys were there. I figured he would, you know, stop what he was doing (he had done so many times in the past) and come out. Then I let the repair men in and led them to the broken fan. And it was awkward as hell because I'm not very good at talking to people and it was our bedroom, where I was uncomfortable bringing strange men into.

I kept glancing at the bathroom door, expecting my ex to come out. No such luck. The repair guys could sense the discomfort and, probably because I'm female, did just a cursory glance at the fan. Didn't really inspect it, just turned the lights on and off. Said it was probably the wiring, which didn't make sense to me because the lights worked fine. But I didn't argue about it because they were the experts, right? (Later, I figured the motor for the fan was worn out.)

They told me that would send an email for payment for the service (what service, motherfuckers) and left. Meanwhile, I was standing there thinking, 'What the hell, why didn't he come out when I knocked on the door?' About twentyish minutes later, my ex came out the bathroom. "Where are the repair guys?" he asked.

I looked at him incredulously. "They came and left several minutes ago," I told him. "I told you they were here." He seemed surprised. "You let them in?" he asked. And the implication of that floored me. He'd wanted those repair guys to wait outside in the hot sun while he took a shit.

"You wanted them to wait? Jesse, that's rude!" I exclaimed. And he actually agreed. He actually said, "Yes, that's rude," but seemed wholly unrepentent that it was, in fact, rude. I had a voice in the back of my head say, 'There's something wrong with this guy. What the hell are you doing with him? ' The same voice that I had heard when we first started dating and I joke-punched his arm a couple times because I was teasing him. You know, just balling up my fist and softly shoving at his shoulder with it. It wouldn't have hurt him at all, it was how my dad had interacted with me growing up and it never hurt me. His whole demeanor had changed and he'd said, "You do that again and (honestly can't remember what he said here, maybe 'we'll leave the movie theater')." He's actually lucky I ever touched him again because it spooked me, that brief glimpse of something darker behind his happy-go-lucky demeanor. His father had been there and I remember actually having doubts about my ex due to this first incident, wondering if I had simply imagined it.

Wish I had listened.

[finsterhund]

The day before the party, thoughts, updates, rambling, etc.

I got a package from Will and Paula. I will share its contents in its own post but I am so excited and happy. Thanks to them I was able to get Cazza a rare toy that I wasn’t sure I would have been able to get for her before, you know. I’m feeling a lot of relief. (She loves it by the way)

The heat is starting to get really bad. I am struggling super hard not to overheat and I know that it’s only going to get worse. Currently doing an experiment to see if putting a car window shade (what I did last year) has a better effect than just opening the window as wide as I can. I think the window shade is going to win. I am also debating whether I should bring out my last fan. The one I don’t use anymore. Will it make any difference? (I already have four running in my room lol) Climate change is deadly for me. Hate the heat. I miss winter so bad. I wish we could have winter with more sun. Winter but it doesn’t snow. Winter but it’s green. Cazza has almost completely shed. I have been collecting as much as I can.

Fishy sent some goodies my way and I have just been trying to relax between chores and eat them. I found out macadamia nuts are toxic to dogs so sad I can’t share. But I always love getting the Hawaiian candy ever since he first sent me some and I became addicted to the chocolate covered macadamia nuts lol. It’s like crack to me I have to put other things on top of the box so I don’t go at them all in one go. (And this is why the pandemic made me gain weight)

For my birthday I got Cazza some fancy treats that she really likes. I wish we could have a pool party. That we had a backyard and all my friends could come over and play in the pool (with Cazza) and that we had sprinklers (like the Spot sprinkler) and a slip n slide. The one big thing I got growing up was a massive (unkempt but lol that makes it more fun) backyard. Summer would be easier to deal with if I could just spend 12 hours a day sitting in a wading pool but the closest I can come to that is the bathtub until my roommate gets mad at me.

All things considered I think this is going to be a relaxing birthday. And good because my friends care about me and because Cazza is here. Fishy also sent me a card (and one for Cazza) and I tried setting up some doofy little clothespin line thing to hook them up by my bed. It’s very much still a work in progress but I’ll try to share soon. I love decorating my room in a maximalist sorta vibe with little treasures hanging off of every surface.

Not mental health meds so less of a pressing issue but there’s something wrong with my disability assistance because I went to the pharmacy and they wanted an extra $150 dollars after I switched from the name brand so I gotta talk to my doctor about why the fuck that’s happening.

The meds are to fix my hormone imbalance so it’s not life or death but still very annoying. I’m due for a checkup anyways but I have to do bloodwork in july and this is going to give me a bad score in blood.

I am waiting until this week is over to worry about it. Because I have my birthday and then I have Cazza’s next appointment and then I want to rest. I want to rest and rest and rest.

Andy very sleepy tired and weak.

I’m positive it’s just a misunderstanding and I won’t have to pay but it’s still so annoying that this is happening in Canada when healthcare is supposed to be free even though it very obviously isn’t. They won’t let you die but other than that pay up motherfucker.

(I say that but I know everything is a whole lot cheaper on average than it is in the US but it’s still pretty frustrating)

I missed Will and Paula’s art stream today because they did it early and it was before I woke up which I’m kinda upset about but it’s not the end of the world. Living in timezones sucks. Illinois is so far away that “noon” to them is still finsterhund sleepytime. Granted I don’t get up these days before noon and our “morning” walk but same thing. It’s usually in the afternoon on my end so I’m more likely to make it.

I’ve seen a few stores, more than last year, have pride collections and while I’m happy that being LGBTQ is being more normalized even if it’s consumerism I do wish that some of the stuff was more gender neutral because so much stuff is femme and I’m never gonna be one of those guys who expresses in a femme way. Had a phase as a teen that was tainted by a significantly older partner trying to push the femboy aesthetic on me and just never wanted to again afterwards. Maybe with age my masculinity won’t be super fragile but can’t say at the present. it’s weird because part of me does want to wear sparkly rainbow bead bracelets and such and it’s not that I’m closeted I’m very out lmfao but idk. Religious trauma and stuff really damages your brain. That’s the sort of stuff I give to my stuffed animals and Cazza. Cazza’s collar literally looks like a flag. I call it the Cazza pride flag and I made a fake flag moc up of it that maybe I can find somewhere in my files.

This year I’ve been struggling with labels again and after reading several resources that say being asexual isn’t because of trauma I’m no longer identifying as being under the asexual spectrum. I have no real way of separating if I’m “asexual” exclusively because of abuse and trauma and I don’t think I will until I actually start healing through therapy (it is a long journey) so I think I’ll just be open that despite being gay I’m sex repulsed due to child abuse. If I think too hard about it me being aromantic may be influenced by my childhood trauma as well but I wasn’t really abused in a way that would affect “romantic relationships” (I think?) so I’m more comfortable saying that I’m aromantic still. It’s hard to tell if I experienced romantic interest or if I just thought it was normal and mirrored it. Like I had a crush on another boy I was close friends with in third grade but I’m very conflicted about how I process relationships and how much of the romantic aspect at the time was actually romantic. If that makes sense. So much of my identity is interwoven with my trauma and it makes everything very difficult to unpack. Shout out to my birth father for not being able to cure my queerness but absolutely making me more confused about my own identity anyways.

All I can really say for sure is that I am gay and a childhood trauma survivor. You can’t really slap childhood trauma on a pride flag though.

Gonna go for evening walkies now and settle in for the night. Talk to you later. Maybe there will be birthday shennanigans tomorrow.

Cazza loves you.

[pallasperilous]

Boneless Wings

 {AO3 version}

So, blah blah blah, it’s their standard-issue disaster: pack of dumbass witches (always with the dumbass witches. Where do they find the time for this shit? Somebody get these women signed up for a Peloton subscription or a macramé class or a vibrator of the month club, seriously, whatever it takes—), ancient curse, Castiel being the actual angel of stepping in it, nobody cares. 

The point is, two hundred and forty-one hours of binge-worthy drama later, Dean and Cas are living in a semi-detached just a short thirty-minute commute to somewhere equally lame, Castiel has two literal-ass wings, and yes, Susan, they kiss now. 

The neighbors are weirdly cool with it. 

For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend* with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome.

This is not that list.

(*you can just shut right the fuck up , Sam, because it’s either this or Dean will start saying lover. And nobody needs that. Nobody wants that.)

1.  Bird mites. Holy shit. 

 2.  Sharing a bathroom. The shower curtain rod, and consequently the security deposit, are early casualties. The medicine cabinet follows swiftly behind. Shower hijinks are not even an option.

 3.  Dean comes home one day from a gig and there is a giant plastic green turtle in the backyard. A closer inspection reveals that the turtle is actually a mule for about half a truck bed of industrial dust ‘n grit. It is, in fact, a kiddie sandbox. Dean points out that they do not, in fact, have a small child (FINGERS CROSSED), so...?

Cas then earnestly shows him an entire playlist of exotic birdy dust bath videos on Youtube. 

Dean then earnestly shows him the garden hose. 

4.  The down just gets, like...everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How many times have Sam and Dean practically sold their kidneys for a single angel feather for some dumb spell to solve some pointless Occult McProblem? And now Dean is picking them out of his damn teeth every morning. (No, gross, not because of... Jesus, no, that is not a thing.)

On the upside of this one, Dean finally has an excuse to buy a Dyson, which he’s secretly always thought looked awesome. It is. 

 5.  When Dean is scraping out the umpteenth canister of fluff he jokingly suggests they use some of it to supplement the tragically flaccid down comforter currently shaming their bed, and Castiel pitches an existential fucking sulk. Dean wants to experience happiness again, so he does not point out that it get ass-bitingly cold here this time of year, and decent bedding is not exactly inexpensive, and the Dyson kind of maxed them out on household purchases.

But whatever.

 6.  Castiel is indulging in what Dean thinks of as a sky pout when he flies right into a head-on with li’l Timmy NextDoor’s new Christmas surveillance drone. It dings the shit out of one of Cas’s left primary feathers (the scientific term is “those big motherfuckers”), which apparently hurts like a bitch. Cas is grounded for a few weeks after that and is cutely pathetic about it and at first Dean is absolutely down to kiss it better. By the end, Dean is almost ready to strangle Cas with his own necktie, but he has learned a lot of surprisingly interesting stuff about ancient Mesopotamia, like that it was super horny.

 7.  After the snow melts, Dean starts finding shit on the front step with the morning paper. It’s not even a good newspaper; Cas signed them up for the local fish-wrapper (or maybe it was Sam, before he fled for the hills— he occasionally breaks out in a  “support local journalism” rash). The crossword puzzle is insulting, but the paper does at least syndicate Carolyn Hax, whom Dean secretly suspects of being an absolute wildcat in the sack, so he grudgingly expends the calories to bring it in every morning. 

Anyway, at first the stuff he discovers crapping up the welcome mat is just shiny bits of trash — couple granola wrappers, some MGD pull-tabs, a few field-stripped twisty-ties. Probably just windblown, and he tosses it in the garbage can. 

Then a couple weeks in, things start getting...grisly? It escalates real slowly, from a variety platter of mouse bits to squirrel à la power line and then half of a dry-aged raccoon and an opossum that has recently graduated from playing dead to professional dead-being. The neighborhood crows obviously love that their front step is now a roadkill café; Dean has to bat increasing numbers of them away with the kitchen broom in order to relocate their horrible snack to the edge of the nearest storm drain.

Then one morning there are like twenty crows and they’re in just the cutest little football huddle-up around what turns out to be a human fucking finger with a retro-fun mood ring still on the knuckle (it’s feeling: Sad) and Dean fully loses his shit. 

Cas hears him freaking out and comes whomping out of the garage ready to, whatever, flap somebody to death maybe, but as soon as he establishes that Dean doesn’t need anything more than a fresh pair of boxers, he de-poofs a bit and assesses the whole human finger/crows situation in his usual infuriatingly unrushed way. The crows had mostly bounced up to the cable line over the house, safely out of brooming range, but one by one they start to drop down and hippity-hop back towards the world’s tiniest crime scene.

If Dean were five percent less freaked he’d be tempted to go inside and find out how much of a dent he can make in a six-pack before Castiel finally dings and spits out his results, but he isn’t, so he just stands there in silence clutching the broom like it’s a shotgun.

Eventually Cas says “hm,” and then he looks at the crows and makes some noises that sound like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal, and the crows make some scrawps and chuks back, and then one of them delicately noodges the tip of dead finger with its beak and then hippity hops back a foot or two, bows, and then they all fly away over the shitty little beige duplex across the street like they’re running ten minutes late to an important bird appointment.

Castiel stands up (Dean reflexively backs up into the doorway, as this involves Cas bomfing out his wings a bit for ballast and Dean has caught a blow to the nuts on more than one occasion), dusts off his goddamn slacks, pulls a plastic evidence baggie out of thin goddamn air or maybe his socks, and casually bags the finger like they’re doing a standard FBI wheeze. “So what,” Dean says, as Cas diligently zips the baggie, “the fuck?”

“Oh,” Cas says, blinking in surprise that Dean is still there and interested, “they think I’m their god.”

Dean kind of stares back at him, the six feet of dude and like sixteen feet of bird, and thinks sure, okay, but his face must still be stuck on “Tippi Hedren attic scene” because Cas puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and adds “Don’t worry. I’ve told them I don’t require further offerings, and I reassured them that you’re my consort and were simply jealous of other potential mates.”

It takes Dean two weeks to come up with a response to that, but by then it’s become evident that no bird is ever going to shit on the Impala again, so he decides to just chalk it up in the win column and move on.

You know. The family business.

8.  No matter how tightly he folds them, Cas can’t fit his wings through the definitely-not-up-to-code doorway of the wood-paneled family rec room in the basement, so Dean claims it as his man cave and dubs it the “No Fly Zone.” 

Castiel doesn’t find this funny, but Dean really only uses it to fold laundry. 

 9.  Transpo is an obvious issue. Cas can almost stuff himself into the Impala if he sort of reverse-cowgirls the back seat, but then the wingtips smoosh up against the windshield and Dean’s visibility is approximately zip. And, sure, Cas could fly himself anywhere they really needed to go, he’s basically a Chevy Of The Air, but sometimes it’s raining, and the seraph Castiel — Shield of God, Heavenly Soldier of the Lord, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, will smell like a wet fucking chicken for days afterward. Febreze does not help.

Dean spends a few nauseating weeks contemplating the purchase of — and here he learns that the human gag reflex can be conditioned, but never truly eradicated — a convertible. Once Cas brings up the possibility of a minivan or perhaps a station wagon (he’s taken to studying family motor vehicles with all the intensity of a birder with a life list) and Dean makes him sleep on the couch.

Dean gets his own living room rotation after he shows Cas a Craigslist posting for a very reasonably priced horse trailer. Castiel points out that it’s used and Dean notes that neither of them is exactly mint in original packaging either. Castiel points out that he’s not a horse, and after a few necessary but admittedly unoriginal jokes, Dean pulls up a website with an exhaustive photographic tutorial on how to convert a horse trailer “for the safe and sanitary transport of ostriches, emus, and/or cassowaries.” Cas points out that he’s not an ostrich, emu, and/or cassowary, and Dean counters that he clearly isn’t, because an emu would probably show a little more gratitude, and that’s how Dean learns that the couch has a broken spring under the left cushion. The transpo issue remains unresolved.

 10.  Dean keeps a pair of shop-grade safety goggles by his side of the bed. It’s not the sexiest look, but it turns out feathers are stabby as hell when encountered at a particular angle. Cas can do the healy thing, of course, but they learn the hard way that cornea perforation is not really a mood enhancer. On the bright side, Castiel accidentally corrects Dean’s incipient presbyopia, which means Dean doesn’t have to hold the newspaper at arm’s length anymore when he’s idly speculating what Carolyn Hax looks like below the neck. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

 11.  You’d think that, when you’re coming down from a time-limited but incurable curse that makes you feel like every cell of your body has its own cute little individual headcold — because you missed a hex bag due to the fact that you were preparing your legal response to Sam turning up to the hunt wearing a goddamn hair scrunchy, as if he were fresh off the set of a very special episode of Clarissa Explains It All — anyway, you’d think that being wrapped in the warm embrace of an angel’s wings would be nice. 

But you would be wrong, because apparently your boyfriend has been out communing with the bees again, and those feathers pick up ragweed pollen like it’s their goddamn job, and guess what else angels can’t cure? Dean will take Motherfucking Seasonal Allergies for 600, Alex. 

12a.  One of the neighbors has that homesteading hippie brain disease that drives an otherwise normal-seeming person to brew their own beer and raise a bunch of chickens despite living within five hundred yards of a fully functioning Hy-Vee. There’s a week where one of the wee little velociraptors seems to be processing some kind of trauma because it starts yelling at dawn and keeps going until well past the hour that swearing is allowed on network TV. 

When Dean finally hammers on the front door the next afternoon the neighbor apologizes with some extremely nasty home-brew (HIPPIES) and some absolutely devastating weed (HIPPIES!) and explains that “Ginger is going through a rough molt” and then he kind of nods his head towards Dean’s side of the fence where Cas is futzing around in the squash plants and stage whispers (this is a direct quote) “You know how they get.”

Dean is about to rip the dude a new one for comparing his immortal space-kaiju lover to a fucking Australorp yard pullet when Castiel pops his head up over the white pickets and breezily contributes “Bad molt, yes, those are terrible, Dean can tell you all about how insufferable I am those weeks,” and sometimes Dean just doesn’t know why he even tries.

 12b.  The less said about angel molt, the better. 

Seriously, the freakin’ eyes-on-his-hands naked mole rat dude from, whatsit, Pan’s Labyrinth of Subtitles, would run screaming from this shit. 

 13.  There’s a 4th of July BBQ Potluck Block Party and Dean’s inability to stand idly by while good meat is abused ( shut up Sam ) means he winds up manning the grill and dismissing the pretenders to set some strictly inedible things on fire. Cas hangs out next to him and uses his flappers to kinda whupf the smoke away from Dean’s eyes now and then, which rules. It’s actually a pretty chill event until Sharon and Don From Number 4267, The Green House With The White Trim, turn up with a giant Pyrex full of naked, still-marinating teriyaki wings. 

Sharon And Don look down at their wings and then up at Castiel and then down at the wings and then up at Castiel and they are clearly teetering on the edge of a Midwestern politeness failure-based nervous breakdown. But then Cas, smooth as a margarine commercial, gently takes the dish from Sharon’s frozen hands, examines the contents for a silent moment, and says “it’s alright. They weren’t personal friends.”

He gets an extra burger for that one.

 14.  Cas keeps absent-mindedly trying to groom Dean — who, in case it still needs to be said at this point, possesses zero-point-zero feathers of his own — so he goes after Dean’s hair, instead. Dean has to stop him after his second hour of trying to straighten out a cowlick. “I don’t understand how you can steer properly with this deformity,” Cas says, as if it’s a genuine miracle that Dean isn’t constantly careening over ottomans like Dick Van Dyke. He’s even more horrified by Dean’s (frankly minimal) use of hair gel. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’m drinking it,” he says, but then one time they have an epic make-out session shortly after Dean performs his masculine beauty rituals and there’s some smearage of various types of Product (tm) on the flappy areas. 

And, sonuvabitch, for the next six hours Cas is spirographing around the house like he has a heavenly inner ear infection, and he only stops veering into the doorframes after Dean wipes down every. Single. Feather. With mineral oil and about eighteen clean shop cloths. Dean switches to something called hair wax, which costs thirty zillion times more per ounce and makes him smell vaguely like church, but is a lot less gloppy. The things we do for love.

 15.  Seating inside the house is a bit of a conundrum, too. Cas can kind of flop his wings out to the sides if he sits in the middle of the couch, but then Dean’s stuck on the recliner, which is basically in the next county. Bar stools are disastrously tippy, Dean’s lower back and hips have not endured mumble-mumble years of hunting just to be subjected to a damn beanbag chair, and, after a brief flurry of optimistic excitement, Dean determines that they’d have to take the front door off to get a massage chair in. He finds a swing online that if, he can get the hardware properly installed in the crossbeam, is rated for up to 500 pounds, so he texts Cas the URL so he can check out the specs. After half an hour he writes back —

CASTIEL: Dean

CASTIEL: I believe this swing is intended for sexual congress.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: I can infer from the ellipsis that you have spent several minutes attempting to draft a response.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: Dean

DEAN: it’s multipurpose

  16 . On the plus side, though, big-ass wings make for a pretty good drying rack. He can get every sock in the house laid out on those suckers in a single round and, one episode of Dr. Sexy later, they’re perfectly dry and toasty warm, without any of the pair-busting casualties Dean has learned to expect from the apparently socknivorous dryer in the basement. 

Dean assumes it’s just the product of good air circulation and body heat until he realizes that he hasn’t had to toss a pair for being too worn out in...maybe six months? So he asks Cas “Are your wings... healing the socks” and after an entire Abbott and Costello routine centering around heal versus heel, Dean determines that the answer is: yes, his boyfriend’s wings are channeling the almighty power of Heaven to magically repair the socks Dean buys at Target in twelve-pack bags. On sale.

