#might get the guinness out now. maybe cry to a friend

[streatfeild]

.

[cowgurrrl]

ok what am I supposed to do now the one for the money, two for the show is done!!!?! I would love more lord while I go back a reread everything from the beginning!

If you’re taking requests maybe quick snapshots of the year apart? Not to get too personal but I have a crush and I’ve been stalking their social media but like in a chill way (or I’m trying to) I imagine reader and Joel both seeing each others accomplishments or posts or being tagged in things and just being happy for each other but also….the longing

A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant to Be

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author's note: this is so angsty i'm sorry

Summary: This ask

Warnings: angst, yearning, oh it's so sad

Joel Miller's New Album Set to Break Records

Everything We Know About Joel Miller's New Album Glass House

Glass House Expected to Go Platinum Before Next Month

What Songs on Joel Miller's New Album Are About Famous Actress Ex?

You almost text Joel about the headlines and theories flooding your timeline. Almost. You actually started typing out a message before reading the last message you sent him almost four months ago and quickly deleting it. You're happy for him. You really are. In the pictures from his album release party, he looked insanely happy, posing with Ellie and Sarah and hugging his musician friends in celebration. He even played one of his newest songs, "Love-in-idleness," at the party with only his acoustic guitar and that deep voice of his. You think you would know it's about you even if he didn't tell you about it before you left. Love-in-idleness is the flower used in A Midsummer Night's Dream to make a love potion to unite the couples. It's common knowledge, but Joel might be one of the only people in the world who knows how much that play means to you. The song quickly becomes one of your favorites, but you don't tell him.

You scroll through his social media unashamedly. Dave Grohl and half the world congratulates him on his album release. He's making the music he's always wanted to make. Sarah told you she got into UCLA, and Ellie is drawing again. He's happy. They all are. So, why do you feel so shitty? Neither of you has deleted the pictures of each other from your profiles. It feels like a staring contest, seeing who will hold the torch of your relationship longer. It doesn't help that people are screenshotting the pictures of you together to "add context" to Joel's lyrics. The one that makes you break down is a quick snapshot someone took of you leaning on him in Central Park when you were watching the guitarist with lyrics from "The Yellow Subway." 

She knows more than me. You better believe

That city couldn't hold her right, but then

I couldn't either.

Despite the heartbreaking lyrics, you two look comfortable together— your head on his shoulder and his hand in yours. You cry in between scenes, ruining your makeup and having a mini-therapy session with your makeup artist, Saoirse, as a result. You don't post anything about his new album, but you put on a happy face and post snapshots from your time spent in Ireland thus far. Pitchers of Guinness, the Cliffs of Moher, stunningly green mornings, and a picture of you and the film crew hiding out in a tent while the rain comes down around you. Joel likes the photos but makes no other move to communicate with you.

You wonder if he's torturing himself in the same way you are. You wonder if he's waiting for a headline about you dating someone new like you are for him. You wonder if he's hurting the way you are. Selfishly, you hope he is because that means he still thinks of you. You also want him to hurt because he hurt you. You still love him, but you can't be the woman who crawls back to someone who can't trust her with things, like telling her the mother of his child is back in town. 

This is what's best. It's what needs to happen. You need to be here, working, and he needs to be there, being a dad and making music. It doesn't make it any easier or soothe the ache in your heart, but it's necessary. It's for your own good. Right? 

Right?

[jomiddlemarch]

While You Were Sleeping

Epilogue

“We’re never going to sleep again. Ever,” Hermione said from her end of the circuit around the kitchen, before Draco could head into the conservatory detour that Neville had suggested might at least help with their mental health, if it did nothing to aid in the ultimate goal of the twins sleeping for more than an hour at a time. She’d had to raise her voice a little, so Draco could hear her over the babies’ crying, but she couldn’t get too loud or strident, because then the crying would become howling on Rose’s part and a glass-shattering shriek on Scorpius’s. Any significant pausing in walking yielded the same response. 

“If you agreed, we could get a House—” Draco began. Again. His grey joggers were low around his hips, his feet bare, a ratty tee-shirt that couldn’t be made any rattier by regurgitated milk thrown on hastily when she’d called him from the nursery.

“Don’t start the ‘House-elves make perfectly fine nannies, see how I turned out argument.’ You know how I feel about it, even if we paid an exorbitant amount, and though I love you dearly, I wouldn’t say the nannying you received did you any favors at Hogwarts. You were a preening little prat for the first few years, when there was some pretense we were children and not pawns,” Hermione replied. “I also don’t want to hear about Black family magicks that would do the trick, either from you or your mother.”

“We’re not following Molly Weasley’s advice and using gin,” Draco said, patting Scorpius on the back in a rhythm that seemed to soothe their son. Or it didn’t and they were deluding themselves. Sleep deprivation could do that to a person, Hermione recalled, from a time when she had done research in a library, wearing a clean jersey and drinking a cup of tea hot from the pot, not stewed and cold and generally disgusting but charmed not to grow Wizarding penicillin on the surface. 

“She might have meant we should drink the gin, not that we’d dose the babies, now that I think about it. It’s all fuzzy when I look back,” Hermione said. 

“I hate gin,” Draco said. “Simply loathe the stuff.”

“I know. I remember that about you. From a time when we had drinks on a trolley in the sitting room or went to the pub,” Hermione said. He liked wine, preferably red and full-bodied, though he’d get a pint of Guinness if they went out with friends. He’d rather drink Butterbeer than a G&T and forget about a martini, dirty or otherwise. Her craving for cocktail onions had been rather a sore point during her pregnancy, though he’d fetched them and learned not to turn up his nose at her when she ate a jar’s worth in a sitting.

“What’s a pub?” Draco said wryly. 

Scorpius squawked. If his Patronus wasn’t some avian species, Hermione would eat her hat. She’d have to fit her traditional pointed witch’s hat first, but then she’d eat it. Maybe she’d chase it with a Gibson.

“Shh, darling boy, it’s all right, Papa’s got you,” Draco murmured, brushing his lips against Scorpius’ wispy blond curls. 

Despite the screaming and the exhaustion and the near-constant desire to hex her earlier overly confident and entirely wrong self, the one who’d said things like, twins won’t be so terribly difficult and maybe it’s more efficient to have them together, the babies can keep each other company and they won’t be lonely when they went off to Hogwarts, really, it was a blessing to have twins first, Hermione couldn’t help melting a little whenever she heard Draco talking to their babies, especially when he referred to himself as Papa. She opened her mouth to say something fond and tender, but Scorpius yelped and gurgled and Draco sighed.

“Another geyser. Perhaps we should get those disposable cloths Potter was on about, since we can’t risk Vanishing the spit-up,” he said. Spells around magical infants could be dicey and with a mother as powerful as Hermione, they’d had to play it extra safe.

“He’ll be hungry now,” Hermione said, not even bothering to answer the remark about the burp cloths. Once, her mind had been filled with complex runic equations and the Zaragosta variations on the Berenicean charm progression. Now, she was too tired to even spend one neuron’s worth of attention on the question of burp cloths.

“Time to trade,” Draco said. 

Hermione walked over to the rocking chair, settling Rose on her lap for a moment. The novelty of the perspective change would buy about 90 seconds of relative quiet. Draco came over, put Scorpius into the crook of Hermione’s arm and scooped up Rose. His exceptional Quidditch skills were being put to this exclusive use but Hermione suspected both the babies would be avid players, Rose the more likely Seeker. She fiddled a bit with her top and got Scorpius latched on, stroking his plump cheek very lightly so he wouldn’t get distracted and fall off, screaming with frustration. Nursing, he looked very serious, like Draco drafting a response to the Chinese delegation.

“Now, then, ma chére Mademoiselle Rose, let’s take a turn about the room and let Mummy take care of Scorpius,” Draco said. Rose made a series of noises which weren’t quite cries and could possibly be a language no adult was fluent in.

“Molly said it won’t always be this way,” Hermione offered. Scorpius was growing dozy against her breast, still nursing but with less vigor. He’d fall asleep this way but they’d probably only get an hour of rest from him and Rose’s hazel eyes were alert, peering over Draco’s shoulder.

“She would know. Circe’s garters, seven of them. It doesn’t bear contemplating,” Draco said. “My mother says we ought to be grateful, two healthy babies, no sign either will be a Squib, and I am. I am grateful and I love them—”

“You’d just like to get a full night’s sleep,” Hermione said. The first week, the babies had been drowsy and they’d had to wake them to nurse. It had been the right thing to do and Hermione still couldn’t believe they’d done it. Rose had gone nearly five hours when she was four days old and Hermione had faffed about writing thank-you cards for the new baby gifts and peering into the cradle to make sure Rose was breathing when she could have followed directions and slept when the baby slept, letting Draco be the one on duty to make sure the twins were awakened to feed. 

“I’d take four hours,” Draco said. 

“Three would do me,” Hermione yawned. Draco kept walking, Rose on his shoulder, and Hermione drifted for a bit, lost somewhere between dream and memory.

“You thought it would all go away when we came home. That it wasn’t real,” she said.

“Well, I was a fool and also besotted with you and hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for about ten days,” he said. “Also, we were faking being married. I was your fake-husband.”

“This is real,” she said. She shifted Scorpius to her shoulder, patting his back until he burped, praying he’d stay asleep through it. Draco smiled, too wise to risk laughter.

“It’s as real as it gets, love,” he said. Rose grizzled a bit but lowered her head, her silky dark curls shining against his fair skin, the faint silver stubble of his five-o’clock-now-three-am-shadow. He was tall and fit and terribly kind, terribly clever; he’d do anything for the three of them and he’d gotten her all those jars of pickled pearl onions and had snogged her silly when she had Gibson-breath. He had turned out well after all…

“I might have been overly rigid about the House-Elf proposal,” she said. “A few nights can’t do any harm and we’ll make sure they have exceptional benefits, a pension. The villa in Majorca—”

*

And that was how Pithy came to be the Granger-Black-Malfoy night nanny, the first House-elf with her own Gringotts vault, and the reason Hugo was born. 

Well, a reason. There was a responsible adult creature in the household and there was that villa in Majorca.

[phoenixyfriend]

Uncle Ben and Little Luke

AKA we combine several types of time travel for maximum Soft Chaos, let’s go

EDIT NOW THAT I’VE WRITTEN THIS UP: jfc this ended up much angstier than initially intended uhhhhhhhhhh sorry

So a common enough thing I’ve seen in time travel fics is characters getting de-aged when tossed back physically, to neither the age they should be in that time, nor the age they were from the time they left, but whatever is most convenient. This is usually de-aging OT Obi-Wan into his TCW self, for reasons relating to, chiefly, removing the damage of Tatooine absolutely destroying his body alongside PTSD-driven alcoholism, but also because fic writers are horny, and Ewan McGregor playing a late-thirties negotiator is on average more appealing to people than Alec Guinness playing a vaguely feral desert hermit.

