#i still have some of that left over and dont often wear jackets. not necessarily to sh but just because i never really got used to doing it.

[roboraindrop]

My f/os notice me shivering and are going to tell me to put on a jacket, but they're very surprised when I reach for it on my own (:

[astralglam]

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .

1. What does your muse smell like?

without soap or perfume, 683 smells bizarrely sterile, chemical-ish, like a dentist’s office, bleach or cleaning supplies.  like hand sanitizer that kills 99.9% of germs.  they have that faint smell of powdery clean cosmetics, only because they wear so much foundation, face powder and setting spray.  humans like things that smell less artificial, so 683 takes to using cheap perfume (think a teenager who just learned to douse themselves with axe or bath and bodyworks spray), which is artificial in a slightly more palatable way.  their clothes (which are almost all second hand) have that mothball-musty smell of a thrifted dress that hasn’t been washed yet, like an old book.    

2. What do your muse’s hands feel like?

cold, frigid and icy, almost like a mannequin’s if you left the mannequin in the freezer. their skin is tight over their tendons and fingers, with almost waxy, plasticy skin stretched over their joints and knuckles, which makes them seem very fragile.  sometimes their palms are uncannily clammy.  their skin on their palms isn’t rough or calloused but they’re starting to get scars on their fingertips from their voyages into the realm of string instruments.  they used to have very neat, clean and unpainted nails, but nowadays, they have divots and cracks because 683 is clumsy with the strings.  

3. What does your muse usually eat in a day?

683 is often at the mercy of when their friends will decide to cook for them/buy them food.  they don’t have any cooking skills and can barely wash and cut an apple (this isn’t because they’re stupid, on atomina they were used to communal dining with a designated set of people who cooked for everyone in their unit).  683 is naturally accustomed to eating plant matter and (unlike us humans) has a way better digestive system for breaking down cellulose and gets a lot more out of their vegetarian diet than you might expect (two stomachs aint for nothin).  left to their own devices they just eat Whatever (orange? handfuls of spinach, unwashed, pesticides dont hurt them.  microwave a tomato and watch it explode.  brave cutting open an avocado and just eating it with a spoon).  dinner is when priscilla either buys him take out or sid cooks something for him (and sid is an amazing cook!!!).  sid isn’t vegetarian, but his family is, so he knows how to make all kinds of dishes perfect for 683 -- substitute the dairy for nondiary alternatives and 683′s getting matter paneer (with tofu instead), malai kofta (with coconut milk), and aloo gobi (no butter), all sorts of things !!! 

4. Does your muse have a good singing voice?

sort of.  683′s voice, by itself, is nasally and weird and a little grating, but their devotion to music lets them make the most out of their “strange” voice and almost use it to their benefit to sound unique, different, super far out !11!11111  their lyrics, instrumentals and emotion combined is what makes them a talented musician rather than just a good quality voice.  so while they might not have a very pretty voice, they’re still a skilled singer due to their delivery.  

5. Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks?

im assuming this is about bad (physical) habits rather than personality deficiencies (of which 683 has many).  683 stares, like, really just stares at people with reckless abandon, they havent figured out it’s rude.  they arent good at even pretending to listen so if they’re disinterested in what you have to say, they’ll look elsewhere, pick at their nails, mumble or interrupt you.  always finds a way to make the conversation about themself.  very disorganized and messy, has a hard time taking care of objects even if they value them (ex. dropping his guitar, misplacing jewelry, yanking a belt off and breaking it).  definitely self pities and has no problem trying to guilt you for everything and anything.  is a pretty frequent smoker, but is polite enough not to smoke if you ask him not to.  