This is actually kind of sexy, if Dean is being perfectly honest, so, you know what? It doesn’t belong on this list.

 16.  So nobody really freaks out or bursts into tears or calls the news or the FBI or anything when Cas goes out in public with him, which Dean is secretly a little disappointed about, because come on. (Maybe giant wings just reads as a gay thing? Was there an episode of Will and Grace about this that Dean missed back when he was ass deep in wendigos or something?)

But no. Dudes tend to just glance at them across the Home Depot parking lot, throw them the Mutual Dude Acknowledgement Nod, and say some shit like “Comic-con,” or “nice anime” in a knowing tone. Then they go back to rolling their carts full of gaskets or hammers or whatever back to their mom’s station wagon. 

Little girls tend to go googly-eyed — Castiel seems to fall into the same category as a Disney princess, despite the stubble and the drabcore wardrobe, and Dean can’t count the number of times some mom has approached Dean at the grocery store (like he’s Castiel’s manager?? Which, okay...yeah, actually) and asked if they do birthday parties. The money would actually be pretty tempting if Dean weren’t five thousand percent sure that Cas would get them both arrested by launching into an anatomy lesson about duck sex or how God is a loser who favors relaxed fit jeans and Wild Turkey.

The worst is white ladies of a Certain Age, and it always seems to happen in the pudding aisle, for some reason. They either go cross-eyed with horniness and become indiscriminately handsy (Dean can’t blame them for the impulse, but also back off, Karen), or ask Cas for prayers for their cat’s chronic asshole problems (which Castiel WILL take seriously). 

Worst of all is when some hippie spinster clocks them. This woman inevitably reaches right for the feathers and asks in a willowy voice if they’d ever consider turning some of them into dreamcatchers to sell at her studio, which is literally always named The Faerie’s Glen. Then Cas gets confused about why, exactly, a sixty year-old WASP in a peasant skirt would need to call on the infant-protection powers of an Ojibwe spider goddess, while Dean just wants to bite the lady’s fingers off. 

Either way, it’s always a bad scene, and many fully loaded grocery carts have been lost to the fallout.

17.  For some metaphysical reason Dean is too dumb to suss out but also too smart to question, lugging a pair of Cessna-sized flappers around this mortal dimension actually seems to tucker Cas out. He doesn’t need to zonk out every night, but he semi-regularly throws in the towel and actually crawls in with Dean for the duration. 

This would be swell in theory, but the guy absolutely cannot settle the fuck down in less than three (3) human hours, which is the exact amount of sleep Dean requires to maintain his famously sunny demeanor. It’s not just ye olde tossing and turning — Dean can handle that, sharing a bed with Sam is like sleeping next to a kangaroo with restless leg syndrome — no, it’s a nonstop parade of little flippy-flappies and shiffle-shuffles and spontaneous outbursts of preening. 

So Dean makes him a Baby Sleep Sack. 

This is something Dean knows about due solely to one super dumb hunt involving a banishing sigil that had to be drawn in — he still feels like this had to be a misprint — human breastmilk, and that was obviously not happening. But the monster of the week wasn’t going to banish itself, so they wound up at the nearest Walmart, at 4am, picking up what turned about to be an unnecessarily generous supply of baby formula, along with a fresh box of shotgun shells because God bless America*. It doesn’t work, although “lots of stabbing” turns out to be a solid fallback plan, but the point is that while Sam was debating between Digestion Support or Neurological Development, Dean acquired an unprecedented familiarity with some of the products currently available to the sleep-deprived parent. So Dean finds some DIY Baby Sleep Sack knockoff patterns online and determines he can replicate and scale up the concept with some beach towels and duct tape, and the next morning he presents the lumpy but totally functional prototype to Castiel. 

Initially Cas thinks it’s a sex thing (reasonable, it probably is), but once they clear up that misunderstanding, he’s obviously a little peeved by the concept of being swaddled as if he were a gassy baby instead of a deathless sky monster in a sexy dude-shaped can. But Dean must be giving off some serious man on the edge vibes because Cas grudgingly agrees to let Dean tape him up the next time he’s feeling dozy. 

It’s real awkward and takes forever to get Cas bundled up right, and then he’s just kind of lying there on top of the sheets, like an enormous, grumpy baked potato. 

“I could easily break out of these restraints,” he says in a pissy tone after Dean has crawled in and turned off the light, and Dean rolls over to tell him “no shit”, but then he has to stop himself because the guy is already asleep.

Eventually they upgrade to a version made out of some of those trendy weighted blanket things, a few yards of parachute silk, and a whole lot of velcro. The dude looks so damn peaceful that Dean is honestly a little jealous.

*he doesn’t, actually. 

 18.  There’s a sunny afternoon that isn’t the usual Kansas is trying to murder you level of humid so Dean rolls the Impala out into the street for a wash. Cas helps him out a bit initially, although tragically not in a way that involves removing any unnecessary articles of clothing, but Deans sends him to grab a new tub of wax from the shed and he never comes back. After half an hour Dean needs a beer break and goes looking for him, expecting to find Cas lost in thought over whether Turtle Wax is made of actual turtles, or is made to put on actual turtles. Instead he finds Cas crouched on the shimmering pavement at the back of the driveway, sun beating down on him like it has a personal vendetta, and he’s got both wings stretched out real low above the ground. Dean kind of flips out because it’s the type of pose that just screams “stabbed in gut by angel blade” or “migraine from Hell, literally.”

Then Cas looks up, which pulls his wings up a smidge too, which in turn reveals that fully half a dozen neighborhood cats are lounging in the shady patch beneath his wings, spread out on the concrete like blobs of furry peanut butter. No, it’s actually eight cats. There are eight cats.

“Ling-Ling was feeling a little overheated,” Cas says, as if this explains everything. 

And, you know what, at this point, it does.

 19.  Dean has faith that eventually Sam or Cas or the third demon from the left in the second row will turn up a solution for the whole business. Castiel will get to tuck those bad boys back into the secret wing-closet dimension and he won’t have to worry about getting stuck in stairwells anymore, or being reported to the FAA (again). Then they can finally pack up the house, plaster over the more egregious spots of drywall damage, and go back to killing things outside of the tri-county area. The whole thing has been a pretty embarrassing interlude for a couple of dudes who’ve kicked Satan’s ass multiple times — Sam is probably telling other hunters that they’ve been deep undercover to take out a nest of suburban vampires, or a pack of ghouls with mortgages, instead of vacuuming angel down out of the AC unit and considering a Costco membership. 

And sure, there have been some...serious pluses to the situation (see: the other list), but, in his weaker moments, Dean has to admit that he’s kind of going to miss some of the goofy, irritating shit, too — like finding a six-inch feather in the veggie crisper (how? why?), or watching Cas fwap his wings out just in time to accidentally clothesline a jogger, or even the strangely compelling, sorta cheesy smell that starts to float around the house if Cas goes a little too long between hosedowns. 

He has actually grown fond of this shit. Which is 100% the least sexy thing on earth, it’s some genuinely, seriously pathetic goo goo crap, and that’s why nobody will ever hear a fucking word about it. People will ask “so what’s it like, with the wings” and Dean will waggle his eyebrows suggestively and review the highlight reel over an inadvisable amount of rail whiskey. His secret’s safe with, well. Him.

 20.  Seriously though, the bird mites. 

Gross.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

Warnings: Smut, fluff, quarantine bae

This is a short imagine, Enjoy!

“Goodmorning!!”

Y/N walks into the Physical Therapy office with a glow that could put the sun to shame and a bright white smile that lit up her face like Christmas lights. She sanitized her hands at the front desk before walking further into the office, saying Goodmorning to Miss Kim who usually doesn’t speak but Y/N’s chipper attitude must have rubbed off on her. Y/N looks up and notices a sign posted on the desk window saying:

Please Wash Your Hands Before Checking In For Your Appointment!

“Let’s see if our patients actually abide by that today,” Y/N was thankful that the place was empty for now. All of the exam room curtains were drawn and the exercise equipment sat neatly in a corner. Y/N made it to the check in desk for appointments, walking around and dropping her purse on the empty chair beside her. Humming, Y/N takes off her windbreaker jacket, fluffing out her braid-out. She has on a scrub set with flowers on the top in pretty spring colors.

Y/N jumps straight into work, placing the clipboard for signing in at the top of the desk. There were medical files for the patients that were scheduled to come in today neatly piled in front of her. They were expecting at least 20 people. Some came for therapy because of a motor vehicle accident, others because of work related injuries. Sanitizing again, Y/N takes her seat, sighing because her legs felt like jello and her ankles reminded her of Bambi taking his first steps.

The reason for her happiness and muscle spasms is because of her man; Erik. Being home for the past two weeks meant two times the dick she was already receiving. She woke up with an attitude because he left the toilet seat up and basically used up all of her exfoliating scrub that she used for her pum-pum. In the middle of his snoring, Y/N barged back into the room, water dripping from her brown skin with her shower cap on her head. She picked up her pillow and started beating Erik out of his sleep....

Hour and a half ago:

“Get yo’ ass up!” Y/N yelled like a mad women while beating Erik with her pillow, “GET UP!”

Erik simply rolled over on his belly. All she could see now was his durag and muscular back.

“You think I’m playing,” Y/N yanked the covers from his body exposing his Under Armour briefs in navy blue. Y/N starts whipping Erik’s ass with her tiny hand. Erik’s hips start swiveling from side to side. He grunts angrily, his hand coming up and behind him to roughly smack her hand away.

“Erik GET UP! Why did you use up half of my exfoliating scrub?! I just bought this stuff and it ain’t cheap!”

“Girl...you waking me up out of my sleep because of some scrub?” Erik flips his body over to lay on his back. Rubbing his eyes, Erik mumbles to himself before completely sitting up. Bags under his eyes and a scowl on his face, Erik shakes his head at her, using all of his restraint to not grab Y/N up off her feet.

“That scrub, I spent my money on. I have to go to work I’m already frustrated that they have these offices open with this virus going around and here you go pissing me off further,” Y/N throws her hands up, ready to walk away but then she remembered the toilet seat, “And another thing, what’s your problem with closing the toilet? I don’t want my ass falling in the toilet, Erik.”

“Did you close it?” He asks with a glint in his eyes and a groggy voice.

“Yes, I did, what’s your point?”

“Then it shouldn’t be a big deal. You went pee-pee, get over it,” Erik fell back in bed, bringing the covers to his chin, “All loud for nothing I’m TIRED. Take that noise somewhere else.”

“Fucking asshole,” Y/N lifts her leg to the bed, kicking Erik hard. Erik sat up again, his pectorals jumping and his biceps flexed and ready to attack. Y/N stood her ground, unbothered with Erik’s wrathful expression.

“Kick me again. Gon’ head...”

“Erik, I don’t have time for this-“

“Oh, no, you do. The time you spent in here yelling at me your shower could have been finished. Just hurry up and get the fuck outta here so I can sleep.”

“Just know, I’m not making that baked Mac and cheese for you tonight!”

“You’re so simple acting! Damn,” Erik covers his head with a pillow. Things were silent for only two seconds before Erik removes the pillow from his face, sitting up in bed again. Fuming, Erik kicks the covers from his body like a child having a temper tantrum, getting out of the bed and heading toward the bathroom.

“See, look what you did, girl! Now I gotta piss!” Hot-tempered, Erik lifts the toilet seat Damn near breaking it, “I should take a shit too have this whole bathroom lit up while you’re in there!”

“Erik, DONT play with me. I don’t need to be smelling your toxic fumes,” Y/N was in the middle of cleaning her pussy, “Wait a minute...”

Y/N pulls the shower curtain back, peeking her head out with a disgusted look on her face. Erik simply laughs, a good hearty laugh with his hand clutching his chest.

“Did you just fart?” Y/N says while cover her nose.

“Duh, I ain’t shit on myself,” Erik flushes the toilet, going to the sink to wash his hands and brush his teeth, “finish washing up, funky butt.”

“I’m not the one with the funky ass, smelling like you ate a whole can of beans-“

“Aight, then scoot over I’m coming in-“

“NO!” Y/N shouts, “No, I don’t want you in here I’m still pissed with you.”

“Girl, get over that shit,” Erik takes off his briefs, “I’m getting in there fuck you talking bout.”

“UGHHH,” Y/N rinses her body off, trying to ignore Erik’s rock hard body pressed against hers.

Of course, Erik couldn’t help himself when his hand came down to smack Y/N’s ass, “Get loud on me again and ima fuck you up.”

“Erik move back and take a shower,” Y/N rolled her eyes, “When you going back to work?”

Erik howled, his laugh so loud in Y/N’s war she clinched.

“I’m getting on your nerves that much, Damn...you wasn’t saying all of that when I fucked you all those times.”

“I know, I’m still questioning my morals-“

“Then as soon as I do go back to work you’ll start acting up again apologizing in my ear about why you’re acting the way you are,” Erik leans down to speak into Y/N’s ear, “I’m sorry baby, I just miss the dick,” He says trying to mock her voice.

Y/N stood quiet, no response because she knew he was right. She wanted to be mad at him so much but that’s her baby. Erik smiles evilly at her reaching down to grab her chin, turning her head in an uncomfortable position since her back was turned to him.

“You dont acting up?”

“But I was never-“

“You done?” Erik repeats himself.

“.....yeah.”

“Pass me my soap...get in that bedroom and arch your back I want some pussy.”

“Babe,” Y/N says with a pout.

“Take your lil ass in there!”

“Okay but why are you yelling?” Y/N was ready to give him more attitude but she changed her mind at high-speed when she saw the fiery look in his eyes. Y/N left the shower, not even bothering to dry off. She arched her body on the edge of the bed, little booty tooted in the air, cool air on her pussy.

“This nigga is about to destroy my whole body,” Y/N says to herself, waiting patiently with her chin resting on her folded arms, eyes studying the pattern of the sheets on their bed. Y/N couldn’t complain, she finally got Erik to be consistent after dealing with his “I don’t do relationships” mess. Consistency will get Y/N to give her pussy up whenever he said so. Consistency will get his dick sucked like it was dipped in chocolate.

Just when Y/N was daydreaming, the feeling of her pussy being licked from the back down knocked her senseless. Erik was enjoying his meal while jerking his dick. His noxious tongue thrashing almost stroked Y/N unconscious. He was eating her like he hadn’t eaten all quarantine. His belly would be gratefully filled with her syrupy essence.

Erik squeezes Y/N’s smaller yet round booty, before spitting on her pussy from the back, leaning back to admire his canvas, “I plan on smashing these lil cakes to smitherines, girl,” Erik went back to licking her up.

“Aight, bae, you gotta stop,” Y/N couldn’t handle his tongue so early in the morning. Her thighs started to close but Erik held them open while using the strength of his neck to eat her pussy.

Y/N’s hand found the top of Erik’s head. She mushes him away, her body slacken. Erik hit her ass for moving his head away, “Ima give you a nasty ass slow kiss when I’m finished so you can taste how good this pussy taste...don’t mush me again, Y/N.”

“Fuck!” Y/N didn’t listen, her body twisting and her hand swiping the air. Erik was purposefully scooting his head away while torturing her clit with his sucking.

“Okay, ZADDY SHIT!” Y/N tried to stay still but the way he was slurping all over her pussy made that unfeasible, “SHIT! I wanna tap out...”

“Uh-uh,” Erik wasn’t letting go.

“Okay...okay...fuckkkkkkkk...let go of my clit MOTHERFUCKER!!!!! GODDD!!!!”

Y/N started shaking, crying, squealing. Erik’s hands wrapped around her thighs, keeping her in place so he could continue sucking the life out of her clit. When she was finished feeding Erik her cum, Erik’s wet face reappears.

“Got you out of your lil mood, didn’t I?” Erik and his hard ten inches were ready to impale Y/N’s dripping cunt, “Come on girl, toot that ass up I’m tryna get in there.”

“Daddy just shut up and fuck me now because I know I’m not gonna be able to walk after this-“

“Then toot that motherfucking ass UP. You know the drill, get in position.”

Y/N arched her back more, breathing slow as she waited with anticipation. Erik didn’t warn her when he was about to stuff his dick inside of her pussy when he was trying to punish her. Squeezing her hands into fists, Y/N waited as her pussy convulsed.

“Babe-“

Erik purposely waited for her to speak so that he could put all of him inside of her. Y/N’s entire body crawled away from him, his dick leaving her pussy. Erik grabbed her ankles, pulling her back with force. Y/N was slapping Erik’s hands away but he was stronger. Each time she tried to crawl away Erik would drag her back like she was a damn doll.

“Where you going? Don’t run,” Erik held Y/N’s hips in place his dick back inside of her pussy like it never left. Maybe it was because it was early in the morning but she couldn’t take his back shots. His dick was constantly stroking her G spot and he was so deep that Y/N could feel it in her chest. Y/N was talking mad shit so now Erik had to show out in her pussy. Erik was beating up Y/N’s pussy. Long, hard, and deep strokes. Erik leans forward, one of his hands on her head while his hips stroked her pussy at a tempo Y/N knew was meant for her to be made an example of.

“Okay,” Y/N felt herself read to cum already. Erik’s hand on her head to hold her in place was so deathly Y/N kept her mouth shut the rest of the time. Her lips trembled and her eyes leaves hot tears from the way he bruised her G spot.

“Stay crying for big dick but wanna run from it,” Erik says calling her out, “You don’t get to run this is what you ask for.”

Y/N wanted to say she didn’t ask for this but her body was saying other wise. The intensity of the sensation was so overwhelming she didn’t care that he ordered her to arch her back. Now, her pussy was creaming. Erik was juicing her peach. She felt the wettest out of all the times they had sex. Maybe it was because he was the angriest he’s ever been. Maybe Y/N should act like a brat or a bitch more for him to fuck her like this.

“Lil booty freak taking Daddy beating this nut deep inside your pussy from the back...laying there letting Daddy take this pussy...Lil ass like it when Daddy bring this pussy back hard on this dick, huh?”

“Oh my God-“

“Just keep still while I drill this nut deep...fuckkkkkk...I can see now yo’ ass Gon’ end up with a baby growing in you with all this fucking. Can’t even count how many times my nut been up in this tight ass pussy.”

“Daddy, oh my God-“

“I don’t care either I’m nutting all in this pussy-“

“Unh, shittttt...fuck me!”

“I got you-“

“Take this sweet little pussy-“

“I’m taking my sweet little pussy”

Y/N screamed.

“Got that pussy hitting right with that ass matching these strokes...ahhhh fuck, hold still I’m about to nut....

“Wassup itty-bitty!”

Y/N sat up nice and tall after being brought out of her daydream. Clarence, one of the other Physical Therapists was nibbling on an orange while standing next to her. He peeked over her shoulder, seeing if she was occupied with something since he called her like five times.

“You Aight over here?”

“...yeah,” Y/N looked over the desk to find two patients waiting to be seen, “Did they just come in?”

“Yeah, a little after I did.”

Y/N noticed both patients. One was a middle aged women who was involved in a pedestrian accident with a car. She was jogging when a car backed up and hit her. The other patient was a young women around early 20’s who had severe back pains from a bus accident.

“I like your scrubs,” Clarence says while studying the floral patterns.

“Thanks,” Y/N gives Clarence a smile. Clarence smiles back, sure to show off his dimples just like her man except Clarence doesn’t have deep dimples. He’s 6’0, and from Ghana. All of the ladies loved Clarence. Y/N knew that he was feeling her even when she told him on multiple occasions that she has a man. His persistence wouldn’t let up.

———-

Things were steady and getting the patients in and out was a breeze. Y/N’s belly was currently growling and she instantly wished she’d at least brought in a snack to hold her over. Y/N planned on buying lunch from a carry out within the shopping center of the office. It was the perfect time to go grab something to eat before patients start piling up again. Clarence is currently wiping down a room that was recently used.

“Still with that boyfriend, Y/N?” He asks casually while spraying down an exam table. He asked her like he wanted to know what the weather was like. Y/N dreaded the day he would ask her that again.

“Yes, Clarence,” Y/N chuckles, “And I don’t plan on leaving him.”

“Why hasn’t he put a ring on your finger yet? It’s hard to find good girls like you. What is waiting on?”

“There is no rush,” Y/N grabs a pen to finish writing information into a patients report. Just before she could close her file, Y/N’s phone vibrated. Glancing at it, Y/N could see that Erik was currently sending her texts.

I’m bored

Well do something productive like reading a book instead of playing video games.

Just when Y/N flips her phone over so she could go back to work, another text comes through, most likely from Erik again.

I’m about to call you.