So, here’s how it plays out:

We take Luke and Ben from some point in the OT. There are a variety of options depending on how angsty we want it to be. My first instinct is ‘right after Owen and Beru die’ but I want to have that sweet angst where Luke knows that his dad is Vader and that Obi-Wan was trying to convince him to kill his own father without telling him that.

We’ll go with shortly after Bespin, and then they end up significantly before TPM. The Obi-Wan of the timeline proper is, eh, let’s say eighteen. Not really ready to be a knight, but old enough that we don’t have to worry about “if we go save Shmi, do we somehow wipe out Anakin?” which is absolutely a worry. Anakin is a toddler, and is in no place to be evil, on account of being literally two years old. He can’t even explode people with his brain yet.

Now, Ben finds himself mid-thirties, as is traditional. He’s not upset at this, because his joints hurt so much less than they used to! His knees aren’t exactly teenage-perfect, but by the Force are they better than they were in the years before he died! His hair has color! He doesn’t have arthritis! And, goodness, no physical withdrawal symptoms! The psychological aspect is still there, but nonetheless, he’s in much better shape than he last remembers being.

Luke looks like he’s about six. He was recently twenty-two. This is not an upgrade. Ben keeps having to carry him. He can’t see over the counter when they enter a bar for information. He can’t enter the bar in the first place. He’s very annoyed by all of this.

Ben is not annoyed. Ben is having a lot of emotions, actually, but annoyance isn’t one of them. He didn’t get to help raise Luke the way he might have if Anakin hadn’t lost his shit, okay, he sees a small Luke and he wants to hug him and cry.

Luke would like to be able to purchase a speeder part without the lady at the stall asking him if he needs his “dad’s” permission.

Once they figure out when and where they are, they need to decide where and how to leave. There are general shenanigans to gamble their way into enough money to hire a ship. They are in the ass end of nowhere, but definitely not Tatooine. There appears to be a jungle. There appears to be a significant variety of man-eating creatures. There appears to be a temple to the Force of questionable origin. None of this is actually helpful, except for the moment they find a “baby’s first lightsaber” in the temple.

Luke only has one hand and, being a six-year-old, his body is growing too fast for him to bother with getting a wired-in prosthesis the way he could as an adult. He can get a more basic prosthesis, but nothing that attaches to the neurons. He’ll outgrow it too fast.

He’s tiny and he’s not used to doing things with just one hand. He uses the Force to do what one hand can't, and every time someone tries to tell him he's misusing the Force he whaps them with the empty sleeve.

So, you know, they find out what year it is. Ben has a breakdown. Luke is upset that he left behind his friends. Ben admits to him that Leia was his twin. Luke stares in horror because dude, she kissed him, you couldn’t have mentioned this earlier???

Ben points out that Beru and Owen were keeping Luke away from him for nineteen years, and then they had about three days of awkward travel to find Leia in the first place, and then Ben died. He didn’t have a whole lot of time to figure out how to tell him.

(This sparks an argument that lasts several days. All onlookers assume that Ben’s son is throwing a tantrum. He doesn’t correct them, even though this is a very valid reason to be upset, because the truth is much harder to explain.)

Sooooo they travel. Mostly, Ben plays Sabacc, cleans house, and pays their way towards Coruscant. Luke still really wants to learn to be a Proper Jedi, even though Ben is pretty sure that Luke would have... a lot of difference of opinion with the Temple, but sure. Coruscant. They can at least stop by, and see Qui-Gon, and Mace, and Quinlan, and Bant, and everyone else that’s still alive and not tragically deceased in the horror following the start of the Clone Wars and then the birth of the Empire, and Ben can have a nice sob over all his dead friends being alive again.

Ben is only barely holding it together while Luke is in the room with him at any given point. But it’s fine! It’s fine. He’s fine. All of his loved ones have come back to life! It’s great! HE’S FINE.

He is not fine.

Luke is also grieving all the people who haven’t been born yet, but he’s... significantly more okay than Ben is.

The closer they get to the Core, the more often people just assume Ben is Luke’s father, and then look shocked and uncomfortable when Luke flatly calls him by his name, and they just... compromise. This is the point at which Luke starts calling him “Uncle Ben.”

Ben cries in his bunk later that night. Luke overhears it and wonders how the HELL Ben is more unstable now, when there’s a chance to fix things and no Vader or Empire trying to kill or capture both of them, and all his friends are alive.

(Luke will later learn a lot about PTSD and realize this is actually a fairly normal situation, to process significant events and emotions only after gaining safety or catharsis.)

(Twenty years on a ball of sand with an alcohol addiction and debilitating fear of the man you raised as your own brother is not, in fact, safe or cathartic.)

At any rate, they’ve settled into that pattern by the time they reach the Inner Rim. The Inner Rim is the part of the galaxy at which they’ve collected enough money (and mental stability) to travel a little better, and to take a few more risks.

Risks like “manipulate people with those baby blues.”

Ben tells Luke that he’s a menace, after he pouts so cutely that he gets a free scarf added on to a purchase that Ben makes. Luke responds that Ben has no room to talk, since he flirted a free breakfast out of that one inn owner.

Also, Luke is currently physically six. That is objectively a situation that sucks. He deserves to use it for all it’s worth if he’s stuck like this.

“You know, if you keep wearing all-black and looking longingly at the velvet cape and Space Chanel boots, the temple is going to worry that you’re a darksider.”

“Uncle Ben... you told me, yesterday, that I sparkle so brightly in the Force that it’s almost blinding.”

“Yes, but the gloves--”

They don’t agree on this, but Ben relents. He does actually understand good fashion, unfortunately, and he’s not unaware of how much Leia taught Luke about such things.

Luke’s about forty years ahead of the curve, of course, but Skywalkers are prone to such things. It’s usually in regards to technology, granted, but...

They get to Coruscant. Ben is very obviously a Jedi. He knows all the right words and walks like a Soresu master and feels warm and comforting in the Force. They let him in with minimal questions. They note down “my first padawan left the order to have a child, but died shortly after; I consider Luke here to be my nephew, and have raised him as such,” and move on.

Luke is vaguely annoyed because he already had an uncle (and aunt) that raised him, but he admits that a person can have more than one uncle. He can live with this. Ben was more family to Anakin than Owen was, in some ways, so it’s kind of true. Luke is even working on feeling more childish affection for Ben instead of the complicated mess of emotions that come from being lied to about some very large and important subjects, and then seeing the person saying those lies have regular emotional breakdowns due to something as small as Luke saying he likes the curve of the hull on that freighter.

(Apparently he sounds just like his father did as a child. This is almost heartwarming.)

The thing is! The thing. The thing is, they almost make it to the Halls of Healing to get looked over for weird viruses, or Outer Rim Parasites, or whatever the hells needs to be happening. They almost make it without Ben having a flashback to dead younglings or brainwashed troopers or the declaration of a Sith Empire. They almost make it without incident.

Then Ben sees Qui-Gon, and freezes, and does not move again.

Luke cannot get him to restart.

People are staring.

They haven’t even made it to Medical, Uncle Ben, come on.

Young, local Obi-Wan comes over and asks if there’s something he can do to help. Or maybe this “Ben” knows Qui-Gon? Master Jinn doesn’t recognize Ben, but maybe Luke knows more?

Luke does know more, but what Luke actually says is “he probably needs a mind healer.”

(Ben will not appreciate this.)

(Ben is unfortunately standing in the middle of the hallway and completely unresponsive, and is unable to argue with this assertion.)

(Ben is pretty much proving this assertion entirely correct, actually.)

Obi-Wan is helpful, if a little bitchy in the manner of most late-teens individuals, and offers to help get Uncle Ben down to the Halls of Healing. It involves Obi-Wan gently pushing on Ben’s shoulders, and Qui-Gon offering to carry Luke so he can be in Ben’s sights (because Ben is a Mystery, and Qui-Gon is quite fond of those, so he wants to stay involved). Ben kind of just... shuffles on down.

There are medical tests. They ask about how Luke lost his hand. He refuses to talk about it. They ask how Ben got all his scars. Luke says he doesn’t know. They ask if he knows why Ben looks like he’s been through a war. Luke says it’s because he probably was.

They check for foreign viruses. They find evidence of thus-far-unpatented vaccinations. They ask Luke if he knows what he’s vaccinated for.

“How would I know? I’m six.”

They agree that this is a good excuse.

(It is not. He’s lying. They do not know this.)

They do some more tests. They find a lot of questionable medical bullshit in Ben’s body. Most of this is from the clone wars, but they don’t know this. Someone realizes they haven’t gotten a ping back from the Shadow Network regarding “do we have permission to pull the medical file of a Jedi that isn’t in the normal database? We’re assuming you know who he is, since we don’t.”

The Shadow Network does not know who Ben is.

The healers, of course, go “huh, that’s weird, but maybe the name he gave his nephew was fake. We can’t exactly ask ‘Ben’ for more details right now. We already had to sedate him. Let’s check the DNA!”

The DNA pulls up as Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The padawan who brought this guy in two hours ago.

“Huh, that’s weird. Let’s call in Kenobi and ask if he knows what’s going on.”

Obi-Wan absolutely does not know what’s going on.

They ask Luke.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, lying through his teeth and not even pretending otherwise.

“You’re not a very good liar,” teenage Obi-Wan tells him.

“I’m not trying to be,” Luke says. “Can you get Master Yoda? I feel like we’re going to need him.”

They normally wouldn’t get Yoda on the request of a six-year-old, but they also normally don’t have a catatonic thirty-something Jedi who looks like he’s been through a war popping up in the medical database as the pimply teenage padawan that broke his pinky trying to do a Badass Ataru Flip last week.

Or... whatever Luke i... is... oh dear.

“Young one,” Qui-Gon asks, while people whisper-shout behind him, not realizing he’s cutting the Correlian Knot and just asking the kid himself. “Do you know why your midichlorian count is so high? It’s almost unheard of.”

“Uncle Ben said my dad was the Chosen One,” Luke says, because he is capable of being a little shit and is actually really eager to let Ben deal with some of the fallout. He feels for the man, really, but he’s also tired of being the one to field every single question.

Also, the expressions that pass on Qui-Gon’s face are hilarious.

(Luke may or may not be more affected by his six-year-old brain than he would like to admit.)

