#because granddad loved women but only for a night or two

[doberbutts]

your great uncle is biill fucking cosby??????? jeez that's rough buddy

Yeah though he hasn't been to a big family get together since I was 10 back before anyone but a few knew about... all that. It's by marriage thru one of my great aunts so I'm not like *related*related to him but still. Used to be a bragging point, now a 😬😬😬 I never really interacted with him because I was a young child far more interested in playing with the other children (one of the few times there were kids my age that actually looked like me) than in sitting at the grown folks table listening to boring grown up talk. I remember the Cosby show was big in my house because my dad would always point and say "hey that's your Uncle Bill" whenever he was on screen, and my parents got tickets to a few of his shows that us kids weren't allowed to attend, but that's really it.

The [redacted] family is huge and I'm directly related to pretty much every black person with my last name in a large section of this country which has also had the additional weird circumstance of me bumping into my first cousins that I didn't even know existed while I've been out on a walk with my dogs. We were a very populous old slave family and sharecroppers after that so we're kind of everywhere. I've literally found a great aunt while at work, she came in and I noticed the last name and asked if she knew specific relatives of mine and one ended up being her sibling 🫣 just by going "hey you're black and your last name is [redacted], I'm black with the same last name and a very large family, what are the chances..."

One of my former roommates has a similar family connection to Mitt Romney. We used to complain about it together back when we still lived with each other.

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.89 Lose control

During our conversation about pre-wedding activities, Sophia and I found the idea of having a party appealing, but we had reservations about the traditional bachelor and bachelorette party. I'd never been to one, but I'd heard stories about them. Getting wasted and dancing with other women didn't appeal to me at all. My party didn't have to follow that formula; we could spend the night however I wanted. But the real reason we were anxious was because we both we both had a small circle of friends. We loved kicking it with our respective squads, but a party with just one or two sims wouldn't be lit.

"What if we did a joint co-ed party?" she offered.

That was the most brilliant idea, and it relieved us both. I mean, the whole point of a bachelor/bachelorette party was just to hang out with friends and have a good time, right? Who's to say we couldn't do that together? Our friends and their plus ones were enough sims for a fun, intimate party.

We tried to take Mama's advice and not show up early this time and walked in with the first wave. Heh, if Sophia had agreed to my offer earlier, we could have been super late, but let's not dwell on that. While getting a drink, I saw Alessia. I was low-key pissed, to be honest. Not enough to make a scene or even snub her all night, but we were definitely not okay.

Dub snuck up on me, and I almost dropped my drink.

"This is a nice place," he said. "The food selection is...interesting."

"Yeah. I guess I should have been more specific when I requested light refreshments."

"It's all good. Nothing like a little natural sugar to get you pumped up!"

"That's right. I expect to see everyone dancing, Dubstep."

"Dubstep??"

"Yeah! I think it's about time I gave you a nickname."

"But Dubstep though? I can't stand that music! It's everywhere at home!"

"Sorry, dude. I'm not often this clever. It's sticking!"

"Ugh! You better be glad your name can only be shortened, or I'd come up with something annoying for you too!"

"HA! Thank you, granddad I never met, for a boring name."

"Oh, hi Dub," Sophia said. "Thanks for coming!"

"Of course I'd come. I gotta make sure my boy Luc stays out of trouble!"

Sophia laughed.

"That's kind of you, but totally unnecessary."

I loved she said that. We had several conversations about my female friends, and she always expressed her acceptance of them. I believed her, but part of me wondered if she was actually cool with it or just trying to avoid conflict. Those conversations triggered her sometimes, and I knew she was still dealing with scars her ex-trash man inflicted. I never gave her a reason to doubt me, and I intended to keep it that way. Even so, her display of trust touched me deeply.

Less and Justin were chilling in the corner, probably relieved that I was busy. Did they keep in touch? Probably not. Regardless, I was happy they maintained a small connection, even though I still believed he was much too old for her. Once Rashidah and her husband showed up, Sophia hit the dance floor and got the party going. I sat down and watched her, mesmerized by the thought that tomorrow she would be my wife.

Chi Chi latched onto Maia as soon as she arrived and did not let her go. When Dub noticed, he not-so-casually got closer and watched their every move. I don't know why I thought it was funny, but I laughed anyway. Seeing him transition through this relationship, going from uncertainty about pursuing it to worrying about someone encroaching on them, was fun to watch. I knew Chi Chi was harmless, but he didn't, so I didn't laugh too hard. Still, what was Maia thinking? She was so gracious to endure all that talking for two nights straight. I knew all too well how draining it could be, trying to keep up with all the words that flew out of her mouth.

I eventually finished my drink and got out there to shake it with everyone. Poor Dub didn't even take one step and spent the whole night watching Maia and Chi Chi. I made a mental note to talk to him about it before we left, so it didn't become a big deal later on.

The fruity drinks were lame, so I invited everyone to the bar downstairs and bought us a round. The thumping bass from the DJ downstairs reverberated through the walls, injecting a surge of energy into our group. Moving the party downstairs was a genius move. The room was buzzing with excitement. Lively conversations and laughter filled the air. In the midst of all the excitement, I spotted Less trying to slip away, but I quickly caught her eye and called her out.

"Where were you last night?"

"What?"

"The engagement dinner? You didn't show."

She shrugged.

"I didn't want to go."

I needed a moment before replying, because her response struck a nerve. Her indifference was no stranger to me; I'd been dealing with it my whole life. It annoyed me then, and triple annoyed me now. I usually coped with it by ignoring her, but this was something I could not shrug off.

"You couldn't at least call and tell me you weren't coming?"

"I guess. Why are you so upset? You had the dinner and now this party. They're pretty much the same thing, so why do I have to come to both?"

I was teetering on the edge of losing my cool, and it caught me off guard. Despite all the challenges I faced in my life, I could never truly feel angry. I could've been mad at Dad taking us away from Mama, but I was just a little kid and more scared than anything. I couldn't bring myself to be angry with Mama for breaking up our family because my love for her was too strong. Less always got on my nerves, and I could've been mad at her countless times, but I felt pressured to always be in control as the oldest, especially since she always copied me. I just wanted to experience losing control for once, but was that the moment to waste my chance? In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't that serious. Less was just being Less, and as much as it pained me to overlook it again, I just took a few deep breaths and re-centered myself before responding.

"You're my sim of honor, Less. Does that even mean anything to you? We were doing toasts, and you weren't there. Dub did a toast for me, and we just met. Maybe I should have asked him or Maira to be my sim of honor."

"I'm sorry, Luca! I thought it was just a casual dinner or something. I didn't think you'd be mad."

I sighed and shook my head at her.

"You never do, Less."

Speaking of Dub, I saw him stewing on the sidelines, so I let Less go and went to de-escalate him.

"Am I crazy?" he asked as I sat down. "Is she really that bold that she would try to take my girl in front of my face?"

I was glad to have something comical to take my mind off my annoying sister.

"She's harmless, man. A bit of a flirt, yes, and she talks a lot, but she would never do that to you. She's sweet."

"Brooo! The talking! I thought maybe she liked me too because she had me hemmed up all night last night. I barely escaped in time to make a toast!"

I laughed.

"Believe me...I am aware. I feel like she has a word quota she has to reach every day or she'll explode or something."

"Yeah, and she's spending it all on us!"

"Seriously... But for real...I really appreciate you doing that last night. My sister should have been the one making that toast, but she wasn't there, and that really hurt my feelings."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I got you, bro. Whatever you need."

"I appreciate that, Dubstep."

"HEY!"

Dub and Maia by @mysimsloveaffair

[doublegoblin]

Story about a gas station

Off the country road, halfway to the middle of nowhere was a gas station. It was a small and modest establishment to be sure but it was the lighthouse for many an out-of-state travelers. Inside this station were two women, Susan and Tonya. Strangers at first but now something closer to friends; at least the kind you have at work. Susan was busy sweeping the same spot in the floor as Tonya rested her weight on the counter. The sun had dipped low and the sky was ablaze with its splendor; dark clouds were hanging on the horizon. The only sound other than the rustle of the broom was the electrical hums from different machinery, low thrum of the coolers, and the radio with words that fought against the static.

Susan groaned and stretched while glancing at the clock on the wall, “Hey Tonya,” she chirped “clocks busted again, you got the time?”

Tonya picks her head up from her arms and glances at the register, “About  three-quarter past seven. You headin’ out?”

“Yeah, think you can manage the fort by yourself?” She asks while heading to the employee area.

Following behind, “I don’t know, the place is pretty busy.” 

“You’re a capable gal, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Adjusting the ball cap on her head she hiked the thin jacket over her shoulders. “Mark should be by to relieve ya around three in the morning. Here” -she hands Tonya a sheet of paper- “if you by some miracle find yourself with some free time, I got a list of things that need doin’.”

The two head back to the main floor of the establishment and Tonya rings Susan up for a pack of cigarettes and a meat stick. Lingering long enough for a idle bit more of chit chat before heading out the door. Her rusted pickup truck struggling to life before bellowing off into the encroaching twilight.

Then it was just Tonya.

Time by yourself can really start to drag on. Seconds become hours and hours become eternity. So to keep herself from feeling the crushing weight of gears of time, Tonya starts to work on the list. First is facing all of the items on the shelves. It seems the universe deemed to reward her as the radio was able to hold a consistent signal for more than three songs. As the notes bounced she absentmindedly sang along, well, more mumbled the words she didn’t know and whispered the ones she did. She must have really gotten into that last song because to her horror, the man who had been patiently waiting clapped for her.

Her cheeks burned bright as she hurried behind the counter to assist the gentleman.

“I am so sorry! Our little chime stopped working a few months back and I didn’t hear you come in.” She stammered while typing in the UPCs.

He laughed like a granddad and smiled through his thick white beard, “That’s quite alright I’m in no rush. Are you really all by your lonesome out here?”

Hearing his kind tone she slowed, still looking at the register, “Yes sir. Coworker left not more than an hour ago…I think. I’m sorry but what pump were you at?”

“Pump 3 dear. Can I put ten dollars on it?”

“Yes sir.” She glanced out the window to confirm his location, a ruby red Sedan shined in the over-head lights, “Oh I love that color.”

The man follows her eyes and chuckles, “It’s the miss’s car, but yes, it is a wonderful color isn’t it? I’ll have to let her know she got a compliment today.”

She couldn’t help but smile a little, “So will that be all?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The register whirled and sputtered as the total was calculated, “That’ll be $23.76 please.”

The man riffles through his pockets and pulls out his wallet, riffling through he hands a $20 and a $10 bill across to her. After she has type in the amount and goes for his change he holds his hand up.

“Keep the change.”

“Are you sure sir?” She hopes he isn’t playing a cruel trick.

“More than. Now, you have a wonderful rest of your evening…”

“Tonya sir.”

“Have a wonderful evening Tonya.” He nods politely and heads back out the door and after fueling his car, leaves into the night.

Tonya was alone once again.

The inside of the gas station was washed in the harsh fluorescent lights. Their unnatural glow emphasized by the moonless night out past the glass. She was making steady progress through the list. She had cleaned the counter, restocked the washer fluid at each pump, organized the supplies in the backroom, and other such small tasks. During such time only a handful of more customers came and went, each pleasant in their own ways. With a chair pulled to the windows she was scrubbing away at the accumulated dust and grime when the radio caught signal once more.

Gaining purchase, a smooth tenor voice slid from the speakers, “The Cranberries folks, always  a delight. Half past nine and it’s about that time.” The voice laughs. “Before I leave you, the evening forecast and news. Right now the skies are clear but that’ll most likely change around midnight. Weatherfolks are calling for some pretty severe thundershowers so best to batten down the hatches and get everyone inside. Looking like a high of 63 and a low of 54 so really the best time to snuggle up with the one you love and ride out the storm. No traffic to report on in our quiet little town. 

“Officials are still asking people to call in with any information about the family of three. Sheriff Jackson says he’s offering a reward of $100 to anyone who can provide any vital information; so hopefully that can loosen any tight lips out there listening. But that’ll about do it for me folks, to send you off into the land of dreams, up next- KZZGTZZ”

Static returns again, startling Tonya who almost falls from her chair. Thankfully, nobody was around to hear her panicked yelp as she clung to the gutters. Shaken and embarrassed she scuttles back inside and deletes that portion of the CCTV footage.

The wind whistles through the crack of the entrance as she sorts through the food in the freezer for anything expired. A loud THWACK causes her to jump. Looking up and down the aisles a box of sweets must have been too close to the edge and caught the breeze. Right? Undeterred by aero-vandalism, she returns the item back to it’s place and makes her way back to the freezer.

 Hands numb from the cold she blows into them and rubs them together.

THWACK! 

More agitated than startled she heads back to see the same box lying on the floor. With a furrowed brow she marches over and firmly sets it back. Not wanting to experience the rule of three she makes her way behind the counter and rummages through the drawer for some tape. 

“Ah-ha!” 

Pulling a half empty roll of duct-tape she roughly shuts the drawer and heads back but stops at the end of the aisle. 

No noise was made, or at least none were heard, but that same box was once again on the floor. As were several more. 

With an almost growl she mutters to herself and sticks each container within eye-sight to their shelf. Standing triumphant against her adversary of unruly confections and candy she turn her back onto the aisle. Quickly turning around to catch a box leaning half-way over. Glaring out the window she sighs and resigns herself to pushing everything that could be caught by wayward wind back on their shelf. It didn’t look nice, but she was not playing this game all evening. Her eyes are caught by two blinding spotlights and a low rumble. Voices beyond the door but nobody to see. Male voices. Deep and rowdy voices. 

The doors open and three men dressed in business casual and baseball caps spill in. The wind fought against the door and in the gale, the unmistakable smell of alcohol. Once they had cleared away Tonya struggled against the blustering bastard but soon sealed the station back up against the outside world.

“H-hey Tonny!” One of the men slurred at the top of his lungs.

“Bro, shhh, inside voices man.” The one called Tonny responded, more coherent than his friend. “What?”

“Dude check it oooout, tiiiiiits!” The loud one held aloft an adult magazine and giggled.

“Kyle, man, p-put th-that doooown.” The third man pawed at the magazine, turning bright red.

“Scotty chill you’ll break something, and Kyle, my man, what are you eleven?” Tonny snatched the item away from Kyle.

“Eleven inches in your mooooom!” He and Scotty laughed and high-fived as Tonny just sighed and put it back on the rack.

Tonya couldn’t help but giggle but also feel disgusted at the drunken antics. Staying firmly behind the counter she observed the men as they milled about the store. One would make their way to the beer cooler before Tonny would drag them away, often with toddler-like protests. Stumbling through the tight aisles Kyle and Scotty groped at each thing that caught their attention. Tonny walked his way to the counter and set down a few things, taking glances back at his two children.

“Sorry about all the noise.”

“It’s alright sir, you all celebrating something?” She made idle chit chat while punching in the numbers once again.

Tonny laughed, “Ya don’t have to call me sir. And yeah, Scotty” -he points to the man who was fighting to stay awake in the snack aisle- “just got himself a promotion, ain’t that right Scotty?” He shouts, startling Scotty awake who reflexively shoots some finger guns towards them.

“You don’t seem to be as…celebrant, as your friends.” She brushes the hair away from her ear.

“I mean, one of us needs to be the DD-”

“Tonny!” Kyle shrieks while sprinting up.

“Jesus!” Tonny clutches his chest. “Fuckin’ hell man, what!? You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Kyle blinks slowly and sways in place, “I gotta piss.”

“Back corner hun.” She gently points at the marked door.

His eyes lighting up, Kyle stumbles away.

The men lingered for a while longer than needed. Tonya and Tonny struck up a pleasant conversation and on the way out he had slipped her a piece of paper. With a coy smile she tucked it into her uniform pocket and wished the men a safe evening. Once the rose tinted glasses had come off though she was fully aware of the mess the tornado of booze created in her mostly perfected store. With butterflies keeping her aloft though, she tiptoes through the disaster and gets to cleaning once more.

What was once howling now was a shrill shriek as the sky opened up and let down its tears. Lightning cracked across the sky turning for a flash the night into a harsh day. Tonya was unaware of it though. Her headphones snug and walkman blasting sick tunes as she mopped the store floor. Most locations may have the odd midnight visitor but out here, well, the men were the exception. So as she ballroom danced with the handle her mind wandered and drifted away. The lights flickering gave her pause. With a click of a button her warm backdrop of sound was once more the cold and sterile buzz.

“Storm is really blowing, I should let the folks know I’m fine.” she muttered.

Heading back to the counter she hoisted the employee phone up and dialed. Leaning against the counter twirling the cord she hummed her most recent song. When it went to voicemail she recalled exactly when she was calling and the burn of embarrassment was hot.

After the tone, “S-sorry I forgot what time it was, I’m just calling to let you both know I’m fine. U-uh yeah, love you both, bye!” she quickly slammed the receiver down and held her head in her hands groaning.

The lights flickered once again, longer.

“Oh shoot, I hope the power doesn’t go out…I should double check the generator.”

With a nod she headed back to the employee area and grabbed the umbrella. 

With her back turned she didn’t see the silhouette illuminated by lightning at the front door. 

The rain pounded against the umbrella, threatening to rip a hole through the fabric. Her feet were quick. Flashlight in the other hand she rounded the building from the employee exit and made her way to the shed at the end of the parking lot. The dim yellow glow, all to guide her through the murk. A harsh and bitter wind tore through her cotton uniform and sent a shiver down her spine.

The rain was violent, she didn’t hear the second set of footsteps.

Stuck. The handle of the shed was always stuck. Nothing a well placed shoulder couldn’t fix. With the door relenting she stumbled into the must shed, the dust on the pavement being washed away. She allows herself a moment to shake dry what she could. Once satisfied she fumbles along the wall until finding the switch. With a click the old lightbulb hums to dim light. The shed was more like a concrete tomb to be fair, the long corpse the cobweb covered generator; on the side was sticker that read ‘Bessie’. Shutting the door behind her she sets the umbrella down and goes to attend to Bessie. The manual, with pages curled and yellow, sits on the workbench at the far side of the shed. She thumbs through the book until she makes it to the maintenance section.

Did the door handle jiggle or was that thunder?

She paused for a second to think. Thunder for sure.

Her mind ached at the techno-babble but she soon made heads of the tails. With confidence she followed the pictured instructions as needed. After her very brief inspection she was able to set the machine to an automatic trigger.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

She wasn’t sure why. But she felt as if she was being watched. She glances at the window but doesn’t see anything, apart from the darkness of a stormy night. Shaking the feeling off she turns her attention back to the generator and making sure it has enough fuel. 

Tap

Tap

Tap

It must be rain on the window for sure…right?

Tap 

Tap

CRASH

A wicked wind cuts through the shed. Leaves and sticks scattering among the glass. With her heart racing she grabs the broom and dustpan and starts to clean it all up. Something possessing her she glances at the mirror above the sink, and sees a figure slink around the store. She grips the broom handle tight, enough to splinter the wood. With a sharp inhale she drops the thing and quickly picks the splinters out of her flesh. It had to have been something caught in the wind. It had to be. Nobody else is usually out this far, not this late at night. For an unknown amount of time; maybe second or minutes, she stared at the same corner where that thing had slipped. 

Courage returning she broke her line of sight and hastily returned to cleaning. Then back into the dark. Her feet carry her quickly back to the safety of the store light and then into the breakroom. With a slamming of the door she leaned on it and caught her breath. 

“It’s just late Tonya, you are just seeing things.” She lied to herself.

It must have been a convincing lie as she made her way out to the floor again.

Nothing at first seemed out of place. The store was small and the CCTV footage didn’t show anyone hiding among the aisles. The wind was bad enough that if someone had come inside the door would still be open, and it wasn’t. With a half-hearted laugh she returned to her post, her eyes darting this way and that.

Should she call someone?

Would anyone answer?

Should she call the police?

What if there wasn’t anything?

Her stance was rigid but her mind was racing. Then her eyes caught something that was out of the ordinary. A set of wet footprints at the front doors. Her eyes follow the path: from the front door they march towards the counter, snaking around and to the side just a foot from where she was standing, they then turn and lead to the employee door, then…to the bathroom. Where her eyes had followed, now do her feet. As if compelled she slowly approaches the door to the bathroom; her pulse quickens. It’s beating so hard she can feel it in her ears.

She reaches out towards the handle.