Before Y/N could tell him anything otherwise Erik was FaceTiming her. Y/N rolls her brown eyes before answering the FaceTime. Clarence was talking to another coworker of there’s so Y/N didn’t need to worry about anyone eavesdropping. Y/N answers the FaceTime, her heart fluttering because of the dick down Erik gave her before work. Staring at the screen, Erik was still in his sleep wear with a durag on his head. His controller was in his lap and from the pout on his lips and the puppy dog eyes Y/N could tell that being cooped up in the house and away from Y/N for at least three more hours is killing him.

“Ooooh, I like you’re hair, Miss lady, can I pull it from behind?”

Y/N looked around her to make sure no one heard it, “Yes, You can ZADDY. Just as long as you’re gentle this time around. I like tender love and care too.”

“So you rather go oooh and ahhhh then Unh and Fuck when you’re crying and drooling and begging to cum-“

“Erik, SHHHHHH,” Y/N tried not to laugh, “Babe, it may be dead at this place right now but I am on the clock.”

“My bad, ma-“

“Itty-bitty, lets go get some lunch,” Clarence stood at the desk like a patient waiting to be checked in. She hadn’t heard his footsteps and honestly she wished she did.

“...Who?” Erik says through the FaceTime, his face all scrunched up with confusion.

“Is that the boyfriend?” Clarence brings his face into the camera, “sup’ boyfriend, I’m Clarence.”

Erik was stone faced looking at Terrence. Y/N was holding her breath, unable to look at her phone because she knew her man was pissed off.

“Who is itty-bitty?” Erik finally says. Clarence caught wind of his abrasive tone, backing away from the camera, “Just a nickname, brother, my fault.”

“Only nigga giving my girl a nickname is me.”

Y/N cleared her throat loudly, “Okay, babe! I’ll talk to you when I get home, okay? Love you,” Y/N gave Erik smooches, not sticking around to hear him argue before hanging up.

“Damn, yo’ man is nothing but a hot- head-“

“And you don’t know when to sit back. I was on the phone with my man, if I wanted your attention, I could have gotten it.”

“Chill, itty-bitty,” Clarence was tickled by how bothered Erik was, “Shit, he ain’t playing about you is he?”

Y/N flat out ignores Clarence, standing up from the desk and grabbing her bag. While Clarence laughed and joked about Erik Y/N pumped hand sanitizer into her hand before walking off. In her scrub top pocket her phone was going off the hook. Y/N knew not to ignore his constant texts. Y/N pulled out her phone, her heart in her throat

Do I gotta come up there?

Who the fuck is that nigga?

Don’t let no other nigga put his face in your phone again. That’s disrespectful.

Y/N answer my texts. Do I gotta come up there?

The fuck is itty bitty? I don’t like that shit.

Panicky, Y/N calls Erik before exiting the office.

“Babe?” Y/N says with caution.

“Don’t babe me. Who the fuck is Clarence?”

“My coworker-“

“Where are you?”

Y/N chewed on her bottom lip nervously, “Erik...why?”

“Because I’m coming up there. And what’s up with this itty bitty shit? You let him call you that?”

“I don’t he just does it-“

“You need to correct that nigga, matter of fact-“

Y/N could hear Erik moving around in the background, probably putting on his jordans uncaring of the fact that he was wearing loose fitted basketball shorts with his dick swinging.

“Babe, I know you’re not coming up here to my job,” Y/N says with a shaky voice, “Babe stay home.”

“Nah, I’m coming up there. He gon’ need physical therapy once I’m done breaking his goddamn limbs don’t nobody fuck with mines.”

“Erik, chill-“

“I call you nicknames, Y/N. I can tell that nigga was peeking so he could see what his competition looking like. Then, you’re there with him for 8 hours...all close to you, smelling how sweet you smell, making you smile, listening to your voice...”

“Erik, are you jealous of Clarence?”

“Jealous? Of that nigga? TEH,” Erik could be heard closing a door, “I’m not jealous, I’m territorial. Jealous is when you want something that’s not yours. Territorial is protecting what’s already yours.”

Y/N stood quiet, a smile fighting to form on her lips.

“My babe, is my babe. Therefore, don’t look, touch, wink, wave, stare, flirt, compliment, hold, anything that’s my job.”

“Babe, pleaseeeee don’t come up here because I know how you can get. Don’t be so upset about this fuck Clarence-“

“The reason I get mad is because I know exactly what they’re trying to do, I’m a man, I know. It’s not because I don’t trust you...I’m on my way.”

“Erik-“

“I’ll see you when I get there.”

Click

Y/N was reluctant to go back inside her job now. She only lived ten minutes away if she drove. Erik is a reckless driver who weaves in and out of lanes. He would probably do 70 MPH to get to her job. Y/N decided to wait for him instead of going back inside so she could bribe him with a shrimp cheese steak sub and save Clarence from an ass whipping.

———

Pulling up in an all black Mercedes-AMG in the hood was a risky thing to do but that was the least of Erik’s worries.

“Nah, let me put this heat away,” Erik places his chrome gold pistol in the glove department. He didn’t want to make Clarence shit himself and Erik didn’t use his gun for play. It’s not like he didn’t think about doing it though. Erik is very protective over Y/N. Still pissed off, Erik gets out of his SUV, securing it afterwards and pocketing his keys. The thought of Clarence all close to his girl calling her a nickname had Erik’s blood boiling over.

Sure enough, Erik did leave the house in a pair of black basketball shorts with his dick free. His crisp white T-shirt, gold chains, and black durag has all the hood girls that were leaving the hair store doing a double-take when he walked by. Y/N is still standing outside of her job, a male security for the shopping center talking her head off. When she spotted her boyfriend’s usual bop in her peripheral, Y/N lifted her back from the wall, a big beautiful smile on her face to distract Erik because he couldn’t resist her smile.

“Hey babe,” Y/N called out to him, the security dude looking towards the direction of who Y/N was referring to. Erik and him locked eyes. Erik squinted his with suspicion, ready to call out the security but he got the hint before Erik could even say anything.

“Aight, sweetheart, you be safe out here,” He walks away before Erik even approached. Of course, Erik’s anger piqued when he saw another man talking to Y/N. Finally within her space, Erik gave the security dude one final death look before looking down at his girl.

“Niggas getting real comfortable around you, I can understand, because you’re fine ass fuck but I don’t like this shit. Looks like I gotta beat the shit out of every nigga up here in this goddamn shopping center-“

“Erik...baby...daddy,” Y/N made her voice all sultry and low, blinking her lashes at him. She rubs his chest, talking to her in that low sweet voice that had him hard and ready to fuck in minutes.

“Don’t do that, I’m mad right now...Why are you waiting for me outside? I wanted to make a grand entrance into your job. That nigga wanna put his face in my girl phone let’s see if he try that shit now,” Erik doubles back to open the door to enter the Physical Theray Office but Y/N stops him.

Y/N rolls her eyes, “I was just about to head to lunch, want something to eat?”

Erik’s eyes swept over Y/N’s work attire, “Nah, I wanna meet Clarence...let go of me, girl.”

“Baby,” Y/N made her voice soft again, “You’d rather pick a fight with someone I don’t give two fucks about than spend time with me? I can get you a foot long shrimp cheese steak with everything and some fries with hot sauce and ketchup.”

Erik rolls his eyes, bringing his left hand to rub his belly, “I am hungry. Didn’t eat since this morning.”

“Let’s go then-“

“Itty- what’s up?” Clarences exited the office with another coworker, some new young girl who did clerical work. Y/N was sure that Clarence was fucking the girl with the way she was pressed up against his back giving him googly eyes. That itty didn’t fall on deaf ears. Erik was in full on attack mode before Y/N could even stop him.

“Clarence, right?” Erik approaches him, “You got a problem with staying in your lane, bruh. I’m sure my girl told you already that she got a man. Now...I came all the way up here to put my hands on you but I ain’t even about to do that,” Erik turns, grabbing Y/N, “This girl right here, she’s mines. Whatever goes down at work she’ll tell me, and then I’ll pull up and put my hands on you...do you understand what I’m saying Clarence? So this is a warning. Figured I should come up here so you know I’m serious.”

“Man,” Clarence laughs in Erik’s face. Y/N could tell by the way his hands shook that he was scared to death of Erik. Clarence wanted to appear unbothered while the young girl behind him watched, “You wasted your time coming all the way up here. That’s yours, cool, I don’t want no problems.”

“You got a habit of laughing at shit that ain’t funny.”

Y/N knew that Clarence was provoking Erik. People within the shopping center started paying attention to them and now Y/N was afraid that Erik will end up bashing Clarence’s face in.

“Erik, the food, remember?” Y/N wrapped her arm around Erik’s bicep, “Let’s go,” she was up on her tiptoes, placing a soft kiss to Erik’s cheek.

“Remember what I said-“

Clarence cuts Erik off, “No need to repeat yourself over and over-“

“I’ll repeat myself however many time I need to...this lame ass nigga man-“

“Lame?! I’m not the one out here acting a fool over a chick who ain’t even all that-“

Erik’s first cocked back swiftly. Y/N didn’t see it coming. Frozen with fear Y/N covered her mouth in shock. Clarence stumbled and flinched, hands coming up in surrender.

“Look at you, weak as fuck,” Erik’s fist was centimeters away from hitting Clarence. Erik wanted to shake Clarence up. If he wanted to hit him, he could have stomped all over him until he was a bloody pulp but the thought of Y/N’s job being jeopardized stopped him. Clarence peeked at Erik through his fingers, slowly backing away before straightening his body.

“I would have bloodied you up but my girl needs her job. Doesn’t mean if I see you I won’t fuck you up. Don’t you ever disrespect my girl like that. I bet you learned your lesson today, didn’t you?”

Y/N shared a look with the young girl she worked with, noticing how turned off she was when Clarence cowarded away. She wrenched her eyes away, yanking on Erik’s arm to get his attention.

“Babe, I think he heard you, let’s go before some shit pops off.”

“...I’m coming, baby girl,” intensely, Erik gives Clarence one final look before wrapping his arm around Y/N’s shoulder, “Aight Clarence, I hope you and your child have a good rest of your day.”

Erik!”

“Nah, that laughing shit got me hot, then this nigga had the nerve to get big on me...kiss me before I turn around and put his ass in the ground, he don’t know, I’m really a cold-blooded killer.”

Y/N grabs his chin to make him look at her before they walked inside of the carry out. Erik was being stubborn, trying to look everywhere else but at her face. Clarence and the young clerical worker were too busy flirting and avoiding coming anywhere near Y/N and Erik.

“Aye, you missed me?”

Erik kisses his teeth, “what you think?”

“Nah, I want you to tell me,” Y/N wrapped her arms around Erik’s waist.

Erik’s lips twisted up to fight a smile. The outraged look in his eyes seemed to clear and now they were affectionate and soft like Y/N loved.

“...yeah, I missed you.”

“Okay. If you missed me then let’s enjoy lunch and then I can clock out early and we can go home. I don’t want you all worked up over this bullshit. He ain’t got all of this, you do.”

“Damn right I do,” Erik pulled Y/N closer to his body, his hands coming down and around to grab her ass, “all of this is mines-“

“Okay, baby,” Y/N didn’t want to get Erik too worked up since they were in public. Y/N slipped away from his firm grip to open the door. When she walked in, there was a Latino couple with N-95 masks on. Y/N and Erik sanitized there hands with some wipes that she carried with her everywhere before walking towards the front to order food.

“Miss Y/N! How are you? Same thing as usual?”

“Hello Mr. Dean,” Y/N avoided touching any surfaces and Erik lingered behind her, “Yes same thing for me, a shrimp salad sandwich and for him he’ll have a shrimp cheese steak with fries.”

“Foot long or half?”

“Foot long, and can you add extra cheese and lettuce to that please?” Erik says over Y/N’s shoulder.

“Of course, anything else?

“Two kiwi strawberry Mistic’s for me, how about you baby girl?”

“I’ll just have water I’m not in the mood for anything sweet.”

“Yeah, cuz you’re already sweet enough,” Erik bites his lip all tantalizing while his hands caresses her butt.”

“Daddy, chill, wait until we get home-“

“You mean wait until we get in the car?

[anotheronechicagobog]

Connor Rhodes x Reader Motherfucking Done

requested prompt:  Hey!😊 Could you write an imagine with Connor Rhodes, like the reader is a doctor, and he is jealous of her friendship with Will? Cute ending maybe. Thank you so much

written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

warnings: swearing, pregnancy complications, this is shit, I’ll probably redo it later, but I’m so tired and stressed, oh and Cornelius Rhodes murdered his wife and no one can tell me otherwise

You and Connor returned to the U.S. as fast as you could. Connor more anxious than you, but then again, he had reason to. Two weeks ago you and your husband were at a party thrown by one of his patients at his penthouse. His massive, over the top, Fast and Furious 7 penthouse. It was three stories with a balcony with a pool. You and Connor always felt out of place at these parties, not even Connor had grown up around such extravagant wealth. But you made do, it was part of doctor-patient culture apparently, so you went. You hadn’t been feeling all that well, nauseous and with a skull-splitting headache. Connor had gotten another email from his sister, so you didn’t want to stress him out more than he already was. You and Connor had mostly stuck to the shade of the indoors, but eventually, you both had to go outside. Connor went to socialize with the host while you went to the third floor to the balcony that hung over the pool. There was a bar there, but you weren’t interested in alcohol. You didn’t think you could stomach it, but you hadn’t been able to stomach anything lately. You’d just sat at a table with a large umbrella and ordered a water.

You’d started feeling dizzy, the heat was suddenly beyond unbearable. You started panting and you knew that stressed out or not, you needed to tell Connor what was going on and leave. Something was very, very wrong. You turned in your seat, waving trying to get his attention. You leaned against the railing while still sitting down and he didn’t notice again. So and flimsy, shaking legs you stood up, clutching the railing. Sweat was pouring down your face and neck, it became so much more difficult to breathe, you were about to try yelling his name over the blaring music when, in a matter of seconds, you felt like you were going to faint, your entire body went limp, and you fell unconscious.

When you woke up you were, not only in a hospital, but the one you worked at. Connor, who was clutching your hand and praying in Hebrew noticed you stirring. “Y/N, sweetheart? Oh thank heavens, how are you feeling?”

“Groggy. What happened?”

“You fell off of the balcony at the top on the penthouse, three stories into the pool. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“It wasn’t bad when we left for the party, for most of the time we were there even. It was just at the end, I tried to wave at you, but looking back on it I probably should have just gotten one of the waiters to get you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Please don’t be. The, uh, the doctors found out what was wrong though.”

“Really? What? Oh please tell me it’s not cancer, you know I’ve got a family history of that.”

“No, you don’t have cancer. You, uh... You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant? Like with a baby?”

“Yeah, heat just doesn’t agree with some women and pregnancy though, so we need to move.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Yeah, you are... We’re going to be parents.”

“We’re going to be parents.” The dam finally broke and happy tears flooded your face. Connor joined you seconds after, but his tears were a combination of joy and relief, after all, he did watch you fall three stories into a pool.

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

You and Will had gone to med school in New York together. You’d been fair acquaintances, but he was a bit too cocky and you were a bit too serious. You both decided to have two specialties, the one you shared was emergency department medicine. You became Facebook friends, but that was about it. Truthfully, you didn’t think you’d see him in person again unless there was a reunion. So you were a bit surprised when you ran into him on your way to your OB appointment. “Y/N? It’s been a while, how are you?”

“I’m doing great. Really, really great, actually. I didn’t know that you came back to Chicago, though. When we were in school you always said you’d never come back.”

“Things changed. Congrats, by the way,” Will gestured to your obviously pregnant belly, “how far along are you? How are the symptoms?”

“Five months. Uh, the symptoms have been really bad. And I’m just on my way to an appointment though so I should get going. But maybe we could get dinner sometime, I’d love for my husband to meet you so that he’ll finally believe all the crazy med school stories I have thanks to you. He works here too, actually.” You weren’t kidding, pregnancy had taken a huge toll on you. You had wretched morning sickness, high blood pressure, gestational diabetes, and a pregnancy-related iron deficiency. It was a quick walk from the entrance to the elevator to the OB ward, so you thought you’d be fine, but you were starting to feel weak and Will noticed. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I need to sit down.” Will whipped around and grabbed a wheelchair for you, helping you to get in. “What’s wrong do I need to call your doctor or husband?”

“Honestly, I already feel better, but would you mind taking me to OB or getting someone else who can? This has just been a difficult pregnancy overall, so feeling faint really isn’t unusual for me.”

“Yeah, I’ll take you, don’t worry.”

“Thanks, I’m just gonna text Connor and let him know, he was going to try to meet me there if he can get away from work for a minute.”

“You don’t happen to mean Connor Rhodes, do you?”

“I do, why?”

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

You found out why when Connor burst through the doors just after you and Will had entered. He kissed you on your forehead and gave you a once over. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Connor, I’m okay. I just started feeling weak so Will got me a wheelchair. I think that I was just on my feet too long, well too long while pregnant. I really hate that I can’t do what I used to be able to...”

“I know, but you should have just gotten help at the door, here let’s go talk to Dr. Hajjar. Thanks, Halstead, I’ve got it from here.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Excuse me?”

“Will!”

“You heard me, Rhodes, why didn’t you meet her at the car or entrance? You can’t really think you’re too important to help your pregnant wife.”

“Will that’s not-”

“That’s enough Halstead, you should get back to the ED, where your obnoxious presence is actually required.”

“Okay, that’s more than enough jabs from both of you. Will, thank you for helping me get here after I tried to get here myself when I probably shouldn’t have, Connor, I’m sorry for being so stubborn and I’m glad you had time today to come to another of my appointments which are happening more and more frequently.”

Will and Connor begrudgingly nodded at each other. “Thanks for getting her here safe Halstead.”

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

You decided to hold off on dinner together after seeing how little they got along. Having only realized at that first meeting that the ‘doctor douche’ your husband ranted about so much was your friend from med school. So instead you did what you could to keep the peace whenever you were in the hospital, which was frequent, but their pissing contest was grating on your nerves. It all came to a head the day you went into labour two weeks early. Connor was finishing up a surgery with Dr. Downey so Will was the one in the ED when you were rolled in. “Get Connor, Will.”

“Are you sure Y/N?”

“YES I’M SURE!”

Connor came running into treatment four minutes later and gently kissed you all over your face. “I’m here, Y/N. I love you so much.” Will, who had been holding your hand while you waited for Connor, scoffed.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME WILLIAM?! I AM SO OVER THIS SHITTING CONTEST YOU HAVE WITH CONNOR. YOU ARE BOTH GROWN-ASS MEN GET OVER YOURSELVES. YOU ARE BOTH GOING TO APOLOGIZE TO EACH OTHER AND HUG RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I AM MOTHERFUCKING DONE!”

“Y/N-”

“WILLIAM SEAMUS HALSTEAD I KNOW THAT YOUR MOTHER TAUGHT YOU BETTER THAN TO INCUR THE WRATH OF A PREGNANT WOMAN!”

“I’m sorry, Will.”

“I’m sorry, Connor.”

“Y/N Y/L/N you are officially my favourite person in the world, I was just about to ring their necks!”

“No problem Maggie.” You gave a weak smile as another contraction hit and Dr. Hajjar looked under the blanket before nodding. “Alright, Y/N, it’s time to push. If you’re not her husband or part of the delivery team; get out.”

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

Five days later you were still in the hospital, because of all the complications you’d had during pregnancy. Dr. Hajjar wanted to make sure your blood pressure wasn’t a high average before she discharged you. So when Natalie went into labour, you could hear her screams from down the hall. You’d also been where Will briefly went to hide with his tail in between his legs after Helen, Natalie’s mother in law, dressed him down. When you heard her screaming for Will, where he was, you gave Connor one look before he sighed and called Will.

Connor briefly appeared at his father’s ‘I-want-control-as-much-of-my-son’s-life-as-possible-so-I-donated-money-in-my-wife’s-name-for-mental-health-when-it’s-mostl-likely-that-I-murdered-her’ ceremony. He only went for the speech, and when it was over he approached his sister. “Connor, it’s nice to finally see you. You’ve been back in Chicago how long?”

“Almost four months. I, uh, want you to meet my wife and daughter.”

“You- what? Who? How?”

“Well I personally have absolutely no idea how I got lucky enough to have a baby with my wife Y/N, much less have her love me as much as I love her, but I’ve decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“How old is your daughter?”

“Five days today.”

“Oh my God... When can I-”

“Now. You can meet them now.”

“I’ll get dad-”

“Claire don’t. Please. He’s the reason I left Chicago, you’re the reason I came back. I just don’t want the happiness I feel to end just yet.”

“Okay.” She hooked her arm around his as he led her out to the hall. “Did you really come back for me?”

“Well Y/N couldn’t stand the heat while pregnant, but you’re the reason we came back here and not to Seattle.”

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

You were cradling your bundle of joy and poop, Aviva Nadya Rhodes, in the lounge chair when Connor and Claire came in. “Hi, you must be Claire, I’m Y/N.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you too. Is it okay if I hold- Aviva?”