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon says, sounding more than a little strangled about it.

It takes another three hours for Ben to wake up.

He listens to the questions. He hears what they say his ‘nephew’ said. He looks at Luke.

“Is this revenge for not telling you about Leia?”

“It’s not revenge,” Luke does not lie. “I just don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s pretty easy to explain.”

“It’s not my secret.”

“This is revenge for the Leia thing.”

“No,” Luke says. “Revenge for the Leia thing was when I ate a live frog in front of you.”

This is the point at which someone interrupts and points out that they appear to be stalling.

“Oh, he is,” Luke tells them. He gestures at Ben. “I can’t tell you more, because it’s more his story than mine.”

“I’m afraid, Master, that I am very likely to have an emotional breakdown if I allow myself to consider the reality of this situation for longer than the fraction of a second I already have,” Ben reports, full of false cheer. “Suffice to say, I am far from stable and have only held out this far for Luke’s sake.”

“Can you explain why you have my DNA?” Obi-Wan asks, as the person who’s most concerningly involved in this situation.

“You can,” Ben says, smiling like there is absolutely nothing wrong in the slightest, ever. “I’m you, from the future. I actually died and spent a few years dead before coming back. I’m not sure why I’m younger than I was when I died, but I appreciate being able to put on my shoes without my knees attempting to mutiny.”

“He needs a mind healer,” Luke reiterates, in case the strained grin hasn’t made it clear. “So do I, but not as much.”

“I have felt literally every person in this Temple save for Luke and Yoda die,” Ben reports, looking a shade more manic than a few seconds earlier. “It’s very overwhelming to feel you all being alive again. I may be approaching a mental breakdown, and I’ve been rather strictly advised against using alcohol to treat my traumas again.”

Luke kicks him in the thigh. It’s not a very hard kick, because he is very small, and he does actually like Ben. “I’m not letting you turn into an old drunk again.”

After several seconds of silence, a healer quietly suggests that everyone clear the room, and asks if someone could fetch Master Yoda as the youngling requested.

(THIS IS ALMOST THREE THOUSAND WORDS. I started it less than two hours ago. Why am I like this.)

[blueink3]

Hey blue. So I wrote something and it's pretty craptastic. How long should one sit on something they know isn't very good? Do I let it sit in my drafts while I tweak it over time? Do I say goodbye and post it in the hopes that it gets the motivation going to write more? Should I scrap it altogether?

hold up, who says it's craptastic? you? we all think our own writing is shit. that is a time-honored tradition going back to the ancient greeks, and that's a fact.*

now i preface ALL of this by saying that i am not an expert on the subject. it's impossible to be an expert on writing because writing is so personal to every writer. there's no one way to do it. king doesn't write like poe. shelley didn't write like le guin. i am, however, an expert on how I write. and what works for me might not work for you, and that's okay. writing is nothing but trial and error, cursing and crying, staring at a blinking cursor and willing words to write themselves until you find what fits.

what i'm trying to say is how long you sit on something is entirely up to you. some people can tinker and tinker and tinker until they drive themselves crazy. other people drive themselves crazy from the get-go, but eventually concede that what they've written is not actually the worst thing in the world. personally, i am the latter. i need space from something for a bit; not long, maybe a day or two if it's short, a few more if it's long, and then i reread and toss it out into the world before self-doubt can dig its claws into me. i still find sentences that i don't like and words that could have been chosen more carefully, but i'm making peace with the fact that nothing's perfect. and certainly not me.

you spent time on this, though. time from your busy life that you could have spent doing literally anything else. and you chose this topic, these characters, this journey. it obviously meant something. it meant enough to motivate you to metaphorically put pen to paper and that, my friend, is often the hardest part.

only you have the power to scrap it. no one can make that decision for you. maybe give it a few days, take a look again with fresh eyes, and then decide.

but something that you think isn't very good could end up being the best part of someone else's day. and isn't making that one person's day worth everything that came before?

[izzielizzie]

Now I’ve Seen You I’ve Seen It All Chapter One

okay so this ask inspired me so am i writing a ten chapter nateywn parent trap au? yes. Is the first chapter under the cut? also yes 

“Okay honey,” Bronwyn Rojas says as she puts her hands on her daughter Ellen’s shoulders. “You’ve got everything you need right?”

Ellen nods.

“Toothbrush?”

Ellen nods again.

“All your clothes? Shampoo? Hair brush? Retainers?” 

Ellen nods again, four times, and wiggles a little in her mother’s grip. Twelve year old Ellen Rojas has never spent more than a week out of her mother’s sights, and this two month camp is testing both of them.

Bronwyn looks like she’s about to cry. “Are you sure you don’t want me to look over your things one more time?”

Ellen sighs and considers the best way to tell her mother it is time for her to leave. Thankfully she doesn’t have to. A slender woman with dark hair and expressive amber eyes practically materializes in front of Ellen and Bronwyn. Maeve Santos.

Maeve, with her messy bun, face full of freckles, tattered Hodges Camp t-shirt, and denim shorts, looks absolutely nothing like her older sister Bronwyn. Until further examination. They carry themselves the same way, like they belong anywhere they happen to be, and their smiles are the same. It’s hard to tell since Bronwyn’s face is all lines and hardness, and Maeve’s is soft and open. But the smiles, well, they’re identical.

“Hey Bron,” Maeve says. She pulls her sister into a hug, taking care not to wrinkle Bronwyn’s suit. Bronwyn pats her sister’s back, her way of saying “okay enough hugging”. Maeve pulls away with a grin, and swings Ellen up into her arms. Maeve - and her husband Luis - don’t have any kids, so all their attention is directed to Ellen and their nephews on Luis’s side. But mostly Ellen. Ellen hugs her back with all her might.

“Hi Aunt Maeve,” Ellen says.

“Hey Ellen, ready for some fun!”

Ellen giggles and looks around the camp over her aunt’s shoulder. It’s a large camp, with seven cabins for campers: three for girls on one side of the path and three for boys on the other. The seventh can be seen peeking over the trees where the forest meets the large lake (Lake Hodges, where Aunt Maeve got the name for the camp). There’s a large center cabin, fittingly named the Big Cabin meals are served, the counselors congregate during off times, and one room is used as a games room, where Ellen knows air hockey tables and pool tables and foosball tables have been set up. Farther along the path is the arts and crafts cabin, then the nurse’s cabin. The grand finale before the dock and boat house is a large amphitheatre, where plays and concerts are held. 

Ellen’s never really seen the camp, not really, but she’s heard enough about it from her Aunt Maeve - the founder/head - to feel as if she’s greeting an old friend, the musky smells and bird chirps as familiar to Ellen as the brick buildings and sound of honking cars in New Haven is.

“More than ready,” Ellen assures her aunt. Maeve grins at her. 

“That’s my girl - whoa be careful!”

The last warning isn’t for Ellen, but for the person who swings Ellen high up into the air out of her aunt’s arms. She doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Uncle Luis. Ellen turns the moment she’s on solid ground to give her uncle a hug. Bronwyn often compares Luis to a puppy: energetic, over joyous, and incredibly good at snuggling. She’s not wrong.

“Hey Bronwyn,” Luis says, hugging his sister in law. He doesn’t mind her suit. Bronwyn hugs him back for a moment before readjusting her jacket and looking around helplessly. 

“Are we sure this is a good idea? Maybe Ellen’s too young.”

“Mom, you said I could come when I turned twelve,” Ellen protests, trying very hard not to stomp her foot. It wouldn’t be proving her point.

“I know but-” Bronwyn waves her arms around. 

“We’re here, don't forget,” Maeve says.

“No offence Maeve but you left Ellen in a parking lot.” 

Maeve’s smile becomes a little strained. “That was ten years ago.”

“Still!”

Maeve sighs. “Cooper and Kris are here. Who’s more responsible than Cooper and Kris?”

This seems to calm Ellen’s mom. “Okay, okay, you’re right. That’s true. Alright then, Ellen darling, I think it’s time for me to go.”

If Maeve is hurt that Bronwyn trusts Cooper and Kris Becker-Clay more than her own sister, she doesn’t show it. She looks over Bronwyn’s shoulder as if looking for something. “Okay Bron you’ve got a plane to catch right?”

“Right, right okay.” Bronwyn reaches forward and pulls Ellen out of Luis’s arms, squeezing her tight. “Be good okay, sweetheart?”

“Okay. I will.” Ellen hugs her mother back until Maeve gently disentangles them. With a last kiss on Maeve’s cheek and on Ellen’s forehead, Bronwyn heads back over to her car, pulling away with a wave for the family she knows is watching. 

“Well Ellen darling, excited for camp?” Maeve asks as she takes Ellen’s hand, picking up her oversized duffle with the other hand, which she expertly tosses to her husband. He catches it. Ellen loves watching her aunt and uncle work together, since it’s always been her and her mother. Ellen’s never seen two adults who just fit. 

The trio don’t get far before a motorcycle comes roaring up the drive. They all turn to see what’s happening as a girl expertly jumps off the back of the motorcycle. She’s wearing white shorts and a black leather motorcycle jacket that matches the jacket of the man on the motorcycle. The girl pulls off her helmet to reveal long black hair. 

Maeve grins. “You two stay here, I’ll be right back.” Maeve scurries away to the biker before Luis and Ellen can follow. 

“What’s happening Uncle Luis?” Ellen asks, sliding her hand into her uncle’s hand. 

“No clue kiddo,” Luis answers, but based on the look on his face, he does indeed know. 

They watch as Maeve talks to the man on the motorcycle. Ellen’s too far away to see who he is, and before she can get a closer look he’s waving at the girl and backing down the path to the main road. Maeve and the girl are standing together. They watch the motorcycle until it’s out of sight. Maeve takes the girl’s hand, and the way she’s looking at her sends a flash of white hot jealousy through Ellen. That’s the way Maeve looks at her.

Maeve smiles when they approach Luis and Ellen. “Ali, this is my husband Luis.”

“Hey Ali,” Luis says.

“And this is my niece Ellen Rojas. Ellen, this is Ali Macauley.” 

What a stupid name Ellen almost says. Instead she just grunts. She’s not quite sure why, but she doesn’t like this girl in her Guinness band t-shirt and tattered shorts and red flip flops that - ugh - look a lot like Ellen’s. Ali’s glaring right back at Ellen. Clearly, she doesn’t like her either. 

“Wow, you guys look nearly identical,” Luis says as he looks between his niece and the newcomer with her oversized backpack.

“No we don’t,” Ali says dryly.

“Oh I agree,” Ellen says. “I would never wear a shirt advertising that tacky band.”

“Ellen,” Maeve says in her warning voice.