Then everything goes dark.

She shrieks and blindly sprints away from the door and shuts herself into the employee area. In her escape she had run into a display and the pain shoots through her as she huddles in a far corner.

She hears the bathroom door click open.

Then whistling.

Then heavy feet.

Her mind is racing. Why hadn’t the generator kicked back on!? Who is this person!? What do they want!? Then her mind goes quiet as the door to the employee shakes. Her blood is ice cold as she sits in perfect darkness and hears the handle rattling and the door buckling. A deep voice grunts and swears as the door is pounded on; each strike causes her to flinch. She backs herself more and more into the corner.

BAM

The door slams open as the light flicker back on. A large man looms in the doorframe. In one hand a knife shines in the light. In the other gnarled and rotting rope. From his perspective the lounge area is empty. Yet he knows someone has made their way in. The same someone he had seen in the shed. His feet fall with the sound of thunder as he ducks under the door frame and into the room. His odor of mold and rust fill the small space. Tonya fights back the urge to wretch and gag.  He whistles coldly as he stomps through the room. Leaning over to peer into each of the lockers. Hands gripping the knife firmly he thrusts the blade through each of the metal doors, disappointed when it comes back clean. This was no story or tale though, he was not going to turn and leave so easily.

Then, he spots the girl huddling in the corner. Her face is pale. Eyes are red. He grins a smile of blackened and crooked teeth. She had been crying, his favorite. He licks his lips and runs his thumb along the blade of his knife. He was going to take his time with her. She was so pretty after all. So absolutely statuesque. He looms over her, looking down to look at her reflection in the knife.

The lights go out. A sharp pain. Searing pain. Thousands of small needles. The splash of liquid on the floor. A scream.

A man runs into the store. A young man. He curses under his breath and hurries to the employee area. Finding it empty he heads out the backdoor.

“About time you showed up.” Tonya teases, tossing bags full to burst into the dumpster.

“Storm caught me out. Did you manage alright?” He helps her lift the warm and slippery plastic into the rusted container.

She nods, cleaning a red speck from the corner of her mouth, “Yeah, just had to take out the trash.”

[startanewdream]

James and/or Sirius laughing at Harry for growing (or trying to) grow a beard 🧔

That’s it

That’s my comment

Ahhh, it's midnight for me I work early tomorrow but I just *had* to write something along these lines!

Set during winter break at Year 6 (or my fave pining Harry time). Warning for some slang and also that I edited on the phone

________

“Fuck. No, no, it can’t be… fuck!”

The first slang would have made Sirius stop on his way down the hall, but the tone of desolation that follows it, added by the most hopelessness he has ever heard in Harry's voice, makes him open the door to his godson’s bedroom without waiting for an answer.

(Always risky when it comes to teenagers, but it seems to be an emergency)

The first thing he notices is the rotten smell, then the smoke coming out of a cauldron with the fire beneath still lit; sparkles are coming out of Harry’s wand, which he holds high (underage magic? That he won’t tell), but then Sirius’ gaze falls on Harry’s face and he ignores anything else.

Because on Harry’s face there is something so horrendous that Sirius won’t dare to call it a beard. It’s hair.

Harry’s chin spots the same hair as in his head. It’s a dark messy beard that makes him look as if his hair grew all around his mouth.

“What the hell?”

“Don’t laugh!” Harry tells him immediately, a little bit threatening, but Sirius is truly too shocked to even break a smile. This thing is too ghastly for even him to crack a joke about it. “I… I messed up, okay?”

“Kid, that’s an overstatement,” Sirius says, getting closer to his godson slowly. He touches his beard. “How did you get hair on your chin? That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Ugh.” Harry throws a guilty look to the cauldron on the floor. “It’s Grandpa Monty’s fault.”

“Unless his ghost came back to screw your face, it seems as if you did this to yourself, kid.”

“No, I… Look!” He picks a scroll, waving it in front of Sirius’ nose. “I found his old notes in the attic. Five-Second Eazybeard! I swear I brewed the potion exactly as he wrote.”

Sirius eyes the smelly potion.

“Are you sure it was your granddad’s notes? This doesn’t seem like Monty's style at all.”

“Well… I thought so. He was the potioneer in the family, right? And he invented Sleekeazy!”

“And then he didn’t launch anything else,” Sirius reminds him, looking at the potion instructions.

“Because he was rich enough and didn’t need more money?”

Sirius laughs. “Nah, Monty was curious enough to keep inventing. This was probably an attempt that didn’t work.” Sirius shakes his head, smirking. “Look, I am not trying to pull a Lily here, but trying untested potions? That’s a bad idea, Harry.”

"I haven't had problems so far," Harry mumbles to himself. As Sirius is about to ask him what he means by that, Harry grabs his hand suddenly. "I learned the lesson, ok? Now you gotta help me!"

Sirius lifts an eyebrow. "The only thing that would help you is a scissor."

"I've tried! The bathroom is full of this thing, but it just grew back! I've tried to cut it magically, and it's all the same. You are the adult here, do something!"

"What do you want me to do? I can't do an antidote just looking at the ingredient list! You need Lily, just call her—"

"I…" the part of Harry's face that is not covered by hair flushes. "I can't. She is at the Burrow now, helping Mrs Weasley with the New Year's party."

"Then let's go, I am sure it will be easy for her—"

"No!" Harry looks in panic now, his eyes widened. "She cannot know what… what happened."

"Lily will know as soon as—"

"Not… not Mum, it's… look, that's fine. Mum will be back tomorrow, I will just spend the New Year hiding in my room pretending I don't exist."

"Harry… there's nothing to be embarrassed about. You know, growing hair body is perfectly normal at your age—"

"Ugh, stop teasing me."

"I wish I could, but you look truly horrible." Sirius winks at him, sitting on Harry's bed. "What prompted you to do this?"

Harry's flush intensifies.

"I was trying to grow a beard."

"Oh, really?"

"It's… it's stupid, okay? But Ginny was… I mean, I heard some girls saying that they enjoyed guys with a beard and I can only grow that stupid stubble and—argh—I just thought I could give it a try but now I have hair growing all around my head and—"

"You are babbling, kid, I got it."

"No, you don't." Harry runs his hand through his hair, looking very much like James when he is most nervous. "You get to grow a beard when you want it. You get this whole shining hair. You get women to sigh for you and I… I am just this stupid teenager who can't even have a full beard."

Sirius blinks. "You are worrying way too much, Harry. And, well, if you want to be assured, you are nice—girls have taken a fancy to you, haven't they?"

"That's just the Chosen One thing, it's not really… me."

Sirius fights back a smile. Harry seems really desolate.

"Look, you've grown well. You are still growing. I am sure people notice you. You have your mother's gorgeous eyes and you do look like James—if there is any comfort in this, I remind you that James got Lily to feel attracted to him, so you can't be that bad." Harry frowns, and Sirius isn't sure if it's because he doesn't want to think of their parents being attracted to each other or if because he doesn't trust Lily's opinion on this matter. "I am sure Ginny thinks you are attractive, beard or no beard."

Harry jumps.

"Who said anything—"

"Oh, are we still pretending you don't fancy her?"

Harry looks away. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Yeah, sure. So you don't mind going to the Burrow now and showing up like this?"

"Of course I do! I mean… Ron would tease me."

"Ron."

"And the twins. I mean, look at this!"

"Yeah, I would be upset if they didn't. So many joke opportunities. You are hairy, Harry."

Harry puts his hands in front of his face. Sirius refrains from telling him this doesn't hide his beard at all.

"So… what do I do now?"

"We truly need Lily's help on this… we need to go to the Burrow."

"I can't—"

"Don't worry." Sirius breathes heavily. "Your godfather won't leave you alone on this."

_________

"It was an accident, Lily," Sirius tells her, his hand playing with the hair over his chin. His new grown hair beard reaches his chest and Sirius is almost finishing a braid by now. "I was trying some old potion, and then Harry was close and it just splashed in both of us."

Lily lifts her eyebrows, her eyes moving from Sirius to Harry and then back.

"An accident?" she repeats, incredulous.

"I am so sorry," he says, the portrait of innocence. "Could you help us with an antidote? And before you say anything, I know I shouldn't have tested an unknown potion. But do this for Harry, not for me. Poor kid doesn't deserve to spend the night hiding. It's a New Year's party after all!"

Lily shakes her head, amused.

"Fine, because you asked so eloquently. I will grab my potion kit, a hair inhibitor should be enough."

"You truly are the best, Lily," Sirius tells her, beaming.

Harry waits until his mother is out of the room to let out a relieved breath.

"Thanks so much, Sirius," he says.

Sirius nods, still messing with the hair on his chin. It's so weird and it looks as ghastly in him as it does on Harry.

He doesn't regret applying that potion to his face. His sacrifice worked just as he planned to: with two people having hair growing out of their chins, the attention was divided and with Sirius taking the blame, people felt sorry enough for Harry to not mock him much.

"Hey," they turn around to see Ginny coming closer, holding a tray with some sandwiches for them. "Mum thought you would be hungry while hiding here."

"Thanks," Sirius says, because Harry seems too busy pretending to look outside the window, anything so he can try to avoid Ginny looking at his beard.

Ginny nods at Sirius, but she approaches Harry anyway.

"Your mum is already working on the antidote, don't worry," she tells him gently. "Look, it's not as bad as that time Percy tried to grow a moustache, remember?"

Harry chuckles. "You are so lying."

"I would never," she assures him, voice light. "Look at me."

Harry turns to her almost as if he can't control it. His eyes soften as he gazes upon her, and Sirius is suddenly reminded of how Lily always looks when she sees James.

Ginny raises her hand slowly, giving Harry plenty of time to back away, but he just stays quiet as she touches his beard, her fingers running through it. Sirius suspects Harry isn't even breathing anymore.

"It's soft," she tells Harry and for a moment they just stare at each other. Sirius decides that he is really witnessing a moment that he doesn't want to, but his attempt to quietly leave the room only alerts them to his presence. Ginny's hand falls back as if she got electrocuted. "Anyway, you look better without it."

Harry grimaces. "I guess that stupid stubble is better than this."

"Stupid stubble?" Ginny blinks, evidently surprised. "It's not stupid, I… I mean, girls love it on you."

"They do?"

"Yeah, well, just thinking about your stubble brushing my skin—I mean, their skin, as in other girls' shoulders, or holding your face while… never mind, I just… I just heard it, that's all. You are drawing a lot of attention."

"I know, all this Chosen One stupid thing—"

"It's not it... you are really oblivious to your charm, Harry."

"You think I am charming?" Harry asks, longing evident in his voice now.

"I…" Ginny hesitates, turning away as if she doesn't want to answer this while looking at Harry, and her eyes meet Sirius. He smirks at her, knowing perfectly well her answer. Ginny's face reddens even as her jaw sets in a protective instance. "Yeah, with the stubble. Everyone knows it. It's common knowledge. I… I have to go, I think I heard Mum calling me."

Sirius could point out that Molly didn't call her at all, but he opts for just letting Ginny go, his smirk more than enough to let her know she didn't fool him.

At the other corner of the room, Harry's face is spotting a huge grin, watching the door with a dreamy expression.

"She likes my stubble!" He declares happily. "Oh, I need to take off this stupid long beard now."

Sirius shakes his head at Harry, amused. At least Harry won't ever complain about his inability to grow a beard again.

[meteorrogers]

chocolate covered strawberries | r. d.

summary: a precious person like you was what had been missing in Ransom’s life. 

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: fluff only, language, implied smut maybe?, oh and beware of fucking soft!Ransom

word count: 3,479 (less or more)

a/n: well, i certainly didn’t expect it to be this long. anyway, this is a soft and ooc!Ransom fic, no spoilers because i follow practically nothing from the movie (at least i think). excuse my errors, please, and enjoy!!😊let me know what you think!!

Ransom is furious, driving home from another family gathering that couldn’t end any differently than with yelling, insults, and throwing things at each other. He has no idea why he‘s still going to these things, he always swears to himself that the next time will be the last time. Maybe somewhere deep inside of him, there’s still a sparkle of hope that one day he will have a normal conversation with his mom and dad.

He needs something to calm him down and while a drink and some bimbo he’d meet in a bar sound amazing, it is still early for that. On his way home, there is this bakery he‘s always liked to stop by because they have the best fresh-from-the-oven chocolate-filled croissants to ever exist. They are maybe even better than alcohol. Just maybe.

He leaves the coat in his car and heads towards the entrance. The bell above the door rings as he enters, taking his sunglasses off. The shop is quiet except for the soft chatter of the patrons that are occupying some of the seats. He doesn‘t even need to look at the display case with all the baked goods, he already knows what he’s having, so he heads directly to the counter to order.

After the cashier takes his order and disappears in the kitchen, Ransom slowly moves to the waiting counter where a young woman is chatting with the older man (Timmy, he thinks is his name) that owns the place together with his wife. The woman has a big genuine smile on her face and occasionally a beautiful laugh leaves her mouth when Timmy says something supposedly funny. Ransom has never seen her before. Maybe it’s not so early to charm his way into a woman’s bed after all. He gets closer and as Timmy hands her her order on a pink paper tray – two Halloween themed cupcakes, with white frosting, yellow and orange sprinkles and a little marzipan ghost sticking out – Ransom only hears their goodbyes.

You are still smiling, cheerful from the conversation you had with Timmy as you turn around, ready to leave, and enjoy the sweet treat on the way home. But you don‘t even have the time to react when you suddenly collide with a solid figure. You stumble a little, but strong hands on your shoulders steady you, which you don‘t even realize since your mind‘s only focus is on the mess you have caused. And just like that, your smile disappears.

“Oh my god,“ you gasp and your eyes widen as they scan the not-so-white-anymore cable-knit sweater covered in frosting and sprinkles. “Oh my god,” you repeat, a little louder this time. Panicking, you quickly dispose of the tray with crumbled cupcakes, taking an unnecessarily high number of napkins from the holder on the counter and trying your best to clean the beautiful cozy-looking piece of clothing.

You have yet to see the person’s face, either too embarrassed to look them in the eye or too concentrated on getting the crumbs out of the wool. Probably both.

“I am sorry.” You say, throwing the dirty napkins on the counter. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve been looking where I was going. I was still so absorbed in the conversation that I didn’t notice you,” Oh, god, here comes the downpour of babbles… „And I didn’t even hear you come behind me or maybe I wasn’t paying attention, that’s prob–“

Your gibbering is interrupted by the stranger’s hand circling your wrist, also stopping your frantic movements.

“Would you calm down? It’s just a sweater. I can buy a new one.”

You finally look up, your eyes meeting ocean-blue ones with hints of green around the pupils. His voice sounded empty, emotionless and you aren‘t sure if he is upset or just doesn‘t care.

“Oh,” slipping your hand out of his hold, you break the eye contact, the situation too embarrassing for you. You look at the mess on the countertop, the paper tray still laying there, dirty napkins scattered across the surface and some of them even found their way to the ground.

Shaking your head, you grab all the garbage, bend down to pick up the ones on the floor and throw it into the trash can situated in the corner.

You turn back to the man, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Um… Can I at least pay the cleaning bill?”

“It’s fine, really.”

He still hasn’t cracked a smile.

“Well, let me buy you something sweet then. What’s your guilty pleasure?” you smile again and look over his shoulder, studying the selection of desserts.

“I said it’s alright,“ he bites. “Besides, I already ordered.”

You don‘t expect him to snap at you like that so it kind of shocks you. Better let sleeping dogs lie…

“Okay,” you nod. “I’m sorry again,” you stuff your hands in your coat pockets and head out.

Ransom stands there, looking at your leaving form and he sighs. Shit.

When you bumped into him, he was really pissed that you ruined his clothes at first, but then you started apologizing, cleaning him and rambling . That infuriated him even more. Why the hell did you even care? It wasn’t even your sweater!

You were annoyingly sweet, which Ransom isn‘t used to at all. Sure, women are nice to him, giving him that fake sugary smile just to get into his pants. He never complains, of course, it makes getting laid much easier when they’re trying to get his attention, not the other way around. But it was just an act. The smile you gave Timmy was genuine and so was the concern about his sweater. How was he supposed to react?

His thoughts are interrupted by the young employee who took his order, signalizing his croissant is ready. He takes it and turns to leave, his face still painted with… confusion?

“Fuck.” He curses silently. You can‘t be far. If he hurries, he can still catch up to you and… apologize? He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, except for one thing.

He faces the cashier again. “Hey, could you give me two of those Halloween cupcakes? With the ghosts. And wrap it up. Quickly,“ his voice is intimidating, arrogant and the boy doesn‘t have the balls to argue so he just does as he is told. Ransom snatches the covered tray from the boy’s hands and sprints out.

He looks around and luckily sees you not so far away from the shop so he decides to add a jog to his steps as he follows your direction.

“Hey!” he yells to catch your attention, which he successfully does. You turn around, brows furrowed, stopping when you notice the man from the bakery.

He runs up to you and when he reaches the place where you’re standing, you open your mouth again.

“Oh, did you change your mind?” Your hand makes a move to reach into your bag. “Just say how much and I’ll –”

“No.” He interrupts and confusion becomes evident on your face again. “As I said, it’s fine.” You expect him to continue, to tell you why he stopped you in the middle of a street. But he just stands there, looking at you as if he expects you to say something.

See, when Ransom spontaneously came up with this great plan, he didn’t think it all the way through. He seriously didn’t know what he was going to do, so now, he is just awkwardly shifting on his feet as he contemplates what to say.

“Here.” He shoves the mini tray into your hands. You look at it and then back at him, still confused. „It’s the cupcakes you bought before my sweater decided to have a taste.“

Really? That’s the smoothest thing you could think of? Jesus, what is wrong with you?

But you laugh. And god, is that a beautiful sound. Wait, what?

“Thank you, that’s really sweet of you.” you smile and before Ransom can argue, you stick your free hand out. “I’m (Y/n).”

He closes his fingers over yours. “Hugh… I mean, Ransom.”

The smile doesn‘t leave your face. “Well, which is it?”

“Ransom, you can call me Ransom.”

“Nice to meet you, Ransom.”

You have known since the beginning that Ransom has some skeletons in the closet. Hence the rudeness when you first met and struggle of wording out an apology for his manners. He managed to apologize in his own way and that was okay with you. You know people who don’t even try, but Ransom? He did his best and for that, you gave him your number when he asked.

It didn’t take him long to call you and ask you out. You agreed.

When he asked you on a date, his plan was to take you out for a dinner in a luxurious restaurant, order some expensive wine to get you a little bit tipsy, and spend the night at your place. The next morning he would silently sneak out of your house, block your number and never see you again.

But you are here, sitting across from him, with that big smile on your face, wearing a lovely cream knee-length dress that shows just the right amount of skin which makes him horny and at the same time, he just wants to focus on not how hot, but how beautiful you look.

“So, tell me more about yourself,” you say after the waiter takes away the empty plates.

There is no way he will talk about how filthy rich he is, how his grandfather owns one of the most successful publishing companies and lives in a huge mansion in the rich part of town. No, he’ll save this information for the gold diggers.

“Well, you might know my granddad, Harlan Thrombey?” Okay, nevermind. “He owns Blood Like Wine?” In his defense, this is all he’s ever talked about with girls. He just needs practice. 

You nod. “Oh my God, yeah, of course, I know him! I mean, not know know him, but I’ve read some of his books! Just don’t ask me about them, I’m not exactly a number one fan.” you scrunch your nose and his mind tells him how adorable that is. Shut up, brain.

“Okay, I won’t.” he laughs genuinely. He always fakes laugh when he is on a date if you can even call the ones he’s been on that. “Besides, you can’t be a number one fan even if you wanted to, because that place is mine.”

“I wouldn’t assume anything else. Are you close with your granddad?”

He averts his eyes for a second and clears his throat.

Instead of answering, he throws the question back at you, his voice defensive, maybe a little too harsh. “Are you close with your granddad?”

The corners of your mouth slightly falter and you look down for a second before facing him again, “I was. He died when I was 15.”

“Oh.” Ransom’s face softens.

“But I loved him. Every Halloween, I’d force him to tell me scary stories all day and all night.” you smile at the memories. “You know, I’m sure he and your granddad would get along. He did come up with some pretty amazing tales.”

And suddenly, he is intrigued. “What was your favorite?”