“Sure, here just sit down on the loveseat and I’ll pass her to you.”

“Oh, she’s so tiny. And she looks just like you Y/N. Doesn’t look like she got anything from Connor. You sure are a lucky girl, huh?” Claire had Aviva’s head in the crook of her elbow and was giving the infant an unbridled, beaming smile.

”Hey! Stop trying to turn my daughter against me.”

“Connor don’t worry, you’re going to be an amazing dad and she is going to love you so, so much. I can feel it.”

“Y/N’s right, Connor. You’re going to do great, plus I’m only joking, I promise. Aren’t I, my sweet, sweet girl?”

“She loves my daughter more than she loves me.”

“I’d normally say no and try to reassure you, but she does,”

“And that’s not a bad thing.”

“Yeah, exactly. I love you, Connor.”

“I love you too Y/N.”

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

Sorry this was so bad, I’ll probably re-do this at some point cause I really like the whole faint-cause-pregnant-move-to-Chicago storyline I came up with. 

Again, sorry.

[cherryscenarios]

habits ❃ hyunjae

pairing: Hyunjae x reader genre: angst + fluff request: yes “ hiii! I’m new to your account and think the writing is really good! I’ve only been reading ones with tbz to be honest but still, god writing is good writing. If you don’t mind, could I request a long angsty argument with hyunjae from tbz and he reluctantly makes it up to you in the end? also, who’s your bias in the boyz?”

“Please get your feet off the table.” you told Hyunjae for the 9th time, very irritated by now. You had started living together with him one month ago, so you were still getting used to your new rutine. It was comforting, but also ver complicated, to go from being alone everyday to having permanent company. You had both lived alone for a long time, so you had developed habits and routines that might not always be compatible. 

“Fine” Hyunjae rolled his eyes and heard you, but he was still eating chips on the couch, dropping cumbs on it. You took a deep breath. You didn’t want to make a fuss out of it, but you were too stressed because of university to deal with Hyunjae’s shit. 

“Do you want to order chicken?” You offered, trying to calm yourself down. 

“Nah.” you grabbed your phone and ordered chicken for yourself. You waited in silence, dozing off without even noticing. You were too tired from studying. The doorbell startled you and you waited for some seconds, hoping Hyunjae would notice how tired you were and decided to get your food for you. But he didn’t. You stood up, payed for your chicken and came back to see Hyunjae’s feet on the table again.

“Seriously, Jaehyun? I’m about to eat there!” you were starting to lose your patience.

“Jesus, (y/n), there’s no need for yelling” He moved his feet with an annoyed look on his face. You sat down on the floor and ate your chicken, hoping some good food would cheer you up. Hyunjae stole one piece from you and you let it pass. He ate another one and you didn’t mention it either. But the third time he tried to grab one piece, you exploded.

“Jaehyun, you told me you didn’t want any food! Could you stop?!” 

“Come on, don’t be so selfish” he seemed surprised and irritated by your reaction, and that made your blood boil.

“I’m not being selfish, you are! I just arrived home from a long day at university and at work, I studied a lot, I’m stressed and tired, and all I get from you is nothing! Literally nothing! You just sit on my couch and stain it with chip grease, put your smelly feet on the table I should be eating from and steal my food!” you felt your chest rising up and down from the adrenaline. You were done with his attitude and you were going to let him know.

“You complain about everything I do!” he tried to defend himself. He stood up from the sofa, and you followed his actions. Even though you were much more shorter than him, you still tried to confront him. “You complain when I eat too early, when I eat too late, when I take a shower longer than ten minutes, when I eat on the sofa, when I make coffee, when I don’t make the bed! Everything I do is wrong for you!”

“Because you act like no one is with you! When you eat too early you wake up at 2 am to grab a snack and wake me up in the process. When you eat too late you don’t wash the dishes. When you take a long shower I have to take a short one because there is no hot water left. When you eat on the sofa you leave crumbs!” you pointed to the sofa, that was full of crumbs indeed. “And I have to clean up after it! I’m not your maid, Jaehyun!

“No one said you were, stop exaggerating.” he rolled his eyes. “Chill (y/n)”

“No, I’m not chilling! I’m sick of your attitude. Do you even care about me?” your words were sharp and caught him off guard. But the fact that you thought that he didn’t care about you just because he liked to live comfortable, got him even angrier.

“You’re being stupid right now. I’m just eating motherfucking chips! How can you relate that to me not caring about you!”

“Well, you don’t show it!” you were done with this argument. You left the empty box on the table and went directly to bed, not saying anything else to Hyunjae.

He stood alone in the middle of the living room. There was only silence, but he felt like the echo of your words rang on his ears. Was he really being that selfish?...

❃ ❃ ❃

Hyunjae woke up early the next day, even though he hated waking up early if he didn’t have any appointments. But he knew you would wake up soon so you had time to study.  Your back was still facing him, and you were still curled in a ball, hugging yourself. Hyunjae sighed sofly and stood up. He dragged his feet to the bathroom and splashed some water to his face so he would be fully awake.

He went to the kitchen and started making pancakes. Hyunjae actually hated having breakfast, but he knew that you needed energy for your day. He sliced some fruit, made two coffees and he squeezed some orange juice. He quickly cleaned everything up while waiting for you to wake up. And when he heard the door of the bathroom opening, his heart started to beat louder. He waited to hear the door again, and he brought a tray to the bed with all the things he had prepared for you.

“Good morning, princess...” he greeted you with a soft voice, afraid of how you would react.

When you woke up, you thought about punishing Hyunjae with a silent treatment. You didn’t really feel like talking to him. It was weird when you realize he wasn’t by your side. It was 8 am on a saturday. Where was he? You thought he might have been too angry to spend the day with you, and that he had decided to go to his friend’s house to avoid you.

So when he showed up at the door with handmade pancakes and a sleepy face, you were very surprised. You forgot about how angry you were at him. He looked so cute with locks of his hair pointing our everywhere and with his t-shirt stained with coffee, waiting for your reaction, and clearly nervous. 

“Is that for me?...” you asked, in awe. Hyunjae nodded and placed the tray on your legs, climbing to the bed by your side. 

“I knew you would wake up early to study, and I wanted you to have a nice breakfast before starting to get stressed again... And I also wanted to apologise for my actions yesterday... and the past month. I promise I’m going to change my bad habits and try to be better for you. Now, enjoy your breakfast so I can go back to sleep.”

[365days365movies]

February 2, 2021: Pretty Woman (1990)

ALL RISE FOR THE KING AND QUEEN OF ROMANCIA!

First, we bow to the Actor King of Romancia, Richard Gere. Gere is a DYNAMO of romantic movies, having starred in The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, American Gigolo, An Officer and a Gentleman, Sommersby, Autumn in New York, Chicago, Shall We Dance?, Runaway Bride, and of course, Pretty Woman. He was crowned king of this fictionation both because of his film prowess, and because DUDE HAS DATED A LOT OF FAMOUS PEOPLE GODDAMN

Second, we bow to the Actress Queen of Romancia, Julia Roberts.

Roberts’ resume is equally romantic, including films such as Notting Hill, My Best Friend’s Wedding, Eat Pray Love, Steel Magnolias, Mystic Pizza, Runaway Bride, and of course, Pretty Woman. She was crowned queen of this fictionation because, I mean...it’s Julia Roberts, man. Who else was gonna be queen, Meg Ryan? She’s too busy ruling the Holy Romance Empire.

Yes. Yes, I will be visiting the Holy Romance Empire soon.

Anyway, one of the advisors to this great land was the now sadly passed Garry Marshall, a seasoned romantic movie director, responsible for The Princess Diaries (and its terrible sequel), Beaches, Runaway Bride (shit, should I watch this one?), and those bad holiday romance movies from the late 2000′s. You know, Valentine’s Day, New Year’s Eve, Mother’s Day? Yeah, that’s the guy.

Marshall was appointed an advisor of Romancia because of his role as director of the film...you know.

Enough navel-gazing; let’s get into Pretty Woman, shall we? I, for one, am looking forward to venturing further into the land of Romancia! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

We start at a party where...George Costanza?

Huh! Phil Stuckey (Jason Alexander), a lawyer and kind of an asshole, is romancing women at a party, held on the behalf of Edward Lewis (Richard Gere), a businessman from New York. However, he’s currently in California away from his unhappy girlfriend back east, who’s feeling a tad neglected by the constantly busy Edward.

Meanwhile, on a less-than-great side of town lives Vivian Ward (Julia Roberts), a prostitute working the mean streets of Hollywood. Making her way to the red-light district, she enters the Blue Banana Club (which is...a name, that’s for sure), where she finds her roommate Kit De Luca (Laura San Giacomo). Laura’s unfortunately spent their rent on drugs, during the height of the cocaine epidemic in Hollywood.

The two meet each other on the street, where Edward’s lost, and struggling with Phil’s stick-shift Lotus Espirit. She offers to give him directions for money, and he reluctantly accepts. She gets in, and guides him back to his hotel. As he struggles to drive, she displays her knowledge of cars from back home. He then offers to drive the car for him, and also shows her prowess as a driver. Which...is pretty neat.

He asks how much she makes in her profession, as the two roll up to his hotel. As they begin to part ways, he asks her instead to accompany him into the hotel. She’s about as charmed and gawky as I would be going into a sick-ass hotel like that. The elevator in it has a FUCKING SOFA INSIDE, YES PLEASE

Edward’s a little embarrassed by her gawking, but they quickly get past it. Edward’s graveyard-still complacency is contrasted by her manic pixie energy. Not that she’s a manic pixie dream girl...I think. It’s more of a “rock-and-balloon” relationship deal. When Vivian busts out the condoms (she’s a “safety-girl”), Edward instead says he wants to “talk.”

During this talk, it’s revealed that his girlfriend has officially broken up with him, leaving him conspicuously single. He asks if she can stay the entire night, and she agrees for a price, to which he gladly agrees. They spend the night getting to know each other, although Edward is doing business during much of it. And she’s watching TV, and it gives off these kinda weird daddy-daughter vibes (not kink-shaming, mind you), and it’s...mildly uncomfortable.

This quickly progresses into her beginning to seduce him, and the two presumably have sex. We cut away just before anything happens, though. Afterwards, Edward takes a shower, as Vivian falls asleep, taking her wig off for the first time.

The next morning, Edward talks to Phil about an upcoming business purchase, when Vivian walks into the room. He’s ordered breakfast for them. ALL OF THE BREAKFAST. Seriously, everything on the menu. Motherfucker, do you KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE ROOM SERVICE IS? WE GET IT YOU’RE RICH

He reveals just how rich he is, noting that he buys companies on the brink of failure, and then sells pieces of the companies he buys. Vivian equates this to a chop-shop, which seems extremely accurate. On another call, Phil tells him that it would be better if he had a date. And it looks like...he already has one.

Yeah, Phil “hires” Vivian to be his girlfriend for a week. For $3000, she accepts, and I feel just a little icky. And yet...I dunno, we’ll see. He’s doing this purely to avoid romantic attachment, which is a little weird, but understandable? Maybe?

At this point, we get one of the most iconic scenes in the film, as the uptight women at a Rodeo Drive store tell her to leave, like assholes. They’ll get their comeuppance, though. OHHHHHH, THEY’LL get it. This compounds when the hotel manager, Barnard “Barney” Thompson (Héctor Elizondo), questions her presence there. And while it seems that he’s going to kick her out, he actually helps her out with an outfit.

Meanwhile, Edward’s business deal begins to go somewhat south, until Edward takes advantage of GOVERNMENT CORRUPTION. Anyway, Vivian goes to a local department store, where Barney’s friend Bridget (Elinor Donahue) helps her out with a cocktail dress. When she heads back, Barney acts like a bro once again and teaches her proper etiquette, Emily Post style.

Edward heads back to the hotel, where Vivian is waiting for him. And she looks cuuuuuuuuuuute. Edward thinks so, too, and they head to the corporate dinner. There waitselderly businessman James Morse (Ralph Bellamy), and his grandson David (Alex Hyde-White). We get a taste of just how vicious of a businessman Edward is, and Vivian makes a much better impression on the Morses than Edward does. Also, Eddie’s kind of a sociopath, huh? Or, at least, he has some sociopathic tendencies. I dunno his pure emotionlessness is rubbing me a weird way.

After the dinner goes VIOLENTLY south, the two begin to relate to each other a bit more. He notes that he prefers not to bring emotion into business, although he apparently does like Mr. Morse. He also notes that his father died a month ago, but it doesn’t appear to affect him much. Still he heads downstairs to get some air. Later, Vivian gets the bellhop, Dennis (Patrick Richwood) to help her find him, and she does. He’s playing piano like a GODDAMN MANIAC HOLY SHIT! Just like, “Don’t mind me, I’m just playing an operetta to PUT THE KNIFE FEELINGS TO SLEEP IAMTHEZODIACKILLER.” This manic performance is followed by the two just...fuckin’ on the piano. They just FUCK IN THE LOUNGE RIGHT ON THAT PIANO JESUS CHRIST GUYS

The next morning, post-musex, they go to get outfits together, in which Gere buys a massive set of outfits, and we get the first makeover montage this month! He also flashes even more sociopathic flair with a clothing store owner, goddamn. And that’s...when we get the song.

I mean, we had to get this song in here at some point, right? She also engages in the most iconically HUGE moment of the film. You know what I’m talking about, and it’s beautifully cathartic, my Lord.

Meanwhile, at work, Edward’s starting to...lose it, I guess? As Phil’s encouraging him to close in on Morse for the kill, Edward’s beginning to grow a heart. And may I note that he’s been in this relationship for TWO DAYS. Jesus, buddy, you’ve really never had a meaningful relationship, huh? They eventually go to a polo match for business reasons, here Phil finally meets Vivian. Vivian also notices that none of the high-society people here seem like, well...friends.

Turns out that David Morse is one of the polo players, and Vivian starts to speak with him. Phil, meanwhile, notices this, and suspects her of being a corporate spy. And Edward, like an ABSOLUTE ASSHOLE, tells her that Vivian’s a prostitute. Phil LITERALLY IMMEDIATELY GOES AFTER HER, and solicits her like a fucking CREEP.

This obviously very much upsets her, and she chews Edward out back at the hotel. And the argument that follows IMMEDIATELY puts me on Vivian’s side, because Edward’s being a sociopathic douchenozzle. Goddamn. She rightfully wants to leave, and he just lets her. And here’s the real kicker; she doesn’t take the money.

And that’s when Edward sincerely apologizes to her, as best as he can. And yeah, he’s a little sociopathic, but I can see that the dude is trying? The two make up, and once again open up to each other. Edward starts to realize, in turn, that he legitimately has feelings for her. And we head into the third act of the film.

The next day, Edward leaves work early to go on a date with Vivian, and Phil asks if the date is with “the hooker.” And Edwards flashes him a look that’s just...knifey. I’m still not convinced he isn’t the Zodiac Killer. He takes her to an opera in San Francisco, before which we get this scene.

Adorable. God, I love Vivian. Also Dennis and Barney are the best, and they’re super fucking invested, and I am HERE for it. Their date to the opera is...sublime. Understand, my girlfriend and I watched this entire film together, and we’re both in love with Vivian and the opera after it. Imma take her to the opera on a date one of these days, I swear it.

That night, they play chess together, and Edward actually takes the following day off. He also actually sleeps in a bed for once, instead of going to work. And this is when my girlfriend the following phrase:

Is he sculpting her, or is she sculpting him?

OK, that fantastic question is one of the reasons we’re together, but also a very interesting point. Lemme explain here. This is very much a Pygmalion story in a few ways. While not a straight adaptation by any means, this film is definitely taking a few ideas from the Pygmalion trope. See, if you don’t know, Pygmalion’s a Greek myth about a sculptor who falls in love with his statue. It’s been adapted multiple times throughout the history of the arts, but the most prominent version of this was the stage musical My Fair Lady, famously adapted into a film starring Audrey Hepburn in 1964.

And again, a lot of adaptations of that, too. While Pretty Woman isn’t explicitly an adaptation of either work, the themes are still present in the work. So, yeah, it’s a good point. In this version, she’s changing him as much as he’s changing her. The sculpture is sculpting the sculptor. Which is cool.

And then, as we had that cute little revelation, Vivian tells Edward that she loves him. And OH FUCK. It’s the last day. And when he says he doesn’t want this to be the last of them together, she takes it as romantic. But when he essentially proposes making her a beck-and-call girl, putting her up in an apartment and hooking her up with dresses...she’s understandably not interested. She says that, as a little girl, she dreamed of a white knight that would sweep her off her feet and take her away. But Edward isn’t that knight.

Have I mentioned how much I love Vivian? Because Vivian’s fuckin’ fantastic, Jesus Christ.

Edward decides to leave, and says that he’s done all he can at this point. He leaves, and she’s shattered. Kit, meanwhile, comes to visit her at the hotel, and she admits that she’s fallen in love with him. While Kit’s initially worried about it, she says that they could maybe settle down and buy some diamonds and a horse. I also love Kit.

Meanwhile, at the meeting with Mr. Morse, Edward turns the tables on Phil and his yes-men, and asks to speak with Mr. Morse alone. Phil’s gobsmacked by this, but agrees. Once they’re alone, Edward admits that he no longer wishes to buy his company and destroy it. Instead, he wants to help him rebuild his company. And Morse agrees, telling Edward that he’s proud of him.

Phil, EXTREMELY irritated by this, and decided to make his way to talk to Edward at the hotel. And that’s when he finds Vivian. FUUUUUUUUCK. As expected, Phil tries to r*pe her, and that’s when Edward shows up, and BEATS THE FUCK OUT OF HIM.

Edward tells Phil off, calling him an EVEN BIGGER sociopath than he is, and kicks him out. Friendship ended with Phil. Now Vivian is his best friend. But despite this, Vivian still realizes that their relationship, at least the one she wants, seems impossible. Conceding, and on his way back to New York now, Edward pays her, and tells her to call him if she ever needs anything. 

But he asks her to stay one more night with him, not because of money...BUT BECAUSE OF LOVE. And she replies that she can’t...and they part ways. Vivian goes to say goodbye to Barney, who still rules. He calls a cab for her, and says that she can visit them anytime. My girlfriend says that she would leave me for Barney, and I agree. I agree so much, because she deserves the best, and the best is Barney, and I could never BE Barney. 

I could never be Barney.

It’s over now, as the song in the background says, and Edward laments his lost relationship as the thunder rolls in. Vivian decides to finally go to San Francisco, and finish high school, inspired by Edward’s love and faith for her. She passes that faith onto Kit as she says goodbye. Fuuuuuuck, man, this goodbye hurts as well.

Edward goes to the lobby, and talks to Barney one last time. AND BARNEY TELLS EDWARD WHERE VIVIAN WENT, LIKE A GODDAMN CHAMPION. WHY CAN’T I BE AS PERFECT AS BARNEY????

He makes his way to her apartment, and buys flowers from a woman with a Cockney accent, WHICH IS A MY FAIR LADY REFERNCE! HOLY SHIT! He arrives in a white limo at her place, overcomes his fear of heights and climbs a fire escape in a metaphorical tower to rescue his princess. 

THAT’S HOLLYWOOD, BABY! And it’s Pretty Woman as well. That was a very heartwarming film, and I’m very glad that I watched it! Is it perfect? Ehhhhhhhh, see you at the Review.

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

So, It’s been awhile. There’s a reason. The last week or so has been... a week. jesus christ. I shall regale you of my tale, not in chronological order necessarily because that’s how I roll. BUT if you suffer through it, you shall be rewarded with an outdoor plant update post after. Bribery. 

So. Early last week, The Spawn sat down with me and presented a proposal, a well researched proposal, advocating for her starting her own residential cleaning business because she finds it incredibly satisfying and relaxing to clean stuff and she does quite well. So we sat and brainstormed, researched, and talked about how she planned to advertise. She needed a business gmail (and all the tools that come with that), logo, business social media, website, and flyers. 

Being her age, she doesn’t have the skill or knowledge to do these things. So, I volunteered to help with these things so that she didn’t have to spend money hiring someone. I created the email account, put all the brainstorm stuff into a google doc that saved to the biz drive, which included a to do list and the basic info needed. I created a logo. (At which point, she called me a wizard while watching me do so.) I helped her try to create a biz facebook account, but facebook immediately flagged it as breaking the rules. like literally as soon as I created it. So I appealed it & The Spawn wanted to wait to see what came of that before I went further. So she took me with her to shop for the things on her supply list, and we decided to go grab some of the smaller stuff still needed for J’s appt at the same time. This was Friday. 