“At least I don’t dress like the next queen of England.”

Ellen huffs and looks down at her pressed skirt and matching jacket. Her mother picked it for her.

“Oh you wish you were the queen of En-”

“Okay how about cabin assignments!” Maeve says brightly. Ali looks up at Maeve like she’s the queen, and Ellen’s ready to sock her in the nose. 

Maeve looks down at her clipboard as if she can sense Ellen’s thoughts. “You’re both in cabin one. Fun!”

“No it’s not,” Ali mumbles. 

Maeve ignores her and takes her hand instead. “Okay, let’s get you to your cabin.” Maeve takes Ellen’s hand after tucking her clipboard under her arm, and kisses her husband’s cheek before setting off, chatting about the camp as she goes. 

“You’ve met Luis of course, he’s a chef in New York and he’s in charge of cooking and also outdoor activities like hikes and stuff like that. And our head of arts and crafts is Addy Prentiss, she’s a teacher and she and her wife Keely live in London, where Keely is a fashion designer or something like that I never understand. Cooper Becker-Clay - you probably know him from the Padres - he’s in charge of sports. His husband Kris is our onsite medic.” Maeve pauses to push open the cabin door. “And Knox Myers does all the theatre and music stuff - he’s a Broadway director. Phoebe Myers, his wife, is our counselor. Need anything, go to her.”

Ellen knows all of this, since the people Aunt Maeve is talking about have been in Ellen’s life since she was a baby, so this is clearly for Ali. This annoys Ellen more, since she wanted to tell Aunt Maeve about the boy she thought she was in love with who turned out to not be in love with her. Aunt Maeve is the kind of aunt who understands about confusing things like the heart. 

“Okay girls. Looks like you’re the first in here. Pick a bunk.”

“Top,” Ali says right as Ellen says the same thing. Both girls look at each other in surprise and scramble for the ladder. 

“Whoa, whoa, girls slow down!” Maeve calls as both girls try to climb up the ladder at the same time. Ali beats Ellen, who’s slowed by the skirt. Ali’s long hair gets in her way, so Ellen uses that chance to climb up the side of the ladder like she does on the fire escape of her building. She’s nearly at the top when she feels hands clamp around her waist and pull her off. 

“Aunt Maeve!” Ellen protests as she’s placed on solid ground. She watches as Maeve pulls Ali off the ladder too. 

“Don’t ‘Aunt Maeve’ me. Honestly what’s gotten into you two?”

“It’s her fault,” Ali says stubbornly, pointing at Ellen. 

“She’s the one who cheated!”

“How did I cheat Ellen?”

“You’re not wearing a skirt.”

Ali scoffs. 

“Both of you two stop it right now. Ali, you take that bunk -”

“Hey!” Ellen protests as Ali does a little happy hop.

“And Ellen, you take the one on the other wall.”

Ellen is in shock. Aunt Maeve has never ever chosen someone over her. Not even the time her cousin Matias wanted the last ice cream at his own birthday party and Maeve talked circles around him until he was so confused he forgot about the dessert. 

“Fine,” Ellen sighs as she crosses the wooden cabin to the bunk identical to the one Ali is triumphantly perched on.

“Good. Now let’s hope you two get along better in the morning.”

Unfortunately, that does not happen. 

The next morning, Ellen enters the Big Cabin with Aunt Maeve and Uncle Luis’s latest foster child, named Nick. Ellen and Nick get along fabulously, something that pleases her aunt and uncle to no end. Ali stalks in after her. Ellen noticed last night that Ali prefers to be alone. She refused to join in on the game of go fish their cabin mates were playing, and she ignored all talk about the cute boys at the camp and past crushes.

“I’m telling you Nick, she’s so stuck up. Like she’s too good for us or something,” Ellen says, continuing her conversation even though Ali is right behind her. 

“Maybe she’s just shy,” Nick says. Even though he has no blood relation to any of Ellen’s family members he still looks vaguely like Luis with his good looks and deep brown eyes.

Ellen scoffs. “She wasn’t shy when she stole my aunt.”

“Maeve isn’t stolen.”

“Right,” Ellen says skeptically as she hands Nick a tray. They’re entering the food line, and she graciously lets Nick before her. She ends up next to Ali, who’s glaring at Ellen. “Good morning sunshine,'' Ellen says pleasantly.

Ali glares harder as she takes a tray from the pile.

“Not a morning person huh?” Ellen asks.

“Say another word and I’ll knock your teeth out,” Ali threatens.

“Scary,” Ellen says dryly as they head down the line. She hesitates in front of the last pancake, weighing the pros and cons of grabbing it when Ali speaks up.

“Are you gonna stand there or are you gonna grab that?” She’s already reaching for the pancake in question.

“I was going to grab it,” Ellen lies, stabbing it with a fork as Ali does the same thing. They engage in a sort of food based tug-of-war. “Let go!”

“You let go!”

“I saw it first!”

“You were just mouth breathing on it!”

They both tug hard, and the pancakes crumble into two pieces. The momentum sends them flying. Ali crashes to the floor and Ellen stumbles back into Nick, who steadies her. 

“What kind of loser can’t keep their balance?” Ellen asks.

“Ellen, stop,” Luis says emerging from the kitchen. He’s looking half amused and half annoyed. “Ali, you okay?”

“Fine,” Ali snaps. “But your niece is annoying.”

Luis ignores her, and Nick gently tugs Ellen away.

Ellen sulks all the way to the crafts barn, where Addy Prentiss in all her pink haired glory is perched on a table in a pair of faded denim overalls. She hops off the table when the group arrives. 

“Alright guys, I thought we could start with bracelets today,” Addy says with her slight British accent, winking at Ellen, who glows. “So, find a table y’all, and let’s see what bracelets you come up with!”

Addy circles the room, and Ellen chooses a table with Cosette Myers, Nick, and - ugh - Ali. Ali pointedly ignores her, and Ellen choses to do the same, chatting with Cosette about the last musical her father Knox took her to. Ellen reaches for a bead at the same time as Ali, and their hands collide.

“Can you move?” Ali asks.

“You move!” Ellen protests.

“I just want a bead.”

“Then wait.”

“Why don’t you wait, princess?”

“Because I was first.”

Both girls glare at each other for a moment before reaching for the beads again, knocking into the container and sending the beads flying over the table and floor. Cosette and Nick jump back. Addy choses this moment to approach this table.

“Are you two kidding me?” she asks, irritated.

“It's Ellen's fault!”

“It was not Aunt Addy, it was Ali!”

Addy looks between the identical looking girls and huffs. “Pick them up.”

“What?” Ellen asks.

“El, you heard me.”

Ellen glares halfheartedly at Ali as she sinks to the floor to pick up the scattered pea sized beads.

Cosette and Nick slide to the floor to help as Ali starts on her side of the table.

“She’s a monster,” Ellen hisses. Cosette and Nick exchange glances.

Twenty minutes later, the girls find themselves near the lake, lined up next to Cooper Becker-Clay, who’s teaching the finer details of the ever important sport of wiffle ball. 

“Okay guys,” he says, pulling off his baseball hat and running his hand through his sandy hair. “I need some volunteers please.” His blue eyes roves the crowd of excitable preteens and lands on Ellen and Ali, who are both glaring at each other while pretending the other person doesn’t exist.

“Ellen. Ali. What about you two?”

Ellen shrugs, and Ali scoffs. “You’re choosing the person who wears skirts?”

“But she’s… not wearing a skirt,” Cooper says, looking a little confused. It’s true, Ellen is wearing a camp shirt tucked into a pair of shorts. 

“Ignore her, she’s being weird,” Ellen says, stepping forward. Ali glares. Cooper shakes his head as if straightening out his thoughts.

“Okay. Ali, take the bat and stand on the base. Just like that, yeah. And Ellen, come here. Okay guys pay attention. Ellen’s going to put her left foot forward since that’s her non-dominant side, and she’ll pull her right arm back and yeah - no Ellen wait!”

Ellen, after being raised with both Uncle Luis and Uncle Cooper, knows exactly how to aim a perfect fastball. And, being her mother’s daughter, she’s able to figure out how to compensate for the lighter ball - flicking her wrist just so - until her pitch is perfectly aimed straight for Ali’s nose. Ali, who isn’t expecting this, doesn’t swing and instead stands still as the ball comes flying towards her nose with a sickening crack. 

And, being Addy’s goddaughter, Ellen knows how to act too. “Oh my gosh Ali I’m so sorry,” she cries, sounding incredibly believable as she sprints after Cooper towards Ali, who’s got her hand pressed against her nose. “Uncle Cooper, really, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to.”

Cooper looks between Ali, Ellen, and the other campers who look gleeful - they were expecting to make friendship bracelets and sing weird songs at camp, not see the greatest feud of their adolescent lives. 

“It’s fine El. Take Ali to Uncle Kris okay?”

“Okay, oh my gosh I feel so bad.”

Cooper, of course, being both not an idiot and the father of triplet girls, knows Ellen isn’t sorry in the slightest, but he lets her lead Ali to Kris’s med cabin. 

Once at the cabin, Ellen considers leaving Ali when Kris calls her in. 

“Hey Uncle Kris,” Ellen says as Kris lifts Ali onto a bed in the cabin lined with beds. Kris raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, his green eyes roving over Ellen’s face.

“Hello Ellen. How are we today, girls?”

Kris takes one look between the girl he’s known since she was born and the identical looking girl on the bed and knows exactly what happened.

“Fine,” Ellen says.

Ali mumbles something, and Kris pulls her hand from her nose. He touches it gently. 

“Well Miss Macauley, it’s not broken, just sore.” Kris looks over Ali’s face and notices a small cut, which he instantly starts cleaning.

“You know one of the wonderful things about camp is the ability to make new friends, right girls?” Kris asks, looking pointedly at Ellen.

“Yes sir,” Ellen says. Ali mumbles again.

“You know some friendships last a lifetime.”

“Yes sir.”

“It’s important to be open to new friendships too.”

“Yes sir.”

Kris laughs as he lifts Ali off the bed, her cut freshly bandaged and a wax wrapped caramel slipped into her hand. “Yes sir, yes sir. You’re not listening to a word I’m saying are you?”

“Yes sir,” Ellen repeats with a grin. Kris grins right back and hands her a caramel too.

“Okay, be good you two.”

“Yes sir!” Ali calls as she skips out of the cab. Kris shakes his head as he watches the girls go. He knows that’s not going to happen.

And it doesn’t. Their next class is theatre with Knox, where they’re putting on a production of the Wizard of Oz. 