683 is always a little nervous so their nervous ticks are just their baseline state of being (wringing hands, stammering, talking really fast, making insane gestures all around you but being too afraid to touch you, etc)

6. What does your muse usually look like / wear?

683 looks very put together at all times -- not necessarily polished or professional, but very intentional, in that you can tell they definitely made a conscious choice to dress the way they do.  he wore the same dumb uniform every day for the first 20 years of his life, so he’s very excited to try new clothing options.  

more femme-ish clothing preferences go to boxy, sleeveless a-line dresses, miniskirts, bright floral patterns, big plastic earrings, headbands, scarves, etc.  they like clunky platforms and prefer to wear boots.  very 60s mod and colorblocked.  she loves bright eyeshadow but tends to go for more neutral lipstick.  can never figure out what to do with her hair so she usually leaves it down or does a half-up half-down bun kinda deal.  

more masc clothing preferences are bell bottoms, button ups with butterfly collars, paisley print, turtlenecks and fringe jackets, etc. earthy tones and weird nasty olive green.  very late 60s / early 70s. prog rock flavor or glam rock flavor.  never got into the disco style only because he cant pull it off because he’s so scrawny and twitchy and has no chest hair to impress the ladies.    

one thing about 683 is that he hates tight long sleeves and goes insane if he has to wear them.  his uniform was sleeveless, so even short sleeves feel really weird and horrible on his arms.  prefers sleeveless, can do with short sleeves, 3/4ths sleeve or loose long sleeve, really tries to avoid tight/constricting long sleeves.  

i have a pinterest board of potential fits for him although i havent updated it because i barely know how to use pinterest.

7. Is your muse affectionate?  How much?  How so?

to most people, not really, he’s kind of a weird cagey asshole.  oscillates between fascinated with physical touch (suddenly wanting to hug his friends or snuggle with them or grabbing strangers when he’s trying to talk to them) to despising contact (cringes if you touch his hand when you pass him a cup).  he didnt grown up with a culture very big on it, so he isn’t sure if he likes it or not yet.  

to people he does care about, he tends to take his friends for granted but overperform affection for those he has romantic interest in.  not that he doesnt also dearly love and adore his friends, he’s just not the best at expressing his care for them other than random bursts of kindness and dissolving back into his weird normal self.  his understanding of romance has come from a very commercial, media-influenced place (he learns about it through television, novels and commercials, it’s not really inherent to his species) so he thinks romance is about buying flowers, holding hands, staring into each other’s eyes for three hours, etc. if he has romantic interest in you, he will constantly over and over again tell you how much he likes you and your company and you are soooo funny hahahhahhfhh, and will be unusually touchy (clings to your arm, sits RIGHT next to you, drops his head on your shoulder, etc).  

8. What position does your muse sleep in?

683 didnt know what blankets were until he came to earth (or deep space nine) !!! his old room was perfectly temperature controlled and he already has a lower natural body temperature, so there was no need for blankets at all.  human beds with big pillows and blankets are THE COOLEST, so he either curls up underneath a blanket with only the top of his head poking out or he sprawls out like a starfish to take advantage of as many pillows as possible.  his special move is to roll up in the blanket like some kind of little alien lumpia.  

he’s a fitful sleeper so if you sleep in the same bed as him, he’ll punch you or kick you on accident.  he does appreciate company, though, and will also plaster himself up against you and leech your body heat with his weird cold body.

9. Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

depends.  they have a very average speaking voice and aren’t necessarily very loud (plus platforms dull footsteps), but if they were excited, they might raise their voice or yell or exclaim something.  and then they’re very shrill, so yes, you would hear her.  

Tagged by:  @sampati im sorry i took like a week it was really fun i love to type letters and words on the computer Tagging: @dynaura or @pataparty (for whoever you want) / @phantombs / @ofgentleresolve (for lamon? or anyone you want, really!!) / @bystcrdust / @kyrieleisen / @baelends / @bup1957

[troddensodden]

Physical Features OC Ask Game !! 👁 What is your OC’s eye color? Do they have any eye-related habits, like winking or rubbing their eyes? Do other people tend to notice their eyes? 💇 What is your OC’s hairstyle? How do they maintain their hair? Do they wash it and/or cut it regularly? Have they ever dyed their hair? 👖 What type of clothing does your OC generally wear? Why? Do they have any “signature” accessories?