Saturday, I got a text from J in the early afternoon saying that he needed me. I quickly packed a ‘just in case’ bag, since I didn’t know what to expect or how long I would be there. Now, you have to understand that in the 7 years we’ve been friends, while he has discussed things with me via phone or text, in person he is like me, incredibly stoic. Hell even via text or phone, he always insists that he’s fine and responds to my reminders that i’m here if he needs someone, and to just let me know, he responds “I appreciate it, but I won’t”. So him reaching out like that is a MASSIVE thing. I showed up, let myself in, and he just walked up to me, wrapped his arms around me and started sobbing. I stayed the night, alternating between being comforting and being distracting. It was extremely disarming to see such raw emotion from him repeatedly over the course of the night and to hear him say the things that he is usually uncomfortable articulating. 

The next morning he seemed better, thanked me for coming (to which I responded “Of course I came. I’ve not ever been lying when I’ve said that I’d come if you needed me, day or night, but you have to let me know.”) and apologized for ‘being a mess’. I told him every time he apologized (which happened quite a bit over the course of the night) that there was no need for an apology because this wasn’t something to be sorry for. He was struggling, as people do, and rather than embrace the darkness or fight it alone, he asked for help from someone he trusts and loves that he knows reciprocates. That i know how hard it is for him to do that and that I am proud of him. 

Sunday afternoon the kids (The Spawn and The Bf) picked me up because she needed to take him home but didn’t want to leave the dogs alone. I got in the car after The Bf got into the back, insisting I take the front seat. We hadn’t even gotten out of the parking lot of the apartment complex when The Spawn casually asked “So are ya’ll fucking?” 

that’s how I learned that I was the subject of a bet. Apparently, The Bf asked where I was when he came over and out of convenience, not wanting to really explain the relationship, The Spawn said I was at my boyfriend’s. I guess he went on about how how come I’m never hanging out with him, etc, so The Spawn explained the actual nature of our relationship. At the end The Bf said “Nah, they fuckin’ but your mom isn’t telling you.” The Spawn said, “No, she’d tell me because when I started high school I asked her about her past encounters and asked about what stuff was, if she’d done it, and if she enjoyed it, and she was always honest with me. That’s how I know she likes it up the butt.” He insisted that J and I were banging so The Spawn, knowing the truth, took advantage of this and made a bet. It was an easy win for her. SO...

I get asked this question & I look at her, eyebrows raised because she knows how our relationship is (granted if I were physically able and he was willing, I would definitely jump back up on that horse) and said, “No. Mom is no longer physically capable of fucking without risk of severe injury. Plus, despite having ridden that horse previously, I’m not into endangering our besties status. I would go into further detail and commentary but I don’t want to make The Bf uncomfortable. These are things you know, so why do you ask?” She told me of the bet, Then i promptly text J about it because I knew he’d get a laugh out of it. And I was right. 

By the end of Sunday, she recieved an email stating that facebook was upholding the ban, so she and I talked and decided to make a webpage via WIX and after getting a few clients, she could upgrade her account with them to get extras that are offered, including her own domain (rather than the name.wix address) and a lack of wix ads on her page.  And then it all went downhill from there.

Monday through Wednesday (yesterday) had The Spawn breathing down my neck more than any boss I’ve ever fucking had about when her business shit would be done. On top of what I’d already done, between Monday and Wednesday I:   set up her google voice account for a business number, wrote her a “first time client” script, created a google sheets quick reference client database, created a google forms for detailed client records (all in a folder together that is searchable by client name, which would be the title of the form), set up the calendar, downloaded and edited/collaged her before and after photos she took via cleaning some of our spaces, and built her a 7 page website including the photos, facts, and little blurbs that go along with it. It went live at the end of yesterday. 

Throughout this process, rather than just checking in and thanking me for doing it all to save her money, she asked me every couple hours what still needed to be done. When I was not as far along as she felt I should be, she got progressively more hostile. Yesterday morning she had the balls to text me “What all do we still need to do before I can get rolling?” I responded with “ ‘We’? hahahahaha *I* still need to [list].” 

I’m sure you’re saying to yourself, “Am I missing something? Did you forget to list something in the list of stuff you did between Monday and Wednesday? You mentioned flyers....” You are correct. But yesterday while I was being driven to my 2nd vax appointment by my father, I basically told him that I’m fried. If a flyer just included facts, I’d be fine, but the part where I need the potential customers to be drawn in and want to learn more is not happening. The creative well has run dry to the point that it is reminiscent of the dust bowl. And I reminded him that there is a reason I no longer do this type of shit for a living. I mentioned that thinking about The Spawn’s company is making me stress puke and that any time The Spawn approaches me to talk about anything, I immediately feel incredibly nauseated. 

Now it should be noted that when I mentioned this in a multi paragraph text earlier, he responded with “Just take a step back from it for awhile, then go back to it.”    

and everyone wonders why on earth I don’t speak up when I hit my limits and why I just push onward despite the damage it does to me. THIS. THIS IS WHY. Everyone is all for me not pushing myself too hard... until it is inconvenient for them. So I basically screamed in the car. On the way back he said he’d help. Ok. cool. 

Except that every fucking idea he had legit just tripled the amount of work I was going to have to do. I mentioned being burned enough that I was considering just paying a freelancer to do it. This motherfucker chimes in with “Oh! [Cool Ex Employee Who Left to be a Stay at Home Mom with her First Baby] does stuff like that. Let me reach out to see if she’d be willing to.” BRUH. That should have been the first thing out of your mouth after my original texts! Jesus Christ. I agreed but with the caveat that HE had to tell The Spawn and say it was his idea because he sees me getting overly stressed and has put his foot down. And he had to do it that night because I knew that if he didn’t, the first thing I’d hear today was “So when are my flyers going to be done?” and I am absolutely not dealing with that shit. The only thing I am doing from this point forward is showing her how to use her database/client files/calendar and I will be happy to answer questions or give advice, but that’s it. This isn’t my company and I’m not employed by her, so I’ve already put in far more work than should have been expected of me, with very little thanks outside of after I finished her logo and a couple times she came down and watched, then told me I’m a fucking wizard. 

Really It was good in a way because I had been doing that thing lately where I wonder if I’m just being dramatic because admin type stuff isn’t that hard and if I could do it from home, I should be able to manage... but this put me back down on earth, where I absolutely am not being dramatic and I cannot fucking do that shit 40 hrs a week for some random asshole. Shit, this was for my own child and I was ready to give up, stab her, then tell her to go fuck herself.

so...that’s been my last week and a half for so. Also, my only side effects from Vax 2 (pfizer) is feeling more tired/run down than usual and a bit of extra joint pain... but those might actually be related to the stress and hell I just went through. who knows. 

as always, don’t steal my shitshow. get your own shitshow. suffer through your own crap. 

[mendesmelancholy]

Marks - Chapter 1

A Shawn Mendes Series

Chapter 2 Synopsis: A series where Shawn meets a fan in a tattoo parlour and gets a matching tattoo with her which sparks an unexpected dynamic between two people, learning how to love regardless of their mental illnesses. Warnings: mentions of past self harm Word Count: 4k Author’s Note: I’m actually so unbelievably excited to share this series with you. A massive thank you goes to @shawnscheekscar​ who helped me figure out this idea and let me talk about my ideas and encourage them. I think this series is so important to people our age who suffer with mental illnesses on what a healthy relationship is. It is possible to be loved and to love. And I hope this series shows you that. With love, Isabella x Post A.N.: If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know!

     The last thing he expects when he walks into the tattoo parlour was for his song to be playing over the speakers. The heavy sound of the needle moving swirls with, yet contrasts against the gentle picking of the guitar flowing through the small space. He bites at his lip, trying to hide the smile so unmistakably tugging at his cheeks. He adores the tattoo artist’s sense of humour, and whilst some singers find a tattoo artist listening to their music uncanny, especially if the artist was unaware they would be early, he found it flattering and amusing.

     He unconsciously starts humming along to the end of the song, walking up to the counter and ringing the bell, placing the cardboard coffee carrier he’s holding on the counter. The music was so powerful he isn’t sure the artist could hear it, but he waits and he glances around the parlour. 

     The artist, Tony, had made a house call to his apartment in Los Angeles when Shawn was around and wanted his new ink. Now, Shawn insisted he actually came into the parlour this time, that Tony driving all the way across LA for a small tattoo was idiotic and Shawn was more than able to make time in his hectic schedule to drive to the parlour. He’s glad he did, as the parlour is spotless compared to his messy bachelor pad apartment, with a receptionist desk pushed up against the left wall and comfortable lounge chairs in a circle on the right side of the room. The walls are dark grey and the floors are gleaming white marble, contrasted by the black furniture and picture frames littered in the lobby.

     Shawn peaks down the narrow hallway, the several tiny areas sectioned off for each individual tattoo artist. He only hears one gun going along with the song slowly fading out. He glances at the clock on the wall above the desk and saw the gleaming 5:55 am. He originally figured Tony would open early for him to avoid any gawking fans or nosey people. He didn’t think there was someone before him.

     And on top of his song playing over the speakers, Shawn certainly doesn’t expect for it to loop back and start over again. That’s when he hears a small voice that doesn’t belong to Tony speak up,

     “Thank you for letting me listen to this song whilst you do this tattoo.”

     “Of course,” Tony’s hoarse voice matches his appearance. It was deep and burly - just like Tony. His entire body was covered in tattoos and his head was shaven, “You’re getting a tattoo for it. It’d be dumb if you didn’t listen to the song.”

     Shawn’s breath catches in his throat at Tony’s comment. He grasps his coffee from the carrier and cautiously steps forward, closer to the voices.

     “How’d you get his handwriting?”

     “Jenny met him at LAX and got it for me. She was waiting at the airport for me to get in and my flight had been delayed and she saw him in the queue for coffee. She had gone up to him and gotten him to write it out for me. By the time I saw her, he was gone,” she lets out a soft laugh and Tony replies, but Shawn’s brain is elsewhere.

     He wracks his brain for the memory and finds it concealed away somewhere in the corner. He remembers the girl coming up to him. He can’t remember what she looked like, other than her light brown hair and full smile. She briefly mentioned she was waiting for her friend’s flight to get in and her friend had been dying to get him to write a tattoo out for her. He didn’t think much of it as it was 4:03 am and he didn’t process the word ‘tattoo’. But, he smiled slackly, took a picture with the girl and wrote out the tattoo in Sharpie. The girl thanked him over and over again before finally answering her phone that had been vibrating ever since he started writing the lyrics on the back of a piece of paper - with what he assumed was her friend’s flight information.

     Shawn’s initial small smile he donned when he walked in the door was now a full-blown grin as he gets closer to Tony’s station. He remains silent, Tony’s glance flickering to him quickly before dropping his left eye into a small wink and turning back to the girl sitting in the tattoo chair. It clicks for Shawn then. Tony knew the girl was coming in with Shawn’s lyrics, early one morning and arranged Shawn’s appointment to be right after hers. Whether the interaction was for Shawn or the girl was unclear, but he can’t help but think Tony is a fucking genius. 

     Shawn cranes his neck to see the tattoo he’s working on. It’s on the girl’s upper right thigh, all the way at the top where her joint is. He notices the faint glow of red on her skin from the irritation of the needle and the blood Tony periodically wipes from her skin. The thick letters of his writing are permanently being embedded in her skin right before his very eyes. Also embedded in her skin are thick, white lines. Scarring, that was certainly intentional. Her tan, olive tone skin shows the white lines very clearly. Some of them are tinted with pink, suggesting they aren’t especially new, but they are the most recent ones out of the dozens, maybe even hundreds, on her legs. Shawn feels his smile dim slightly, trying to think of whether or not the lyrics he originally wrote down are being tattooed in a positive or negative light, ‘Sometimes I feel like giving up, but I just can’t - it isn’t in my blood.’

     He looks at the girl, noticing her dark, curly brown hair pulled up into a ponytail and the several piercings in her ears. Two are in her lobes with three more in her cartilage. Shawn shifts to the other wall to get a better look at the girl and the work Tony was doing. He wonders to himself if he should make his presence known or simply sip his coffee and observe and do what would be considered eavesdropping. He decides on the latter, knowing the perfect moment to introduce himself would occur when it was ready and he shouldn’t force it.

     Tony starts the word ‘like’ on her tattoo when she speaks again, in the same delicate voice she uttered in earlier, “Thanks for the other few tattoos. Sorry I’ve gotten so many today.

     “Not a problem, dear. They’re on the house anyway.”

     “No way,” her voice is quiet yet rigid, surprising Shawn slightly as she sits up, “I’m paying you.”

     "Dear-"

     Her voice is now a whisper, "No, Tony-" 

     “-It’s the least I can do,” he glances up at her with a look in his eyes and a character in his voice Shawn thinks is a mix of guilt and regret and sorrow and she pauses, sighing and settling back in her seat.

     “Okay,” she’s quiet afterward, “I’m gonna change the song.” She changes the topic as Shawn senses the unease rolling off her shoulders at what appears to be a heavy topic.

     “If you’re sure,” Tony’s voice is back to its original tone, the flicker of history gone as soon as it had appeared. The girl being in early made more sense if Tony knew her from somewhere else. He was too young for her to be her daughter and their body language was too foreign for them to be brother and sister. Shawn tries to decipher the dynamic between them when the song suddenly switches. 

     The introduction of the song seems tame, but fifteen seconds in, the guitars drop into a sequence of riffs, the drums crash and the bass threads through the speakers and scares the absolute shit out of Shawn. He yelps, the original quiet ambience of the tattoo parlour gone as the heavy rock song takes over. His coffee hits the floor with an unappealing smack, his beverage spilling all over the meticulous marble floors.

     “God damn motherfucking shit,” he swears, lurching to Tony’s metal tray next to the chair and fumbling for the roll of paper towels.

     The girl squeaks in surprise, shifting to look at the commotion as Tony stops his work and starts laughing. He switches the needle off and puts it down, handing Shawn some paper towels as he and Shawn bend down to clean up the hot coffee.

     “Goddamnit, I’m so sorry,” Shawn splutters, his cheeks heating up to a temperature that feels hotter than the coffee and keeps his head down.

     “Oh my God,” the girl whispers, recognising the curly brown hair from anywhere. She looks down at his hands to confirm her suspicions. There lays a swallow tattoo and it sends her into a spiral. Whether it was from her lack of sleep, the amount of caffeine in her blood, the pain of her tattoo or the shock of seeing the man who wrote a song that meant more to her than she could put into words - she becomes unstable. She leans back in her chair, looking at the ceiling as her mind fumbles to find a way to cope with the dizziness and anxiety that has crawled its way into her throat. 

     The steady strumming of the lone electric guitar grabs her attention and makes her listen to the song. She shuts her eyes and concentrates, “I reserve my right to feel uncomfortable, reserve my right to feel afraid, I make mistakes and I am humbled every step of the way, I want to be a better person, I wanna know the master plan, Cast your stones, cast your judgement, you don't make me who I am,” she shakily murmurs along to the lyrics of the song, trying to steady the pounding of her heart and the fuzziness in her head. The lyrics repeat in the song and she follows, eventually, the melody coaxing her out of her head and into a calm state.

     Shawn doesn’t hear her mumbling to herself or even notice she recognises him, as he’s down on his hands and knees, soaking up the coffee as Tony laughs at the fright. Tony helps, not saying a word to Shawn as he throws the soaked paper towels in the bin, holding out a hand to Shawn so he can throw Shawn’s away as well. Shawn gives him a sheepish smile, walking around the chair, glancing at the girl with her eyes closed and immediately panics,

     “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asks hurriedly. The girl’s eyes snap open and she takes a sharp breath at his proximity. It takes her a moment, but she answers with an exhale,

     “Yeah, I’m good.” She runs her hand through her hair, giving him a weak smile. He nods, reading the anxiety on her face with ease as he understands the look well. A look he’s all too familiar with when he would look in the mirror. He turns away, giving her space as he turns to the small sink on the counter of Tony’s station. Next to the sink is a neat array of ink pigments, unopened needles and transfer paper. His station is just as meticulous as the lobby.

     When Shawn finishes washing his hands, he dries them off on his jeans, turning back to the girl who had been observing him. She doesn’t blush, but rather offers him a small smile,

     “Sorry, I’m not usually this anxious.”

     “I understand, honey,” he says, pointing to the empty seat in the corner of the room, behind Tony who’s changed his gloves and picked up the tattoo gun again. She nods in confirmation and Shawn notices the song switching to something still rock, but not quite as startling.

     “Hey, it’ll be a while longer,” Tony mentions to Shawn who takes a seat and looks at the girl. He notices her eyes, which are several shades darker than his, and the sunspots that decorate her sun-kissed cheeks. Her lips are rosy and plump, her upper teeth dug into her bottom lip as Tony presses the needle back into her skin. Shawn watches as Tony continues his work, fixated on the way his words are being inked into this girl’s skin, for the rest of her life.

     “That was nice of your friend,” Shawn finally states, looking up at the girl who makes eye contact with him at the sound of his voice. She sends him a small smile, grimacing a little as Tony’s needle moves closer to her inner thighs, the tender skin despising the pinch of the needle, 

     “Hey, it’s okay,” Shawn coos, getting up and pushing his chair closer to hers. He sits in his chair, laying a hand on hers which is gripping the edge of the tattoo chair.

     “Told you it’d be sensitive,” Tony grunts, trying to move quickly, but accurately so he can start the line beneath it and move from the fragile space.

     “Shut up, Tony,” she replies quietly and Shawn laughs. Tony rolls his eyes in a light-hearted manner, continuing his work.

     “You can hold my hand if you want,” Shawn tells her and she looks at him, nervous and unsure if he’s being serious. He nudges her hand with his and holds out his palm for her to take if she wants. She slowly nods and moves her hand from the death grip on the leather seat to the soft hand held out to her. Her hand is much more petite than his as she threads her fingers in between his. He nods encouragingly at her, ignoring the tickle in his stomach, while she relaxes and drops her head back against the chair.

      “Thank you,” she sighs.

     “My pleasure.” His touch seems to relax her, her shoulders releasing themselves from the tight position that hugged her neck. She rolls her head to the side to look at Shawn,

     “I’m also pretty good with pain.”

     “This is the most reaction I’ve ever seen out of you,” Tony comments, finishing the comma after ‘up’ and moving to the outer part of her thigh where the ‘but’ is stencilled under the freshly tattooed ‘sometimes’. She audibly lets out a groan of relief, her grip on Shawn’s hand lightening, but not completely letting go.

     “It’s also 6 am, you’re allowed to be all of these things,” Shawn’s voice eases over her pain and anxiety like butter and she nearly melts at the tone. Her rough exterior which usually occupies her face and posture is gone, the exhaustion and pain catching up to her and letting her put her guard down. The girl who claims to have a stern voice and high pain tolerance is gone and replaced with the anxious, tired girl who’s having a hard time with this tattoo. Whether it was Shawn startling her that set her nerves ablaze, the change of a heavy song to a smooth song or the exhaustion catching up to her was not certain, he just hopes she was okay and comfortable.

     “Thank you,” she yawns, closing her eyes as her small nose scrunches and the silent movement of her mouth takes over her features. He feels her arms tense slightly and her shoulders raise, but she relaxes them and settles back in her seat.

     “Of course, honey,” Shawn coos, gently rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.

     “What are you getting done today?” She asks, trying to create a conversation. Shawn notices the delicate nature of her voice, a soft, silky tone that seems to suit her small stature, but powerful presence.

     “A butterfly… I’ve always wanted one,” he admits.

     “Can I see a picture?”

     “Of course, darling,” Shawn adds another pet name and it makes her cheeks flush, but Shawn doesn’t notice. His gaze turns towards his phone, his left hand never leaving hers. She looks at him with interest, noticing the small things like his hair being free of product, his curls sticking every which way. His cheeks are flushed from she assumes was exhaustion, but what she didn’t know, it was really from the warmth of her fingers between his. He sports a worn, salmon jumper and black sweatpants, which both seem to fit him perfectly and swallow him whole. His normalcy at 6 am is comforting.

     When he finds the picture, he turns the phone to show the girl with curious eyes. Her face seems to light up, looking at the design,

     “Oh my god, you’re getting it?”

     Shawn chuckles, locking his phone and shoving it into his jumper, “Yeah.”

     “I think it looks fantastic, honestly,” she says, a little accent to her voice.

     “Where are you from?” He asks suddenly. She’s surprised at his attention to her broken tone.

     “I was born in America. I live in London for school and come back to America for the summer. Right now I’m doing a paid internship in New York.”

     “That’s incredible,” Shawn admires, watching her plump lips move. They glisten in the fluorescent lights of the tattoo parlour and he can’t help but wonder what they taste like.

     “Yeah, I love it in London, but I wouldn’t trade my internship for the world,” she smiles, glancing down briefly at the tattoo Tony was working on. Shawn follows her gaze, not daring to look any further up her, what seems like, silky skin. His eyes flicker over the scarring as they had earlier, noticing how deep most of them went. She notices his eyes trailing along with the scars,

     “This might be oversharing,” she starts, reaching over to the countertop where her coffee cup lays, almost as if she’s trying to distract herself, “But, the lyrics, kind of relate to those.” Shawn blushes at being caught staring at something so incredibly personal. He thinks he wouldn’t have ever known they were there if she wasn’t getting her tattoo on her leg, so why is he mindlessly staring at them?