You tell him about the cursed toy factory, how every Halloween all toys come to life and they stuff all the employees with plush so they become these living toys, too, and from all the anger, they do the same to the future workers the following year.

He laughs at that, agreeing that your grandfathers would indeed be good friends.

“I’m not that close with my granddad,” he says after a few moments of silence. What surprises him is your hand carefully coming to take his which was laying on the table. His eyes focus on your thumb that is stroking his knuckles as he continues. “I’m not close with anyone from my family, actually.” Why is he telling you that? Fucking stop.

He clears his throat and withdraws his hand, scratching the back of his neck.

“You ready to go?” he asks and you just nod.

He isn‘t in the mood for sex anymore, so he drops you at your place and speeds home. God, what are you doing to him? There is something about you that makes him want to open up to you, spill all of his secrets, desires and dreams.

It felt kind of good to tell you about his family, but to be honest, he is scared. He doesn‘t want another person that’s just going to treat him like a worthless piece of shit in his life. I mean, he is, but it would just make him even more shitty.

He’s decided. He is not going to see you ever again.

Then his phone beeps.

(y/n): I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable but I had a great time! I’d definitely be up for doing it again! You can tell me more about your family:)

He scoffs. Why the hell would you want to hear about his family when he told you he’s not close to them?

Then the phone beeps again.

(y/n): Or not! I mean, we can talk about whatever you want! But if you need someone to talk to, I’m here. That’s what I meant.

A smile involuntarily makes its way on Ransom‘s face. Maybe he will see you again.

Since you started spending a lot of time at Ransom’s house, he convinced you to bring some of your stuff. Some clothes, your favorite mug with a whale, saying mornings blow, books and a strawberry-scented shampoo which Ransom became to love.

Almost every morning you share a shower. Sometimes it escalates into a morning shower sex, but most of the time you try and fail to tame him, even though you remind him and yourself of all the times you’ve been late for school, which he doesn’t really care about, to be honest.

You head to the bathroom first, because it takes time for him to get out of bed. After a while, he joins you under the stream of water, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as he kisses you where your neck meets your shoulder and licks the drops of water from your skin.

You sigh in contentment, putting your arms over his and enjoying the relaxing moment.

Seconds pass and you turn around, taking the bottle of your shampoo while doing so, squirting some into your palm, and the scent of strawberry fills your nostrils. As usual, you bring your hands into his hair, massaging the liquid into his skull and he closes his eyes in bliss, humming.

“You enjoying yourself?” you smirk.

He opens his eyes again and smiles, those butterflies in your stomach coming to life.

“You know I do.” He leans in to kiss you, your arms circling his neck. His hands slide to your butt, kneading the flesh before they grip the back of your thighs but when you are about to jump, he shrieks.

“Shit!” he backs up and his back hits the opposite wall.

You panic, not knowing what’s happened. “What?! Baby, what happened?” You come to him and his fingers are already rubbing at his eyes.

“My eyes! My eyes!” He screams. “I can’t see shit!”

You suppress a laugh, reaching up to remove the hair from his face and wipe away the suds. Then you reach for the detachable showerhead, turn down the temperature, and put it in his hand.

“Here, baby, you have to rinse them.”

He does just that, moans still leaving his mouth at the stinging.

After he finally manages to get all the chemicals out of his eyes, you can‘t hold it anymore. You burst out laughing, unable to stop and he just stares at you with a scowl, putting the showerhead back into its place.

When he turns to leave, you grab his wrists.

“Oh, baby, come on.” you wipe the mixture of water and tears from your eyes. “Don’t leave me here all alone.”

He frowns, his bottom lip sticking out just a little bit. “Might as well. I’m not gonna let you make fun of me.”

The grin is still on your face but you stand on your tiptoes and kiss his pout away. Ransom immediately reciprocates the kiss, pushing you against the wall.

“It hurt,” he says in between the touches of your lips.

“I know, baby,” you say. You pull away and smirk. “Is there a way I can make you feel better?” your suggestive tone hits his ears before you’re sliding down the wall to your knees.

Thank God he didn’t leave the shower.

It’s Friday night and you are watching TV this time in your apartment. Ransom still hasn’t come home from the mansion where he’s spent most of the day, as well as his family. He’s been working with Harlan for quite a while now which boosts up his confidence (not arrogance, there’s a difference) a little and it makes him feel better about himself, proud even, that he‘s finally useful. However, Walt has been giving him shit for it ever since Harlan gave Ransom a chance to be the Acquisitions Editor (of course, he has been pestering him long before that, but now it’s even worse).

Ransom can defend himself, you’re not worried about that, but his family brings out the worst in him, they push him into this dark place that is hard to find a way out of and sometimes you’re afraid that it will destroy him. That’s why you’ve promised yourself that you’re always going to be here for him, no matter what.

And as you expected, you hear your door being unlocked and then slammed shut with a force. He doesn’t even jokingly call out his honey, I’m home! which he never forgets to do. Uh-oh. Doesn’t look good. But again, you didn’t expect anything else.

He comes to the living room, strands of his hair sticking in every direction and falling over his forehead.

“Jesus, why’s it so hot in here?” he takes off his maroon sweater, revealing his plain white t-shirt underneath.

“It’s winter and cold. You expect me to have snow in here, too?”

He just shakes his head, coming to the back of the couch as you crane your head to give him an upside-down kiss. Then he heads to the kitchen, searching the cabinets for something to eat, meanwhile, you turn off the television.

“There should be three croissants in the breadbox!” you say loudly enough for him to hear.

“You want one, too?”

You answer with a no and wait for him.

When he comes back to the living room, he sits next to you and leans his back on the armrest. You’re already looking at him, watching his every move, and trying to see a sign of any emotion he might be feeling. He gives you a knowing look and you shift so you are fully facing him, putting your hand gently on his bent knee and lightly stroking it in a comforting way.

“Three, huh?” he asks with his mouth full.

“Just in case it went really bad.” you give a nervous smile, waiting for him to either confirm or rebut.

Seeing the crumbs fall from his mouth, you reach for the plate that is on the coffee table and give it to him.

“Well... nothing I’m not used to.” he takes another bite of the chocolate pastry. Once he swallows, he takes your hand and kisses your palm. “I love you.”

You smile and lean towards him, supporting yourself by putting both hands on his thighs as you kiss him on the lips that now taste like cocoa.

“I love you, too,” you murmur against his mouth.

After Ransom finishes the pastry, instead of going for more food, he lies down, putting his head in your lap. It‘s kind of a ritual now, every time he comes home (his or yours, wherever you are) after visiting his family, he satisfies his sweet tooth (sometimes it’s 1 croissant, sometimes it’s 5), then he sprawls his body on the couch and rests his head on your thighs, nuzzling his face into your stomach while you thread your fingers through his hair and read a book or watch the TV.

“You want to talk about it?” you ask softly.

You stroke his ear with your thumb. He stays quiet and then sighs.

“Later.”

You bend down as much as your position allows you to, placing a few kisses on his temple and across his cheek before you let him drift off to sleep.

You are Ransom’s safe place, just like he’s yours and always will be.

the end

a/n2: so, ehm... *crickets chirping* okay! i have a thing for fucked up guys who i believe can change if you show them a little bit of love, sue me! no but seriously, Ransom is an asshole and he would probably shove the rest of the cupcakes into my face but a girl can dream, right?

anyways, i do have some ideas for part 2 even if it looks like this doesn’t necessarily need a second part..? it could probably be read as a stand-alone but i’ll see if i even decide to post it lol.

thank you so much for reading, any kind of feedback will be appreciated!🥺❤️i love you, guys!!

oh and my other work can be found under #writer luci !!

[notyetneedcoffee]

Date Nights 5

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut

New Naughty Series

Steve pulled you closer, dropping your hand in favor of putting his arm around your shoulder. Several people walked the sidewalks even though it was late on a Thursday. It was a rough corner of Brooklyn, and since parking the car meant a bit of a walk to the bar, you were happy to take advantage of Steve’s protective embrace. He pulled a slip from the jar that said “share an old memory” and he surprised you by taking several days to come up with a plan.  

You could tell Steve was anxious. His jaw clenched. He kept playing with the keys in his coat pocket with his free hand. “Hey, you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah. Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” His smile didn’t quite touch his eyes.  

You stopped, forcing him to do the same. Before he could say anything, you wrapped both arms around his waist. “I don’t know what you’ve got planned, but if it’s making you feel uncomfortable, we don’t have to do this.” He sighed your name, but you pressed up on your toes to kiss him briefly. “I know you. Your less nervous meeting with the President. What is it?”

Steve sighed. His eyes closed and his head fell back face to the sky for a moment. Finally, he opened his eyes and touched his forehead to yours. “Feeling guilty. Where we’re going, this little bar, I know the owner. I met him through Sam at the VA. Turns out, I knew his granddad back in the day. He was a boy from the neighborhood, a friend of Bucky and mine. Even ended up serving in the 107th with Buck. He was injured in the War and sent home.”

“But you guys don’t stay in touch?”

“I have some. Not as much as I should. For Buck, it brings up a lot of hard memories. Max has a lot of family photos up at the bar, and his granddad, Joey, um, had a thing for Bucky little sister.”

“Bucky has a sister?” You took half a step back, eyes wide. “He’s got family?”

Steve’s face crumbled. “We don’t really talk about it. Becca died in ‘52 in a car crash. It was the night their mom died of cancer. She never had any kids. He’s like me, the last of family.”

“Oh Steve,” you cuddled close. “I’m sorry.”

His strong arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tight before shaking off the feeling.  He smiled, “But, Max has great old pictures, serves good wings, plays nothing but oldies, and has a pool table older than I am.”

You beamed back. “Sound wonderful.”  

“Okay, Sugar, let me buy you a beer.” He guided you back down the street to the little neighborhood bar. Steve held the door open for you.  

Inside, a dark wood bar was heavily polished and surrounded by stools covered in dark green leather. Four tall tables were clustered near the front and a pool table a dart lane took up space toward the back. Tony Bennett played over the speakers. Only the bartender and three others occupied the bar.

“Well, holy shit.” The bartender smiled.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Steve smiled. “How you doing, Max?”

You settle on to one of the bar stools as introductions were made around the room. The regulars asked for a couple selfies with Captain America, and Steve happily complied especially when Max insisted that they leave him alone. You began to look over the wall of photographs behind the bar. There were dozens upon dozens.  

A black and white picture that looked like it was taken at a street fair caught your attention. Bucky’s shining smile stood out to you. He looked so innocent, still, that smile was the same. A crowd of five stood around him. One of his arms was around a brunette girl with his eyes. His other arm was around a short blond boy who . . . holy fuck. “Steve!”  

“What?” He extricated himself from the others and rushed to your side. “Are you okay?”

You looked up into his face, eyes roaming over his broad shoulders, floored. “That’s you.”

He followed you finger. A sweet, awkward grin spread across his face. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Looking back to the photo again, you couldn’t keep the smile from your face. “How old are you there?”

“Fifteen, sixteen maybe.”

“Fifteen-year-old me, would totally be into fifteen-year-old you.”  

“What?” He laughed.

“Look at you. You’re so cute. I mean, that smile.” The picture captivated you. He was so light.  

Steve’s arms wrap around your shoulders. His breath tickled your ear. “I think fifteen-year-old me would have fainted at a fifteen-year-old you.”  

You giggled. “It’s amazing to see you and Buck so young. I mean I know you’ve been friends forever, but it’s so cool to see pictures.”

“Yeah, there aren’t many.” Steve stood up straight, pointing at a different one. “There’s one of Joey, Becca and Bucky. Below it is Joey and his cousin, but that’s my old building. I lived there.”  

“Wait, what’s that?” You pointed at a very faded news article.  

“That,” Max took it off the wall and handed it to you. “Is the world’s first look at the new Steve Rogers.”  

The news clipping had a picture of Steve in too small clothes, holding the door off an old yellow cab. Steve leaned close to you. “That was the very day Dr. Erskine changed me, changed everything. Then he was killed. I was chasing his killer when that picture was taken.”

“Wow. How did you do that? Weren’t you like on newborn wobbly legs?” The absurd question popped in you mind.  

Steve snorted a laugh, pulled out of the dark memory. “I fell through Miller’s dress shop – totally through the front of the shop – because I was just moving but it was all new. Too much adrenaline to be wobbly, but I was far from graceful.”

“He sure did scrub up, though.” Max handed you another photo frame. This one held a promotional photo from a USO Tour. Steve posed holding a woman in a little red white and blue outfit on his shoulder and a cheesy shield in his other hand.  

You smiled. “Oh, that’s classic.” You heard him groan. Your hand slipped down to stroke his thigh. “I like the uniform you have now.”

“You want something to drink, Sweetheart?” He leaned a little closer.  

“Jameson, neat. Please.”  

“Pint for me.”

“Coming up.” Max left you and Steve sat on the bar stool next to you.  

He pulled the stool a little closer so you were practically between his legs. His hand slipped from your knee, under your skirt to your thigh. Steve stared at you with a mischievous smirk.  

“What?” You giggled.  

Steve waited until Max dropped off your drinks and left for the regulars at the other end of the bar before he leaned forward and kissed you briefly. “It’s shouldn’t be such a big deal, but saying a younger you would be interested in me when I was young... Sweetheart, that just makes me want to kiss every inch of your body.”

You turned toward him a little more, back to the others in the bar. Your fingers traced over his face, touched his lips. “Steve, I care about you for you. It doesn’t matter how strong you are or how powerful. Who you are is sexy... how you treat me, your sense of humor, your intelligence.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “The fact that you use that amazing body to fuck me until I come so hard I pass out, that’s just a bonus.”

His fingers dug into your thigh as he sharply inhaled through his nose. “Damn, woman. I want you.”  

You leaned forward and he kissed you, slow and deep. Steve didn’t normally do such things in public. It took your breath away.  

A crowd of people poured through the front door. Steve pulled back, a sly smile on his face. He took a long pull from his beer before looking over his shoulder at the pool table. “Care for a game?”

Three games and two drinks later, the bar had filled with locals. The volume increased, people yelling over one another and laughing. Thankfully, almost everyone left the two of you alone. However, you never did see Steve pay for another drink.  

You’d discovered Steve was a masterful tease without anyone else being the wiser. You would lean over to take a shot, and he would stealthily slip a hand over your ass. He would trade spots with you, and while your back was to the crowd, his fingertips would trace over your breast.  

Then there were the sinfully dirty promises dripped into your ear on his hot breath. He made your whole body shiver by the time he whispered, “Do you think anyone will notice if I have your panties in my pocket and my come on your thighs when we walk out of here tonight.”

“Steve.”

“I want you,” His arm encircled your waist and he pressed himself into you. “Now.”

His eyes scanned the room. You bit back a protest when he moved you closer to the door that led to the bathrooms. Steve looked alert, watching and listening. He opened the door and guided quickly, but smoothly, inside. In the hall you saw only three doors, the men’s, women’s, and office.  

“Steve, what are you...” He cut you off with a deep, but much too short, kiss.  

Pulling you into the women’s room, he locked the door. Steve gave you a wicked grin. “Quiet.”

His hand bunched your skirt until he felt the flesh of your ass. Your fingers buried in his hair as your tongues dances. When he tore your panties with a sharp tug, you gave a little yip of shock. Steve’s mouth left a wet trail over your neck as his finger slipped into the wetness between your legs.  

“Shhh, love.”  

But his fingers slipped in and out, rubbing against you perfectly. His teeth scraped along the nerves of your neck. Breath came fast and heated. You clutched at him. A whine escaped your throat, but Steve smothered it with a kiss. 

His hand worked to release his cock. Before you could reach for him, Steve spun you around. His mouth attacked the sensitive spot on the back of your neck as he flipped up your skirt and rubbed himself along your slick. You bit your lip to hold back a moan as he slipped into you.

Steve locked eyes with you in the mirror. Flushed and panting. Clothes and hair mussed. So hot. You breathed. “Fuck me.”

His hips snapped, thrusting into you. Steve’s arms wound around you. A palm on your mound to finger your clit.  His other hand clutched at your breast. You put both hands on the counter, holding on and his cock slammed against your g spot, making your legs shake.  

You panted, open mouthed, and fought to stay quiet. Still the exquisite ache, the coiled tension, the fire in your belly, grew. Steve’s breath washed over your flesh, his brow drew together, as his cock pound you. Skin hit skin. It didn’t take long. You were both wound tight. Your cunt spasmed. Steve pulled you flush to him. 

His eyes caught yours. Everything broke. You shook. A moan crawled out your throat. Steve’s hand covered your mouth. You quivered, coming hard. He growled. Hip pressed into you hard, deep, emptying himself. Steve held you there, mouth pressed against your neck as your breath returned to normal. 

As his hand lowered from your mouth, a giggle escaped. Steve slipped free of you, stand straighter, but still holding you. “Hmm?”

“I just,” You sighed. “I love that I’m the one who get to know this side of you.” Another giggle erupted. “You’re so naughty.”

“Hey,” Steve smirked while he helped straighten your dress and squeezed your breasts. “These date nights were your idea. Are you saying you’re disappointed with the results?”

“Oh hell no.” You turned around, feeling the mess between your legs.  

“Good.” Steve put his own clothes in order and kissed you again. “Because the smell of you is going drive me crazy all the way home.” When your mouth fell open, he chuckled. Steve pulled your lower lip lightly between his teeth. “Hypersensitive senses are really a blessing sometimes.”  

“I think you’re the blessing.” You grinned. “Now go on, give me a second to straight up so I don’t walk out of here looking thoroughly fucked.”

“You’re beautiful.” Steve pressed his lips to your forehead. He opened the door but stood there waiting for you. Running your fingers through your hair, you tried to ignore his smile. It didn’t work. “Come on, Sweetheart. Let’s make a run for it.” 

TAGS

@rainbowkisses31​ / @dsakita​ / @geeksareunique​ / @lbouvet​ / @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ / @theneuropsychwriter​ / @vanillabunn21​ / @sammghgecko​ / @beautifullungs​ / @badassbaker​ / @the-omni-princess​ / @sebbysstangirl​ / @jesseswartzwelder​ / @unadulteratedwizardlove / @the-reading-octopus​ / @bangtan-serendipity​ / @kiki5283​ / @mindtravelsx / @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines​ / @patzammit​ / @thegetawaywriter​  / @vxidnik / @jennmurawski13​ / @wildmoonflower​ / @rynabarnesrogers​ / @notyourtypicalrose​ / @sllooney​​ / @wwe-fanfiction-queen​​ / @thorfanficwriter​​ / @scarlettsoldier​​ / @morganhoran1671 / @michelehansel​​ / @sexyvixen7​​ / @readermia​​ / @buchanansebba​​ / @what-is-your-plan-today​ / @imma-new-soul​ / @asiaaisa77​​ / @babygurl8840​​ / @acf2510​​ / @firefly-in-darkness / @almond-butter​ / @night-cereus​ 

[mismerccray]

Ultimatum

Sorry for the wait. This fic was a labor of love....and writing it kinda broke my heart. Enjoy the fic!

Warning: ANGST AND VIOLENCE

A woman can only take so much shit before it hits the fan. It kinda seems like other women know this... and even smart men are stupid. Which is probably how we got here.

Tonight is date night. Not a normal one. This is our anniversary. Bruce and I have officially been married for five years. Five blissful years of love, amazing sex, and family. Granted, the public has only known of us being together for six months and married a year. But they don’t get the juicy bits. They may get Bruce Wayne, the socialite, but they don’t get Bruce the Man. Just me. Hell, the public tried their hardest to break us up and to break me down. Calling me a gold digger and saying that for Bruce to date me, a black woman, was a tragedy for Gotham? Weak sauce. Talia Al Ghul even tried to get between us. Hoe got back handed. Things were smooth sailing after that. 

Well, at least I thought that at the beginning of the night. All the boys were out when we got home. Dick and Tim were with their perspective Titans. Jason was hanging out with the Outlaws and Damian is having a sleepover with Jon Kent. Bruce even made sure to inform the league not to bother him unless it’s an Omega level issue. Perfect for some Anniversary sex in the champagne room right?

It would have been, if it weren’t for Selina Kyle’s scrawny ass laying naked on my bed. 

We walked into our room after a wonderful evening out at dinner and a play, and here's this bitch. I was actually so shocked and angry, I went quiet. Bruce began gaping like a fish before he actually found his words. She was just as shocked to see us together for some reason. She quickly grabbed her silken red robe from behind her and covered herself. Throughout all of this, I wasn’t paying attention to anything except how badly I wanted to beat her ass.