since its the only ask i have so far, im gonna answer each of these for all three of my current ocs :D hope thats okay!

cedric: fallout 4 || alistair: fallout 4 || emil: fallout new vegas

eyes—

-cedric: blue-green eyes! however he actually only has one, in a sense, because a bomb once blew up close enough to his face that it burned the skin, and damaged his left eye enough that he went blind in it. he tried to take care of the injury, but the commonwealth doesnt exactly have many medicine or skincare products. it ended up getting a pretty gnarly infection, which only made it worse after scarring. so now, he wears an eyepatch over it! he regularly wears a gas mask out in the wasteland, mostly for radiation protection but partially because he is somewhat insecure about his eye, and the look of the skin around it. when he isnt wearing one though, people do definitely notice his eyes for that reason, more than anything else. he doesnt have any particular habits, other than consistently wearing an eye covering.

-alistair: his eyes arent anything particularly special, really. just a plain dark brown, dark enough to look black from a distance. he doesnt have any specific habits, per se, as he is a synth and thats not necessarily in his program. however, if hes close enough with someone, he will make a fair amount of (bad) jokes or comments and accentuate them with a wink or an eyebrow raise. also, when hes frustrated he sometimes will rub his eyes with his palms, or do long drawn out blinks and eyerolls. his eyes arent all that notable though, so people dont take much notice of them often, outside of their expressiveness.

-emil: a sort of grey, green, hazel, blue, combination? really, they dont seem to have much of a set eye-color. its hard to determine. so on the occasion that someone asks, theyll give a different answer every time, sometimes answering with a color that is definitely not even close to the actual color. furthermore, theyre quite the mischievous and flirtatious type in some cases, so winking is something they do quite often, and are able to do with either eye. other times, theyll look someone up and down when facing them, but with an absent expression that makes it hard to tell whether theyre checking the person out or sizing them up. their eyes dont get noticed often because again, they arent anything particularly special, but when in a relationship, they do find that partners seem to take a particular interest toward the confusing matter of their eyes, specifically the color.

——

hair—

c: pre-war, he kept his hair relatively well-managed, a tidy crop with maybe a bit more length than the "average" mens cut. post-war, however, he frankly sees getting his hair done as too much effort, only occasionally stopping for a trim and otherwise letting it grow out, and tying it up if it gets in the way. his boyfriends quite fancy this, liking to play with it when they spend time together. maccready, on occasion, will even braid it if hes stressed or in a bad mood, as a way of calming himself down. (when he does this, cedric tries to keep the braid in as long as possible.) washing hair isnt necessarily easy, in a world where even just clean water itself is in short supply, let alone soap. however, he does try his best to clean it when he can, because he doesnt like the feeling of dirty hair. he also has never dyed his hair, because hes always been content with his natural brown color, even if its a bit "plain."

a: he keeps his hair close to a stubble, consistently. his hair doesnt grow very rapidly, but still, he will likely be seen getting his hair cut every couple weeks to keep it from growing out. he likes looking put together, and will rarely ever be caught genuinely dirty. any chance he gets to clean himself, he will, and any time he needs a haircut, you can bet he'll be on his way to the nearest place that offers it. he refuses to dye his hair, saying that it creates a look of unprofessionalism, (and hair dye doesnt go well over black usually.) nobody really understands why hes so insistent on looking put-together and professional all the time, but they accept it, even if he sometimes takes more time to get ready in the mornings than anyone else.

e: shaved on one side, long on the other. its also naturally got a bit of curl, which adds volume so it doesnt get too flat and stringy when it goes unwashed. they dont wash their hair as obsessively as alistair, though they will do a quick clean if they get the time. they dont particularly like the idea of using irradiated water to clean off, but its that or use purified water which is in relatively short supply. however, foraging is a bit of a strong point for them, so they will use natural supplies for cleaning off if possible, from plants and such. keeping hair maintained is hard in a relatively desolate area like the mojave, but whenever they find scissors and some free time theyll do a trim. scissors arent exactly a match for a nice set of clippers, but you learn to make do. they have dyed their hair with some temporary colors before, but never anything permanent—they actually quite like their natural gingery-blond color.