“Alright guys, I have the cast list for you.” Knox rattles off names and assignments: Cosette is the Wicked Witch of the East, and Nick is the Cowardly Lion. “Ellen Rojas and Ali Macauley, you guys are Munchkins.”

“How come I’m a Munchkin when I’m taller than Ellen?” Ali asks, her voice a little warped because of her swollen nose.

“Am not!” Ellen protests.

“Are too!”

Cosette and Nick roll their eyes at each other and Knox sighs.

“Girls, girls, you two are identical if you haven’t realized.”

Both girls stop their squabbling to stare at Knox. They look at each other, studying one another.

“No way,” Ali says. 

“Agreed,” Ellen says.

“I’m way better looking than Ellen.”

“Excuse you! You look like you’re gonna sell drugs on the street in high school.”

Ali opens her mouth in shock as Knox startles and begins to reprimand Ellen. “Ellen Maeve Rojas you can not say things like tha-”

“TAKE THAT BACK!” Ali interrupts with a shout, lunging at Ellen. Ellen maintains her ground, and pushes back, aiming a punch at Ali’s already injured nose. Ali, being an inch taller in her Docs, gains the upper hand as she rolls on top of Ellen and is about to punch her nose when another person arrives in the amphitheater.

“Hey Knox I’ve got that box of props you wanted and Ali what in the world are you doing?”

Everyone turns to Maeve Santos carrying an old cardboard box under one arm. She’s in mom jeans and a Bayview High t-shirt today, a bandana covering her hair, and right now, she’s fuming. 

“She called me a future drug dealer!” Ali points at Ellen. “I was defending myself!”

“She started it!” Ellen protests, pushing Ali off her and sitting up. 

“No I didn’t, you started it!”

Maeve watches with pursed lips. Knox, having known Maeve for years, steps back. He knows an angry Maeve when he sees one.

“Both of you, come one, you’re moving to cabin seven.”

“Cabin seven?” Ellen repeats incredulously. “There are spiders and bugs and pests and stuff there!”

“And? You’re being a pest. Both of you. I’m disappointed in you. So you’re living together until you learn to get along.”

Her voice is calm, conversational almost, but her amber eyes are flashing dangerously. This is a Maeve you don’t cross. 

Sadly, Ellen doesn’t always have common sense.

“My mom won’t like that,” she says.

“Your mother is a…” Maeve stops, taking a deep breath to compose herself, and for a moment, both Ellen and Ali are actually scared. Ellen’s heard about the Aunt Maeve of yesteryears, the one who pushed people away and lashed out when hurting or scared because she never knew how to accept love. Bronwyn says Maeve used to be different, and Ellen can see what she meant. 

Ali and Ellen glance at each other, and they come to an understanding: they don’t need to talk to one another, or even acknowledge each other’s presence in Cabin Seven. But Maeve Santos should not be angered. 

“We’ll get our stuff,” Ali mumbles for the both of them.

“Good,” Maeve says.

“Off to the isolation cabin?” Knox teases. Maeve turns her glare to him, and he steps back.

“Forget I said anything.”

[t-lostinworlds]

Extra (Tom Holland)

A/N: What is this? I have finished something? Me?? posting?? A FIC? WHAT? Is the world actually ending!?!? I think I’m funny but I’m not, clearly. Glad to be out of my writing rot tho aha. Hope you guys like this one!

Pairing: Tom Holland x Singer!Reader

Summary: You get a sweet but very extra surprise on your birthday nearing the end of your show.

Warnings: Fluff and my usual typos

Word Count: 5.5k+

Masterlist in Bio

-:-:-:-:-

The sound of your phone just going off uncontrollably was what woke you up, and you were completely sure that it wasn't your alarm.

You squint your eyes at the bright glare of the screen, a huge contrast to your still dim hotel room. You literally had just woken up hence why the curtains aren't open yet, it's still a bit too early after all.

Flicking the ringer on silent, birthday greetings and messages from friends and families were still flooding through, your phone now vibrating instead of your loud ringtone, giving your ears a break.

As you read through and responded to all of them, you couldn't help but feel a little down after you realized you haven't seen his name yet.

Of course you feel grateful for all the sweet messages everyone has sent you, your heart is melting from all the love. But there's that slight disheartened feeling that you can't seem to shake, slight worry that your boyfriend might have forgotten about your birthday.

You haven't heard from Tom since yesterday morning, which now makes it almost a full day. After he texted you that he was going to be doing a lot of stunts and is probably going to be super busy, he then just disappeared, not even slipping in a text good night. You did let it pass though, because he might have been quite knackered after the shoot.

Message to Tom: Good morning bub <3 Just checking up on you since you haven't read or replied to any of my messages at all. Hope you're okay and haven't injured yourself Thomas. I really miss you a lot and I love you loads x

Your frown could only deepen as you hit send, still no response nor any sign that he's got your messages whatsoever.

Normally, it wouldn't really be a big deal but the last you've seen him in person was three months ago. He was busy shooting the third installment of Spider-Man all while doing a few projects on the side. And you, well, you're touring around the world.

You could be patient and blame it on the time difference why he hasn't greeted yet, but he's just behind a couple hours. Tom has made it a habit of always greeting you at midnight no matter what and where, he's just cliché like that, and it was definitely passed midnight in New York.

God, you sound so much like a whiny and ungrateful brat, but you can't help it, you just miss him so much.

Maybe you've gotten so used to always spending your birthdays with him so the first time that you're celebrating it from different parts of the globe, it does makes you sad.

You did try to make ends meet, but a week before today, he's brought you the news that he can't fly out due to conflicting schedules with some of the actors he's working with, and that it's critical that he's there on the day. To be the leading role of a gigantic movie, asking a few days off is never that simple.

On the other hand, you have a show today and tomorrow, so flying to him isn't exactly ideal either. You understand of course, you are sort of in the same line of work, but still, it doesn't make you feel any less gloomy.

With one big stretch, you placed your phone back on your side table as you slowly got out of bed, opting to go and take a shower to then head down and meet the crew for breakfast.

Maybe you'll hear from him later in the day.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon and still not a single word from Tom.

You were growing worried because it was so unlike him to be very cut off and silent.

Did he lose his phone?

You tried to contact Harry—who's with Tom currently—but he too wasn't responding. Everything was just off and odd altogether, the tiny pit in your stomach only growing bigger the more you worry and think about where your man is.

"Have you heard from Tom?" You asked with furrowed brows the moment Molly, your manager approached you on stage. Your hand found its way to fish your phone out of your pocket to check it for the umpteenth time, but still, no sign of him.

You were finishing up your final soundcheck before you were off to a mini get-together—snacks and drinks included—with some of your fans. It was your alternative to a meet and greet because you'd rather hang out and have real conversations with them than the whole quick snap and go.

She shook her head at you all confused, a slight glimmer in her eyes that you didn't quite catch. "Uh no, why?"

You sighed. Tom doesn't really contact your manager unless its important matters, so you don't even know why you're asking, maybe you've just grown desperate to hear even the smallest thing from him, just anything. "Never mind. Is it time?"

"Yeah, they're all waiting for you."

You simply nodded as you followed her off stage, handing the guitar over to your guy on the way.

Walking through the hallway, you kept your head down, eyes glued to your phone as you respond to more messages from people, but also checking if Tom has come back from ghost town.

You were aimlessly following Molly to wherever room or space they set up the get-together in, just watching her shoes and never looking up from your device. That, until you heard a few shuffling of rushed feet and a door being slammed shut.

"What was that? And what's in here?" You asked, eyes now trained on a door of what looks like another dressing room. Molly continued walking, so you kept following but with your gaze still glued to the door, curios as to what's going on inside because you definitely can hear a bit of ruckus.

"Oh just the staff, that's one of their rooms." She answered casually, not even bothering to give you or the room a glance.

"Is it weird if I just go inside and say thank you? Would that be too... intrusive?" You pondered, halting in your tracks as you contemplated on knocking. You just wanted to extend your gratitude for all their hard work, but you aren't sure if they were comfortable with you suddenly just strolling in.

"It's not weird at all hun, but you've got a schedule." She smiled at you sweetly, nodding her head towards the direction of the get-together.

"Oh right, yeah, let's go."

You gave the door one last look before turning on your heel to follow Molly once again, up until you reached another space covered in curtains. And the moment your bodyguard pulled it open, wide smiles on faces greeted you as they all sang in tune.

"Happy birthday to you!"

You laughed as you shyly shook your head at them. Warmth coated your whole body in an instant as love and pure adoration radiated off of the space, off of your fans.

You did as much as wave your fingers in the air as they sang, serving as a conductor because for the number of years you've been on this earth, you still have no idea what to do when people sing the birthday song to you.

* * *

"I can't thank you guys enough for being here with me tonight. You guys have been so incredible, you always are." You breathed out as your voice echoed throughout the whole arena. You looked at the thousands of people who came tonight to see you perform with a proud grin, their energy never wavering as they sing your songs back to you from each melody to lyric.

Adrenaline was pumping through your veins as you tried to catch your breath, taking the water bottle off of the floor and lifting it up to your lips to have a quick drink.

"Now, give me everything you've got for this last song alright?" You spoke into the mic once you've rehydrated.

"Wait, wait. Don't you guys agree that Y/N is killing it tonight?" Your pianist, Sara, interrupts, the crowd cheering in agreement at her input. "And judging by today's occasion, I think we all owe her a little song." She added, earning a hearty laugh from you as you brought the mic back to your lips.

"You guys don't have to—"

"Happy birthday to you!"

The song was played no matter your protest, Sara leading the crowd as she plays the tune on her keys, the rest of the band following suit.

Your laugh bounced off the walls as you stood there in complete awe. It was a beautiful sight to see, the crowd all singing in unison, lights up in the air as they pour all their heart to the simple yet special song. The song still filling you up with joy and warmth despite having heard it countless of times for the whole day, and the fact that all these people were there for you? It was definitely the icing on the cake.

"Thank you so much you lovely people, y'all are making me emotional. And they say the best way to spend your birthdays is with the people you love and the ones who love you, and they were absolutely right. I'm so blessed to have you guys tonight, because I do love you all very much." You stated fondly the moment they finished with a loud cheer, a hand placed right atop your heart as you feel it grow ten times its size.

"Y/N, we've got another something for you." Sara spoke before you could even get another word out, hand gesturing towards the large screen right behind you.

"Oh god, is this mission make Y/N ugly cry today?" You laughed, turning around just in time too see the tour artwork turning pitch black to then be replaced by a huge countdown.

5... 4... 3... 2... 1...