So that’s what I did, or at least wanted to do. I took off my earrings and red bottoms, before they actually became bloody shoes, launching myself at her. Training with Bruce is a regular occurrence, in case of surprise kidnappings of course, so getting in a few properly placed punches and kicks isn’t difficult. I managed to break the bitch’s nose before he managed to pull me back.

He set me down in a far corner of the room, trying to hold my arms down. Looking around him, I see her running to the bathroom, holding her bloodied broken nose and cleaning it with a white linen towel. The wedding gift from my late GrandDad. That does it.

I began thrashing around until I managed to slip out of his grasp. I charge my way into the bathroom, when Bruce catches up and tries to pull me out of the room. "Selina, go! I'll talk to you later". 

Record Scratch. 

The Fuck?!

That, made me stop moving. I turned into a full figured sack of chocolate dead weight in his arms until he was forced to let go. Selina crawled past, escaping through our opened window. I no longer cared about causing her pain or making her suffer for ruining the towels. I have to get this situation straight. 

"...I'm sorry, I must've heard you wrong. Did you just tell that skinny hoe, who was just laying butt ass naked on our bed waiting for you, that you'd talk to her later?! Oh HELL no. Bruce, normally,  I am of the opinion that I cannot choose your friends for you. But this "Friend" of yours, Is my one exception." I growled while turning in his arms, glaring up at him. 

Bruce looks bewildered for a moment.  Then this jackass turns into a stone wall. "Y/N, I won't shut out Selina. Tonight was too far, but she is still a good friend to me. I won't just drop her, because you don't approve of her." I raise an eyebrow at him and turn into the bathroom. I lightly wet my hair and begin putting in two strand twists. I don't speak a word to him, but I can feel the chill in the air that replaced the warmth between us.

I finish my hair and pull on a bonnet. I turn and walk past Bruce, bumping into his side. "Well then, I suppose you have a decision to make. Either she goes, or I go. She is a hard limit for me and you know it. You defended her, protected her. So you know what? I'm just gonna sleep somewhere else. I don't want to sleep next to a man I no longer know or trust to have my back." I stated without emotion.  I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I simply got some night clothes and clothes for the next day. 

As I set up the guest room for myself,  I silently wept into my hands. Sometimes. Being married to him is unbearable. I love him, but when she comes around,  I feel like he'd rather be married to her. I took deep breaths. Well, at least I still have my apartment in DC…. 

[milk-luvr-dot-com]

“A New Assistant” - The Thick of It - Chapter 1

Summary: Cabinet reshuffle day, the shit has increased beyond belief, and Malcolm doesn't like change. Especially when his new assistant, Ivy Fisher, is just as coarse as he is.. and a tad hot.

Word Count: 5317

Rating: Mature (for adult situations, language)

Warnings: No Ao3 Warnings, Explicit Language, Homophobic language, fatphobic language, sexist language, ablest language

Categories: F/M, Gen

Tags: Falling in love, crushes, comedy, slow burn, explicit language, original female characters, AU - canon divergence, mutual pining, additional tags to be added

Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Ao3 Link and full work under the cut.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510592/chapters/59169388

Malcolm clapped, and turned around. "Come on, people! Let's get going here," he was shouting, "I've got a to-do list longer here than a fucking Leonard Cohen song!"

The woman, who Malcolm had never bothered to learn the name of, just another office coffee jockey offhandedly mentioned, "Don't you have a new assistant coming in today?"

"Oh, fuck," he pinched the bridge of his nose, "that's the other thing, shit."

Malcolm took a call, ducking into his office. "I've got this-this reshuffle going on, the Leamington Spa by-election coming up, and on top of it I've gotta tame a new fucking pet... yeah, they're giving me a new assistant. Yeah, could be a prostitute for all I care. I've got more on my plate than a spinster at a wedding... yeah, that wasn't a reference to your daughter, by the way, Andrew."

A knock came at the door of his office, and he lowered the phone, pressing a button to end the call. A woman stood there, dressed modestly, not wearing too much makeup. She was dark-haired, short, approaching middle-age. She had steely eyes, both in color and in meaning, that said "I take no shit 'round here!" She was, admittedly, attractive. She was holding a clipboard flat, with a disposable coffee cup balanced on top.

"Hello, I presume you're-" She spoke, with a cockney accent, strangely.

"Malcolm, Malcolm Tucker, you're the newcomer, yeah? Come on, walk and talk." He weakly, in a "dead fish" manner shook her hand, and then brushed past her.

She pressed her lips together, following him. Malcolm walked down the hall, and greeted a friend. "Doug, Doug, Dougie! Look at you, cock the size of Pink Panther's tail. Come have a kit-kat." He shook hands with the scrappy-looking fellow, then turned around.

"Um, I'm afraid I turned it down, Malcolm." Doug apprehensively explained.

The assistant became invisible, neutral.

Malcolm's eyes turned cold, and acute. "You know 90% of household dust is made of human skin? That's what you are. To me."

His phone rang, again, and he answered sharply, "Doug Hayes is a massive abortion. Again, not a reference to your daughter." He sat down in his chair. She stood at the door. "We need somebody to plug this DoSAC hole. Anybody. A fucking mammal with a head." Malcolm whooshed past her again, turning briefly to gesture her to follow.

Malcolm went out to summon someone else. Passing by, a man commented something between a catcall and a teasing gesture at them.

"Shut up!" the two of them both said, at the same time, which surprised both of them. They shared a moment of eye contact that could be a love letter in Yorkshire.

Malcolm returned back to his hell cave. She stood at the door. "Sam, Sam!" He flicked through pages provided for him. "Get me... Nicola Murray. Yeah."

He made eye contact with her, widening his eyes as if to imply the person he was talking to was a moron. "If she says no, well, I don't know, the only other candidate's my left bullock with a fucking smiley face drawn on it... Great. Yeah. Bye!" Malcolm pressed the end call button, once again.

He tossed his phone down on the desk, and rubbed his face. He looked over at her. "Well, come in, what, do I have to invite you exclusively like a vampire?"

She clandestinely rolled her eyes, "No."

"Right. Good. Have a seat."

She sat down. "What's your name?" Malcolm asked, finally, after about her being here for about 15 minutes.

"Ivy."

"Not your Tuesday night stripper name, your full name."

She furrowed her brow, "My name is Ivy. Ivy Amelia Fisher."

He sat up. "Jesus, what were you born on a commune? Are you a fairy tale character?"

"No, and not like yours is any better, Malcolm Tucker." Ivy said his name with such malice. "Go on, I bet your middle name is something daft, like, like..."

"Theodore."

"Yeah, like- wait hang on.." she began stifling a laugh, "is your middle name actually Theodore?"

"It was my granddad's name, look, I don't have time for this. Ivy, go on, set up shop in that corner over there. I've got too much to do today, and I don't need you prodding at me like a male dancer's fat cock at a latex fetish strip bar."

"Right." Ivy stood, and began clearing off piles of needing-to-be-shredded papers that should have been done months ago off of some teacher fold-out type desk. Malcolm got on the phone and began tearing into someone. Ivy started taking notes for insults she can use in the future.

Admittedly, from what Ivy had seen, she looked up to Malcolm. She'd heard about him before she got pigeonholed into it, just vaguely. After cleaning up the litter box for years from some fat cat in another department, she was sure she was ready for Malcolm. And she was, just not exactly in the way she'd expected. She'd been given a list of pointers from the main meat of DoSAC about dealing with him, which went straight in the trash. Ivy preferred learning from experience, anyway.

"Ivy?"

"What?" She looked up.

"What actually is your job?"

His genuinely curious demeanor threw her off completely, "Uh, I'm your assistant. I deal with the, er, horseshit. Making your job a bit easier. Paperwork, coffee runs, yelling at people. The like."

"Really?" Malcolm raised an eyebrow.

"Mhm, now can I finish my housekeeping, sir?" She turned.

"No, actually, you can't. Can you elaborate on the 'yelling at people' part?"

She sighed, and sat down in her creaky office chair. "I've been told, and I've observed, that you do a lot of yelling."

"Yes, I do, it's my favorite part of my day. It's my therapy."

"That's very sad," she pointed a pen at him, "but my job is to do the yelling you don't want do to. Mostly at the insane clown posse of DoSAC upstairs. But I'm sure I have plenty to learn from you, sir, about your sort of.. swearing slam poetry."

"Slam poetry?"

"Christ, have you got Tourette's, yes. You're known for your myriad of insults, especially at the department I was last at. Now let me finish, and maybe I'll yell for you, as a treat." Ivy slammed a stack of 'to shreds' into a bin.

Malcolm, for once, was challenged with the same energy he had. Jesus, she was as uncouth and colorful as he was. Maybe he needed to be put in his place, maybe that's what he was missing. It didn't help that with every insult thrown his way he'd grow more attracted to her. Her soft, curly, dark hair was tamed back only by her hair elastic, which must have been one strong as hell hair elastic, because she had a lot of hair. Her eyes, which were stoic at all times, seemed to be endless.

"Fuck are you staring at?" She interrupted his goo-goo eyes session with a cold remark.

"I'm staring at my fucking computer, now can I work without you accusing me of rape?"

"Jesus Christ, sir." She pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Ivy had finished clearing her space, and was obsessively shredding things.

"That's fucking annoying." He remarked, about 5 minutes in.

"Would you prefer me to chew it up and shit it out on your keyboard tonight, sir? This is all your to-shreds, anyway."

"Yeah I would actually." He leaned back, looking at Ivy. "I've got a meeting after lunch with the new Secretary of State, Nicola Murray."

"...Alright?" She folded her hands together on her desk.

"You're coming with me. You can learn a thing or two. Please stay quiet, though."

"Mmm.. okay."

"In regards to lunch," he paused to sigh, "I'm going down to the Sainsbury's on the corner. Make sure the tazmanian shit devil doesn't come 'round and fuck everything up."

"Right."

He grabbed his shoulder bag by the office door. "D'you want anything?"

She looked up at him, squinting and thinking. "Er... yeah," Ivy pulled out her wallet, pulling out a few quid, and holding it up, "a Dr. Pepper."

He left, returning about 20 minutes later, setting a brown bag down on her desk, which startled her. He said nothing, collapsing in his desk chair.

"Thank you, sir." She unrolled the top of the bag.

"Huh?"

"Thanks." Ivy raised her eyebrows, reassuring what she said.

He made some vague Scottish agreement noise, digging into whatever he's eating. She looked inside the bag, which held her money that she gave to him and her pop. Ivy looked at him, then back down at the act of kindness. She decided against saying anything, since the environment was already thick with tension.

They finished eating. Ivy had her salad that she brought from home and her Dr. Pepper. Malcolm enjoyed his deli food. And then it was up to the circus for the pair of them.

"Is this the number 1 ladies' detective agency?" Malcolm and Ivy almost ran into Nicola's office. Glenn was in the middle of doing something stupid.

Nicola stood, "Malcolm Tucker! The real deal. Hello." They shook hands.

"The real deal! Good to see you. You're looking great." He gave his false friendly smile.

"And I'm guessing this is your new assistant...?" The taller of the two women questioned.

Ivy stuck out her hand for her to shake, "Ivy Fisher."

"Yes, exactly." She nodded, and took her hand.

Malcolm turned to the other two morons in the room, "Alright, Hinge and Bracket, time to go and hang up your lady-cocks."

Ivy slinked back a bit, and let Malcolm continue talking. "Nicola Murray! Here you are, Secretary of State for the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship."

"Yep, I now have one of the longest job titles in Western politics. Thank God I don't have to wear a lapel badge."

Ivy looked out the glass and at 2 of the 3 stooges. One of them was mirroring the action Glenn was doing earlier. She smiled at them, not in a sympathetic or nice way, more just to laugh at them.

"It's a pity that we couldn't just make an abbreviation of it, you know, like PFI. Which I think stands for Pretty Fucking Imbarassing." Malcolm began, then continued, snidely, with "If you're a bit sloppy with the details. Which clearly your fucking husband is."

Ivy had started a list earlier of things that Malcolm said that she could later bring up in conversation. Either for purposes of teasing and berating or to have a psychology evaluation with. The list was a t-chart, which was directly on a piece of liner paper that Ivy kept at the back of the clipboard at all times. There wasn't much on there, aside from "Doug?" (which was regarding why Malcolm was yelling at Doug about household dust) on the side of psychological evaluation, and "PFI? Imbarassing?" which was on the haranguing side.

The woman in the flower print dress inhaled, and then began explaining, "Okay, look, James works for Albany, fine. He wasn't even working there when the contract was awarded-"

"Don't worry, that was just me-" Malcolm smiled again, beginning to laugh.

"Okay. Right. Fine."

"I mean, that's the sort of thing the press will throw at you." He glanced over to the other, shorter woman, as if he was speaking to both of them. "I mean, you step out of line, they'll be all over you. Like a pigeon on a chip. Is that your chair?"

Nicola looked at the prison jumpsuit colored chair. "Oh, God, yeah. It's cool, isn't it? It's got lumbar support." She slapped the back of it.

Ivy moved closer to Malcolm, sensing he was about to leave. "Bin it." He said starkly, grinning. "People don't like their politicians to be comfortable. They don't like you having expenses, they don't like you being paid, they'd rather you live in a fucking cave." She bit her lip, trying not to smile at Malcolm's words.

"Okay, fine, so what should I be sitting on? Should I just get an upturned KFC bucket?"

He grew agitated, lowering his brow. "Just a fucking normal chair. Right? Not a fucking massive vibrating throne."

"God, fine, I'll get a new chair." Nicola gave in, furrowing her brow.

"No, don't get a new chair, the press will go ape shit. 'New Secretary of State wasting money on chairs,' they'll kill you. Don't do anything until you've settled in. At least a week or two."

"Right, so you want me to bin this chair, and not buy a new one. Great. That KFC bucket is sounding like a good option now."

The room fell to a silence. Then Malcolm broke that silence, with "So, uh, you've got three kids, yeah?"

"Uh, I've got four. Yeah."

"Four?"

"Yeah! Katie's 16, she's the eldest. She's just left school."

"Not going to a college, to university?"

"Um, she's a bit of a rebel."

"What sort of a rebel? I mean, so what are we talking here, are we talking a pierced naval or holidays at Pakistani training camp?" Malcolm rested his face on his fist.

"It's.. It's chiefly heroin. Although she has cut down since getting pregnant by that Nigerian people-smuggler, because the track marks would have affected her porn career." Ivy and Malcolm both raised an eyebrow, in surprise.

Another woman, Terri, Ivy thought was her name, came in, silently. She startled Ivy. "I'm sorry to disturb. Um... Morning Malcolm. And morning..."

"Ivy Fisher."

"Right. Morning, Ivy. Just wanted to give you a few things here, that's change from the fruit salad. This is this morning's paper. Do excuse me." She left, and Malcolm had crossed his arms.

"I'm surprised that you haven't vetted me, I thought you'd know about the kids."

Malcolm looked around, "It's just that 'cause you were just sort of, you were a bit of a late-ish kind of appointment. That didn't quite give me the time to, you know, to fuck the Is and fist the Ts as Robert Robertson might say. And I had to spend a chunk of my morning, you know, catching Ivy here up to speed." He gestured to her.

"Right, I understand that. It's just that, it... really doesn't take that much time. To read someone's profile, that is.."

Ivy rolled her eyes, knowing and feeling exactly what Malcolm is feeling, and what he's about to unleash. "Well, I didn't have time, and I'm sorry about that. Okay? Fine. Okay, let's do it now. Okay. Mrs. Walton, what about these other kids? What ages are they?"

"They're 11, nine, and five."

Malcolm furrowed his brow, "11?"

"Mhm.."

"So that's uh, secondary school?"

"No, she's uh, still at primary, state primary. Lovely little school with terrible SATS results, but, you know, really good kind of broad demographic and steel band."

"So, she will be going to a secondary school, what, in September?"

"Yeah. Yeah, so um... I can see where this is going, um, it's not an issue."

"Great! Well, if it's not an issue I'll just fucking toddle off, then. I'll go and have a nice relaxing wee sleep under my duvet. Probably wouldn't even have to tug myself off 'cause I'm so fucking relaxed about that. 'Cause I know there is no fucking issue here. Right?"

"She's not going to the comprehensive, Malcolm. She's going to a local independent school."

Ivy sighed, and he put his hands on his hips. "Jesus H. fucking Corbett. Do you honestly think- do you honestly believe that as a minister, you can get away with that? You are saying that uh, all your local state schools, all the schools that this government has drastically improved, are knife-addled rape sheds, and that's not a big story? For fuck's sake.. sort it or abort it."

"Let's get this clear, my family is off-limits. Alright? This job is not going to get anywhere near my husband and my kids. It just doesn't."

"Of course it fucking does. As per the wee barcode and the serial number under your right armpit, you are now built and owned by the state. And you are under the spotlight 24 hours a day, darling! You know what you are? You're a fucking human dartboard. And Eric fucking Bristow's on the oche flinging a million darts made of human shit right at you. Can you take that? Can you?"

"Okay, you, the all-swearing eye. You didn't even know how many kids I had. You had to ask me. You!" Nicola pointed to Ivy, "did you even know my fucking name before we came in this office?"

Ivy grew cross, "of course I did, what fucking mongol can't remember Nicola Murray?"

"Hey! Don't bring Ivy into this!" Malcolm pointed in an accusatory manner at her.

"So who on Earth in the press is even going to know or care?"

He lowered his voice, "Do you remember The Big Breakfast? Remember that programme?"

"Yes!"

"Remember how Chris Evans started that, remember how it was a big success? And then they had that guy, Johnny Vaughn, remember him? Everybody loved him. Fuck knows why, but they loved him. Do you know what this is here? This, here, is fucking series 10 of The Big Breakfast." He gestured out into the DoSAC office area. "And do you know what you are? You're the fucking dinner lady that they have asked to come and present the show. The reason that I didn't know about you and your children is 'cause you were so low down on the list of candidates for this job, I didn't even have a chance to look into you. So low. Way, way, way, way, way, way, way low."

She sighed, and Malcolm continued with his incredulous self-esteem attacking tear. "You are now being scrutinized for what you wear, what you say. For your hair, your shoes, your fucking earring, your fucking cleavage, and your dress. Which, by the way, is way too loud."

"Too loud?"

"Yeah, I'm getting fucking tinnitus here! Look, your crooked husband I can make go away. But your crooked husband combined with you being worried about your underage daughter coming home up the duff from some truanting bastard, I cannot. She goes to the comp, okay?" Malcolm stood back again, and left in a hurry, with Ivy tailing behind.

They returned back to Malcolm's office. Ivy slapped her clipboard down, and Malcolm slapped his notebook down, both exhaling immensely and collapsing into their respective chairs.

"I hope you got some of that." He said.

Ivy looked up, then flipped through pages on her clipboard. "Uh-huh. The Big Breakfast, knife-addled rape sheds, obnoxious chair-"

"No, I mean, in regards to the press."

"Ah."

"Yeah, what I said applies to you, too now. Not as intensely as her, but certainly-"

"Watch my back?"

"Watch your back, yeah."

Ivy went back to filling out paperwork. There was a lot of it since her recent employment. Malcolm interrupted her, "have you got any kids?"

She didn't look up, but she raised an eyebrow. "No. You?"

"Nah. Never had time for a wife or kids."

"What, are you Paul the real estate novelist?" Ivy smiled, looking up.

He smiled, chuckling, "No." Ivy was taken back by seeing him unironically and genuinely laugh. He stared at her wedding finger, seeing it was empty. "And by the looks of it, you don't have a husband either."

She shook her head, "No..." Looking up, she continued, "Never really found the right one. I know, fucking cliche. Would rather grow balls and be castrated by a ceiling fan than hear anyone ever say that to me, but it's the truth." Ivy returned to her work, looking at her laptop. She turned her attention to a note that she had tacked onto the side. "Oh, cabinet meeting today," she announced to him.

"Yeah, let's hope Nicola will get her shit scooped out and handed to her there, put her in her place. I didn't like the insubordinate smug bitch." Malcolm leaned back in his chair.

"I didn't like her either, came after me for no fucking reason."

"Well, let's go over there and give her hell, for no fucking reason."