——

clothes—

c: whatever will protect him while also being comfortable enough that he can tolerate him with his sensory issues. however, in situations where he needs to looks somewhat "official," he will wear his minutemen-issued jacket over a decent shirt and pants set. however, he will rarely ever be seen without some sort of mask, unless the situation happens to be one where a gasmask or something similar would be improper. even then, the eyepatch stays on. so id say the eyepatch is somewhat a "staple" of his wardrobe, though its less of a fashion choice and more of what he deems a necessity.

a: if possible, he would regularly wear a button-down and pants that match. however, in an irradiated post-war wasteland, with hostiles around every corner, thats not a particularly feasible option; thus, he wears whatever is available that is in good condition but also effective. effectiveness is his priority, of course, but it does frustrate him if his clothing doesnt at least look decent. people see him as a bit of a pansy for it, but when he was in the institute, he was used to wearing a uniform that was focused on looking clean rather than being highly functional. so after escaping, that stuck with him a bit. he does, however, have an accessory he refuses to be without, and thats his and noras wedding ring. even after forming new relationships and finding a new purpose in the world, its impossible to move on from someone who was his whole world, what feels like only a few months ago.

e: emil most definitely prioritizes function over fashion. appearance is important, sure, but they recognize that it definitely is not the most important, when youre traveling across a hot desert full of giant scorpions and gang members. however, one thing that they always have, whether theyre wearing it or just has it in their pack, is this one puffy jacket, with a fur-lined hood. they found it in the dresser of a destroyed house they were scavenging through, and it somehow was in near-mint condition. the reason it was so special to them, though, is because it had a note in the pocket, from a girl to her older sibling. the girl being emils sister, who moved away with their father after their parents got divorced. the letter was addressed from her to them, but was never sent. and sure, while they knew that this almost definitely confirmed she had died, they were just happy enough having something from her. so they never go without the jacket, even though its warm (and a bit heavy.) impractical, but sentimental.

[shhh-no-ones-home]

artistry (1/2) bucky barnes x reader

+++++++++

part 1 part 2

therapy, and hatred for the same things; the beginning of a beautiful love story 😌

also sorry this is not any of the stories on the list i published a couple weeks ago. ive been submerged in the falcon and the winter soldier and really wanted to write more for Bucky so here's the beginning of that. i will be working on the other stories they just may take more time. but for now i hope you all enjoy the bucky content!

Song: never know by set it off

tag list: @cynic-spirit

+++++++++

I stood, knees to the couch, arms folded over my chest, Studying the wall as best I could. God I fucking hated it. It was so polite and warm and inviting. Barf.

"Disturbing."

I grumbled, hearing soft footsteps against the carpet.

"Oh sorry, they told me to wait in here I didn't realize there was someone-"

I glanced over at him for a moment. He seemed like he wanted to leave but I'm sure he was curious what I was doing. I was staring at the wall behind the couch after all.

"It's kind of infuriating isn't it?"

I asked, looking over the pale greens and blues.

"Um, what is?"

He now seemed very confused. I nodded towards the mural.

"Sometimes when I look at this wall too long I can just imagine myself punching a hole in it."

I half laughed.

"I couldn't tell you how many times I've wanted to offer to paint over it."

I uncrossed my arms, side stepping the couch and touching the wall gently.

"I never really thought about it but it is kind of ugly isn't it?"

He sent me a smile and I couldn't help laughing more.

"Y/n."

I said offering my hand to shake.

"James."

"Firm grip ya got there James."

He rubbed his gloved hands together, looking to the floor as his smile faded.

"Thought I knew my own strength."