The crowd roared in delight as Mr. Niall Horan joined with Lewis Capaldi appeared on screen, large pints of Guinness on hand with their arms around each other as they give you their birthday greeting.

"Happy birthday Y/N! But since we're halfway across the world, we'll be there with you in spirit. Also, Lewis and I decided to celebrate anyway so cheers to you and have an amazing day." Niall chuckled as he lifted his beer up. "I'll make sure to have a good drink for you Y/N! We miss ya and we love ya!" Lewis added with a cheeky grin, and you couldn't help but shake your head at the two with a big smile of your own.

You've worked with them both on a few songs, and both were the funniest yet sweetest gentlemen you've met in the industry, especially when you put the two together.

Both of them emptied their glasses as they bid their goodbyes, Niall's loud laugh echoing throughout the arena when Lewis spilled before they disappeared on screen.

The crowd went even louder once Shawn Mendes' pretty face appeared on it next, sporting his usual bright smile as he gave you his short but sweet greeting. "Happy birthday Y/N! Wishing you all the best in life since you deserve all of it! Can't wait to work with you again soon! Have fun on your birthday honey!"

You shook your head in disbelief. An amused smile was plastered on your face, still unable to fathom that a few years ago you were a huge fan of him. And now you can say you've worked with him, even call him a friend. Funny, how the universe works.

Alessia Cara came up next with a smile, wide and bright, you're heart melting to see one of your greatest and closest friends. She's just a pure and kindhearted soul, a rare beauty. "Hey there you lovely and amazing woman! Happy birthday! I miss hanging out with you a lot but I shall see you soon! Keep conquering the world Y/N! I am so proud of how far you've come and you deserve every bit of success that comes your way. Again happy birthday! Have an amazing one and I love you!" She blew you a sweet kiss and waved you goodbye, tears already brimming in your eyes at all the love and appreciation thrown your way.

Next were Zendaya and Jacob Batalon, who you've grown close with through no other person than Tom. Both were clearly on set sitting on directors' chair in their characters' outfits. Both looked a little tired but they still greeted you with wide smiles nonetheless.

"Happy birthday Y/N!" They screamed in unison. "We wished we could be there with you to celebrate your birthday but you already know how these things go." Z pouted, Jacob copying her as well and you couldn't help but giggle. "But soon when we get a break we will catch up and celebrate your birthday." Jacob added with a knowing grin. "Anyway! Duty calls so enjoy your birthday and have great one! We love you!"

Then friends and family came up on screen, ones who you've missed most having been away from them for so long and that's when you felt your heart ache a little. Happy tears were brimming in your eyes as each of them shared their lovely messages, saying how proud they are for how far you've come. And when those words come from the people who you truly care about, it means the absolute world.

The next person to share their video message didn't help with the tears either, a hushed sob escaping your lips the moment you saw his familiar face.

The crowd behind you screamed at the top of their lungs the moment Thomas Stanley Holland appeared on screen, handsome face sporting that sweet and charming smile as he sat in his trailer wearing his Spider-Man suit.

"Hello darling. My love, I'm so gutted that I'm not there so celebrate your birthday with you. If I could teleport myself by your side right now, I would in a heartbeat, but anyway, happy birthday sweetheart!" Tom exclaimed joyfully, grin all beaming and you couldn't help but miss him even more.

"Oh, where do I start? Well, I can start by saying how proud I am of you, so so proud of the gorgeous, powerful, strong and successful woman that you've grown to become. You've worked so hard to get where you are today and it fills me with so much happiness knowing that you're out there traveling the world and doing what you love the most." The crowd cooed at Tom's sweet words, your heart was already melting at the seams as more tears threaten to spill, and he wasn't even done yet.

"You deserve the whole world if not more with how kindhearted and compassionate you are. And gosh you make me feel so happy and loved. I feel so lucky to have someone like you in my life, I can't even begin to describe to you exactly how much, and if I tried? Then we'd be here for hours on end. And lastly—because I'm being called to set right now, if I wasn't I'd be talking about how amazing you are some more—I am truly, madly and deeply in love with you Y/N. You are my world and I hope I make you feel loved every single day, because you truly deserved to be."

"Tom they're waiting for you."

"Yeah, just one more minute." Tom calls out to someone off shot before his eyes landed back on the camera, staring straight at you through the screen with a guilty smile. Guilty because it pains him that he's not there with you. "I love you dearly, and I miss you so much. I'll make it up to you I promise. Once again, happy birthday to my beautiful girl and I shall see you soo—"

All of a sudden the screen went static, Tom's words being cut off as you heard nothing but white noise. Then everything just went black, the whole arena dark as the night as gasps of surprise and screams of panic echoed throughout its walls.

Tell everyone to stay calm Y/N, we're fixing things up.

Your sound guy spoke in your in-ear. You nodded despite the fact that they probably can't see you due to the darkness. Turning back around to the audience, you spoke into the mic. "I'm sorry guys, just technical difficulties. Just stay in your seats in be calm, the lights should be back on in a minute."

And as if on cue, the crowd screamed as the power turned back on. However, after a few seconds, they turned unusually rowdy, too rowdy for it to be only that reason. Slowly you got the feeling it wasn't only because of that, judging by the volume and power of their cheer, and by a few fans pointing at the stage as if they're seeing something you aren't.

For a split second, you met eyes with Molly who was right by the side of the stage. She had that all-knowing grin on her face as she pointed towards something behind you.

Confused, you turned around, jumping in sheer shock when you were met by a hanging, upside-down person dressed in a red and black Lycra suit, face all covered with a mask making the identity of the person pretty much unknown.

Your heart beat quickened as you stumbled back on your feet at the sight of the person, your brain registering it back to a specific boy—one who you saw on screen minutes ago wearing the exact same outfit—even if there was no confirmation as their face wasn't even shown. Your whole body was trembling from surprise, excitement but also worry that it might not be who you think it is under that mask.

Emotions were all over the place as you stared right at upside-down, masked-face of Spider-Man who held a birthday cupcake in hand.

"No, no, stop, please, is this a prank?" You croaked out, shaking your head as tears started to escape your eyes, question a must because you're having a really hard time believing what you're seeing.

It's been a long day, you just really wanted to make sure that what's happening is real and not just a figment of your imagination. You had to make sure that it wasn't the desperation of you missing your boyfriend painting pictures in your head. Not only that, but to really be sure that it's actually him under that mask.

"Guys! Don't even play! Please don't get my hopes up. That's a stunt double right?" You asked into the mic as you looked at your band and the rest of the crew for answers, who gave you nothing but wide smiles. You just feel like it would be too good to be true, and you really don't want to face disappointment if it wasn't him.

On the other hand, out of all the things they could have done to prank you, why would they choose this? It's a bit cruel to prank someone on their birthday now doesn't it? Especially when it involves playing with their emotions?

Unless, it's not a prank at all and you're getting way too ahead of yourself.

Mr. Spider-Man beckons you over, finger pointing at your hand to which you held the mic. With tears already clouding your vision, you moved closer slowly.

Reaching a close enough proximity, you had one hand over your mouth to silence your whimpers as the other lifted the microphone up to where Spider-Man's mouth is supposed to be. And the moment he spoke, you've lost any sense of control over your emotions or your sanity, his voice just too familiar for it to be someone else's.

"Why don't you take off the mask and find out yourself darling?"

You shook your head at the upside down boy as joyful tears streamed down your face, shaking hands lifting up to hook your fingers on the edge of the mask, pulling it down and removing it fully to reveal the face of the man you love.

"You sneaky bastard." You laughed tearfully, Tom only grinning at you all proud, his face now turning redder as the seconds pass by, being upside-down and all.

"Happy birthday sweetheart." He chuckled, offering you the cupcake, which you took gladly, balancing it with the mic on your hand. You were unable to form any more words as you stared at Tom, still unable to believe that it's actually him, and that he's here, in the flesh.

The crowd started to chant the word "kiss" over and over, making you throw your head back in pure laughter.

"We should do the kiss." Tom wriggled his eyes brows at you, mischievous smirk in play and you couldn't stop your eyes from rolling at your boy. But still, you gave in anyway as you cupped his face softly, your heart skipping a beat at the feeling of his warm skin against your palm.

You brushed the tip of your nose with his with a hum, moving closer until there was no space between you two as you captured his lips in yours, all while trying to manage the whole upside-down situation.

Tom sighed in pure satisfaction to finally feel your lips on his after months of being deprived from it, your touch making him feel like he's floating, which says a lot given the fact that he was already hanging mid-air all while being upside-down.

The kiss didn't last long though, too many prying for you two to cherish the moment. The crowd, on the other hand, cheered in amusement at the extremely cliché but sweet gesture, you and Tom giggling between the kiss at the loud support.

"Okay, I'm actually getting dizzy now." Tom laughed once you pulled away, hand gesturing for you to move just a little bit farther, and when you did, he flipped himself right-side-up with ease. A few guys then rushed on stage to help him with the wires, and once they were off, Tom turned to you with a sweet smile, face coated with wholesome contentment to finally see you in person again.

"You're actually here." You whimpered, fresh tears wetting your cheeks some more once he stood right in front of you.

"Aww darling, come here." Tom cooed with a soft chuckle, arms wrapping around your frame as he held you close to his chest, pressing a sweet kiss on top of your head. You couldn't contain your sobs as you buried your face on the crook of his neck, the smell of his perfume filling you up quickly and it only made your grip around him tighten.

You just miss him so damn much, and to actually have him here on your birthday, to be holding him so close after months, it was making every fiber of your being emotional.

"I haven't missed your birthday, not a single one, ever. Why would I start now?" He whispered against your hair, swaying you from side to side in a comforting manner, a soft sigh coming out of you as you felt your heart grow with even more love for this man.

"I still haven't decided if I hate you or love you for doing this." You giggled with tiny sniffles, pulling away to get a proper look at his handsome face, the face that you'll always be glad to see. Hate because he almost gave you a heart attack and for making you worry about him for being gone for a day, and love because, well, he's here now isn't he?

Tom only shot you a wink. "I'll tell you all about it later." He says, hand reaching down to take the microphone from you.

"Hey everyone, I'm Spider-Man." The crowd roared at that, Tom laughing in pure glee, all proud of his choice of words as he slings his arm over your shoulder and pulled you to his side. "I just want to thank you guys for supporting this amazing woman right here. I've been watching the show from the very start and you guys have been incredible."

Tom turned to look at you lovingly, smile coated with delight and adoration, voice layered with nothing but certainty. "I love this woman a lot, so thank you for making her dreams come true and for making her happy."

With just that, you were able to conjure even more tears as you looked at Tom all adoringly with a small pout. The boy stared at you with just as much love, cooing at your reaction as he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

How have you managed to get so lucky?