"We can do that?"

"I'll think of something to hassle her with on the way over. Come on, I'm bored anyway."

They both stepped out of the office and down and out. Malcolm spoke to some bloke on the way down.

"Hey, what's wrong with you, you look like you've shat a Lego garage or something."

"Jim Lane's daughter is standing as an independent in Leamington Spa."

Malcolm turned back around, putting emphasis on the first letter to come out of his mouth, "For fuck's sake... Fuck! This is going to split our vote."

"Jesus." Ivy quietly interjected.

"Do you think we're in trouble? Maybe we should have chosen her over Liam Bentley."

"No, she thinks just because her dead fat-arse dad was the MP that gives her the right to be our candidate. No, no no. This isn't tsarist Russia. It's not the fucking Dimblebys."

"What do we do?"

"We send everyone up there to support Liam Bentley, including the Prime Minister."

"You want to send Tom up there?"

"Yeah, fuck it, he'll be alright as long as he doesn't do the smile." The other bloke smiling awkwardly, mirroring what Tom would have done. "You hit the phones, right? I'll be with you in two shakes of a crying baby."

Ivy didn't know what was going on. To be honest that was the environment of the facility anyway. No one had their shit in a pile, no one had a purpose in life, they were just walking about in a mad trance at half the pace of an elderly snail, like a mad junkie in a Tesco's.

They reached their destination, and Malcolm began by haranguing Nicola about the outfit.

"Wow. Black widow."

"Malcolm. Ivy."

"Congratulations, first cabinet, heard you wowed them."

Nicola looked smug as ever. "The meeting's literally just finished, how would you know that?"

"Russian spies." Ivy made an imaginary rainbow over her head to be sarcastically spooky.

Malcolm smiled, "the PM texted me, he's very impressed. You could be nominated for best newcomer."

"Really?"

"No." Malcolm smiled again. So did Ivy.

The three made their way back up to Malcolm and Ivy's hell cave of torture and harassment. Ivy sat at her desk, working on paperwork again, but listening in.

"I see you've set up shop, Ivy."

"Yup. Had a shit ton to shred." She glared at Malcolm, who sat down.

"You knew Jim Lane, didn't you? The dead fucker. God rest him."

"Yeah, I did, a bit, back home. Very sad, all those weeks on life support... Nice chair." Nicola looked annoyed that Malcolm was allowed to have nice chairs, like a jealous arsehole of a kid on Christmas.

"Sad? What, lying on your back getting fed nutrient through a tube? It's my idea of a fucking holiday."

"Getting both a catheter and a colostomy bag also a part of that holiday, sir? You must be into some kinky shit." Ivy remarked.

"Shut up." He said lightly. "How'd you like to go to Leamington?"

"...When?"

"Today. It's never too soon to go to Leamington."

"I've just taken over a department, I have a hell of a-"

"You've been asked by the PM specifically to pop along to Leamington, and do some photo ops with Liam Bentley, supporting him. Yeah?"

"I don't really have any choice, do I?"

"If you wanna keep your job, no." Ivy interjected again.

“Of course you have a choice, you can decide exactly how you’re going to say yes. You can do it with a voice. Have fun with it.” Malcolm looked briefly over at Ivy, who began murmuring in a Mickey Mouse type voice.

Nicola sighed, “Yes. In my own voice.”

“I look forward to toasting your success.” He motioned for her to leave, and she did. “Have a lovely time in Leamington, yeah?” Nicola didn’t respond.

Malcolm pushed the door closed, sighing and collapsing back into his seat. “Jesus. Never easy. Never fucking easy.”

Ivy capped her pen, looking up at him stoically. Ivy thought he was mildly attractive too. In an unconventional way. She was excited to unravel the enigma surrounding him. This hard shell of a man, who smelled like clam chowder (maybe that’s the shell part, actually), who obviously has no friends. It was indeed sad. He was indeed, clearly sad, and maybe a tiny bit sexy. But, besides all this, she thought her first day was going well, so far. She was already paling around with Malcolm. She had learned a lot of new insults to hurl at people who were being dickheads. 

“Do you think I should introduce myself to everyone upstairs? Formally, I mean?”

He had his face in his hands, but he looked up and blinked, then replied. “Uhh.. I don’t know, I mean, I think they’ll sort of find out. On their own. I don’t really like to tell them anything, it makes it more enjoyable when they find out about it on their own somehow. Like a chicken with it’s head cut off.”

“God, they’ll make up some daft little story sooner or later about how I’m either related to you somehow or that we’re fucking.” Ivy laughed. Malcolm chuckled along, noticing how pretty she was when she laughed.

The room and conversation fell to a lull. They continued to do paperwork, with breaks in between where Malcolm would berate someone on the phone.

“Oh, shit.” Malcolm was checking his watch when she looked up. “Nicola’s on in about 5 minutes.”

They both stood up at the same time and made their way to the DoSAC office space. 

“Malcolm- oh, and…?” Glenn asked.

“Ivy Fisher.”

“Ivy. Right. Nicola will be there in a minute.”

The DoSAC group gathered around the crappy telly, waiting for Nicola to do her act, and try not to make a complete fool of herself. Olly was ducking around on the screen. Ivy and Malcolm leaned against a desk next to one another.

“She’s handling this very well, Malcolm.” Terri explained, as if Malcolm doesn’t have eyes of his fucking own. “Don’t you think?”

Malcolm was holding a print off of Liam Bentley’s campaign poster, examining it. He covered a part of it and whispered to Ivy, “I am bent.”

She snorted, “better not happen.”

He stepped up, “She’s looking a bit, uh.. A little bit edgy.”

Nicola had moved in front of the L, forming a perfect shot that said “I am bent.” Just as Malcolm had predicted. Chaos erupted in the office, people were shouting at Terri to get her to move. Ivy bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

Malcolm calmed Glenn down, and slinked back. Ivy was caught up watching the telly.

“Ivy! Come on.” He called after her. If Olly was here, he’d say something stupid, like “daddy’s calling.”

About halfway walking back to his office, Malcolm got another call. He absentmindedly walked back to the office area, which irritated Ivy to no end.

“Well you know what, Howard? She’s not bent, neither in the sense of being corrupted or being gay. And by the way, that’s an incredibly homophobic headline, you massive poof.” He shot a look at her, and then a different, more cross look at where he was going. “You’ve got egg on your face, Howard. You over-easy pissbag.”

“Oh, hey, Yoko Ono and the two remaining Beatles, piss off.”

“Right, any chance we could just skip over the usual abuse bit and move on to the part where we sort this all out?”

“Very low chance, but let’s see.” Ivy hugged her notebook.

“Yeah. Uh, you need to make a decision. Are you still going ahead with the private school? Because if you are, we need to draft a statement saying that your husband is leaving his job.”

Nicola looked at him in disbelief. “Are you taking the piss? You’re expecting me to choose between fucking up my daughter’s life or fucking up my husband’s life?”

Ivy nodded, and Malcolm said “Yeah.”

“So I just have to choose between them, like they’re on some fucking cosmic dessert trolley?”

“Listen, darling, I can’t fight on two fronts, you know? If the press run with both these stories you’re fucking dead.”

“You set this up, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“To put me in my place? Or get back at me for ignoring your advice? Or some other weird perceived slight that doesn’t in any way merit this massive fucking out-of-proportion Israeli-style response.” She yelled towards the end there.

“You don’t realize, I’m your fairy fucking godfather, right? I’m your fairy fucking godfather. And fuck it, she’s your fairy fucking godmother,” he gestured to Ivy, “fairy fucking godparents, but we haven’t got a magic wand that we can wave about, all we’ve got is a fucking Blackberry and a chiv. You’ve got a decision to make, make it. Talk to you later.”

It didn’t occur to Ivy until after they left that she was included in the conversation. Re-analyzing the words in her head, she realized he compared them to a married couple. Ivy smiled and brushed her hair back with her hand.

Nicola ran after them like some puppy dog. “Malcolm! Sorry, can we just carry on talking about that thing? Was it you who positioned me there?”

“God, why do you care?” Ivy said.

“You know what the first sign of madness is? Paranoia.” He pressed the lift button. “Have you seen that film, you know, A Beautiful Mind? The one with that, er.. Russell Crowe? The one with the maths guy who thinks that the CIA are working away in a shed at the bottom of his garden. That’s you.”

“No, I am not the mad one here. You are the mad one. You’re Russell Crowe.”

“No, no, no, no, no. You are Russell Crowe. And you need to fucking listen to me, Russell, you fucking antipodean fucking kangaroo-loving fruitcake. See, this poster stuff? That’s fucking small fry. That’s fucking whitebait, Russ, me old cobber.” Ivy and Malcolm walked into the elevator. “The really horrible stuff, that’s all still about to happen to you, right?”

Nicola looked hesitant at entering the lift. “You coming in?” Ivy invited her.

“Uh, no…”

They both raised an eyebrow at her. “I can’t- I don’t use lifts, I’m claustrophobic.”

Ivy held the “stay open” button on the lift. “What the fuck?”

“You’re what?” He had eyes the size of a baseball at this point.

“Not hugely, I can be in rooms, you’ve seen that, I just don’t do lifts, that’s all.”

He dramatically spun around, as if to measure the dimensions himself. “This lift is fucking huge! I mean this is bigger than some rooms, this is bigger than some people’s flats!”

“It’s about not being able to get out.”

“Oh, well, that’s great. That’s fucking great. That’s another thing right there. Not only have you got a fucking bent husband and a fucking daughter that gets taken to school on a fucking sedan chair, you’re also fucking mental!”

Malcolm continued to tear into her for the next minute and a half or so, comparing her to a myriad of things, most notably being a coffee machine. He looked at Ivy, who pressed the floor button finally. 

“Jesus fucking Christ. That’s all I can say, is Jesus fucking Christ.” Ivy rested herself against the side of the lift, crossing her arms. 

He rubbed his face, and then looked at her. “I know. Hey, by the way, you can jump in, now.”

“Hm?”

“I said you can jump in. I won’t get cross.”

“Other person might.”

“So? That’s half the job.” He grinned. “Making people cross.”

She smirked, looking at him. “And half the enjoyment, too.”

[amwritingmeta]

15x01: Belphegor, Spells and Symbology - Oh My!

So, my chickadees, we’re one TFW 2.0 member short. Yeah, such a bummer, right? The kid who’s so damnnn symbolic of change overall has bit the big one (courtesy of granddad) (like what?!) and is now in the big black Emptiness in the sky where all angels go when they bite it. (but what is the Empty symbolic of though?) (yessss indeed) (the unconscious where all self-liberation commences)

Okay, Jack be gone, but in his stead we now have this new kid on the block, yeah, and this new kid on the block is taking the place of the linchpin for Team Free Will’s push towards self-actualisation and it’s no wonder, then, that this new kid on the block is a speaker of truth! See what I’m getting at here?

Basically it’s just that Alexander Calvert - darling and dearling - is still playing a character pushing our boys towards Good Positive Change. Or so I believe. I mean, obviously we shall see, but the setup of Belphegor isn’t saying anything else. 

Oh, he can’t be trusted. Absolutely not. Night and day to Jack in that regard. Or, perhaps, I might go so far as to say that he’s Jack’s shadow manifested. *shrug* But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Speaking Truths That No One Else Is Speaking. 

Man! Still not off the high from that episode, swear to God I would french Andrew Dabb in a heartbeat.

Okay, reeling it in.

So, three things -->

Thing the First: Truths

He calls Cas an abomination in that stupid, dumb trench coat. This goes to the very core of Cas’ internal struggle with his identity, so this calling out of it, threading back through Cas’ journey, feels weighty af. 

He speaks candidly of having worshipped a giant rock shaped like a penis as a human and is, unabashedly, checking out men and women alike (shouldn’t actually ascribe bisexual as his choice sexuality but he is clearly not straight), and then he subtly flirts with Dean, which skeeves Dean out since Jack was kinda his kid, so yeah, stop that immediately, Belphegor. (but hey if he jumps vessel then all bets are off) (just saying) 

*rubs hands together because oh my god I really want there to be textual flirtation that doesn’t go anywhere obviously because Belphegor is already picking up on the tension between two certain someones*

Belphegor also brings up Hell and Alastair and Dean breaking and torturing souls! Like what?!! The callbacks to end all callbacks. To the beginning of it ALL. Like, yeah, we’re in the final stretch here and Dabb is not kidding around.

And yes, Belphegor calls the moment Dean and Cas share at the end of the episode what it is, which is awkward, and then tries to prod Cas to talk about it. Albeit ironically (of course Cas won’t open up to him) he’s still doing it because he just doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him and this is precisely the sort of character these two need to poke and prod at their inability to fucking communicate openly.

Hot damn! 

But. We shall see what we get. :P

It’s interesting that he barely interacts with Sam. Sam is his own man this episode in very many ways and I very much like it. 

Thing the Second: Spells

Graveyard Dirt and Angel Blood

Naturally most of us, I’m sure, immediately thought of the “I’m always happy to bleed for the Winchesters” moment in S7. Here, Cas isn’t so happy. He’s suspicious, and rightly so, of this new player on the scene. Still, he complies.

Now, there are things to take from this scene that have to do with life vs death, mortality vs immortality or even Earth vs (or if you’d rather) combined with Heaven. 

Cas’ strong reaction to Belphegor defiling Jack and Belphegor predominantly having a personal interaction with Cas through calling out the trench coat (symbolic of duty/humanity and at this point that space Cas occupies between) puts the focus on them here. Add to that the need of angel blood and it’s even more heavily linked to Cas symbolically, right?

What exactly does the symbology mean? Honestly, beats me. It feels like a foreshadowing that won’t be clear to us until further down the line (hopefully), but it excites me to think that for a character who has battled for his entire progression with the question of where he belongs, we get a spell that literally combines dirt or earth with the blood of Heaven.

Does that mean that there’s a choice to be made - mortal man or immortal wavelength? - or does it mean that Cas is already a bit of both and just has to accept himself as he is and continue on wearing that stupid, dumb trench coat proudly, the same way he has for a good while now, eh? 

Well, that is the real question, isn’t it?

But then again, I’m a bit biased. :)

Mound of Salt and Human Heart

This one’s very interesting as it’s tied more directly to both Dean and Sam. Cas is a part of it too, as he’s with Sam when the spell is cast and they run for the safety of it together, but Sam is the one most affected by it, and I’m curious to see what effect it will have on Dean as well. 

Why?

Because what does salt mean on this show?

It means protection. The spell is, literally, a protection spell, right? A magic ring of salt a mile wide - no ghosts in and no ghosts out. For characters who have always been incredibly haunted by their past, though in subtext, the external hauntings are being salt-circled away from them, while the human heart of the spell could symbolise the brothers’ hearts actually entering a safe space as well.

Again, why?

Because of what Sam does the moment he passes the perimeters of the spell.

He turns around and he faces a fear that has been very pronounced on the show - his fear of clowns (or, as I’d argue, his fear of people wearing masks, not showing their true face) - and he tells that fear to shut up.

Mind. So. Blown.

What a moment for him! *goddamn fist-pumping the air for him*

The heart is at the centre here, and the heart symbology has always been extremely strong with Dean, but in 13x12 it was Sam’s heart on the line and now both of them are linked to the beating heart on that mound of salt linked to a sense of safety, of protection, of trust. The potential, peeps. The potential of a deeper exploration of what the want in their heart of hearts. Yeah? 

Not just in the coming few episodes within that mile wide magical ring of protective salt, because Lord knows how long that’ll last, but through the symbology of it. I mean, what a way to instil hope that this is what they’ll all be pushed to explore during the coming season. *fingers crossed*

Thing the Third: Motivation

Or possible motivation for Belphegor. 

Given his speech in the crypt about wanting Hell to stay as it always has, it’s intriguing that he’s an opposite mirror of Anael. She had a boring, repetitive job and she couldn’t wait to get out of Heaven. She chose to make a life for herself on Earth because she actually wanted to help people (if that statement sticks) (I’d love for her to come back this season and then all bets are off) while Belphegor wants to help the Winchesters restore Hell to its recent glories so that he can go back to punching that clock. And, you know, torturing souls.

Too simple?

Yeah, maybe. 

Of course he knows who the brothers are (love that there are newspapers in Hell) and this feels like a possible plant for him actually seeking them out specifically. Might not be, but it’s an interesting plant if so. Because of how Lucifer tried to make Nick resurrect him, for one, but also because of the Heaven/Hell dichotomy overall and who’s vying for what and who’s on the side of whom. *curious af*

Here we finally have a character who might have some personal stakes in driving a wedge between these men, and what better way to drive a wedge than to dredge out truths no one’s speaking, thinking it’ll break them apart when we know it’ll actually only serve to open their eyes to their own blindness and will end up making them stronger, individually and, through that, as a group.

*gah*

Could Belphegor not be Belphegor? 

Yeah, but I don’t see why he would be. 

I think he’s Belphegor the demon, but his stated motivations might just be a half-truth. Perhaps he’s even linked to Michael. darkest!Michael would be something tbh. After all, Michael was always, even if God held the ultimate reins, the shadow along the edges of the brothers’ fate. And after a few lifetimes in that cage, I do wonder exactly what might emerge. *goosebumps* 

That said, Michael is a pale representative for toxic masculinity when the Almighty himself has stepped into those shoes, so symbolically it might be more fitting that we get something entirely different. Time will tell!

[captainscanadian]

Happy Endings | Steve Rogers x OFC Marilyn Jarvis

My Masterlist

Summary: Marilyn Jarvis was not only Tony Stark’s goddaughter but also the love of Steve Rogers’ life.            

Word Count: 4995

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Marilyn Jarvis (and a bunch of others as minor characters!)

Warnings: Endgame References (set 2 years after), Mentions of Death

A/N: I usually don’t write fics with an OFC but since @artisticrogers1972​ was having a bad day, I had to write this one! This is my first ever Steve Rogers fic but I hope there’s more where that came from. Also, this is my first non-AU so that’s exciting! I hope you all like it... if you don’t I’m so sorry it’s shit! I don’t own any of the gifs or pics!

Hey Marilyn, did ya have an affair with JFK or not?!

This had been her whole life. Being named after a Hollywood sex symbol was bad enough as it is, but it was the constant teasing that she had had to endure during her teens to her adulthood that she could not bear. It was as though her name came with a certain blueprint that she had to live her life by. Her petite frame was nothing compared to the body type that her namesake had made famous and with all the boys in high school making fun of her for her name and her body, she found herself become rather quiet and reserved over the years. But she could care less about whether she was popular in high school or not. It did not matter to her.

Marilyn Jarvis often wondered if her grandfather had secretly loathed her when he had decided to give her that name. Had Edwin Jarvis even considered the legacy behind her name or that his adoptive son’s only child would eventually go on to live in the twenty-first century? If anything, Mari believed that the man had cursed her by naming her after the actress. But why he did it? She had no idea.

But there was one thing that she was grateful for. While her first name had caused her a hell of a lot of distress, her family name meant a great deal to her. She knew that she was not a Jarvis by blood, as her father had been adopted by Edwin and Ana Jarvis as a young boy. But being a Jarvis meant that her family’s ties with the Starks had been strong enough to withstand any threat in the world.

Her grandfather took extreme pride in his loyalty to Howard Stark and the Starks had always kept him in high regard. When Mari was born, her father had made Tony Stark her godfather. She was an honorary Stark as much as she was a Jarvis, but she was a lot different from the two families who had raised her.

While Tony Stark had certainly fulfilled his duties as a godfather after her parents had tragically passed away, ensuring that Mari had a large amount of money deposited into her college fund by the time she was only in middle school, and had bought her a car for her birthday when she was old enough to drive, she had always been hesitant about accepting the privilege that came with being his goddaughter. She preferred to live a simple life, compared to the lavish life that he had to offer. She had certainly accepted Tony’s gracious offer to pay for her to go to college though. After all, she was a studious kid and she certainly took after her Uncle Tony in that.

She had been at MIT when Tony had left to Afghanistan, just a few months from graduating when she had heard the news that her godfather had been kidnapped. By the time he had built himself that suit and busted out of that cave, Mari had convinced Happy Hogan to fly her home in time to see him. She had cried the whole night before Tony had convinced her to fly back to school to take her final exams.

“I’m alright, Little Jarvis. Go and sit your exams and you can come back home right after you graduate.” He had told her and taking his word for it, she had left for Boston after spending barely a day with him.