I kept the smile on, touching his shoulder gently.

"Hey, a firm grip isn't necessarily a bad thing. Besides, no harm no foul. I'm sure you put it to good use."

I winked at him and he seemed like he didn't know what to do again. Until he let out a nervous laugh.

"Right."

I nodded once, looking back over the wall and dropping my hand from him.

"I should probably get going, doc should be in soon and I wouldn't want to take away from your session."

I walked past him.

"It was nice to meet you James."

As I reached the door he cleared his throat.

"Hey y/n-"

He said quickly and I turned back around to face him. He was fiddling with his fingertips, pinching the leather of the black gloves.

"I uh, don't get out much but I was wondering if you'd like to get a drink. Maybe, talk about how you'd repaint this wall?"

He pointed to it haphazardly, a smile making its way back to his face. In that moment I couldn't help the one creeping it's way across my own lips. I nodded quickly.

"I'd like that a lot James, uh here, you can call or text me at this number and we can work something out."

As I spoke I reached into my bag and pulled out a business card that I probably hadn't used in too long. The edges were fraying and my occupation had changed but I handed it to him anyway. He held it between both hands and looked over it.

"Are you free tonight?"

He asked, hope behind his eyes. I pretended to think for a moment.

"Ya know what I think I am."

I said and his smile got wider.

"Meet me at the bar at the corner of tenth and Jefferson?"

I nodded slowly at his inquisition, backing up into the doorway and squeaking when my back hit the wood.

"Eight o'clock, don't be late."

I said, turning and almost running into Dr Raynor.

"Oh, sorry, uh have a good session."

I mumbled quickly, ducking past her.

"I'll see you tonight James."

°°°°°°°°°

As I sat at the bar alone I began to doubt he was even coming. It was almost nine already and I was starting to think I was stupid for even waiting this long. Maybe I should go. Or maybe I should try to find someone else to talk to. The band was pretty good after all. I sighed and raised my finger to get the bartenders attention. when she turned around i opened my mouth-

"I'll have what she's having."

I heard, looking over to James with wide eyes as he sat beside me. He was wearing a navy blue leather jacket of some kind that exposed his left, metal, arm.

"You actually came."

I said surprised. He seemed almost ashamed.

"Sorry I'm late. My friend needed me and we got a little caught up. I was going to call but-"

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and the top was barely hanging onto the base by a wire. the flip phone kind of took me aback though. but it didnt matter, he showed up.

"It's okay, im just glad you actually came."

He let out a nervous laugh and took a sip of the drink the bartender had sat down.

"I was hoping you'd still wanna talk, even though I'm an hour late."

I nodded, looking over his face as he fully turned to me and my face fell.

"An hour late and bleeding."

I reached towards him and touched his temple gently. He winced at first.

"You wanna get out of here? I can get that fixed up; I only live about a block away."

I suggested and he nodded slowly.

"Uh yeah, I'd like that."

I paid the bartender and stood up, James following me outside. I inhaled deeply at the scent of rain as the sky darkened with clouds.

"So, something life-threatening happen on your way here?"

I asked, laughing a little as he looked to me.

"I'm kidding. Unless it did, in which case I'm glad you're okay."

He scratched the back of his neck, pacing slowly beside me.

"Good talk."

I said and he cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry I just, I don't do this often and I feel like I've already lost my chance with you."

I looked to him and drew my brows.

"would i have invited you to my house if you had?"

he shrugged, side nodding before tucking his hands into his pockets. i frowned when he didnt respond.

"look, james, i think I'll be the judge of whether or not youve lost your chance and right now I say you haven't. but you said you wanted to talk and there's not a whole lot of that going on."

He let out a nervous laugh.

"Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

I asked, slipping my right hand into his left elbow and he stopped. He looked down at our arms connected for a second and then I felt bad.

"Sorry, I just uh, figured it'd lighten the mood a bit. Sorry."

I pulled away and kept walking.