     Her voice takes him out of his thoughts, “If you’d care to-”

     “-Of course,” he looks into her eyes and they’re warm and calm and seemingly open to sharing.

     “Well, the scars kind of represent how badly I wanted to end things, even though I didn’t have the courage,” she takes a deep breath, sipping at the coffee still in her hand, “But, I didn’t. I felt like giving up, but I couldn’t. And I got through it.”

     Shawn’s watching the way her eyes never leave his or show any sort of pain as she explains her thought process. There’s no pain from the tattoo or pain in her eyes. The peace remains and Shawn can’t help but feel completely and utterly at ease in her presence.

     “Yes, you did,” Shawn reassures her and she gives him a small smile. It’s so unbelievably genuine.

     “What’s the butterfly for?” She pries, taking the topic off herself again. Shawn quickly wonders to himself if she doesn’t like talking about herself. Or anything about her past. Her vague answers shed enough light on why she was getting the tattoo, but not what she went through which inspired her to get the tattoo. And Shawn thinks maybe she changed the subject so he wouldn’t have a chance to ask.

     “I’ve always had a fascination with them,” he admits, “They’re so delicate and beautiful in this incredibly dark world and I kind of want to get it as a reminder to stay positive and beautiful in dark times.”

     “That’s beautiful,” she admits, looking at the swallow on his hand and the guitar-shaped landscape on his arm. He takes a second to glance at her exposed skin for other tattoos. He notices a small satellite on the side of her left knee, wrapped in the tattoo bandage. His eyes follow the skin of her arm, noticing a healed tattoo on her left wrist, a new tattoo on her left forearm and another new tattoo on her inner bicep. The simple admiration of other artists work and the thought process of either of them is evident as silence takes over them, the details becoming evident to one another as they look at the swirling designs of ink.

     “You’re going in today, aren’t you?” Shawn teases quietly, already knowing the answer, trying to lighten the mood and match hers. She looks into his eyes, a certain emotion passing briefly, a flicker Shawn wants to stop and take a better look at. Her lips pull into a crooked smile instead of her small one,

     “Yeah. I’ve been saving up for ages. I just have a lot of ideas for tiny tattoos.”

     “She’s got a great mind on ‘er,” he comments, wiping away the blood around the word ‘can’t’ and starting the small dash before the words ‘it isn’t in my blood’ which are darker than the rest. She seems to blush at his words, ducking her head at the compliment. Shawn can sense her timidness and wants her to feel as comfortable as he does, so he changes the subject,

     “What other ones did you get today?”

     “Three. They’re all tiny. I got a 7 underneath next to my underarm, a rejection slip on my left calf and a ‘xo’ on my right upper calf in the corner.”

     “I like the placements,” Shawn comments, his eyes flickering to the places she mentioned. He can’t see the actual tattoo, but he can see the wrap around them. So, he looks at the girl in front of him, looking into her eyes which swirl with stories and history and emotions and thoughts and Shawn finds himself wanting to know all of them and he finds himself blurting out, “How about one more?”

     “Huh?” She asks, her head tilting to the side slightly.

     Shawn surprises himself at his own words, “I want to get a tattoo with you.”

     “You want to what?” Her voice squeaks. Shawn’s brain begins working a mile a minute at his impulse decision. A small bit of anxiety crawls in his throat at the sudden decision, as he always has to be one hundred per cent sure he wants a tattoo before he gets it, but something in his heart is telling him this idea is perfect, 

     “Well actually, not a new one, but... I think I want a second one today. And I need your help.” She’s watching with pure astonishment as she can see the gears turning in Shawn’s head. His eyes begin to squint and little wrinkles make crevices in his forehead as he thinks. He licks his lips, coming to rub at his lips with his thumb and forefinger, but never removing his hand from her.

     “How would you want to write out some lyrics for me, from ‘Something Big’?” He suggests, his voice slightly nervous whilst looking at the lyrics being tattooed on her leg. He would get the same placement, with different lyrics, in her handwriting. No matter where he would go, he would remember that his music helps people and that people relate to it. And he’d always remember the girl who got his handwriting permanently added to her skin.

     “You want my handwriting on you?”

     “Yeah,” Shawn replies, his voice more sure of his decision, “I want your handwriting on me.” He emphasises the same words she did.

     “Are you sure?” She asks, her voice small and timid as she asks the man she relates to more than she was willing to admit if he wants her handwriting on his skin forever, “I don’t want you to make an impulse decision.”

     “Do you believe in fate?” He asks her abruptly. Her brows furrow but she nods, “This feels like fate is screaming at me. Like, this is what I’m supposed to do,” he runs his fingers through his hair, his grip on her hand tightening slightly, “I can’t even describe it.”

     She brushes her lips with her tongue, watching him with uncertainty before looking at Tony. Tony is finishing the last word on her tattoo, nodding his head, encouraging her.

     “Okay. I’ll do it.”

[niksixx]

Genghis Khan

Another song fic for you guys based off the song “Genghis Khan” by Miike Snow; Lyrics are in bold and italics! ☺️

Requested: Yes, by an Anon!

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Female Reader

Description: Reader and Nikki are friends with benefits but Nikki doesn’t want a relationship but at the same time he doesn’t want reader with anyone else so he gets angry and jealous

Warning: Language, possessiveness

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And I don't have the right
To ask where you go at night
But the waves hit my head
To think someone's in your bed”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nikki watched as Y/N slid off the bed, throwing on one of his ratted band shirts over her naked body. Her hair fell just below her shoulders, and somehow after three rounds of incredibly rough, raw sex, she looked like beauty in its purest form.

“Where are you going?” Nikki asked, body half covered by the blanket. “Got a late night booty call?”

Chuckling, Y/N rolled her eyes. “Nikki, the only late night booty call I get comes from you.”

That should’ve satisfied him, but the thought of Y/N sleeping with another man wriggled its way into Nikki’s thoughts. He had no right to ask where she went in the late hours of the night when she left him. They weren’t together, nor would they ever be.

But the thought still nagged at him. Hopping out of bed, Nikki slid on a pair of sweatpants before jogging to Y/N, who was halfway out the hotel door. “I’m serious, what are you doing?”

“It’s a secret,” she said, sending a wink in his direction. “I’ll be right back.”

Nikki felt like the biggest moron when Y/N came back in his room with cookies and vending machine treats stuffed in her arms. And to think she was leaving to fuck the dude down the hall…

“I told you I’d be right back,” she said, closing the door with her foot. Y/N dropped the treats on Nikki’s bed, patting the space next to her. “You fucked me to the point of starvation, so I stole some cookies from the front desk, oh and I also have candy bars, chips, and I got two sodas.”

Nikki and Y/N ate for a while in a comfortable silence. He’d met Y/N over a year ago, but he met the beautiful curves of her body three months ago. Nikki didn’t want a relationship and he was upfront about it, and Y/N understood. She wasn’t looking for anything serious either.

“Can I ask you something?” Nikki didn’t mean to let it slip from his mouth, but he had no choice to finish his question when he found Y/N looking at him expectantly. “Where do you go when you leave me? Are you seeing someone else?”

“I’m not even seeing you,” Y/N answered, sipping her soda. “We’re just having sex. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“It is,” Nikki said quickly. “I’m just curious.”

Shrugging, Y/N clutched her soda to her chest. “I go home, Nikki. There’s no one else in my life right now. When I find him, I’ll let you know.”

And Nikki would have to be content with that answer. For now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don't want you to get it on
With nobody else but me”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nikki watched her dance with a man that wasn’t him the whole night. He’d nearly cracked the glass he was holding after watching as the man kissed up her neck. He was feeling possessive, protective, and fuck he tried pushing those feelings away. He’d bought one girl a drink and grinded with another on the dance floor, and still Nikki’s eyes wandered to Y/N.

After downing the last of his Jack Daniels, Nikki marched over to the crowded dance floor and grabbed Y/N’s arm. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like my girl back.”

“Nikki, what the fuck?” Y/N protested. With every curse that fell from her mouth she watched Nikki’s jaw clench. “Nikki, what is up with you?”

“Are you seriously going to dance with that dick knowing full well I’m watching you?” Nikki’s eyes grew dark. “I thought we agreed--.”

“We agreed to fuck,” Y/N said, throwing her arms up. “What is your problem?”

“My problem,” Nikki spat, “Is the fact that that guy wasn’t me. Goddamnit, Y/N, I don’t want you with anyone else.”

It was too much all at once. He didn’t want you, then he wanted you. Nikki couldn’t make up his mind, and it was frustrating you more and more each day when his possessiveness took over. “Nikki, you’re being complicated. I don’t fucking do complicated. Figure out what the hell you want.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“'Cause I don't really want you, girl
But you can't be free
'Cause I'm selfish, I'm obscene”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were hesitant about talking to Nikki, but you had to know where you stood. Months ago you and Nikki agreed to be friends with benefits, both opposed to the idea of a relationship. In reality, you could fall in love with Nikki, but you weren’t ready to be fully committed. And over the past few days, it seemed like Nikki craved commitment.

He answered his hotel door with a bottle of whiskey in one hand. His eyes were drooping and you could smell the alcohol pouring out of his skin.

“What?” Nikki slurred, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “A bit early for your dick appointment, aren’t ya?” Nikki smirked.

Rolling your eyes, you shoved past him and made your way into his room. You figured since he was drinking the other three boys were hiding somewhere in the room, but as you looked around, you realized Nikki had been drinking alone.

“We need to talk,” Sitting down on his sofa, you waited patiently for Nikki to plop down beside you. He sat at the opposite end of the couch, eyes focused on the bottle in his hand. You turned toward him, exasperated. “Nikki, I’m totally fine if you have feelings toward me. I’m flattered, honestly. I think maybe down the line we can try and work things out between us, but for now we should just--.”

“I don’t want you,” Nikki said, taking a swig of the brown liquid. His face was impassive as he drank from the bottle. “I don’t want you, but I’m a selfish prick who won’t let you go either.”

Angrily, you stood up and grabbed the whiskey bottle, throwing it against the ground. Nikki popped up from the couch, eyes blazing. “I have had enough of this back and forth shit. You are fucking with my head and my heart, Nikki Sixx. I am not your fucking toy. I’m a human with real human feelings.”

“And so am I,” Nikki raged, tugging at the ends of his hair. He looked like a madman. “And I hate that I fucking feel something for you. I can’t be that man who holds you in public or wipes your tears away, but fuck the thought of you with someone else drives me crazy, Y/N. I want you, but I don’t want you at all.”

Stepping up to Nikki’s face, you took one last look at the beautiful man in front of you because it would be the last time you ever saw him. “Whatever we have here? Done. I’m done. Fuck you.”

And Nikki didn’t even bother chasing after her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I wanna make up my mind
But I don't know myself”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hadn’t seen her in weeks. Nikki hadn’t seen her face, held her body, or kissed her lips in three weeks. Every thought of her was accompanied by pain, deception, heartbreak, and anger. He needed her back more than ever, but for what? Sexual gratification? Love?

He couldn’t do that to her. He refused to string her along. Y/N deserved more than what Nikki had to offer.

The tour was over and the first thing Nikki did when he got home after throwing his suitcases on his bed was drive to Y/N’s apartment. He didn’t care if it was raining at one in the morning; He had to see her.

Nikki hesitated knocking on the door. Maybe he should have waited until later in the week. Y/N might not even want to see him at all. He wouldn’t blame her.

The door opened, startling Nikki, and his eyes focused on the girl standing in front of him. Even tired, Y/N was so incredibly beautiful. “I thought I said we’re done.”

“When have I ever listened to anyone?” Nikki joked lightly, but Y/N’s face never wavered. “I know it’s late, and it’s raining like a motherfucker out here, but I’ll make this quick. I need you, Y/N. I need you in my life somehow, someway.”

Crossing her arms, Y/N let out an aggravated breath. “You said you didn’t want me.”

“I know,” Nikki sighed. “I know I did. And I’m sorry. I thought I could just be friends with you and we could fool around and have harmless fun, but you got hurt in the end and it’s my fault. I need to make up my mind, but sweetheart, I don’t know if I’m capable of being a man worthy enough to be with you.”

“You haven’t tried,” Y/N said, tugging at the end of her sweatshirt. “I can’t wait around forever for you to figure out what you want. I won’t do it. I’m sorry, Nikki.”

“Baby, wait, please,” Without thinking, Nikki grabbed ahold of Y/N’s hand, pulling her out into the rain.

“Nikki!” She squealed, holding his shoulders. “Are you insane?”

“For you?” Nikki winked. “Absolutely.” And he kissed her with so much passion it was hard for Y/N to not kiss him back. As much as he missed her, Y/N missed him ten times more. It felt normal being in his arms again, like she belonged there.

And maybe she did.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 3

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle.  It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes.  With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays.  Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3  |  Masterlist

—

Malcolm didn’t get a second of sleep that night.  After more than an hour tossing and turning in bed, mind racing, he reluctantly reached for his tablet and glasses, turning on the bedside lamp.

A simple Google search turned up hundreds of thousands of articles on inheritance, but none seemed to offer any solutions to receiving the inheritance without meeting the stipulations of the will.  He was an old man, perhaps he was going senile?  Why would he do this?

He shot off an email to the will executor and solicitor, asking Is it possible he was not in sound mind?  Is there a previous version of the will that doesn’t include this marriage requirement?

It was likely a vain hope, but he had to try.  Resolving to forget about the marriage idea for the moment, he turned his attention to finding a job posting board.  After a few false starts he tried charity administrator openings London, and with a sigh, began reading through the first posting.

No matter what happens, this is going to suck.  Thanks a lot, Uncle Wally.

-

Friday

By the time his alarm went off he was dressed and ready to go, texting Graham to cancel his morning pickup and deciding to take the Underground instead.  Pausing just outside the gate and staring up at the townhouse, he realized with a jolt, Everything I have is tied up in the Estate.  If I lose this inheritance, I lose everything.

At twenty-seven he’d fled Glasgow before the ink on his divorce papers was dry, bringing Clara to London for a fresh start.  His uncle had been kind enough to give him a job working for The Thistle Foundation in the mailroom, and he spent most of the next decade working his way up and earning his keep until Wallace decided to retire, leaving Malcolm in charge.  The townhouse went with the Estate, having been owned by the family since shortly after it was built, and he didn’t so much draw a salary from the Foundation as receive a stipend from his uncle.

I’m fifty years old and have almost nothing to my name.

It had always been a given that he would inherit; Wallace had never had children, his only sibling Malcolm’s father, and Malcolm was in effect an only child, his brother having died decades ago.  He’d never had to worry about assets, had few personal expenses.  To lose the Estate would cost him everything.

Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.

He was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed his stop, barely making it through the doors onto the platform before they closed.  Coming up to street-level he looked around, catching sight of the little shop Rose usually got their morning coffees from, only recognizing it by the familiar logo.

Stepping inside, it wasn’t until he was facing the cashier he realized he had no idea what Rose usually ordered.  “Erm, hi.  I don’t do this, my assistant is usually in here – pretty, blonde, big smile, name of Rose?  D’you-”

“Oh, you must be Malcolm!” the girl, Amy, gushed, eyes lighting up.  “Of course we know Rose, she’s in here everyday!  Oi, Mel, Rose’s regular order, stat!”  She turned back to him, finding him blinking at her in surprise.  “Always nice to meet a fellow Scot.  Rose is great, isn’t she?”

“The absolute best,” he agreed proudly, unsurprised but touched by the impression she obviously left everywhere she went.  That’s my gi- that’s Rose.  “I’d be hopelessly lost without her.”

“Too right.  Anyway, here we are, that’s ten quid,” she passed over two large takeaway cups of coffee and a pastry bag.

Right.  Feeling like a moron, entirely out of sorts after first the previous day’s bombshell and then no sleep, he dug out a twenty-pound note and thrust it across the space.  “Keep the change.  Thanks.”

Picking up the order he made his way to the door, more focused on the drinks than where he was walking, elbowing open the door and slamming right into someone entering.  “Shit!”  He barely managed to keep hold of everything, coffee sloshing dangerously but only spilling a little, and he looked up to give the person a piece of his mind only to stop dead in surprise.  “Oh, fuck me.”

Rose arched one eyebrow in response, a smile flickering over her lips.  “I’d rather not get banned from here, if it’s all the same to you, ta.” She plucked one of the cups from his hand, lifting it to her nose before taking a large gulp.  “What’re you doing here?”

Stepping out onto the sidewalk they started down the street towards their building, falling naturally into sync.

“I couldn’t sleep, thought I’d come in early.  I saw the place, and…” he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder.  “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she echoed, rolling her eyes.  “Clara stopped by, talked my ear off until half two.  Decided to just get a move on.”

The silence was awkward, which only served to annoy him; they had always had a good rapport, after the first six or so months once she had settled into her role.  Now, eight years later he considered their partnership to be a well-oiled machine, two halves of a whole despite the on-paper power imbalance.

He held the door for her as they entered their building, nodding to the security guards as they buzzed through.  Rose hit the button on the lift for their floor, and they rode up alone.

Malcolm followed her to her desk, watching as she flicked on the lights and shrugged off her coat, vaguely curious to her routine; she typically arrived only a few minutes before him- long enough to be settled and ready to face the day, but recent enough that his coffee was always hot and fresh.

“Oh!” she yelped, turning around to see him leaning on the corner of her desk, watching her.  “D’you need something?  My computer’s still booting up.”

The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, before he sighed, shoulders slumping.  “No, I’m good.  Just- oh, you know what you’re doing.  I’ll be in my office.”  Extracting his muffin from the pastry bag he slunk into his office, falling into his desk chair and turning to gaze listlessly out the window.

What am I supposed to do?

-

It was, quite frankly, the worst day of Rose’s professional career.  Things got done, most of her duties able to be completed on autopilot after so long, but she could muster no spark to put into any of it.  No banter. None of her signature Rose Tyler charm.

Her computer dinged and she glanced up from where she was poking at her salad halfheartedly to groan.  “Oh, you’ve got to be motherfucking shitting me.”

“Rose Tyler!”  Malcolm’s delighted voice made her jump and yelp, “I’m so proud of you.  That was almost a proper swear.”

“Missy’s on her way up,” she didn’t even look at him, clicking on the IM box from Mickey, the building’s security guard and one of her oldest friends.  It was just an emoji, two wide eyes, but it was their code.  “What do you want me to do?”

He sighed heavily.  “Fine, I’ll see her.  I swear, she must have my office bugged or something.”

The lift dinged, and she raised her eyes to glance at him.  He looks like he’s having as rough a day as I am.  He’d said he hadn’t slept; had it been for the same reason she hadn’t?  No, he was probably thinking about the gala.  Of course it was about that, dingbat.  “I’ll send her in.”

“Thanks.”

He disappeared back into his office as Missy walked in, and Rose had to bite her lip hard to keep from laughing or rolling her eyes.  What did he ever see in her?  Missy Tucker was without comparison the most extravagant, eccentric person she’d ever met, and that included all of her mother’s rich society ‘friends’.

“Good afternoon, welcome to The Thistle Foundation, do you have an appointment?” Rose asked sweetly, as the older woman approached her desk.

“I’d like to see my husband, please.”  Missy’s smile was just as fake-sweet as Rose’s, as they went through the whole song-and-dance.  One of the very first things Rose had been taught on her first day, by both Malcolm and her predecessor Jo, was to stall Missy as long as possible, making enough trouble that she didn’t find it worth it to visit the office.

This is your best friend’s mother, this is your best friend’s mother, this is your best friend’s mother, Rose lectured herself, pretending to stare intently at her screen for a moment.  “I can give you a few minutes, but he has a call at one that he can’t miss.”

“Thank you.”  And she swept past Rose into Malcolm’s office.

Once the door shut behind her, Rose let loose an undignified snort.  Taking a subtle picture with her mobile, she texted it to Clara with the caption Your mum’s here.

Missy Tucker was the subject of ongoing amusement amongst the three; every time she appeared after months of no contact she had an entirely different style, often with a slight tweak to her features suggesting she was a fan of cosmetic surgery.  Today her chosen look was that of evil Mary Poppins, complete with a plum-colored ankle-length skirt and matching dress coat, a white dress shirt buttoned to the neck with an elaborate bow, black heeled boots, a delicate hat, and an umbrella Rose would swear was an actual prop from the movie.

She looked ridiculous, and like she would be right at home as the evil orphanage matron in a Victorian version of Annie!

Are you fucking kidding me? Clara pinged back almost immediately.  I love my Dad, but God I wish I was adopted.  Please tell me I didn’t inherit her fashion sense!

Snickering, Rose shook her head and returned to her work polishing up her resume.  At precisely one o’clock she buzzed in on the intercom, using what Clara called her flight attendant voice.  “Malcolm, I have that potential donor on line two.”