Once she had graduated from MIT, Tony had offered Mari a job at Stark Industries. But of course, wanting a simple life and steering as far away from nepotism as she possibly could, she had chosen to find herself a job on her own in New York. She wanted nothing more than a simple life, a life away from war and villainy, a nine-to-five job, maybe a family of her own and a suburban home, white picket fence and all. But nothing about Marilyn Jarvis’ life could ever be that normal. After all, she was Iron Man’s goddaughter.

“Welcome home, Mari.” Happy Hogan greeted the young women as she exited the Stark Industries Private Jet.

“It’s good to see you, Happy.” She gave him a polite smile as she raised her eyebrow slightly at him. “I must say, I really love the blip beard. Giving Tony a run for his money, are you?”

The man chuckled softly as he took her bags and loaded them into the truck. “Something like that.”

“Does this something have to do with a certain young superhero’s aunt?” Mari asked him cheekily, to which he rolled his eyes.

“Tony can’t keep his mouth shut, can he?”

“I’m happy for you.” She told him as she got into the limo. “I think everyone deserves to have their happy endings after everything that they’ve been through.” Except for Marilyn Jarvis, apparently it seemed. The world had changed so much since Thanos had showed up and going back to how things were before him was just not plausible.

Marilyn had suffered just as much as anyone else, having almost lost her godfather for the umpteenth time in her life in that final battle. How Tony had managed to sustain his injuries was a miracle but she was grateful for it. After all, he was the only family that she had left.

When he had woken up in the hospital, having suffered permanent arm damage due to the impact of the Infinity Stones, he had still put on a brave face for her and given her a weak smile, the same way he had done that night when he had come home from Afghanistan. “Hey, Little Jarvis... you’re not gonna believe it. When I went back in time, I saw my dad, your great-uncle Howard. I mean, I don’t think you would remember much of him because you were quite little when he passed away but... I also... happened to... see your granddad Jarvis. I mean, I didn’t get to speak to him because I was running low on time... okay, not the best moment for a joke but... anyways, I saw him... and all I could think of was... God, how proud he would have been... if he got to see his little Marilyn grow up to be this... smart, kind, beautiful young woman. He would have been so proud of you, Mari.”

That was the moment when she had broken down in tears, pulling his weak body into a tight embrace as she cried. “You’re not almost dying on me again, you hear me? I can’t live with the fear of losing you again, Tony. I’ve lost everyone and I can’t lose you too.” And that had been the end of Iron Man.

Two years had passed since that dreadful day. Tony had recovered and moved onto training a newer generation of Avengers. The rest of the heroes had returned to their respective lives. Marilyn had found herself in California with a job promotion and no social life whatsoever. The only instances she ever took time away from work was during the holidays, as Tony had given her a strict order that she must drop whatever she was doing and return to the Avengers’ Base in New York to celebrate Christmas. She could never say no to that.

So, there she was, in the back of a Stark Industries limo that was driving to Upstate New York. It had started to snow as Happy was pulling up through the gates of the compound. As Mari stepped out of the limo, she held out her hand as a fuzzy little snowflake landed on her palm. One thing sunny California could never give her was the joy of being able to play in the snowfalls of New York.

As she entered the base, FRIDAY the AI had informed Tony of her arrival.

“Just in time for Christmas Eve lunch.” The man had beamed as his beloved goddaughter had made her way towards the common kitchen.

With Pepper and May Parker keeping busy with the cooking, Tony and Rhodey were seated at the table, sharing a drink and chatting away. On the other side of the room, Peter Parker and Harley Keener were playing around with Little Morgan Stark. These people were her family now, even though none of them were related to her by blood. It was not blood that ever determined family though. It was the people who choose to be a part of her life. Tony had really made sure Mari had a family after she had lost hers.

Morgan wiggled out of Peter and Harley’s grip as she noticed her arrival and ran over to Marilyn in excitement. “Mari!” She exclaimed as she jumped into her arms.

“Hey, kiddo!” Marilyn let out a hearty laugh as she hugged the young Stark before waving over at the boys. “How’s MIT treating you boys?”

“Don’t even ask.” Peter let out a groan, making Harley roll his eyes.

“We’re handling it, Mar.”

Mari couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh as she set Morgan down and walked over to give Tony a kiss on the cheek. “I missed you, old man.” She told him with a playful grin before greeting Rhodey as well.

“Missed you too, Little Jarvis.”

“How’s California treating you, Mari?” Rhodey asked as he took a sip of his drink.

Marilyn thought for a moment before responding with a shrug. “Well, it’s a lot warmer... and it’s where my grandparents used to live so, I can’t really complain.”

“But it’s not home, is it?” May asked her as she pulled the roast out of the oven and set it on the counter.

“No.” She replied, shrugging once more. “But the job’s great. At least, I’m getting paid a lot more than I used.”

Pepper turned around to look at her niece with an eye roll. “Honey, you do realize that I’m waiting for the day you would walk into my office and tell me that you’re ready for me to sign over my company. Just say the word and Stark Industries is all yours. You don’t have to worry about living alone in the other side of the country for the sake of making money.”

“And why would I do that when you’re a much better CEO than I could ever be, Pep?” She asked her, chuckling. “Honestly, Cali’s great. I really love it there.”

Marilyn wasn’t sure if she was being honest with herself when she had said that. Sure, California had always held a very special place in her heart. Her grandparents had lived at the Stark residence there for years. It was where her father had been born and adopted. There was a lot of significance to where she lived. But did it make her happy? She could not be so sure about that. After all, she did not know what made her happy anymore.

Long before the events of the Infinity War and Thanos, she had once envisioned a future with a man she had met at one of her uncle’s parties. But there was no way that this future would even be possible. He was a man of every woman’s dreams, a true gentleman at heart. Anyone would have fallen for the charms of Steven Grant Rogers if they had met him. Marily was no exception to that. Their relationship had been a short-lived one, perhaps some sort of a summer fling before all hell had broken loose.

Marilyn knew it was wrong but she could not help it. She had been drunk and he had been a gentleman, trying to drag her to the guest bedroom after a party. A drunken kiss should not have meant anything, right? But her confession of having a crush on him had led to a completely different story. They had gone behind Tony’s back to pursue a relationship, fearing that the knowledge of the two of them together would ever cause a drift between Tony and Steve. But said drift had been caused either way, thanks to the Accords. Even Mari had been put in a place where she had to decide where her allegiance was. As she had chosen her godfather’s side in a heartbeat, the star spangled man had retaliated by ending their relationship just as quickly.

A heartbroken Marilyn had found herself sitting by her great-aunt Peggy’s grave in London before Tony had found her and flew her back to New York. Even then she hadn’t told him about what Steve had done. She had known that it would only make things worse between the two of them.

While Captain America and his allies were on the run, Marilyn had continued to live at the compound with Tony. Not even once did the man whom she had fallen in love with try to contact her during those two years. She hadn’t even seen him again until after the events of the Infinity War, while Tony had been lost in space for three weeks. Not even then did Steve speak to her or try to offer her some comfort in the absence of her godfather. Mari understood why though, after all he had lost his best friends during the snap. But either of them could look at each other. Perhaps things could never get better between the two of them.

After Tony and Pepper moved out of the compound, Mari had found herself a new job in California and made the move as well. The next five years had been rather dull for her, but for once she hadn’t been the only one who was going through it. The entire universe had been left in ruins. At one point, she had been so depressed to the point where she had gotten Tony on the phone and told him the truth.

Of course, her godfather hadn’t been mad about it. After all, she was human and was bound to her emotions and desires. But was he pissed at Captain America for breaking his Little Jarvis’ heart? Most definitely! Yet Tony also felt responsible for the part he had indirectly played in their break up. Perhaps that was why he had ensured that Steve Rogers would also be attending Christmas Eve lunch while Marilyn was also in attendance.

“Lunch is served.” May announced as she turned over to Harley and Peter. “Boys, would you please help set the table?”

As the boys whined and groaned at her words, Marilyn stood up from her seat to help as well.

“FRIDAY, tell Cap, Wilson and Barnes that lunch is served.” Tony announced, knowing very well that his goddaughter could hear him.

The young Jarvis’ eyes grew wide as she realized what her godfather had just said and she gave Tony a look of disbelief, mouthing a ‘what’ as she crossed her arms against her chest.

“Oh did I forget to mention that Cap, Wilson and Barnes are spending Christmas with us at the compound? Oops!”

***

Bucky Barnes would forever be grateful that Tony Stark had forgiven him for what he had done during his days under HYDRA’s control. But what he had not expected from Tony was an invite to spend Christmas at the compound with him and his family. After all, he had just gotten used to living with Steve and Sam in Brooklyn. When Steve and Sam were not going on missions or training the young Avengers at the compound, he had found himself becoming familiar with his hometown. He had become tired of fighting throughout his whole life so it felt nice to be able to sit back and enjoy the holidays. The last time he had been able to do that was long before The Great Depression, and that too was a century ago.

Bucky had learned from Sam about his friend’s brief romance with Stark’s goddaughter and that was why he had been hesitant about spending the holidays at the compound.

“Mari always spends the holidays with Tony and Cap can’t get himself to see her.” He had told him.  

He did not think much of it at first, though the two of them had somehow managed to convince Steve to come to the compound with them. But the moment Bucky had witnessed Steve come face to face with the woman whose heart he had broken, he truly understood that things just did not seem right.

Bucky had always wanted for Steve to settle down and have a family of his own, even then and even now. Steve had been alone his whole life after all, and while he would always say that he could get by on his own, it was always Bucky who had to remind him that he did not have to. Bucky was determined to convince Steve and his former girlfriend to get back together, even if it meant that he would have to deal with Tony’s wrath once more. His best friend deserved a happy ending and Bucky was going to get it for him.

He had noticed the way the two of them had looked at each other during lunch, even though neither of them had acknowledged each other’s presence or made the effort to have a conversation. Sam had taken it upon himself to formally introduce Marilyn to Bucky, as there was no way Steve could have even thought of it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Barnes.” The woman had told him politely, making him chuckle softly.

“You can call me Bucky.” He had told her. “It’s good to meet you too, Marilyn.”

“And you can call me Mari, actually.” She told him as she laughed softly. “It’s not easy being named after a Hollywood sex symbol.”

Bucky nodded. “I understand. I mean, I was named after a president.”

“Not the one that was linked with my namesake, I- wait, forget that I even said that.”

He gave her a confused look. “What?”

“N-Nothing...” She shrugged her shoulders before she took a sip of her eggnog. Her eyes kept darting towards Steve, who was talking to Rhodey and Tony. But all she could do was steal glances every now and then. She did not have the courage to go up and talk to him.

He shrugged off her words before shaking his head, noticing the woman constantly stealing a glance at his friend. “I’m sorry if you feel like I’m intruding... into your personal life. I know you just met me and you don’t know me much... or from what you know, you might probably resent me. But Sam happened to tell me that you and Steve used to...” He did not know how to start the conversation. But he knew that if he could did not get involved, no one else would.

Marilyn bit down on her bottom lip as he brought up her past with Steve and she let out a sigh. “Well, the past is in the past so...”

“I can’t tell you how to live your life, Mari. But I know Steve and I know how bad he feels about what happened between the two of you. I can see the way you look at him too and you can’t deny that you don’t have any feelings for him either.” He spoke in a hushed tone, hoping that no one could hear him.

“Bucky, I...”

“Tony built a time machine and Steve had access to it.” Bucky reminded her. “He could have gone back to the forties if he wanted to but he didn’t do that... You know, I thought he would have. He stayed, Mari. I often wondered why he had chosen to stay in this timeline when he could have gotten the life that he had always wanted with Peggy. But I know now that he had a reason to stay. It’s you. You’re the reason he stayed.”

Marilyn knew that Bucky was making sense. But her heart still refused to accept it. There was no way Steve could have chosen to stay in the present for her when he did have a chance to go back to the past and make himself a life for himself. How could have Steve chosen her over the woman who had once been the love of his life? How could have Steve chosen her over her Aunt Peggy, the woman whom Marilyn had heard stories of from her grandparents, the woman whom she had always looked up to when she was growing up, the woman who was much more brave, kind and confident than she could ever be. She found that hard to believe.

“If Tony could forgive me for what I did, why shouldn’t the two of you just forgive each other for whatever happened in the past?”

***

Christmas morning at the compound had always consisted of Pepper and Tony handing out presents to the kids. While Marilyn was not a kid anymore and was certainly not as materialistic as the rest of them, that had never stopped Tony for spoiling her with gifts every year. But that particular year, he had chosen not to buy her a present himself. Instead he had managed to find something that he knew that she would value a lot more than any expensive gift he could get her.

“This was actually from your parents. I was supposed to give this to you when you graduated from MIT but you know how crazy things were back then. I forgot and then... things got lost when I was moving around. But I found this a couple months ago and thought that this could be a perfect Christmas present for you. Of course, I had Pepper alter it first so that it could fit you. Make sure you’re alone when you open this, okay?” Tony had told her as he handed her a rectangle shaped box that was wrapped up nicely and tied up with a bow on top. “Merry Christmas, Little Jarvis.”

She gave him a confused look as she took it from him and leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Tony.”

After everyone else had opened their present, Peter had left the compound to meet up with his girlfriend MJ and Harley had found himself helping Tony set up for the party that night.

Just as her godfather had instructed, Mari had found herself alone in her bedroom when she decided to open her present. Untying the bow and tearing off the wrapping paper, she opened the box to reveal a bright red dress that had been pressed and folded neatly.

When she picked it up and admired the fabric, she noticed an old photograph that had fallen out of it. She crouched down to pick it up from the tiled floor of the bedroom, only to see that it was a photo of her grandfather Edwin Jarvis with the incomparable founder of SHIELD herself, Peggy Carter. Mari noticed that the dress that she was wearing in the photo was the same one that she was now holding.

Marilyn could not help but remember the stories that she had heard from her father countless times. This dress had once belonged to her grandmother, who had lent it to her great-aunt Peggy for a mission. God, she had to give Tony some props. The man really was a genius for holding onto this present until he had found the right for to give it to her.

***

As the Christmas party was finally in full swing, Steve found himself seated by the bar with Bucky. With a beer in his hand, he watched a drunken Sam drag Natasha onto the dance floor. He’d realized that a beer was not as strong a drink to numb the thoughts that were now clouding his mind. But he was not planning on drinking the night away either. Despite Tony’ s invite, Steve had been hesitant about coming here, just because he knew that he would have to run into her. Perhaps it was his guilt that had been eating him alive right now. But Steve was miserable.

Steve was not an idiot. He knew that he was the reason why Marilyn Jarvis had left her entire family in New York to move across the country and he could not face her. He knew that he had screwed up by letting her go. He should not have given her an ultimatum where she had to choose between him and Tony. Of course, Mari had chosen Tony over him, just as he had chosen Bucky over Tony. Breaking her heart had certainly not been the right way to respond to that situation.

But he could not deny it either. He had fallen in love with her years ago. Steve knew that he loved Mari a lot more than he had loved Peggy. That was why he had chosen to stay in the present when he could have went back in time to make himself a life. He had wanted a future with her; even though he knew that she might not want the same with him.

Bucky’s eyes grew wide as he saw something behind Steve and he nudged his arm before standing up. “If this is what déjà vu feels like, then help me God...”

Steve gave him a confused look before he turned around to see Marilyn walking up to him, wearing a bright red dress was a lot more 1940s than what she was used to wearing. The knee length dress was a little loose around her petite frame and its vintage style was reason enough for Steve to assume that the dress had not belonged to her. Yet for a moment when he took in the sight of her, he could not help but think of Peggy - the same Peggy whom he had once in love with, the same Peggy whom Marilyn had also lost almost a decade ago.

The woman ignored the gaze of the entire party, giving Tony a smile on the way.

“Captain.” The young Jarvis greeted him and Steve had almost forgotten how to speak.

His friend nudged him once more, causing him to snap out of his trance. “Mar-” He paused, biting down on his bottom lip as he looked down at his feet and clearing hi throat. “Ms. Jarvis.”

“M-May I... have this dance?” She asked him as she held out her hand. “Please.”

Steve would have thought that she resented him to his core. But the way she had approached him and asked him to dance had been quite surprising to him. As he took her hand and led her towards the dance floor, there were a thousand things that he wanted to say to her. But instead, he wrapped his arms around her waist and swayed gently along to the music.

“I see that you haven’t forgotten what I’d taught you, Rogers.”

He gave her a nod, followed by a nervous chuckle. “Well, you did teach me how to dance, m’lady.”

Mari couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “The years have been kind to you, Steve.”

“The super-soldier serum does help with the aging...” He reminded her before letting out a sigh. “I like the dress, by the way.”

She blushed slightly at his compliment. “Thank you. It used to belong to my grandmother... and Aunt Peggy.”

“Oh...” Steve looked down once more before looking back up at her.

“Steve, why didn’t you go back to her?” Marilyn asked as she looked up at him. “Tony told me that you saw her when you went back in time for the stones. Why didn’t you... why didn’t you just stay when you went back to return the stones?”

“Because she’d moved on from me, Mar. She lived a long life without me and I couldn’t go back and take that away from her.” He replied as he sighed. “Besides, the life that I wanted was... right here... right now.”

“But you loved her, Steve-”

“I love you more, Mar.” He cut her off. “I know I haven’t been honest with you or myself but I can’t take it anymore. So, here’s the truth. It’s you who I love, it’s always been. I’m sorry I put you in a place where you had to choose between me and Tony. But I think the last nine years without you have taught me how stupid I had been... and how much I love you, Marilyn Jarvis.”

Mari could not help but tear up at that. “But Steve... I’m not... right for you. You said so yourself.”

“And I was wrong, I admit it.”

“Steve... I... I love you too.” She finally confessed what she had been holding onto for years now, her eyes glossing over with tears as they met Steve’s blue ones. “I’ve loved you since the day I first saw you.”

Steve then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it before turning it over to her, revealing a pencil sketch of her face. “I’ve been wanting to give this to you for a while now, Mar. A portrait of you that you’ve always wanted me to draw.”

“You drew this... for me? Steve, it’s beautiful.”

“And so are you.” He could not help but smile at that and he pulled her into a tight hug. “Marry me. First thing in the morning, right here in front of our family and friends. We’ll find ourselves a home in the suburbs, white picket fence and all. That’s where we’ll raise our children. We’ll grow old together too, because I’m not doing that with anyone else but you.”

“I...” She looked over at Tony for a moment before turning back to him. “I think that would be perfect.” Perhaps Marilyn Jarvis had been wrong about one thing. She deserved to have her own happy ending after all.

[electronicgrowth]

Guardian Angel: Chapter 4

This chapter features a version of Ransom that we are more familiar with. In other words, Ransom is an ass and Leah deals with the Thrombey clan.

Warnings: mentions of smut, fights, Thrombey’s are assholes

WC: 1816

We never talked about that night. But it reoccured. Often. Anytime one of us needed extra comfort we fell back into bed with each other. Every time we fucked he begged me to tell him that I loved him. But he never said it back. 

I started a job at Blood Like Wine publishing. But I kept living with Ransom, the extra drive into the city was worth not having to pay rent. This continued for months. 

Ransom had convinced me to attend Linda’s birthday party at Harlan’s house with him. I didn’t understand what this family’s preoccupation with birthdays was. Why did they always feel the need to have a big party? Especially since Linda and Harlan’s birthdays had only about five weeks between them.

We were getting ready that Sunday afternoon. I had opted to wear a dress and sweater with booties. Ransom mentioned that it was going to be held outside on the patio. 

“You almost ready?” He asked from the doorway.

“Yep. Nearly,” I answered. 

“Where’s your necklace?” He asked with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Oh, I wasn’t going to wear it. I figured it would broker too many questions from your family. I mean, they can spot Tiffany’s a mile away right?” I said awkwardly, barely making eye contact, he came up to me. Our faces just inches from one another. 

“Put it on, Leah,” he said in a low voice, “You don’t want to make me angry, babygirl.” He sounded more dangerous than I had heard him before. 

I quickly turned around and found the necklace box. Anytime I took the necklace off, which happened very rarely, I placed it back in the box. I put it on with shaky hands. 

The drive to Harlan’s was quiet. I knew Ransom was mad at me. We pulled up to Harlan’s, and I couldn’t stand the awkward silence. 