"Wait. No, it's just-"

I looked back at him and watched as he opened and closed his hand a few times.

"I don't really associate good things with it so it took me off guard a little bit. You can, uh, you can hold my hand if you want. That's fine."

He stepped closer to me and took my hand in his. I smiled at him and nodded.

"Thanks, I guess I just wasn't really thinking."

We kept walking.

"It doesn't bother you?"

He asked and I shrugged.

"Why would it bother me?"

There was a long silence as we rounded the street corner.

"I don't know."

He said softly.

"Uh, we're here."

I said, letting go of his hand and walking up the stairs to unlock my front door, looking to him as he looked over it. when i offered for him to come inside he hesitated for a moment but followed me in anyway.

"here you can sit here, let me get a look at where this blood is coming from."

he watched as i pulled the stool out form under my breakfast bar and i felt more nervous than before. it had suddenly occurred to me that we would be getting much closer and that led to some pretty self-conscious thoughts. but who was i kidding? he bared himself to me already, why should i be scared?

i inhaled deeply as he sat, moving to turn another light on so i could see better. i moved back over to stand between his legs, touching his jaw lightly and tilting his head down. he kept his eyes on me as i touched the wound gently, hearing his breathing hitch in the back of his throat before i let go to get a cold wash rag.

"so, you wanna tell me what happened?"

i asked, trying to lighten the mood as i came back and began wiping the dried blood away from the cut at his hairline. my finger tips were at his chin and he seemed more relaxed now.

"i was helping a friend."

he repeated like before. i nodded once.

"you live a dangerous life don't you James?"

he looked up at me with innocent eyes.

"bucky."

he said and i raised a brow.

"bucky?"

"thats what my friends call me."

i nodded once.

"are you calling me a friend?"

i asked and he finally cracked a smile.

"if you want to be."

he said and i let out a short laugh.

"and if i dont?"

his smile began to fade and he cleared his throat. i looked to the ceiling for a moment before leaning down and kissing his cheek gently.

"thats not what i meant bucky."

when he looked back up at me he seemed so lost, like this was a new type of kindness. part of my heart broke thinking about what could have happened to lead him here.

"what do you say we call this a trial run? we can take a weekend sometime and maybe go to the art museum down the street, get pizza for lunch, and just have a good time."

he seemed like he was still trying to study me as i put the wash rag on the counter and wiped my wet hands on my jeans.

"no blood, no confusion, just two people having a good time."

i held my hand out for him to shake. he nodded slowly, the smile barely there as he reached for it.

"i think id like that y/n. i think id like that a lot."

[mithranqueersmusings]

The Night Before XII

Chapter: 12/15

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo hangs around after the club closes and meets a stranger.

Tags: Smut, Slow Burn

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

The following day was spent rather unproductively, Ringo hardly moved from his bed and refused to get dressed into anything decent. Paul and John had left early, they could easily tell when Ringo wanted to left alone, but they ensured that at least one of them would be available should Ringo need anything at all. Last night hardly felt tangible, but the grogginess of Ringo's mind and the overhanging sadness made it difficult to forget. He wasn't entirely sure what he felt so bummed out about: was it merely the pain he felt to see George with another man? Or was it the sheer humiliation Ringo had experienced, having to expose his feelings to George in such an unappealing way? Perhaps it was a mixture of both, but he was determined to only let it sully this single day for tomorrow held endless possibilities and he truly believed that the date with George would still go fairly well, even with all this tension now risen to the surface.

Sometimes it was nice to have days like this, comfortably lounging around in pyjamas with no real objectives in mind. Ringo channelled out any lasting aggression he was harbouring by blasting music on his speakers, just about loud enough to stop himself from thinking. He had more than several comfort films to watch, many of which starred his favourite actor Peter Sellers, to make the time fly by without much thought. Throughout the day he conversed sparsely with John and Paul, neither of them addressing the actual events of last night but their concerned tones were enough of an allusion.