“Thank you, Miss Tyler.”

A moment later the door opened and Missy stalked out, a murderous expression on her face.  “I’ll talk to you soon,” she threatened her ex over her shoulder, ignoring Rose as she stormed towards the lift.

Rose waited until the lift doors closed before rising and entering Malcolm’s office.  “So?”

He was lying on his couch with his head back against the cushions, a crystal cut glass of scotch hanging loosely from his hand.  “She wants to reconcile, says she’s changed, wants to go back to what we once were.”

“What did you say?”  She settled gingerly on the end of the glass coffee table by his head, watching as he opened tired eyes to stare at her.

“That who we were went up in a flaming pile of shit twenty-three years ago when I caught her high in bed with the babysitter on our fifth wedding anniversary.  That who we were was a childhood friendship that went too far.  That who we were died many, many years ago.”

He looked so sad, Rose’s heart went out to him.

“It’s far, far too late now.  A part of me will always miss that, always wonder, but…  It’s ancient history.  Never mind that this is all because of Wallace’s death and the inheritance.  She didn’t say it, but I know her.  Anything that even sniffs of money or power and she’s first in line, plotting how to get it.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose offered, giving him a kind smile.  “You deserve better than her.”

Sighing, he struggled upright, turning to plant his feet on the ground and set the untouched glass of scotch on the coffee table next to her.  “Thanks.”

Their eyes met, and for once, she didn’t blush and look away.  Clara’s question from the previous night circled back through her mind, and she let herself actually see him.  Ice blue eyes capable of such a coldness shined back, warm and open, something only a privileged few were allowed to see.  His strong features could be severe, Clara had once called them attack eyebrows, but when he smiled… his entire face would light up, almost like he was a different person.

She'd always found him attractive, may have had the occasional fantasy involving them, a bottle of wine, and a hot tub, but love?

Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she automatically licked her own.  She would be lying if she said she’d never wondered – didn’t everyone, at some point?  He drew closer, and she realized that she was leaning in; they were both leaning in.  Is this really happening?

Rose’s eyes fluttered closed, her heart pounding, and she could feel his breath against her lips when-

“Dad?”

[sick-raven]

Ghosts of the Past - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 + warnings

AO3

Previous chapter

Chapter 6

Banshee had enough of everyone’s shit. It was a week since the wild night. She’s seen Jonathan two times since. They talked about what happened thoroughly. They were adults and as adults they faced the new relationship. First time they met in his office for an appointment. So, they talked hard on the table. The other day he visited her in the shop. So, they also talked through and through in the backroom.

Always so weird. He didn’t want her to touch him and he never took any piece of clothing off. He had issues.

And then there were these motherfuckers. It was clear the hunt wasn’t over, but now they came hard as if the bounty doubled. She fended of three just this week.

“Tell me who sent you,” she demanded dangling a man of the roof. She held him by his shirt over the edge. One wrong move and they will both fly down and pancake on the pavement.

He whimpered but didn’t say anything.

“Talk, or you are flying off here!”

“I don’t know! They never told us who they are!”

“Bye then.”

“No, please!!”

“Banshee, stop.”

And now this jerk tried to ruin her day too! Why did she ever thought she liked Gotham? This was a hellhole that painted a target on her back and sent the Bat to stop her from scratching it off.

“This is self-defence,” she said and looked at Batman. “You can’t blame me for that.”

“Let him go.”

“Not until I know who made bounty on me!”

“I don’t know, please, it’s online!” cried the man. His face was red and wet. Only thing missing was him calling for his mommy.

“Where?”

“The Gotham bounty.”

“Are you serious? You have a page for that?” Banshee turned to Batman.

“Not that I know of,” he said.

“Now you do,” she snapped. “One has to be a hacker in this fucking town.” She tucked the man in and let him go. He stumbled on his legs and ran as fast as he could. Two shadow figures let him pass through them and disappeared in puff of smoke.

Oh, yeah, the shadow figures were prominent now. She felt them breathing on her neck. That also pissed her off.

“Leave me alone. I didn’t kill anyone,” she hushed the Bat.

“I know. I wanted to talk to you about your contact with Jonathan Crane.”

“You are a voyeur now, great.”

“He’s a dangerous man, Miranda. You shouldn’t get close to him.”

“So am I. Next?”

“I’ve seen this before. I don’t want you to fall in the trap of wanting to change him.”

“Oh, for fucks sake!” she shouted throwing her arms in the air. Metropolis sounded great. Calm city, no targets, no Batshrinks to assume what she thinks or does. No crazy guys and no… who is she kidding, the shadows will follow. “I am not stupid, B. He is not fixable. Just like me. Or you. None of us gets better, that’s why we do what we do!”

He went silent and changed the subject. “About the ritual…”

“It went nowhere.”

“I think it cleared many things.”

“Magic doesn’t exist. I am just schizo or something.”

“Magic is real, Miranda. In this world it shouldn’t surprise you.”

“Are you finished? I have forums to find.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“Everyone tries to help, and nobody asks if I want it. I don’t. Get off my back.”

She stomped away like a small angry child. She wanted to blame her mood on a moon, or the period, or the fact she didn’t sleep two nights. She couldn’t. She was angry at her incompetence to find the fucker trying to kill her.

And maybe also Jonathan.

Fuck it all.

She just wanted to sleep.

***

That’s how Jonathan found her. Bend over her laptop, hell in her eyes, typing furiously a step away from punching the keyboard.

“Is this how you scare off customers?” he asked.

She nearly killed him with her stare. “Get out. Now.”

“That’s no way to greet guests.”

“I sweat to god, Jonathan, leave now. I have no control,” she snapped at him.

“Yes, I noticed. I will leave the talk for later.”

She turned her attention back to the laptop, hitting enter so hard it was a miracle it didn’t jump out.

“What are you searching?”

“Will you just shut up?”

Jonathan was not phased. He came here with semi-good intentions. Now she ruined it. She was confrontational before, but this was another level. He didn’t know what stressed her that much, but he hated this. Raw anger was disgusting and made his skin crawl. He despised the lack of self-control. Grandma used to be angry a lot, but never for the reason she claimed. And it was Jonathan who got hit by the fury.

That’s why he didn’t bother listening to Miranda. Her fury hurt, but not as deep as grandma’s.

He walked around the counter and looked over her shoulder. She stiffened. Jonathan would take a punch if necessary.

“What do you need bounty for?”

“None of your business.”

“This is not how you look for it,” he commented. “Let me.”

She watched his fingers run on the keyboard. He knew the site very well. He got paid many times through this and he also found many henchmen there. People in Gotham were willing to take money for anything.

“What are you looking for?”

She stared at him enraged.

“I am trying to help, Miranda.”

She scoffed and folded her arms on her chest.

“I wanna know who’s trying to kill me.”

So that’s what’s been eating her out. For a minute he thought he had something to do with this. Shame, he didn’t left much impact on her. “Let me see.”

He ran through the website. “You cannot find names here, just information. But I know a guy who knows a gal… you know how it is. Hm, the bounty on you is solid. I would be interested if I didn’t know better.”

“Do you ever get tired of listening to yourself?”

“Sometimes. I will get the name for you.”

“I can do it myself.”

“I don’t doubt that.” He closed the laptop and turned to her. “You need sleep.”

“I am…”

“Doctor’s order.”

“That bad, huh?”

Yeah, she really looked exhausted. Black circles under her eyes and tremble in one hand. She broke herself to avoid breaking herself. He wondered whether the bounty was only thing that bothered her, but he didn’t ask. She will spill the beans eventually, she had talent for going straight to the point.

“Yes,” he answered.

“I cannot sleep, they…”

“Nobody will hurt you, I’ll take care of it.”

“Unless you do it.”

He sighed. He was a fiend. Fucked up in the head. But he wasn’t this. Using visible weakness was tempting but breaking them strong had more appeal. He wanted to help. He liked her fighting spirit, not this.

“You don’t need to trust me. But you do need sleep.”

Miranda shook uncomfortably and surrendered. “Fine. I will go home and have a rest. Your out of character care convinced me.”

“Let me take you there.”

She looked at him resignation in her eyes. “You mean it?”

“Yes.”

That’s how he ended up sitting on her couch, reading her disturbing collection of slushy romance and watching her over as she collapsed on her bed with silent ding.

***

This was embarrassing. Miranda got up early in the morning feeling much better just to find Jonathan sleeping in her living room. Good way to get them both killed, but also very awkward because she didn’t really believe he will stay there.

He looked almost innocent.

Why is everything in her life an almost?

Silently she moved to the kitchen to prepare quick breakfast for both. She tried to be as silent as possible but when she entered living room Jonathan was already up. Miranda didn’t know what to say so she just put the plate down.

“Do you feel better?” he asked after a minute has passed without a word.

“Yes,” she warmed her hands on a cup of tea. “Thank you, Jonathan. I snapped.”

“Do you do that often?”

“Yeah, I do. Some small shit goes wrong, I get angry and I start to make mistakes. That’s why I move places so often.”

He nodded. “Have you taken the pills I gave you?”

“No.” He left that without comment, but Miranda felt need to defend her decision. Did it really matter what he thinks? “I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t trust you either,” he agreed, “and we shouldn’t.”

This mutual agreement calmed her a little. They understood each other. “I owe you one.”

“You shouldn’t say that, or I will take you seriously.”

“You are right. I will owe you one if you get me the name.”

Jonathan smiled amused. “Miss Bradbury, we just talked about trust.”

“Business works differently.”

“You do not have sex with your business partners.”

“Says who?” she laughed, and he raised his eyebrows. “I’m just kidding. Maybe.”

“Anyways,” he continued with coldness in his voice – just a bit, she would almost miss it. “I will see what I can do. You take care of yourself, Miranda. And take your meds.”

“Sure, doc.”

***

Terry Borrows entered their shitty apartment with even shittier mood. Another day, another failed job hunt.

“I’m sorry, your crime record speaks against you.”

“Here you write you can’t stand loud noises. This work position is not for you.”

“Sorry, mate, not enough experience.”

“Are you Mexican?”

“We don’t hire killers.”

Terry collapsed in the armchair and sighed in frustration. You witness one fucking murder and you are fucked! You have to lower yourself to work for crime lords. Terry didn’t want to. They wanted some normal work without heavy machinery.

But no, the police still suspected them, so now they were unemployed, in debt and with eviction note on the table.

“Fuck this,” Terry said to the room. “Fuck it all!”

“You won’t suffer for long,” said a voice.

Terry jumped on their feet and turned around. Nobody was there. What? They searched the room with their eyes. Empty.

“Who said that?!”

Feeling of being watched crawled on their back. The room was lit and nobody else was there. Terry shook scared. They had to be hearing things. Nothing happened. Everything is fine.

They finally calmed down a bit although the tight chest, bound by nervousness, stayed. They’ll make coffee, and all will be fine.

Ding.

Terry froze.

Knife appeared on their neck and Terry screamed. Hand held their mouth.

“You do not fuck with death ghost, haven’t you heard, Terry?” whispered Banshee behind them. Terry whimpered ready for a pain and the end. “When you hear her come, you die.”

Tears ran on their face.

“I am a curious ghost, you know? I will let you talk. But you scream once and you die, Terry, understand?”

They nodded carefully not to cut their neck. Tight grip disappeared and a shove sent them on the ground. Terry turned. Over them stood a woman with scarf. The same one they’ve seen weeks back.

“Please, I…”

“Terry Borrows,” she said their name as if she was tasting it. “Who are you? You are not the League, or you’d find me right away. I don’t know you. Why do you want me dead?”

Terry felt their body tremble to the bone, but they felt like they are not there. The body wasn’t theirs. They focused only on her. She found them. She will kill them. Like she did to that guy before. No mercy. Their damn shitty life will be over.

“Speak!” she commanded.

Terry yelped and then unsure of what to say, tears started to pour from their eyes. The woman stood there, waiting, her stare ready to give them heart attack. Terry opened mouth several times, but shock wouldn’t let them speak so they looked like a fish out of water gasping for air.

Banshee put the knife to other hand and took out a gun.

“Please!” Terry finally managed. “I… I…” They couldn’t say it. She will kill them. “You…”

“Yes?”

“You ruined my life. Everyone… Everyone think I killed that guy! I got fired! The bill are crazy!”

“So you have money to pay for bounty and not for life, hm?”

Terry fell silent. How could they explain they got drunk and in revenge fit put out the bounty? And when they sobered up, they decided to leave it there and decided to run away or die trying without paying it?

“Sob story,” commented Banshee. “Your life turned bad, so you want to blame someone. I don’t do those. You fucked with wrong person.”

Terry closed their eyes.

“Oh no, not so easy. You take down the bounty first.”

“I can’t…”

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t do it from here. I can’t…”

Banshee frowned. Then she hid her gun and knife.

“You might have bought a day. Pull down the bounty. Don’t try to run. I will find you. I will…” just for a second she turned her gaze to corner and shook her head. “I will hunt you down. You better do what I say, and I might feel generous.”

Terry nodded fast.

“I will find you later.”

Terry sobbed a bit and their vision blurred. When they cleared the tears from their eyes, Banshee was gone.

***

Visiting Jonathan now was a lottery. Before she didn’t know what to expect but the options were limited. Now they grew and Miranda never knew what to prepare for. But what he started today, she wouldn’t foretold at all.

“We need to talk.”

She nearly choked on her drink. Talk? Now? Really? She took him for the type that will do things and when they stop being to his liking, he will just stop. No need to talk there.

“About what?” she cleared her throat.

“There are more things. Let me start with the simplest one. Did you find them?”

“Terry? Yes,” she nodded. “I have yet to kill them, but the bounty is off. For now.”

“I took you for hit first, ask question later kind of woman.”

“It depends. I needed to cancel the bounty. Terry doesn’t really bother me. Plus, I am sucker for helping poor. Kill, earn money, donate to charity sort of thing. Terry is in bad place. I might reconsider. I will see.”

“Interesting.”

“You are starting to scare me now with these comments.”

“Nervous, are you?”

“I didn’t expect any serious talks. What’s next?”

Jonathan smiled a little. “What are we doing?”

“You tell me. I don’t mind continuing with this. But I feel there is more in the air. I just don’t know what.”

“Can you even feel attachment, Miranda? Affection?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

“I try not to.”

The words were said. They left her a lot to think about. Could she like him? Could she replace the common feeling she lacked with something? Loyalty maybe? Damn him and his stupid mind games. She liked him more when he fucked her in the backroom. No questions, no talks.

“Let’s not push anything, Jonathan. It’s not worth it.”

“I agree.”

Relief. Yes, it’s better not to overthink. Just let it flow, it will sort itself out eventually.

“Last thing.” He didn’t even stop to think. “You should take the pills.”

Miranda never opened the bottle. Reason stopped her. Possible consequences too. Jonathan could have lied. He wouldn’t poison her, just mess her up. Miranda, you wanted that, remember? But right now, that was low on her list. Shadows occupied the first five positions and she worried drugs would only worsen them.

“I don’t know what they will do,” she avoided saying the truth.

“I told you. They can awake your emotions.” He poured another drink just to put his hands to work. “Don’t you want that?”

Again, that weird idea she had – he also avoided something. Didn’t they just agree to let it flow? Damn him. “Maybe. But are you telling the truth? Remember the trust?”

“I do. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I have a suggestion.”

“Your suggestions always end up either in a fight or sex.”

“I would like to avoid both tonight.”

“Now I am curious,” she laughed.

“I’ll take it first.”

She fell silent. That was… unexpected. She never heard of psychiatrist just suggesting that. Then again, she never fucked her shrinks. This was also the first time she has became a pet project. Somehow she felt she needs to accept just to make him happy. And to bring herself to trust him. Enforce the bound.

She would rather go for that fuck now.

Aaaagh, think, Miranda! Is this a game again? What will be the consequences? Can you even afford consequences when the ghosts are following?

“Are you okay taking your own medicine?” she asked.

“I test it on myself sometimes when I am sure there are no side effects. If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have suggested it. I want you to trust the meds. Not just my word.”

“Okay. I think I would like that.”

“I just have to warn you. I talk way too much when drugged,” he joked.

“All you say will be used against you hundred percent. Just so you know the risk.”

“It’s worth it.”

“Enough of this sentiment,” she grinned with arms folded. It made her think, she hated that. She felt she could get attached, if the ghosts just left her alone. “I still have them, if you want to do it now.”

“Are you just carrying them around?”

“Have you never heard of woman’s purse?”

“And its never-ending space?”

“Yes!”

Jonathan laughed a little. “Yes, I am willing.”

Miranda was still unsure, but she fetched the medication. Questions ran through her head. Manipulation was one of them. Be wary of the good doctor. The good doctor is a freak. Shadows hoovered at the back of the room and silently agreed.

She needs them gone!

Jonathan accepted the bottle and just took one pill. So simple. Hard evidence that he didn’t give her anything bad. He handed her the bottle back.

“Did you test this one before?” Miranda asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you keep composure?”

“Partially. It doesn’t change your thinking, it just mixes your emotions. Often positively but not always.”

“Okay.”

They didn’t talk for a while. Miranda was waiting for anything to happen. Jonathan just rested in his chair. At one point he frowned and clenched his fists, but that was it.

“You make it look easy,” said Miranda.

“It’s just uncomfortable since you are watching.”

“I noticed. You don’t like people, do you?”

“Are you using the talking against me, Miranda?”

“Yes,” she grinned. “Spill the beans, Jonathan.”

He scoffed. “No, I don’t like people. They always turn on you, always hate you. There is no good. All is just façade helping them to get something from you.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“I never met anyone who wouldn’t use me. Did you?”

“I am a tool.”

“See,” he said victoriously.

“Is that…” she waved her hand a bit. Jonathan gave her weird stare, but the ghost disappeared. “Why you don’t like being touched?”

Jonathan rested his head on his hand. “No, you misunderstood. I like getting touched just like any other man.”

“So, what’s the deal?”

He really tried to hold himself together but little tick here and there and foot tapping gave away his rising emotions. Annoyance? Excitement? She couldn’t tell.

“My grandma was a fanatic. Religious zealot. She…” he reached for a glass and drank away the sore throat. “When she didn’t like something, she decided to shun the devil away.”

Jonathan fell silent, nervous ticks more often. He avoided eye contact. That was a first. He always held it over her like a weapon and now he was looking anywhere but at her.

“She’d close me in the old church. And the crows there would attack me. She trained them like dogs. Pecked meat of the body.”

Now it was her who shivered.

“So,” she said, “lanky and scarred.”

He raised his eyes with spark of anger.

“That’s what you don’t like. Being seen,” she concluded. “I just thought you were kinky. You are not really into unconscious ladies.”

“No.”

“You could just turn off the light.”

“The feel is still there. You can recognize the scars by touching them.”

Miranda scratched her head awkwardly. “You go to great lengths just to hide that. Just… it’s all fucked up, sorry.”

He shrugged but looked out of windows. Miranda felt like shit. She opened the can of worms and now they were crawling everywhere, and she tried to pick them one by one. Say something, girl. Can’t you see this is your only chance to pry?

“Are you okay, Jonathan?”

“No,” he answered.

“I will leave you alone.”

She was ready to leave. “No, please, stay,” he stopped her and reached his hand to her. She hesitated for a second. They cannot be saved. They cannot be changed. Nothing in this world will fix whatever they became and why they became it didn’t matter.

She just sat next to him, held his hand and let him suffer in silence

Next chapter

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

Skincare/ makeup culture ☕️

oooh. i’ll divide this post into two parts: makeup culture and skincare culture.