“I’m sorry, Ran,” I said, “I just figured that you wouldn’t want your family to know that you spent so much money on me.”

“Why should I give a shit about if they know?” He asked. 

“I don’t want them to think something is going on between us,” I stumbled over my words.

“But something is going on between us,” he countered.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think that you wanted anyone to know. But I guess we haven’t talked about it,” I murmured. 

“You’re my girl. My best friend in the whole world. What goes on between us at home isn’t any of their business,” he responded sternly, getting out of the car. I quickly followed. He had the present for Linda in one hand, and my hand in the other. 

We walked through to the back of the house, where the party was being held. Everyone else was already there. It was pretty warm for the fact that it was October. The sun was shining bright and warm. 

“Leah,” Linda sighed as she came over to hug me. 

“Happy Birthday Linda,” I said returning her hug, the hug was brief and awkward. A show of false affection.  

“Would you look at her Richard,” Linda exclaimed, “She’s all grown up.”

“Yeah,” he responded, eyes trained on me, “A beautiful young women.” 

Ransom wrapped his arm around me and pulled me back against his chest. He passed Linda the gift he had been carrying, “Happy Birthday, mom.”

“Thank you Ransom,” she said kissing his cheek. Ransom pulled me over to get some food. 

“Here,” he said handing me some champagne, “Not too strong. But it’s alcohol.”

“Thanks,” I giggled. 

I could feel eyes on me. I peered around and met Joni’s eyes, she was looking at me skeptically. Was she trying to find fault in me? Did she suspect that I was sleeping with the oldest Thrombey grandchild? Either way, it made me very nervous. 

“How many drinks deep do you think Donna is right now?” Ransom whispered in my ear.

I laughed. Things continued the way all Thrombey get together’s did, it was tense. It felt as if a blowout was just around the corner. 

Everyone talked and mingled, eventually Joni found her way to Ransom and I.

“Ransom, dear,” she sighed with a mischievous smile, “Bringing a girl to these things seems to make you more agreeable.” 

Ransom scowled at her, “Screw you, Joni.”

Joni didn’t even react to Ransom. I began to toy with my necklace nervously. 

“That’s a beautiful necklace, Leah,” Joni said. This grabbed Donna’s attention. 

“Oh my god. Is that a necklace from Tiffany’s?” She gasped. My eyes went as wide as saucers. 

Joni leaned forward, “Oh god,” she said, “It totally is.”

“Where did you get that? It looks like a newer piece,” Donna questioned. 

Every member of the family was now staring at me and Ransom. 

I kept opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water. I didn’t know how to answer the questions being thrown at me. 

“It is newer,” Jacob piped up, “in fact it’s almost $1,500.” He passed his phone to Donna and Walt for them to look at. 

“I bought it for her actually,” Ransom said throwing an arm protectively around me, kissing the side of my head. 

“Are you sleeping with her?” Linda asked aghast by the very prospect. 

“Mother,” Ransom scoffed,” Of course I am,” The entire family started into an uproar at the same time.

There were varying shouts, but the gist was clear. The family thought I was a gold digger, some whore who was using Ransom for the family’s money.

“We’re a couple. We live together. Why wouldn’t we be sleeping together?” He yelled over the rest of the family. 

I was humiliated. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. It probably would be less painful and uncomfortable than what was going on around me. 

“She’s a baby,” Richard said, “How can you be sleeping with her?”

Ransom didn’t say anything, just looked at his family with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

Was my ass sweating? My face must have been beat red. This was unbelievable. I had told Ransom that this would happen. 

“Well,” Ransom said, “You all better get used to Leah being around.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Walt questioned angrily. 

“Leah is here to stay,” Ransom said.

“What does that mean?” Donna asked shrilly, “Are you two getting married?”

“If we were, it would be our decision,” Ransom responded with growl in his voice, “You know what? Leah and I are going to head out. Happy Birthday mother.”

As Ransom dragged me away, Walt called across the patio, “Don’t expect your piece of ass to still have a job at Blood Like Wine.”

Ransom quickly tugged me through the house. Stopping just briefly at Harlan’s office. 

“We’re leaving Granddad,” Ransom said. Marta shot me a sympathetic look. Ransom proceeded to pull me out of the house and to the car. He yanked the door open and pushed me inside. Slamming the door as soon as I pulled my leg into the car. He rounded the car and slammed his own door and started the car. He peeled out of the driveway. His grip on the steering wheel was turning his knuckles white. He was driving far too fast, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

I kept stealing glances at him, while pressing myself close to the door. We pulled up to his house and he immediately got out of his car. Slamming his car door and the front door of the house. I took a deep breath and opened my own car door. I let myself into the house. Ransom was in the kitchen already, drinking from a fifth of scotch. My heels clicked on the tile floor and he turned around to look at me. 

“Ransom,” I said, “I’m sorry.” 

He turned around to look at me. 

“Stop.” He said. 

“Why did you say that we were a couple?” I pressed.

“We are a couple, Bunny,” he said, still not meeting my eyes.

“Are we?” I questioned, “Have you ever taken me out on a date? Or done anything romantic?” 

“How about the fact that I’ve done everything for you for years? I was with you constantly with you in New York. Charlie was always working. I took care of you!” He yelled, “And when Charlie died, I got you out of bed everyday. Made sure you showered and fed you. How about after the accident? I have done everything for you, Leah! You are my whole world.” I started to back away from him.

“Ransom, you’re scaring me,” I said.

“Scaring you? I’m scaring you?” He screamed, “I have done everything for you, Leah! I have never asked for anything in return. All I want is to be with you.”

“Then be with me!” I yelled back, “Tell me what you want! You always make me tell you that I love you, but you don’t say it back. You insist that we’re together. So, you tell me Ransom what is going on between us?”

“You’re my girl. You’ve been my girl for a long time, Leah,” he said, then he leaned down and placed a kiss on my lips. 

“Stop! Ransom, I can’t do this,” I cried, “I want all that stuff that I know you don’t. I want to get married and have kids. Decorate the Christmas tree, carve pumpkins. Stupid family shit that I never got to do. I know you don’t want that. And I got fired today because your family thinks I’m some kind of whore. Maybe we need some space. Ethan has this new girlfriend and he’s been begging to go visit him in San Francisco.” 

If looks could kill, I would be dead. Ransom stared at me with such venom. 

“Then go, Leah,” he growled at me before brushing past me to go back out to his car. 

He was gone for hours and I was worried sick. I called and texted. No answer. 

Finally I saw the headlights from the Beamer. Ransom stumbled from his car with a pretty brunette girl on his arm. When they got inside she saw me sitting in the living room.

“Who’s that?” She slurred. 

“Oh just my best friend’s kid sister,” he responded. He pulled her to his room. I quickly heard the sounds of their amorous activities. She moaned so loudly, I would have thought she was totally faking if I had never slept with Ransom. Hearing them fucking broke my heart in two. I realized that despite all the weird shit between Ransom and I, I was totally in love with him. I cried myself to sleep that night, and the next morning I jumped a flight to San Francisco for an extended stay with Ethan, I left the necklace on the kitchen counter with a note telling him where I was going and asking him not to call.

[millersgod]

Vkook police au, where Taehyung is a brilliant detective, who never takes a mistake. And Jungkook is a senior police officer, which is impossible to resist. No one knows they`re dating so their jealousy, that looks like sarcasm, for everyone is just an indicator of their strong male friendship. Jungkook can`t stand when his colleagues are talking about detective Kim`s wonderful butt and if he was a woman, everyone would try to get him into bed. And Taehyung becomes angry when every young woman tries to seduce his lover, touch his strong body and squeak her vile «Jungkook-oppa!», trying to get his attention.

- I`m not going to hit you because, in my opinion, it`s inhumane. But in this office a lot of police officers and they`d love to punch you for sleepless nights. So you`d better start talking. Otherwise, you`ll go further to rot in the cell, - Taehyung leans his hands on the table and stares at the captured criminal, waiting for some reaction.

Heavy sigh. The detective turns away from the prisoner who is burning the table with his eyes.

- Take him away! – he turns back and approaches the criminal`s face at the dangerous distance. – It`s easy for us to prove your guilt, so don`t think that they`ll let you go, - he is whispering and there is no hint of anger in his voice. Taehyung rectified and shows two police officers that the detainee was taken away, and then brought out of the interrogation room.

The detective wants to achieve his cabinet as soon as possible, where no one will stare at him appraisingly. He catches every glance, but he pays no attention because there is no look that makes such a cold and calculating detective Kim Taehyung give way and gets him hot. He goes straight to the cabinet where Jungkook and his colleagues usually work when they don`t have work outside.

As expected, most of the workers in the cabinet were busy with their paperwork or telephone conversations. But only Jeon Jungkook was standing at the coffee machine with a young woman Taehyung had never seen before. «She`s cute», - the detective thought. It seems like all youth and beauty was concentrated in her: chubby lips, large dark eyes, neat nose, white skin, she was slim and small. As he finished glaring at her, Taehyung noticed that their conversation was far from businesslike. They`re having nice conversation about something, giggling and the girl blushed, "accidentally" touching the policeman. Fatigue was receding, and anger was taking its place.

- Detective Kim! How is your investigation? – One of the police officers, ending a quarrel with someone on the phone, sunny smiled Taehyung. Jeon Hoseok was the only person in the police office, whose didn`t look at Taehyung`s butt. That`s why they soon found a common language. They even became friends in a way.

- He still don`t want talking, Hoseok-hyung, but it`s not the problem. How with victim? – Taehyung leans on the door jamb and the corner of his eye notice how Jungkook tore his gaze from the girl; he had only to hear a familiar male voice. However, he didn`t dare to approach yet.

- The doctor is still against questioning. But I`ll let you know when I get permission, - Hoseok, noticed that something was wrong in the sight standing in front Taehyung, closer to the ear of detective and lowered his voice. – In fact, we have a new girl in our department. Her name is Soo Hee. She came a couple of days ago and went all the time for your Jungkook.

- You know everything, - Taehyung said. – All right, I`ve got to go. I`ll wait, when allowed to interrogate the victim, - and detective slipped out of the office before Jungkook managed to approach them.

Taehyung wearily fell into a chair and sighed. He didn`t know Soo Hee, but she annoyed him already. She is young, without blue circles under eyes because of the work, in a good form. She clearly claims a place next to the senior police officer.

A knock at the door. Without waiting for permission, Jungkook walked into the office, closing the door behind him.

- Have you finished your briefing, Mr. Jeon? – Taehyung raises an eyebrow, trying to look as calm as possible.

- Have you finished wit your secrets with my colleague, detective Kim? – Jungkook rested his hands on the desk of the detective and now they looked at each other jealously.

- If you`re only here to snide, I`m not in the mood for that. Besides, you shouldn`t leave the intern alone for long.

- Taehyung… We`re together so long, but you still can jealous me with every girl, - Jungkook deep sighed. However, pleasant warmth spread inside him. It means that Taehyung still love him so much.

- Oh, it`s hard not to be jealous if I feel myself like old dilapidated granddad when all young women in this office are jumping around you. I can`t do something like that, you know, - Taehyung rises from his chair, walks around his desk, a little throws his head back, stares at Jungkook. He manages only a short cry when Jungkook lifts his lover and sits him down on the desk, his hands on either side of the detective and he approach to his face at the dangerous distance.

- You know, - Jungkook whispers in his lips, - that you`re wrong…

The policeman leaves a deep kiss on Taehyung`s lips and starts to showering his face with small kisses and descend down, making Taehyung to let out a low moan.

- I love your deep voice, - a kiss on neck, - I love all your freckles, - warm arms gently unbutton the detective`s shirt, - your soft belly and… - there is no the next kiss.

- And? – Taehyung sighs loudly, looking how Jungkook raises back to his face.

- …love you, - Jeon wraps his hands around Taehyung`s waist and kisses him hungrily on the lips.

The cabinet`s door creaked softly and men hear someone`s surprised gasp. When both of them looked to the entrance, there was Soo Hee. Obviously, she wanted to find Jungkook.

- Hoseok-shi said that…

- Go away, - men said in unison and the girl slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

They stared at each other for a moment, not daring to say anything.

- If you want to say how much you love me, we can go home. I need the hot bath and… - Taehyung said, biting his lip and averted his gaze, which was embarrassed.

- Me?

- Actually, a good dinner but I won`t give up on you, - detective smirked, slid off the table, buttoned his shirt as he went and winked to Jungkook, slipping out of his cabinet.

- Why do I love him?

[kngofhell]

the devil made me do it|self para

when: june of 2020.

where: elias’ office at LUX

who: elias morgan, edward morgan, brief mention of manny lopez and lorenzo levi 

trigger warnings: graphic violence, child abuse, guns, blood, anxiety, scars, murder, sex, drugs, alcohol mention, religion mention (and mocking of that religion) 

All he’s ever known is violence.

There used to be nightmares, starting when he was around six, he’d wake up wet from peeing the bed. When he learned to stop sleeping, to be prepared, the sound of his father’s footsteps would have him shaking, curled up in the corner of his bed.  When he got older he learned the wonders of drugs, and alcohol, would drink himself into a stupor so he could black out, or do a line so he didn’t have to sleep at all. There were nights of endless sex where he’d exhaust himself to the point of passing out, and it all worked. It would keep the nightmares from creeping up again.

Then there was therapy, he’d talk it out, rage it out.  Even then, though, he never let his doctor get too deep, even when she suggested sleeping pills, he turned them down and turned towards what he knew, fool proof, easy, he knew what to expect.  The nightmares would go away and that’s all he needed.

When he learns about the babies, things slow down, he’s self-medicating but its not as much, just enough to get him to fall asleep at night, he works it around falling asleep next to a pregnant Casey. The nightmares stay away.

Then the babies are born, and it’s been a few weeks, and he’s been doing it pretty much solo for a while. He’s so exhausted at night that he passes out, and the nightmares stay away.

He’s back to work now, and Casey is doing much better, and he’s trying to be better, he swears. He doesn’t want to be drugged up around his children, around his still struggling girlfriend, so he’s not sleeping for a while, or he finds a way to exhaust himself enough to the point that he doesn’t dream at all.

——————————————————————————————————————————–

A big part of his job, no, not LUX, the other one. A big part of being someone who ran a mob faction was that he had to be made aware of things that could affect the business, and since he was essentially the business, getting news that his father had touched down in Los Angeles was something he managed to find out.  He assumes he’s here for Fallon, because Elias hasn’t spoken to his father in eighteen years, and there’s no reason for them to start now.  But he assumes wrong, because he gets a call from Manny down to his office in LUX because someone insists on seeing him, and his gut is telling him it’s Edward Morgan.

Elias is upstairs in the penthouse when he gets the call, and he’s mostly undressed, hasn’t made any plans to go down until a little later, but he knows this needs to be taken care of right away. So he gets dressed, a full suit, and straps on his holster, gun in place, he puts on his jacket and presses a kiss to Casey’s cheek on the way out.

Lorenzo is standing behind the bar, and he and Elias share a look.

When he walks into his office, and he shuts the door, locks it, his father is sitting in his chair. Elias remains calm despite how angry he already feels.  He has no right to be here. He looks the same, just older, and Elias can still see his angry red face before he went into a rage.

“Dad.” He says, and his tone is blank.

His father straightens in his chair, and Elias stays standing, at full height, solid and straight, emotionless look on his face.

“Elias, my boy” he responds and Elias tries not to puke right there, because he only said that when he wasn’t drunk, when they were in public, at church, trying to put up a front.

“I’m not your boy. What are you doing here?” he asks immediately, straight and to the point.  He doesn’t want to have to deal with this longer than he has to. The quicker he can have security escort him out, the better.

“I’ve spoken to your sister, and she let something slip. It appears I’m a granddad,” he explains, and the motherfucker has the audacity to smile. Elias wants to punch him in the face, but he holds back.

“I do have children,” he begins, and he can’t lie about it, because everyone knows, he was bound to find out. “But you’re not anything to them,” his tone leaves no room for argument, because he will do anything in his power to make sure his father never lays eyes on the girls. “So if that’s all you’re here for, let me show you the door.”

“I never thought you had it in you,” his father responds instead of getting the hint, and has he ever? “Thought you’d end up shacking up with some man, living in sin. But this is a nice surprise. I’m glad to see you’ve seen the error of your ways. Who is the mother? I’d like to meet her.”

The idea of him meeting Casey makes him want to puke again. He won’t allow it. He doesn’t deserve to meet her, doesn’t deserve to know her, doesn’t deserve her grace. He shakes his head. “You’re not meeting my family at all.” And there’s that tone again, stern. “But I will have you know that all I do is live in sin. Everything I do here is sinful.  The mother of my children was a quick fuck in the backroom of this club. Before her it was endless, meaningless sex with men and women. Does that bother you?” He asks, and there’s a growing smirk on his face “Does that bother your God?” he continues, relentless. “Because your God can fuck off, for all I care. And so can you.”

There’s that red face again, the same from when he was little, merely five years old and receiving that look from someone who was supposed to love him, supposed to take care of him.

“I knew it when you were a kid that you were evil, you know. Saw it right when I laid eyes on you. It’s why I had to beat it out of you, I had to beat the devil out of you.”

Elias flinches at the words. Remembers them as the metal clasp of a belt hits against the skin of his back, his nostrils flair at the memory.

He slams his hands on top of the desk, composure gone for a moment as he raises his voice, and he’s glad he’s had his office soundproofed. “you weren’t doing anything. You were just a selfish, jealous, alcoholic son of a bitch who had to take his anger for what a failure he was out on someone smaller than him. I should kill you for what you did to me. For what you put me through for twelve years. You spineless motherfucker. I should kill you,” he said, and then he stops, takes his hands off his desk and pulls back, straightens his jacket and then reaches inside.

“I could kill you” he finally says as he pulls out the gun, steps around the desk before his father has any idea what he’s doing,  takes it off safety and presses it to his temple “I could kill you right now and no one would hear you. No one would care that you’re gone. And I’d have your body taken out of here and get rid of it. That’s what I do, dad,” he says, and his finger is on the trigger but he waits, waits for a response, swallows thickly He is angry, shaking, and he could pull the trigger and get away with it. It’s what he does.

His dad must notice, because he finally responds “you can’t do it. Of course you can’t do it. You’ve always been a failure. Weak. You couldn’t defend yourself then and you can’t do it now.”

All he’s ever known is violence.

Elias sees red, but he holsters his gun first, not wanting it to go off in the midst of what’s about to happen,   and then surges forward, grabs his father by the collar of the shirt and lifts him out of the chair. He doesn’t hold back this time when he lets go and throws a punch. His father staggers back and Elias sees the blood dripping from his nose, and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t stop even when his father is on the ground and Elias is above him throwing blow after blow and something inside of him snaps him back to reality, and he looks down, at his father, bleeding, weary, and his own hands covered in blood, knuckles sure to be bruised.

His dad is slipping in and out, and Elias knows he will be okay. He will have a broken nose, and two black eyes but he will be alive, and so Elias grabs him by the collar again, makes sure he’s still conscious “look at me, dad” he says, voice rough, and angry “look at me,” he repeats, and Edward is opening his eyes and Elias smirks, “I want you to know that the devil did this to you.”

[just-a-spark]

The Before, and The After Part 9

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content (18+ to be safe) HEY! SMUT AHEAD. BE WARNED I’M BAD AT IT. SORRY IN ADVANCE BUT BE WARNED

Summery: A wealthy classmate of Meg’s becomes close to the family, a little too close to the playboy grandson of Harlan Thrombey. The events leading up to, and following, Harlan Thrombey’s death.

Series Masterlist

Benoit Blanc watched Elizabeth as she explained the night before her wedding, closing her mouth after admitting she’d arrived at Ransom’s house and that he’d taken her in. But the detective could tell the story didn’t end there.

“You arrive at his house with a gun, scare off the woman he was sharing his evening with, and then what? You talk?”

“Among other things.” Elizabeth said blandly, causing Blanc to laugh.

“But here is the problem with your story Mrs. Stevens... you clearly went back and got married the next day. So I want to know, in detail, what you two talked about that night at his home.”

Elizabeth took a measured breath, eyes darting toward the circle of knives on the far wall, “I’m not sure what this has to do with Harlan’s death.”