He treated himself to some pizza for dinner, settling down in front of his television and letting the hours pass. These days of nothingness were necessary, especially with the amount of excitement he'd been unwillingly plagued with this past week. Part of him debated not even bothering to get into bed, just to gradually pass into unconsciousness on his sofa, but the mature section of his mind - one which was often ignored - convinced him to tuck himself into the covers and let sleep wash over him.

Ringo gladly slept well into the afternoon, the only thing getting him out of bed was his growling stomach. Reaching for his phone he swiped away a variety of meaningless notifications then paused when he noticed a text from George. His mixed feelings were considerably less tangled than they had been previously, but there was still a hint of dread in his stomach when he thought about him.

Look outside your door.

It was sent a couple of hours ago, Ringo worried he'd missed whatever surprise had been waiting for him. He didn't appreciate the cryptic tone, nonetheless he padded over to the front of his flat and cautiously opened the door. Sitting before him was a vase sporting a diverse bouquet of flowers, Ringo wasn't even sure he could name half of them. He looked at it for a while, registering how to fit this in with his torn attitude towards George, and noticed a small card perked upon one of the leaves; he picked it up and inspected it closely.

First of many treats I have planned for tonight. I hope your hangover isn't too bad and you aren't regretting giving me another chance.

Ringo found himself smiling, he must have looked rather odd standing in nothing but his boxers and socks clutching onto this card for longer than he needed to. The thought of one of his neighbours seeing him in this precarious situation spurred him to take the vase inside and shut the door behind him, he inhaled the fresh smell deeply as he brought them into the kitchen to find an adequate placement. He couldn't deny how beautiful they looked, as much as his pessimism wanted to convince him that this was merely a disingenuous ploy. It was difficult to hold onto the resentment, Ringo found himself leaning more towards the attitude that it was merely an extremely unfortunate situation and that George had never intended on hurting him. What use was there in holding onto the past?

Drinking his morning cup of tea, Ringo stared at the flowers before he realised he should probably respond to George's text.

sorry i only just woke up the flowers are gorgeous thank you so much

You're welcome It's the least I can do really There's plenty more where that came from

flowers or surprises??

Both Just you wait

havent got much a choice have i?

I can pick up you around 7 Does that work for you?

it sure does

Ringo debated whether to send another text, he really wanted to clear the air completely but wondered whether it would be better to do it in person. The last thing he wanted was for the whole night to feel like George was having to make it up to him, rather than it being an enjoyable night for the both of them. He understood George's guilt completely, but it would no doubt make him feel rather ridiculous with the forced nature of it all. If only things could just go back to normal, was that too much to ask? He let out a sigh, drafting out a message and staring at it for a while.

i dont want this to come across as harsh or ungrateful or anything but could we leave out any conversation about last night?? i just want to have a good time and not think about that stupid stuff

Impulsively, Ringo sent it without much further thought. He knew it wasn't the most coherent or effective way of getting across his jumbled thought process but the last thing he needed was even more stress seeping into today.

Last night? What happened last night? I was at home didn't step outside for a second

you're right how silly of me must have you confused for someone else

Ringo felt relief washing over him, a grin spreading across his face as he continued to stare at the message from George. Perhaps tonight wouldn't be as stressful as he'd originally anticipated, he'd almost forgotten how at ease George was able to make him feel.

Now arrived the age old dilemma: what on Earth was he meant to wear? He probably should've asked how upscale the place was that George had picked out for them, he didn't want to risk dressing up too much and looking like a fool. Not that Ringo had a great array of formal clothes to choose from, he wasn't one to frequent snobbish establishments if he could help it. He emptied out almost his entire wardrobe, tossing clothes behind him into barely distinguishable piles like he was starring in a teen movie. It took far longer than necessary to narrow down his choices, eventually settling on a navy jumper and some dark trousers. Looking at himself in the mirror he realised there was no way this outfit reflected the amount of time he'd spent choosing it, but the last thing Ringo was about to do was spend more time agonising over something that no doubt didn't matter much at all.