"Right, I'm done crashing your show so take it away my love." Tom finished as he handed the microphone back to you. Giving you one last warm squeeze and a peck on the lips to match, Tom was then waving goodbye to the audience and disappearing side-stage to watch the rest of the show.

Taking in deep long breaths, you turned to the audience with a laugh. "Okay, wow. Mission Ugly Cry is a success then. I haven't see him in months okay I couldn't help the tears."

"I wasn't expecting that at all as you can probably tell by my reaction. How am I supposed to top that now?" You rubbed your temple in feign worry, the audience cheering you in mere support.

You were still sniffling from all the crying along with your throat being little dry. And you were thankful for waterproof mascara otherwise you would've looked even more horrifying.

"God I'm such a mess, can I have some tissues please?" You asked, looking around the crew for help as you attempted to wipe off the tears with your fingers.

Instead of the staff, Tom ran back out with a box of tissues and a bottle of water in hand, making you shake your head in utter hilarity at how corny he is. You couldn't hold back your laughter when he handed you the box of tissues, pulled a couple pieces and held his fingers under your chin as he wiped your tears for you, all gingerly as if he was retouching your make up. After that, he opened up the water bottle to help you drink, then fixed your hair up jokingly and squeezed your nose playfully right after.

Once he was done with, he gave you a chaste kiss on the cheek, waving one last time at the crowd before returning back to side-stage.

"My new assistant everyone." You joked, keeping your eyes on your boyfriend with a grin you can't seem to wipe off. Tom mirrored your expression as he gave you two thumbs up in support for the last song, and with that you turned back to the crowd with a deep, satisfied sigh.

"Right, let's go out on a high note."

* * *

"Absolutely killed it." Tom praised, engulfing you in a warm embrace the moment you got off stage, a soft thank you coming out of you as you squeezed him back.

On your way back to your dressing room, You kept each other close, his arm slung over your shoulder with yours around his waist as you walked through the hallway.

"I'm not leaving your side by the way. I missed you too damn much and I'm not going to waste any second by being a little far from you." Tom shot you his best puppy dog eyes combined with a cute pout, a sweet giggle escaping your lips that made Tom's heart melt ten times over. "Well, I'm not complaining."

It wasn't that long of a walk from the stage to your dressing room but you had time to kill, so you turned to look at your man with a curios glint in your eyes.

"Tell me how you've managed to pull off this extremely over-the-top surprise? I mean, you could've just showed up in my dressing room and I would've cried just as much." You pointed out. Not that you didn't like what he did, you loved what just happened, every second of it, but you cannot deny that what he did was as extra and cliché as one can be.

Tom shrugged with a chuckle, "I know. But I wanted it to be special, you deserve nothing but. And you've got to admit, dangling upside-down in the middle of the stage during your show, all while dressed as Spider-Man is pretty impressive. Plus, we did the kiss. I'd say it's an amazing birthday surprise."

"It is amazing. I just happen to forget how extra you are sometimes." You teased. "I am, but you love me for it." Tom retorted back with a smirk, causing you to roll your eyes with soft laugh.

"Yeah, I do. Thank you so much bub, you always make my birthdays memorable." You sighed, wrapping both your arms around him with a smile full of gratitude. Tom planted another kiss on your forehead, a bright smile on his lips to match yours as he hummed. "Anything for my angel."

"Now, details Holland."

"Right, managed to pull some strings a a week ago and was able to ask few days off, so the whole conflicting schedule wasn't entirely a lie but it wasn't as serious as I made it out to be. Flew out last night right after the shoot. I couldn't handle just lying to you which is why I didn't respond to any of your messages in case I slip up. I'm sorry about that love."

"And then out of nowhere I thought how awesome it would be to pop up as Spider-Man in the middle of your show and do the famous kiss, so I asked Marvel a favor and thank goodness they let me borrow the suit. Called Molly to tell her about my plan, she helped quite a lot. Arrived here earlier this morning, did a test run with the wires and all that while you were still back at the hotel. Changed into the suit to then wait for the time. Oh! And if you actually looked up from your phone earlier down the hall on your way to your get-together, the whole surprise would've been ruined."

You gasped as you smacked his chest lightly. "That was you! I knew something was up." You felt really played, knowing you could've seen him if you did as much as peek up from your phone. But then again, it would've ruined the whole thing, and you really don't want to change anything that has happened today, so you're glad you didn't.

Tom could only laugh at your reaction, giving your pout a sweet peck before continuing. "The video messages were planned a long, long time ago but we made a few edits at the end of my bit to make it dramatic and here we are now."

And just as he said those last words, both of you now stood in front of the door of your dressing room. If there's one thing you always tend to be surprised about Tom, it's his impeccable timing.

"You are something else Thomas." You gushed, referring to today's escapade and just in general. You really are so lucky to have someone like him in your life, so thoughtful, caring, kind and just all around amazing.

You don't really know what came over you but the moment he opened the door to your dressing room and are your way inside, just knowing that you two were finally alone, you grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him down, crashing your lips on his as you pushed him back against the door, closing it shut in the process.

Tom chuckled lowly at the sudden change in mood, hands taking home on your waist as he relished the taste of your lips, one he's missed so bad.

The thick fabric of his suit was starting to irritate him for he just wants to feel your skin on his fingertips, especially after so long of not having to touch you. It got on Tom's nerves even more when he felt it grow even tighter than it already is.

And when you started to nibble on his bottom lip as your hands inched down his body slowly, Tom groaned, pushing you away gently, just for a little room to breathe. "Darling, it's very uncomfortable, borderline painful when I get hard in this suit, you know that." He grumbled, brown eyes a shade darker as his grip on your waist tightened.

You giggled, recalling all the times you've teased him whenever you came to visit him on set. "Hmm, let's get you out of it and go back to the hotel then."

Tom's bottom lip got caught between his teeth at your suggestion, your insides churning as he looked at you lustfully, a deep rumble erupting from his chest when he said,

"We definitely should. After all, this isn't the only surprise I have in store for you sweetheart."

-:-:-:-:-

Like & Reblog if you enjoyed and let me know what you think! <3

[notbecauseofvictories]

Hi Sarah! My friend and I are starting a bookclub (as much as you can with two people who aren't pressed for deadlines) and I was wondering if you have any recommendations? (That is if you have time to rec anything!) We're starting off with Deathless and have Fitzgerald next in line somewhere but I def want to try to expand the genres we read and tbh from years of following you, I trust your judgement

I don’t...like giving recommendations? At least not directly, it seems like too much opportunity for getting it wrong. Everybody has their own tastes, after all, and even the best of friends don’t necessarily vibe with what you vibe with. (I’ve experienced this with multiple friends, so I know what I’m talking about.) Truly, one of the reasons that my whole “I’m going to get back into reading for pleasure!” push has been so successful is that I only bother with books that interest me, and stop reading when they fail to catch my attention.

But I’ve now read at least 60 books in 2020, which is approximately 60 more than I’ve read in the years prior, so I’m happy to share that. Below is my list of recent reads, beginning to end, along with a very short review---I keep this list in the notes app on my phone, so they have to be. Where I’ve talked about a book in a post, I’ve tried to link to it. 

Peruse, and if something catches your interest I hope you enjoy!

2020 Reading List

Crazy Rich Asians series, Kevin Kwan (here)

Blackwater, Michael McDowell (here; pulpy horror and southern gothic in one novel; come for the monster but stay for the family drama.)

Fire and Hemlock, Diane Wynne Jones (here; weird and thoughtful, in ways I’m still thinking about)

The Secret History, Donna Tartt

Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn (here; loved it! I can see why people glommed onto it)

Swamplandia!, Karen Russell (unfinished, I could not get past the first paragraph; just....no.)

Rules of Scoundrels series, Sarah MacLean (an enjoyable romp through classic romancelandia, though if you read through 4 back to back you realize that MacLean really only writes 1 type of relationship and 1 type of sexual encounter, though I do appreciate insisting that the hero go down first.)

The Bear and the Nightingale, Katherine Arden (here)

Dread Nation, Justine Ireland (great, put it with Stealing Thunder in terms of fun YA fantasy that makes everything less white and Eurocentric)

The Haunting of Hill House, Shirley Jackson (VERY good. haunting good.)

Tell My Horse, Zora Neale Hurston (I read an interesting critique of Hurston that said she stripped a lot of the radicalism out of black stories - these might be an example, or counterexample. I haven't decided yet.)

The Rose MacGregor Drinking and Admiration Society, T. Kingfisher (fun!)

St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves, Karen Russell (some of these short stories are wonderful; however, Swamplandia's inspiration is still unreadable, which is wild.)

17776, Jon Bois (made me cry. deeply human. A triumph of internet storytelling)

The Girl with All the Gifts, M. R. Carey (deeply enjoyable. the ending is a bittersweet kick in the teeth, and I really enjoyed the adults' relationships)

The Door in the Hedge and Other Stories, Robin McKinley (enjoyable, but never really resolved into anything.)

The Hero and the Crown, Robin McKinley (fun, but feels very early fantasy - or maybe I've just read too many of the subsequent knock-offs.)

Mrs. Caliban, Rachel Ingalls (weird little pulp novel.)

All Systems Red, Martha Wells (enjoyable, but I don't get the hype. won't be looking into the series unless opportunity arises.)

A People's History of Chicago, Kevin Coval (made me cry. bought a copy. am still thinking about it.)