“Mrs. Stevens, or perhaps you would prefer I call you Eliza like your, erm, lover from these pages?” He taunted and she rose her brow curiously, unsure of where he was going with this, “It has everything to do with Harlan Thrombey’s death, because you were having a- relationship of sorts with Ransom. The only thing I have heard about you in passing is that you and Harlan were close, but I am assuming you marrying someone other than his beloved grandson caused some tension. Maybe even some tension between Ransom and Harlan-”

“That isn’t- no.” Elizabeth finally said, raising her hand to Blanc to stop him, “It wasn’t like that at all. Ransom would never... he loved Harlan. He was Harlan’s favorite grandson. Despite all of his flaws, Ransom isn’t a murderer, he’s just...” she paused, trying to pick out the correct adjective for the man she loved and lost, “He’s afraid to lose what he has. He doesn’t know how to exist with his family and their money.”

Ransom laid Eliza down on his bed softly, brushing her hair to the side as he leaned on his elbow over her, “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re here now. We’ll figure something out. Granddad will give you money, you can get away. I’ll come visit wherever you go.”

She sniffled and looked up at him with pouty lips, “No, Ransom, you don’t understand, I don’t want you to send me away, I want you to come with me. Leave it all behind.”

Ransom stared at her like she’d grown two heads and she sighed, “Your family treats you terribly. Things were bad when I met you, but I’ve watched your relationships fall to pieces of the past three years. The only two people in your life who don’t rip you apart are Harlan and I.” Ransom turned his head away from her, and she reached up and cupped his cheek, “Hugh-”

“Ransom.” He corrected, looking back to her and she shook her head with a tiny smile dancing on her lips.

“No, Hugh.” She repeated and he groaned loudly and allowed himself to fall onto his back beside her. She flipped over and draped her arm across his chest, resting her chin on the place where his shoulder met his upper arm, “Run away with me. We’ll pack up whatever we can and take the Beamer. You’ve got enough money to get us started somewhere, I’ll write for something, anything. Hell, I’ll just get a job working at a grocery store if that’s what it takes-” Ransom shuddered at the idea and she chuckled, “We can get a little house, just you and me. We wouldn’t have much but we’d have each other...”

Ransom stared at the ceiling, not saying a word. Eliza lifted her head just a little to get a better look at his face, “Hugh?”

“I can’t do that Eliza, you know that. I can’t just leave, I need that money from Harlan.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t need any of this, I’m asking what you want. Do you want to be with me? Don’t you ever want to settle down and have something that lasts?” She questioned, propping herself up on her elbow, “I’m sure I’m the longest relationship you’ve ever been in.”

“We aren’t in a relationship.”

“And why is that? Because sex with me isn’t enough? Because you need to keep your options open?” Eliza pressed and Ransom turned his head to look at her as she challenged him, “If you didn’t want to be with me, you would have ended this years ago. You keep coming back. I keep coming back, I’m supposed to get married tomorrow, but I’m here, in your bed.”

“It’s not about the other women.” Ransom admitted shifting so he was laying on his side looking straight at her, “You’re right, if I didn’t want to keep coming back to you, I wouldn’t. But I do. Nothing else means anything but you.”

“Then let’s go-”

“Why don’t you just call off the wedding? And we can be together?” Ransom suggested and Eliza flinched at the idea. Ransom huffed, reaching over and stroking her face, “It would mean the world to my grandfather-”

“I know it would, but it would mean the end of the world to my parents.” She grumbled and he grunted in response, quickly pulling his hand away from her, “And Phillip, what am I supposed to say?”

“The truth? That you don’t want to marry him.”

“Will you marry me?” She asked bluntly and Ransom’s mouth clenched a little tighter. “Or will you just keep me around indefinitely, no commitment, right?”

Ransom softened and she rolled her eyes, preparing for him to butter her up, “I love you Eliza, you know that. I’m just not really husband material. I know your family’s approval means a lot to you, but I can take care of you without the ring. We’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t want to become part of the Thrombey zombies Hugh, your family is just- too much. Both of our families are too much, and I think we should just get out of here. Just you and me.” She nudged him and he wavered as he smiled a little, “Come on, baby. Take me away from this place, and we can be whoever we want.”

“I want to be who I am, Eliza, why don’t you get that? Why are you trying to change me when I’m perfectly happy with my life?” Ransom moaned, pressing his fist into the soft mattress. “I’m not giving it up. Not even for you.”

Ransom might as well have socked her in the face. It would have hurt her less. She took a deep breath, studying Ransom’s features so she could pull them from her memories in the cold, lonely nights, “Alright then. I guess this is goodbye.”

A moment passed though as they stared at each other, both understanding that the other wouldn’t compromise, even for love. Eliza knew she needed to get up and go, but she didn’t want to stop gazing at him. She raked her eyes over him time and time again until he chuckled, “I thought this was goodbye?”

“Maybe before goodbye, it could be one last time.” She whispered and kicked off her tennis shoes, allowing them to fall at the foot of the bed with a thud. He breathed heavily and nodded, rolling over and sitting back on his knees as Eliza sat up and wiggled out of her button down shirt and tank top.

Ransom crawled off the California King bed and took care of the rest, slowly pulling off her socks and jeans until she was just in her bra and underwear. He shoved down his sweatpants and underwear in one swoop, showing off his growing erection as he began to straddle Eliza once more.

She reached up for his lips hungrily, but he denied her, instead ducking his head to suck a hickey onto her neck. She gasped, barely trying to press him away with her palm, “He’s going to see-”

“That’s the point.” Ransom growled as he pulled his lips away to survey his work, “I want him to question why his bride was marked by somebody else.” He reached behind her and she lifted her back so he could unstrap her bra and discard it before turning his attention to her breasts. He sucked on one while one of his hands snaked down her soft skin to her underwear. Ransom didn’t bother to be gentle, instead snapping her thong apart to get it away from her. He looked up to meet her eyes as he started trailing kisses down her stomach, “This doesn’t have to be the last time.”

“Yes it does.” Eliza told him firmly, “Once the ring is on my finger, you’ve lost your chance.”

Ransom pressed a kiss to her folds, then grinned up at her darkly, “Suit yourself. It’s your loss.” He plunged his tongue into her, and she threw her head back and groaned. Ransom drank her in hungrily, but he would never admit how affected he was by the thought of never tasting her pussy again. But there would be others.

“Hugh.” The strangled cry shot electricity into his lower stomach as he dared to nip at her clit, causing Eliza’s body to shudder and release more of her for him to drink up. Once he’d had his fill, he pulled away and traded his long tongue for his smooth fingers, not bothering with necessities as he shoved his middle and index fingers in together and stroked violently. She cried out his name again and he grinned darkly, petting her until she was on the brink of orgasm and then stopping abruptly.

He pulled away and stood, taking one step toward his dresser, but Eliza moaned out, “Hugh, please.” Ransom looked from the bed stand to the woman, then crawled up her until his aching cock rested at her entrance. He hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if he should ask- but she whimpered up at him with her lower lip stuck out sadly, “Make love to me.”

Ransom didn’t need any more encouragement and slid into her easily, like two pieces of a puzzle that only fit each other. He threw his head back and moaned at how wet she was, happy that there was nothing between them if this really was the last time. He got into a slow, steady rhythm and Eliza clamped her hand around the nape of his neck, pulling his face down to hers so she could gasp into his mouth. He studied the look of elation on her face, and reconsidered her proposition one more time. He could do this every night and every morning for the rest of his life, he would just have to earn it.

She moaned loudly and pulled him down onto her, and he followed after her, spilling into her and filling her up until he could feel a cocktail of their juices dripping from her pussy. He pulled out slowly, immediately missing her warmth.

She tried to catch her breath as she laid her heavy head against the pillow, gazing up at him with blown out eyes. He leaned down and kissed her passionately, then got up and went to the bathroom.

She didn’t follow, she just laid there for a moment with her hands covering her mouth so her soft, devastated sobs wouldn’t reach Ransom. She silently sobbed, knowing she’d never feel this way again.

[niamh-erin-colclough]

Covid-19: A Diabetic’s story

***(This is another online story I have written for my portfolio on the current situation we are in. I used this as a blog post also for my other blog site. This is one of my favourites.)***

This was not how I expected to be spending my spring and summer to say the least. Feels like yesterday that I was off to meet my friends, hugging them, having fun and planning all the amazing things we were going to do together that summer… taking every laugh for granted.

I’m 20 years old, and I look and feel healthier than ever, however this is not the case for me. I have type 1 diabetes. My diabetes has never really caused me too many major problems, I’ve had my ups and downs over the years with it, as any diabetic will know, its a bitch… but it has never truly effected me until now. Physically, mentally and emotionally since this outbreak I have been drained.

Since the day I was diagnosed my mom has always told me:

“Diabetes lives with you my darling, you don’t live with it.”

I always listened to this, I never allowed myself to let an illness that was out of my control, take over my life and stop me from doing the things i want to do. And even though over the years I have been in some scary situations due to my lack of care (being diagnosed as a teenager it was hard at first to accept that i was going to have to live with this for the rest of my life) but never have I been as scared as I am now…

Covid-19 is scary for everyone to say the least, the world hasn’t faced this kind of epidemic for years, and never have i experienced anything even remotely similar to this in my 20 years on the planet. As a young woman everybody keeps telling me “you’ll be fine, you’re young, you’re fit and healthy!” little do they know that I suffer with a long term health condition that has changed my immune system immensely. At the start of this whole debacle, I tried so hard not to worry myself, this was until I saw an article online about who will be most effected by the virus. Being a journalist and having a thirst to know everything about everything I clicked on the article, something i now wish I never did.

“The people most at risk of fatality are the elderly, pregnant women and people with diabetes and heart conditions.” — NHS

This was the moment i became truly scared. I had felt fear before, the kind of fear when you watch a horror movie or taking off in an airplane, but this was a different kind of fear. I felt my chest tighten and my heart racing, i couldn’t catch my breath. I remember closing the article immediately and just sitting on the edge of my bed with thousands of thoughts running through my head. I looked back on the past five years on my life and how little I’d looked after myself and my diabetes, being a young women I had started to resent it and almost pretend it wasn’t there for a long period of my life. I thought about my HBA1C levels (the test they do to check your average blood sugar reading over a year) and how they had been sky high for the majority of time I’d been diagnosed. I thought about the effect this will have had on my immune system, diabetes effects your immune system even if you have it controlled perfectly…and mine was far from perfect.

But I remember the main thing that I couldn’t stop thinking about was my family. Diabetes runs in every generation of my family, my mom, my granddad, his granddad, everyone. When I thought about this I didn’t really care about what might happen to me anymore, I cared about what might happen to them.

Two days after this, and after two days of panicking in my apartment in Cardiff — self isolating already — I decided I’d rather be at home with my family through this awful time and I wanted to go back while I still had the chance. I never really know why it is, maybe because I’m a journalist or maybe just because of who I am as a person and have been raised to be, but I’m a realist, I see things for how they are and even though at this point bars, clubs, restaurants where still open, and people were still living their normal lives, I somewhat knew how serious this was quickly going to turn.

Due to my diabetes, me and my family decided to start self isolating anyway, leaving the house as little as possible to protect ourselves. This was scary in itself and all of my friends where still out and about living their normal lives. I felt like screaming “WHY IS NO ONE TAKING THIS SERIOUSLY!!” I couldn’t get over how selfish some people where being, my friends would say to me “well I’m young, its not going to effect me.” What about the other people it will effect? What about me?!

As things rapidly declined so did I, mentally and emotionally I was becoming drained. The constant worry and fear was giving me extreme anxiety and ultimately this was messing up my diabetes even more than usual. My mom had to start ordering mass amounts of insulin, as it wasn’t just me who used it, so did she and so did my granddad. Seeing how worried she was for me broke my heart, and for some reason — even though I knew it wasn’t my fault — I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt that there was this added stress that I was causing because they love and care about me so much.

I had to stop thinking this way though, I suffer with clinical depression and I can easily slip into a very dark place if I’m not careful. I had to make sure this wouldn’t happen, I had just managed to pull myself out of a dark episode and refused to go back to that place again. I was told because of my diabetes that I would have to stay in isolation for at least 3 months, and being someone who suffers with mental health issues the idea of this terrified me more than the idea of getting unwell with the virus itself. So I started to force myself to change my mind set. Instead of being worried all the time and thinking about the awful, scary things that could happen to me and my family, i started changing these thoughts to remembering how lucky and blessed I actually am… Every morning I started to count my blessings instead of my afflictions:

№1 — I’m home, with my wonderful parents who love me more than life itself

№2 — I have a beautiful home, with lots of space and lots of love in it.

№3 — I have a dad who would do absolutely anything to make sure I’m happy, not only during this awful time but in life in general.

№4 — I have a mom who I am so close to, so close that I can tell her anything. Anyway Im feeling she is there for me.

№5 — The most important… Im alive. I have a roof over my head, Im still waking up every morning with air in my lungs and blood in my veins… I’m alive.

I started speaking these to myself in the mirror every morning, to cope with my anxiety and dark thoughts. I could sit here and end this blog post by saying that its worked miraculously and that I have no horrible thoughts anymore and everything is fine, but that would be a lie. I still wake up in the middle of the night panicking, I still cry randomly throughout the day -sometimes more than once- when things get to much, I still worry myself sick, but I also now am reminded of just how lucky I still actually am. There are some people out there at the moment who have hardly any hope at all, who aren’t as lucky as me to have a wonderful loving family and a beautiful home to go through this traumatic time in. And sometimes i have to step back, wake up and smell the coffee.

I will get through this, my family will get through this, we will all get through this.

“Diabetes lives with you my darling, you don’t live with it.” — Wendy Colclough

[pambradaza]

Kung mas lalo kang humirap ngayon, sino ang sisisihin mo?

I’m not a fan of Filipino noon shows, but this episode really stuck with me. Vice Ganda here, rebukes Anne Curtis’ and a contestant’s argument that the poor remain poor because they are lazy. For him, especially as someone with the rags to riches narrative, his success does not discredit the hard work of farmers who are cheated by unfair pricing and monopoly in agribusiness. He also shared that in the past, he used to think the same way as well. However, he now realized that it is the people with leverage who are constraining others. Injustice and inequity is still prevalent as one can observe in the school setting, for example. The rich are typically labeled the brightest minds for they can afford private tutors and have access to the internet and academics materials. Although there is a right to education, many are still at a disadvantage due to the high cost of education.

WHAT. A. DRAG. I know, but I wanted to use this as an example in order for us to better understand the habitus of two different sides of the same coin. What has led me to my current disposition? What has led the Women of Buklod to theirs? 

May naibinhi nga ba ang Binhi sa akin?

When I first signed up for LB01, I did not expect that I would be able to learn more than I already knew. Being a female, I have always thought that I’ve had a clear picture of the plight of women. I was, of course, proven wrong. One’s mere similarity with another does not immediately entail a clear understanding of another’s situation.

The women of Buklod ng Kababaihan were former sex workers in Olongapo. Sex tourism was prominent in their city, especially during the time of the U.S. military in the Subic Bay Naval Base. Its closure after the American Occupation, however, did not abolish the bars and clubs that have made their niche. Instead, only the clientele of the so-called Sin City changed.

Ate Jen (not real name), Ate Apple (not real name), to name a few, were strong women. Behind their smiles, however, are lingering stories of pain and abuse. Belonging mostly from the marginalized sectors, these women were the breadwinner in the family. Some of them were even sold by Mothers to the sex trafficking ring or were molested by their family members. Most of them, due to the violence and harassment experienced in their families, ran away. This is where the women were unfortunately reeled into sex work. Ate Apple, one of the oldest in the group, gave birth to a half-American who will never get to know his father. Ate Jen, the Buklod member I got to talk a lot with, shared that she made a round with all the abuses one could ever think about. Due to lacking educational attainment, Ate Jen and many others were unable to land on jobs that could satisfy the needs of everyone in the family. For Ate Jen, specifically, it meant going home and not being able to feed the mouths of her 6 children, her relatives, and her husband. Thus, she was pushed into the world of an “entertainer”. For some, however, sex work was a choice. It was a chance to explore their sexuality whilst earning income. Unfortunately, this entailed contracting sexually transmitted diseases, unfair treatment in the workplace, and abuse.

Raised by Catholic parents, Ate Jen was a devout Catholic. Thus, when she was finally able to liberate herself from the horrors of the growing sex industry, she vowed to give back to society. Along with many others, Ate Jen volunteers in the programs of Buklod ng Kababaihan in order to support sex workers and to help their families as well. Buklod ng Kababihan wants to highlight that there are other opportunities for women to earn money. At the same time, they understand the reasons for many to continue sex work. Thus, they want to protect the rights of sex workers as well. Roughly translated, I remember Ate Joy telling us that before she was aided by others, she lived a life in submission. Now, although barely scraping by, Ate Jen says she is the happiest she can ever be now that she spends her time with her children, works an honest job as a janitress, and helps other women through rallying and working for Buklod.

Pushed by their harsh environment to be tough and independent, these women are the epitome of true grit. They have learned their ways in order to survive. Cunning, bold, fearless – such words barely justify the strength of the women of Buklod. Seeing them laugh and stand proud, it makes one forget that once upon a time, these women felt that at a point in their lives, they were hopeless. With no authority figure to guide them and barely any support felt as a child, these women were forced into maturity at such a young age. This makes me ponder about the great class disparity here in the Philippines. Every night for nineteen years, I came home to loving parents and a hearty meal. Unknowingly, on the other side of the wall, there were families of a dozen sharing a cup of noodles to warm themselves as they slept at streets, with lampposts as their only light.

I have always labeled myself as belonging to the middle class or the comfortable living standard. I never appreciated what we had because I always thought that it was not enough. We weren’t rich. We just had enough to feed our mouths and pay our tuition. My parents grew up in poor families. My mom used to sell ice candy and banana cue when she was twelve. My father was a caretaker of houses every summer during his childhood to help his parents. Thus, I was shaped to think that I needed to work hard so that I may be able to repay my parents. Although my parents did a good job of alleviating our standard of living, some of my relatives weren’t fortunate enough. Thus, I was encouraged to study hard. Even my drive as a Management Engineering student is stirred by my hopes of a better future not only for my children but for my relatives as well. Although my parents grew up with parents of the working-class, perhaps the reason they have never raised a hand on my sister and I, or that they value education and hard worker, no matter what the cost, is attributed to their upbringing. Although I never got the chance to be close with my grandparents before their passing, I heard of their stories. They might be tough at times, but they worked hard for the future of my parents. Thus, I believe that my profound interest in socioeconomic issues or politics, in academics, and my self-direction and autonomy is a product of the structured and structuring structure of my habitus.  

Although at some point, some women of Buklod shared the same story as my parents, my parents had different social capital. They were influenced by scholars in the family. My granddads were engineers and my grandma was a teacher. They were low in economic capital, yes, but the similarity in their demand and resource was offset by the great force backed by the environment. For my parents, they valued education and they wanted to be part of the corporate world or at least to move up from being blue-collared workers. Ate Jen and Ate Apple didn’t have that kind of support. In their respective fields, actors such as their families and friends played a role in their transformation, in the context of my parents, or preservation, in the situation of the sex workers, of their social hierarchy. Thus, my current disposition is brought about by the earned privilege I have as bestowed by my parents. For many others, however, the life they live today as a combination of the life they were born to and of the oppressive system of our society.

In the end, it all boils down to us as members of our society. Do we live for ourselves, or do we live for the greater good? If we all take our time to reflect and see the consequences of our actions, we will soon be able to realize that we are often clouded by notions of greed and thirst for greatness. When we soon stop ourselves from clinging to be the best among the rest, that is when we soon see that there need not be the best. What we need as a society is to be able to cater to each and every one. Perhaps, if we are open to such concept, then maybe the term marginalized will be nonexistent as well. In a documentary I have watched entitled “Walang Rape sa Bontoc”, I realized that if we are able to strengthen our ideals of equity and respect, then concepts such as the poor, violence, rape, abuse, discrimination, and many more, would never have been created or would have no use for at all. It is a long journey to such dream. Too idealistic would be a phrase for many. However, I do believe that no matter what the cost or no matter how long it takes, if we all see through our materialistic desires, we may be able to find ourselves as one with everybody else. This is what Binhi has made me see. I never thought that I’d ever quote Vice Ganda or use his philosophy for any circumstance at all, but truth be told, it is in our hands as people of privilege to help others to stand and grow as well.