His stomach started rumbling while he waited for George to arrive, he only hoped the food would be appealing. Ringo had a reputation for being a picky eater, not that he could necessarily help it with his endless list of allergies. He found himself worrying that wherever they went Ringo wouldn't be able to eat anything and it would spiral the entire date into disaster. Exactly where this paranoia came from he didn't know, he only hoped it would disappear as soon as he laid eyes on George.

When the long-awaited text finally arrived, Ringo grabbed his jacket and hurried down the stairs. If he didn't eat soon he felt like he was going to pass out, he knew that wasn't truly the case but he couldn't deny that it felt that way. George beamed at him through the glass window, Ringo reciprocated the grin without it feeling even the slightest bit forced. Everything felt normal, thank goodness.

"Don't you look dashing?" George spoke first, a playful tone in his voice.

"Why thank you." Ringo stepped out of the building "I wasn't quite sure what to wear, if I'm being honest."

George was sporting a dark green turtleneck, on top of which he wore a black chequered blazer with trousers to match. It was the most dressed up Ringo had ever seen him, and it was a pleasant sight to say the least.

"Well you look great." George reassured him "Now, I'm absolutely starving so let's get a move on."

They slid into George's car, Ringo felt a little strange to not be the one doing the driving. As they began pulling out onto the main road, Ringo felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Trying to be polite, he decided to ignore it, it was likely only Paul or John wishing him good luck on his date. Neither of them spoke much as they drove, they'd have plenty of time to talk once they got to the restaurant. George hummed to himself rather quietly, Ringo wasn't sure he was even aware he was doing it. After several minutes, George's hand gradually moved away from the steering wheel and onto Ringo's thigh; he never turned to look at him, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. Experimentally he began rubbing his thumb on the fabric of Ringo's trousers, it was a sweet gesture that Ringo appreciated. Ringo gathered the courage to press it one step further, sliding his own hand underneath and interlocking their fingers together. Once again George didn't turn, but a small smile spread on his face. Ringo wasn't sure this was exactly the safest way to drive, but it helped relax his nerves a little.

Not too much time had passed before they'd arrived at their destination, a rather small building with a cosy looking interior. George turned the ignition off but neither of them made any further movements, sat firmly in their seats with their hands still clasped together. The muffled sound of the bustling city outside the car overpowered any potential awkward silence, Ringo was afraid to move lest he ruined the moment.

"You ready to go inside?" George asked, his voice far quieter than necessary, finally turning to face Ringo.

Ringo nodded, hopefully managing to hide his disappointment as George's hand slipped away. They both stepped outside of the car and made their way towards the restaurant, it was pretty packed but fortunately George had booked a table for the both of them. Anxiety began to creep into Ringo's mind as they were guided to their seats, he hadn't been on a proper date like this for so long, he felt like he'd forgotten how to make regular conversation. Yet sitting down across from George made all those worries disappear, all he needed was the smallest amount of eye contact and he felt safe once again.

"You like wine?" George asked, perusing the drinks menu.

"I can't lie, I'm not a fan." Ringo didn't want to risk sounding rude.

"How about a cocktail or something? Just don't look at the prices." George chuckled "Whatever you want, my treat."

"I'd love a Sex on the Beach, if you're offering." Ringo said rather sheepishly.

"Last time I checked Liverpool didn't have any beaches." George feigned a quizzical expression "I think I'll have one too."

The drinks didn't take too long to arrive, Ringo felt relieved to get some alcohol in his body to help him relax. Although he was determined to not get too drunk tonight, it was about time he experienced George's company sober. The atmosphere of the restaurant was nice, rather homely, far less intimidating than the grand vision Ringo had conjured during one of his bouts of paranoia.

Everything just felt right, there was nowhere else he'd rather be or anyone else he'd rather be with. The gleam in George's eyes and the faint smile always barely hidden on his lips let Ringo know that he was feeling the exact same way.