(1.) makeup culture.

i think everyone knows that I’ve never liked makeup, mostly because I had relatively bad cystic acne throughout high school, that reacted badly to all of the makeup that my sister used (but most particularly her l’oreal foundation). I think makeup culture is particularly harmful to young girls, like the makeup youtube channels that are run by the parents I suppose of 8 year olds, where the 8yo is the actual youtuber.

like don’t get me wrong, i know young girls like playing with makeup (I actually did when I was that age, funnily enough)….. but the fact that professional or just plain fucking ridiculously expensive makeup palettes are now being marketed to girls in bloody primary/grade/elementary school, is just fucking wrong. and yeah there’s the post on here about how some younger girls are finding themselves ugly when they don’t wear properly applied makeup or something like that. and that breaks my heart. why the fuck should a young girl be made to feel ugly if she can’t blend like josiemaycosmetics (I made that up btw idk any makeup channels besides Jeffree star, James Charles and that tatti woman tbh) and can’t afford the bullshit Too Faced $98 powered foundation, $65 Sunday Riley blush (I roughly remember the price of this particular blush bc my sister bought it for me for my 20th birthday so that I could according to her “look good for uni” but I never actually used it lmao… and it’s no longer sold here in australia) and Kylie Jenner’s overpriced lip kits and idk Smashbox “photo finish” primer priced between $AU23-$AU55????

like I had this bad enough in fucking HIGH SCHOOL with my sister telling me that I’d “never get a boyfriend” or “never get a date for the formal/junior prom” if I didn’t spend hundreds of $$$$ for a good face of makeup and didn’t spend hours and hours learning how to do my own makeup. or how last year for my uni grad, she made out that I’d ruin my own uni grad if we didn’t spend $250 on the makeup artist we got for me….. where I unfortunately found out that my skin reacts to MAC products 😭😨 bc the MUA used MAC concealer and foundation. my sister also expected me to remember the setting spray the woman used for my makeup, when I was there from like 4:30am till like 6:45am and i was barely fucking awake. the setting spray probably could’ve easily cost over $100. let’s be real here. like why am I expected to remember shit that early in the morning???

one of my least favourite things with makeup culture is that you’re not meant to fuck it up in any way, shape or form. like when my sister did my makeup for my two high school formals/proms (year 10 & year 12) she constantly told me not to scratch my face while she was doing it (but it made me itchy, hooray for L’Oréal being shit lmao)…. not to fuck it up while I ate at those events….. and she didn’t let me eat before my uni grad last year bc “you’d definitely fuck up your makeup. don’t you dare scratch your face at all today!” like for someone who has hypersensitive/highly reactive skin that she has to scratch when it’s itchy….. and also loves fucking stuffing her face with food….. expecting me to never touch/scratch my face and to practically starve myself to preserve the integrity of my makeup (that i ended up paying for some in the end anyway) for an event is fucking stupid and over-restrictive.

like i always hated the way that the kardashians ate on KUWTK bc it looked so fucking mechanical and whatever bc they had to obvs preserve their makeup while shooting and also look nice for the camera. like why the fuck am I expected to eat ~like that~ when I have a faceload of MU on???? FUCK OFF. I will scratch it off. I will smear the food all over my face (ok not really) and eat however I motherfucking want, thank you very fucking much. like for my uni grad last year I was up from 4am and my grad ended at like 12:30pm….. so I didn’t have food til about 12:35 when I left the hall. and the whole time while I was eating my sister kept reminding me to not fuck up my makeup that we’d spent $250 on. JUST LET ME FUCKING EAT WOMAN, I SWEAR TO FUCK. lmao.

the last thing I hate the most about makeup culture is that like….. I absolutely hate makeup like I said above….. but once I have it on I feel pretty and cry a bit bc I’ll just never learn to do it myself…. mostly bc I couldn’t be bothered…. bc I save hundreds, if not thousands of $$$$ from not buying all the bullshit essential items you need just for a ~basic no makeup, makeup look~, and bc my hands have never been steady enough to use some of the things, like false eyelashes and eyelash curlers or liquid eyeliner/normal eyeliner….. 

but yeah. I just hate that it makes me feel pretty???? but I also feel good and more natural without it???? and I’ll never like my sister’s comment that: “you’re the prettier one out of the two of us…. but if only you hurried up and learnt to do your makeup, you’d be even prettier” or some dumb semi-condescending shit comment she’s said to me like that before. like why is the only way a woman can be pretty (other than some clothes that make her feel good) by smearing 100s/1000s of dollars worth of makeup on???? like why the fuck am I expected to spend all that money when a good bulk of men will never bother with the male makeup trend anyway???? like why am I expected to act differently when I basically just have grown up face-paint on lmao???? I’ve never felt natural in makeup, I’ve always felt awkward and like…. not sound like an cringey edgelord emo kid…. but i never felt ~real~ wearing makeup lmao. just yeah.

but yeah I also understand makeup is an art and I appreciate that. makeup culture is so fucked on all sides for women.

(2.) skincare culture:

now skincare culture is different for me. considering that, like I said before, I had relatively bad cystic acne…. and I’ve since also developed eczema during the winter months….. so I’ve had to develop a good skincare routine over the years to keep my skin under control. but again, there are parts that I don’t like about skincare culture…. like women are typically meant to spend, again, hundreds and if not thousands of dollars on super expensive skin creams (some of which I’ve tried) to fix their fine lines, their laugh lines, their crows feet, their blemishes, their birth marks and cellulite…… the list truly goes on and on….. and on top of that (well this hellsite which isn’t entirely accurate) I’m, or we as women, are expected to teach all of that to men in their 20s???? like fuck off. why and how the fuck didn’t they get the fucking memo to look after their own goddamned skin???? like my 20s are already tiring enough, and now I gotta pass on important skincare advice to men, who could easily fucking find it themselves online???? lord help their asses lmao.

but other than the men bit…. yeah skincare culture is just as bad as makeup culture. like when Cosmo mag was still running in australia, more than half of the shit the women at Cosmo were advertising as part of their skincare routines were literally $300 night treatment creams or moisturisers; $150 facial cleansers; or $500 skin peels, or $600 appointments at dermatologists and skin therapies like electrolysis that I’ll probs never be able to afford. like one of the luxury brands that I LOVE (💖) is Mario badescu bc the two pimple treatments that i sometimes I use from them (the drying lotion and the anti-acne serum) are the ONLY two acne treatments that have NEVER made my face turn red and my skin peel off (besides a really good neutrogena one that Neutrogena discontinued 😭). every other chemist bought pimple treatment cream makes my skin peel off/itchy/turn red. but sadly the two Mario badescu treatments are priced over $50 if bought together (ones now $31 (formerly $28, this one’s great bc it dries clear), the other is like $26, this one dries pink). so the chemist bought ones like the ones by Clearasil or OXY10 are my saviours at $11.99-$12.99, even though they dry out my skin to buggery and leave big white marks on my face bc they both dry white lmao. but I’ve gotta suffer that for the price of beauty lmao.

also there’s expensive face washes (or skin care program packs etc) from Paula’s choice that I love.... but again they were like $35 for a 400ml bottle and $25 for a fucking 150ml or 250ml bottle. now the one i like is $20 for 177ml, which is a rip off. some of the other luxury things that I’ve tried (via free samples) that don’t work, like Kate Somerville (priced at like $65 and over), Philosophy and god knows what else that i’ve bought from Mecca Cosmetica, which is the Aussie version of Sephora in the past. and yes, for acne treatments, i���ve used pro-activ before. it was ok… but i never used it in high school, after the awful time we had trying to cancel our subscription to it back in the day for my sister lol.

also can we talk about the ultrasonic face brush systems that are still raging strongly??? like they’re also super rip offs, especially with buying replacement heads for $35 a pop. like I’ve had a Clarisonic for years (that I’ve stopped using, admittedly)…. the model was roughly $250 when I got it for my like 19th birthday. now they’re even more expensive at like $315 for the latest “clarisonic mia fit cleansing system” which is linked on the $315. or now there’s the foreo that costs anywhere between $75 (the cheapest model) to fucking almost $400… ie $395. the replacement heads for the clarisonic and i suppose replacement like pads or something for the foreo are meant to be replaced every three months “for optimum cleansing” or whatever. like $35 every three months is a lot to maintain after a while. also using the clarisonic added like 10 extra minutes to my showers/general skincare routine bc you’re meant to use it for five mins or whatever and then spend another 5mins washing it out to make sure that it doesn’t collect mould and buildup too much soap residue. it was just a lot of effort to use, even if it did make me feel like i had a better and deeper face washing routine.

and yes, i know there’s Lush. both my sister and i (but more my sister) were obsessed with Lush back in high school, after one of our sydney cousins introduced it to us. but Lush’s skincare stuff for pimples just never worked for us. it made me breakout more, actually. but their old apple pie and choc-orange lip balms were the BOMB. it’s a pity that they no longer make them tbh. their jelly soaps were fun to use and smelt nice too. i can’t remember much else about lush tbh lmao.

for face masks, i’ve found that store/chemist bought formula 10.0.06 or whatever works the best for my skin. but the push, especially again in cosmo and other places, to buy more expensive face-masks and like designer FMs that you should really ask a professional to use first imo, is fucking harmful, especially when you’ve got ones that take off the whole top layer of skin from your face (like the famous and the overly popular charcoal face peel masks), or so i’ve read. like it’s yikes out there. please be safe with these masks, ya’ll. and the same goes for making your own organic face masks, considering that i’ve seen posts on here about using lemon juice which is bad for your skin??? idk anyway. i also hate how with the face masks i buy, there’s about 6 different “skin-illuminating”/“skin brightening”/”skin detoxing” etc masks, that all essentially do the same fucking thing. just keep it at one and fucking go; for gods fucking sake lmao.

but yeah, skincare culture does suck just as much as makeup culture, considering that is heavily focused on women’s self-esteem and wallets…. and barely ever focuses on men. like it’s a double-edged sword tbh.

also as side notes: why the actual fuck are makeup companies still giving their makeup shades or makeup lines sexual names???? like i just found a fucking blush shade by NARS, in my research for this post, called “Orgasm”???? like what the FUCK is wrong with ya’ll??? like y’all actually have the fucking AUDACITY to really make 8 year olds say that in their makeup tutorial videos as well??? “our best selling orgasm collection” sweet lord. that sounds bad. y’all need to sort your shit out, and so do the people who name nail polish shades.. 

the other worrying general beauty trends that i keep getting on my facebook newsfeed are the teeth whitening systems like hismile and at home laser treatment machines… and then also the charcoal toothpastes to whiten your teeth. oh and also the facial skin “vacuums”, that suck out dirt/oil and your blackheads/pimples etc from your pores. stay safe out there everyone, and do your bloody research. don’t believe the reviews and the hype.

also finally: take your skin type and skin condition/(s) into account if you want to use any of the things that I’ve mentioned that I use/have used on this post. or that I’ve just generally mentioned, like the Clarisonic and the foreo. because what works for me, might not work for you. I’m not a skincare expert or dermatologist. check with your doctor or a skincare professional or whatever before you start using some of these things, even if you might think that it’s stupid & pointless to do so.

[finderskeepersff]

49.

Drinking from the Ciroc bottle as I walked over to the door, unlocking the door and walking off “Cass!!” Myles shouted behind me as I walked back into my apartment “you’re happy” placing the Ciroc bottle on the kitchen counter “well I am when I see you” dapping Myles “wish I could say the same” Myles slapped my arm “you gone fat” kissing my teeth “I can’t win, either I’m skinny or fat. The hell” dapping Kyle “ignore him, you ain’t fat. You looking well. You been back what? Two weeks now?” nodding my head “yeah about that, it’s been a while” leaning on the counter watching them sit down on the couch “you still in this place huh? Sofia still don’t want you in the home?” I just smiled “what can I say, it’s not that bad is it? It’s a good crib, I get my shit done. I mean think about it, we ain’t seen each other because I make dealings here quickly. But how y’all been? Enjoying the time off, I ain’t need y’all at all. I am growing” I grinned “growing up Cassius, that just scares me. You been quiet over here plotting, I heard you got a jet” Kyle pointed at me “perhaps you right, I am spending money on myself. I just need a big mansion with naked hoes” Myles gasped “wow, you don’t want Sofia now?” he asked “he tipsy, he been drinking. Come and tell brother Kyle about it” grabbing the bottle “there isn’t much to tell but I am joking about the hoes, just adds flavour to the story” I laughed as I sat down “it did add flavour, how is the business going on your side because this side we doing well. Amira is in Miami” nodding my head “it’s ok, calm I guess. I have been plotting, I mean like on Lloyd but also the fact I am getting more influences with the police now, I can pull a few strings. Get Kalia off my dick too” Kyle and Myles are confused “how do you know this? They fucking hate you” I chuckled “they do but they know I have cleaned streets, they ain’t getting complaints as much. I ain’t telling them it’s me but Ethan got word that they want to meet with me, you know the guy we have on the inside, well his boss wants to meet with me, I ain’t fucking with it. I said to Ethan you go, don’t mention my name. See what they say, if it plays out then I could get a jail out of free card but if it don’t, then Ethan will be in jail and we back to stage one, but it is a risk I am willing to do. So boys, I have been busy, I have been quiet. I ain’t seen my son in a week, I just been working hard. See how it goes” drinking from the bottle.

Kyle just stared in shock ever so quiet “I didn’t think you would, I mean I shouldn’t be shocked because you are Cassius, you know shit. This is why you drinking? Celebrating?” nodding my head “maybe early but that means for me I can be a dickhead in New York again, they need me. In life you got to make people want you and look at that, they want me. They fucking need me. We know the police can’t handle the streets and they know that so they need me” Myles clapped his hands “fuck yes! Yo, you are the fucking pablo” shaking my head “corruption pays off Myles, these motherfuckers are corrupt but Ethan got the hardest job. He going down if not, I ain’t going there, shit could be a set up. Think I am fucking stupid, I won’t be dealing with them in person for a while” kissing my teeth, my phone started ringing in my sweatpants pocket. Grabbing my phone out of my pocket “its the baby mother, be quiet” I said laughing as I answered the call “hey” sitting back in the couch “where are you?” she don’t ask for nothing else when she says that “why? You feeling horny again? I am home” Sofia sighed out “sighing out doesn’t give me an answer, phone sex wasn’t shit” Kyle and Myles both gasped “wasn’t shit? You said you didn’t want to be my dick appointment and I said to you that you are my male bitch and you didn’t like it” I grinned “I think it’s rude, I told you that” she know I love her, she being hard headed “actually I am calling because I need you to take care of Cartier tomorrow, I need to go in to see Gio and all that. So if you can” clearing my throat “you see I don’t sleep until the early mornings, if I was to be there with you in bed I will already be in the home and I can just roll out of bed and look after the boy. Also I take it back you can bite meif you want during sex, I will be your bitch” I want to laugh but I will contain myself “you been drinking, I don’t want a drunk in the home thanks” rolling my eyes “being this hard headed doesn’t do you justice, I know you want me. Just like you did last night over the phone, come on. I know you smiling behind that phone” Sofia laughed down the phone “see I knew it, you miss me. It’s been a while” the phone line went silent, I had to check if she was still on the phone “I love you bub” she is on there, Kyle and Myles both gagged “hurry up and catch a cab, you drunk” I laughed “my big breasted bub, don’t worry daddy coming to love all on you” blowing a kiss down the phone. The boys all laughed out at me “you mad nigga” I need to get changed “I ain’t doing shit, y’all driving me” I need to just smell better.

“You smell like you have bathed in aftershave and you bought an overnight bag, you on some real pussy whipped shit. Like bro, I am dying inside” I don’t care what they say “look, I am joking but I am so happy for you. I have always said I wanted a love like yours and Sofia, I stick by it, have fun” Myles patted my shoulders “hit a home run” dapping him “I know I did, she keeps taking plan fuckin b every fucking time” shaking my head “give her a break but have fun, bring little boss to the home tomorrow” dapping Kyle “will do, bye niggas” opening the car door, I feel still a little drunk but I know what I am doing. I don’t care for sex, I think Sofia does more than me but I just want to see her. I have missed her terribly because of this shit thing I am trying to sort out but I will always make time for her, closing the gate behind me. Jogging up the drive, the light switched on and before I even reached the door she opened the door “you saw me!” I yelped “I did see you, how can I not. Your forehead was shining on the cameras” throwing my bag to the floor, Sofia closed the front door “I missed you so much” walking over to Sofia and cradling her cheeks in my hands “I have missed your face so much, I am a little drunk but I ain’t forget your face. I don’t want to let go right now” she smiled, that soft breathtaking smile of hers “I missed you too” she whispered, her eyes fluttering close on the words, I tilted forward and covered her lips with mine. Our tongues meet, and suddenly it's fast, hot and needy, and I explore her mouth, she meets mine with just as urgency, as passionately. She moans into the kiss, she clings to me, her fingers clenched into the fabric of my top, her other arm laced around my neck, keeping me close.

Pecking her lips before moving my head back, Sofia didn’t look at me but instead she rests her forehead against my chest, and she laughs. I tilt up her face with my hand, she looked up at me and and I press another kiss to her lips “you play too much” I said letting her face go “I don’t, you smell nice. Pick your bag up and come upstairs” she is so demanding, I like “you in the spare room though” I froze picking my bag up “what?” I said in disbelief “because you was too busy for me, phone sex was trash” she keep on saying that “I am sorry, like really am. I appreciate that you understood though, I thought you was going to be talking shit about me and say I am useless” Sofia waited for me on the step “why would I? You explained to me, you kept in contact with me constantly” she got a point I did “well I didn’t want you to think I ditched you when I didn’t, I ain’t about to do that ever. You got me forever now” Sofia turned away from me to walk up the steps “I do? Who said I got you forever, boy please” jogging up the steps meeting Sofia “me, you know that. Then why you call me in the middle of the night, I mean it is pretty late” Sofia does look fine though, I wonder if she is naked under this robe though “I get bored when I feed Cartier, that is all” see what I mean, she is lying to herself.

“Mommy is back my handsome” my mouth fell open “who, me?” I am extra confused, walking into the room seeing Sofia walk over to the bed “just had to get your daddy, I had hoped you would fall asleep but you didn’t, you waited for me” stepping to the side “oh naw, this little nigga awake, he in my space” placing my bag on the floor “you are sleeping in a spare room, you think I am joking. He is awake” walking behind Sofia, looking down at Cartier “oh no, why is he awake and naked with a diaper on? Man, put his rolls away. You fucking up my vibe!” Sofia shushed me “leave him alone, I am going to the bathroom. Be nice to him” my son is ruining my vibe, how can I be nice. Looking down at Cartier pulling a face, his fat self just staring at me all innocent “we can get on Cartier, you just need to sleep. That is all, close your eyes and sleep” sitting down on the edge of the bed, turning the lounger to me “like we cool and that but I want to have sex with your mom, she won’t do that if you’re here with your rolls out awake, I mean come on. You got to give, you be on the breast all damn day? Come on nigga” he doesn’t comprehend “if I have to sleep in a spare room, I am going to play hell with you. I ain’t going to let you sleep” pulling his pacifier out “look at you, with your smooth skin, coloured eyes and cute rolls” kissing my teeth, Cartier stifled out a yawn and then sneezed straight after, his eyes widened like he didn’t expect that “I am playing with you, but maybe I am not. We just don’t know, you the boy but you ain’t being my boy right now” I need to get a life “you will stop bullying my son, if he doesn’t want to sleep then he won’t. He’s not feeling it right now” rubbing my chin hoping he will soon want to sleep “he is not feeling it right now” I mimicked it her “erm, excuse me. Get your stank ass off of my bed, I am so sorry I left you with him” laying down on the bed “I don’t like that Cassius, those are outside clothes” she is just fussing now.

I miss being in this home, all of my shit is still here really. Trying my pinkie ring on, I left my my old jewellery here. I may take it with me so I can wear them actually, taking the pinkie ring off and placing it back. Pushing the drawer back closed, looking around the walk in closet seeing the Prada bags, she ain’t even taken them out of the bags, she out here leaving them here “I miss being here” making my way out of the walk in closet “I don’t” she retorted “liar!” I spat “why would I lie? I got the bed to myself, I have silence, I have Cartier. Why do I need you when you just take up the space and annoy me” Cartier is asleep, I skipped over to the crib “Cassius tomorrow, you better listen out for him. This is on you, you will be on your own with him” I just smiled “so we fucking or nah?” I grinned, Sofia moved back from the crib “would you like to be escorted to the guest room?” pressing my lips into a hard thin line “you want me though” I know she does “I want you I would tell you, I am only letting you stay so that means you’re actually here” taking in a deep breath smiling “the smell is in the air, do you smell that?” taking in a deep breath “what?” Sofia asked confused “sexual tension, dick appointment is here. Lets get to fucking, you wasting time” clasping my hands together, Sofia raised her eyebrow “I am going to bed” and turned around.

I cleared my throat “they always come running back” I didn’t care, I just got in bed with her. She pressed her lips against mine “shut up” she spat “you trying so hard to be mean to me, it’s ok. It is working a little” Sofia smiled at me, wrapping my arms around her and kissing the side of her head “so we fucking or nah” Sofia slapped my chest “I have to fulfil my objections right?” She shook her head, scooting up my body until her lips could meet mine and she gently nibbled my bottom lip “you should say we making love or nah” she switched it up, her lips skimming mine seductively “we making love or nah” I framed her face with both of my hands and melted into her kiss. The kiss was firm, feeling her curling fingers gently around my member. She put her tongue in my mouth, and just like that the air in the room shifted, and we were swept away by the intensity of our desire. Her need for me, mine for her, it filled the air, intoxicating us. Sofia shifting onto her knees, gently lowering herself around me, closing her eyes as I filled her. She gently moved up and down, her body responded to my gentle moans. My fingers trailed a path over her front, pushing the tee up. Moving back from the kiss, pulling her tee over her head. Teasing her nipples before digging into the flesh at her hips as she rode me. My mouth followed the path my fingers had made and I sucked her nipple, she moaned out and my name tumbling from her lips, moving back from the nipple. I held onto Sofia as I gently moved my hips, feeling her inner muscles contracting around me. I thrust myself into her, deep and hard, my eyes squeezing closed.