The Sol Majestic, Ferrett Steinmetz (charming, a sf novel mostly about fine dining)

House in the Cerulean Sea, TJ Klune (immensely enjoyable read, for all it feels like fic with the serial numbers filed off)

The Au Pair, Emma Rous (not bad, but felt like it wanted to be more than it is)

The Night Tiger, Yangsze Choo (preferred this to Ghost Bride; I enjoy a well-crafted mystery novel and this delivered)

The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula Le Guin (unfinished, I cannot fucking get into Le Guin and should really stop trying)

The Ghost Bride, Yangsze Choo (enjoyable, but not nearly as fun as Ghost Bride - the romance felt very disjointed, and could have used another round of editing)

Temptation's Darling, Johanna Lindsey (pure, unadulterated id in a romance novel, complete with a girl dressing as a boy to avoid detection)

Social Creature, Tara Isabella Burton (a strange, dark psychological portrait; really made a mark even though I can't quite put my finger on why)

The Girl on the Train, Paula Hawkins (slow at first, but picks up halfway through and builds nicely; a whiff of Gone Girl with the staggered perspectives building together)

Stealing Thunder, Alina Boyden (fun Tortall vibes, but set in Mughal India)

The Traitor Baru Cormorant; The Monster Baru Commorant, The Tyrant Baru Cormorant, Seth Dickinson (LOVE this, so much misery, terrible, ecstatic; more here)

This Is How You Lose the Time War, Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone (epistolary love poetry, vicious and lovely; more here)

The Elementals, Michael McDowell

Gideon the Ninth, Tamsyn Muir (didn't like this one as much as I thought I would; narrator's contemporary voice was so jarring against the stylized world and action sequences read like the novelization for a video game; more here)

Finna, Nino Cipri (a fun little romp through interdimensional Ikea, if on the lighter side)

Magic for Liars, Sarah Gailey (engrossing, even if I could see every plot twist coming from a mile away)

Desdemona and the Deep, C. S. E. Cooney (enjoyed the weirdness & the fae bits, but very light fare)

A Blink of the Screen, Terry Pratchett (admittedly just read this for the Discworld bits)

A Memory Called Empire, Arkady Martine (not as good about politics and colonialism as Baru, but still a powerful book about The Empire, and EXTREMELY cool worldbuilding that manages to be wholly alien and yet never heavily expositional)

Blackfish City, Sam J. Miller (see my post)

Last Werewolf, Glen Duncan (didn't finish, got to to first explicit sex scene and couldn't get any further)

Prosper's Demon, KJ Parker (didn't work for me...felt like a short story that wanted to be fleshed out into a novel)

The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett

His Majesty's Dragon, Naomi Novik (extremely fun, even for a reader who doesn't much like Napoleonic stories)

Three Parts Dead, Max Gladstone (fun romp - hard to believe that this is the same author as Time War though you can see glimmers of it in the imagery here)

A Scot in the Dark, Sarah MacLean (palette cleanser, she does write a good romance novel even it's basically the same romance novel over and over)

The Resurrectionist, E. B. Hudspeth (borrowed it on a whim one night, kept feeling like there was something I was supposed to /get/ about it, but never did - though I liked the Mutter Museum parallels)

Stories of Your Life and Others, Ted Chiang (he's a better ideas guy than a writer, though Hell Is The Absence of God made my skin prickle all over)

Gods of Jade and Shadow, Silvia Moreno-Garcia (fun, very much a throwback to my YA days of fairytale retellings, though obviously less European)

Four Roads Cross, Max Gladstone (it turns out I was a LOT more fond of Tara than I initially realized - plus this book had a good Pratchett-esque pacing and reliance on characterization)

Get in Trouble, Kelly Link (reading this after the Chiang was instructive - Link is such a better storyteller, better at prioritizing the human over the concept)

Gods Behaving Badly, Marie Phillips

Soulless; Changeless; Blameless, all by Gail Carriger (this series is basically a romance novel with some fantasy plot thrown in for fun; extremely charming and funny)

Black Leopard, Red Wolf, Marlon James (got about 1/3 of the way through and had to wave the white flag; will try again because I like the plot and the worldbuilding; the tone is just so hard to get through)

Pew, Catherine Lacey (a strange book, I'm still thinking about it; a good Southern book, though)

Nuremberg Diary, GM Gilbert (it took me two months to finish, and was worth it)

River of Teeth, Sarah Gailey (I wanted to like this one a lot more than I actually did; would have made a terrific movie but ultimately was not a great novel. Preferred Magic for Liars.)

Mexican Gothic, Silvia Moreno-Garcia (extremely fun, though more trippy than Gods and the plot didn't work as well for me - though it was very original)

The New Voices of Fantasy, Peter S. Beagle (collected anthology, with some favorites I've read before Ursula Vernon's "Jackalope Wives", "Hungry Daughters of Starving Mothers" "The Husband Stitch"; others that were great new finds "Selkie Stories are for Losers" from Sofia Satamar and "A Kiss With Teeth" from Max Gladstone and "The Philosophers" from Adam Ehrlich Sachs)

[himbowelsh]

Drunk BOB guys??? Who are the softie hug-loving cuddlers and who are the loud and obnoxious ones? The ones who break out of their shell when intoxicated? The unusually quiet ones? The ones who throw it tf back when Usher comes on? I'd love to hear some thots

oooooh my god okay okay, here are the biggest thots

Richard Winters:  Umm, alcohol whom? Has never been drunk in his life and doesn’t intend to start now. He gets all the buzz he needs off the exhilaration of a brisk jog, or a cool glass of water.

Lewis Nixon: The Literal Alcoholic. Thinks he’s more fun when he’s drunk than when he’s sober; is actually not a very fun drunk. Is even worse when he’s sobering up! At this point, he has to have some liquor in his system 99% of the time, otherwise his body feels like it’s out to destroy itself. (Alcoholism is a disease, boys and girls.) Nix buzzed is Nix at peak performance; he’s friendly, efficient, and capable. Nix drunk is a slowly spiralling plane crash. He usually passes out before he hits the ground, but god forbid he gets there, because...  it’s messy. He can occasionally be a messy, emotional, overdramatic drunk, but only when he’s really overdone it.

Carwood Lipton: The Respectable Drunk. A very calm, kind of sleepy drunk. Doesn’t get drunk often, even though he holds his liquor well, because he doesn’t prefer it  ---   when he’s had a few, he prefers to just watch the people around him, smiling and only half paying attention. His mind tends to wander when he’s drunk. Drunk Lip does have one fatal weakness:  if he’s out with his partner, and his partner shows even the slightest bit of encouragement, Lip will get riled up very quickly. He goes from calm drunk to horny drunk in a very short time; will eagerly press his partner up against the wall if given the chance. (Drunk Lip is way more inclined to PDA.)

Ron Speirs: The Soft Drunk. Literally, he’s such a tender drunk; he has absolutely no balance, and is a little confused, but he’s sweet, okay? Ron is far more expressive when he’s drunk; he gets touchier, ramblier, kinder. Drunk Ron has faith in humanity where Sober Ron gave up long ago. He’s a really relaxed drunk, unlikely to go off and do anything wild, but he wants to be around other people  ---  around his friends. Ron never has a good time when he drinks alone. (Plus, he’s got a reputation to uphold, and only certain people are allowed to see him with his guards down.)

Harry Welsh: The Bionic Drunk. Nothing can injure him; nothing can kill him. Many things have tried. Harry has done so much dumb shit when intoxicated, things that would have wounded him in a heartbeat if he was sober, and has never gotten a scratch to show for it. He’s a very fun drunk  ---  he laughs a lot, is very affectionate, and super pleasant to be around  ---  but common sense and self-preservation goes out the window. Look out, because he might too, if someone dared him.

Eugene Roe: The Changeling Drunk. Who is this man and what did he do with Doc Roe? Drunk Gene is...  an experience, alright? His inhibitions are gone. Suddenly, his personality has been turned up to eleven; he’s extroverted, he’s exciting, he laughs loudly and jokes around...  he’s dancing on top of the bar, holy shit. Is a very fun time, but you have to keep an eye on him, because he sometimes goes off and does something insane, a-la-Sober-Speirs. Drunk Gene fears nothing, including himself.

Joe Toye: The Depressed Drunk. Zoinks, Scoob. Drunk Joe is actually willing to talk about his emotions  ---  and maybe he shouldn’t, because he’s got some sad stuff going on there, man. Drinking is supposed to numb your worries, but Joe often finds the opposite is the case; his burdens somehow get heavier, harder to ignore, and if he’s allowed to slip into them he’ll end up dwelling in them for the rest of the night. So long as he’s around buddies who are actively keeping his spirits up, he’s a decent drunk guy to have around. If neglected, however, Drunk Joe may shed a few tears into his Guinness.

George Luz: The Showman Drunk. His jokes and impressions get way sloppier, but somehow he’s twice as hilarious, so he can get away with it. Drunk George is way more animated, with a seemingly endless supply of energy; he teases everybody, he laughs the loudest in the room, and he really seems like he’s just come out to have a good time. The kind of buddy you want to get drunk with.  (Be warned: comes with a rarely activated Depressed Drunk mode, when he shuts off and wants to be left the hell alone. Maybe his battery runs out after a while or something. During this time, George is feeling a lot of things very strongly; this condition is best treated with a cozy blanket and glass of water. Very rare, but once you’ve seen him in this state, you can never unsee it.)

Bill Guarnere: The Loud Drunk. Is there a difference between sober Bill and drunk Bill? Debateable. Drunk Bill is just Bill turned up to eleven. He doesn’t actually get drunk a lot  ---  somehow he ends up the designated driver, and minds less than he should  ---  but social drinking usually leads to Bill shouting over a crowded bar. He’s usually up for a good time, he just has no volume control. (Also, the accent. It thickens. Can someone translate, please? Is he speaking English? What the hell is he saying?)

Babe Heffron: The Weird Drunk. Drunk Babe will break it down on the dance floor (should he? maybe not) and do his president rooster impression in public, but he’s equally likely to just...  confuse everybody else. He’s got a lot of thoughts. A lot of feelings. Some of them are about the meaning of life, some of them are about the best kind of sandwich bread, some of them are about whether the Loch Ness Monster has a favorite type of bird.  He talks so much when he’s drunk, and will ramble anyone’s ear off about any of these topics. Escape while you can.

Joseph Liebgott: The Volatile Drunk. Really a mixed bag; you never know what you’re going to get from him. Sometimes, Joe can be a very fun drunk, the life of the party, willing to do anything anybody dares him to. That’s if he’s drinking in a good mood. If he starts drinking in a sour mood, it’ll only get worse from there. Honestly, he can be a mean drunk. He lashes out at people, gets angry, sometimes starts crying...  it’s not great. You have to keep tabs on him while he’s drinking, because if his mood looks like it’s dipping, he should not be allowed any more alcohol.

David Kenyon Webster: The Emotional Drunk. He’s just...  got a lot of feelings! And he really wants to talk about them! Becomes extremely talkative while drunk; this is not always a good thing, because he’s pronouncedly less eloquent. Drunk Web is very passionate about politics...  and the environment... and marine biology...  and the commercialization of public holidays. He has something to say about most things. Sometimes he’s just muttering to himself, and no one can keep up with what he’s saying. Makes so many notes, either in his phone or scribbling them down on napkins, because he’s “going to need to remember this”, but they’re all illegible come morning. Feels things very strongly. Might cry.

Johnny Martin: The Feral Drunk. Wrangling Johnny when he’s had a few too many is an experience. Holy shit, this man knows no fear. Drunk Johnny has 5x less patience for everyone’s bullshit, and wants them to know it. The amount of bar fights this man has gotten into... the best part is, he’s never lost. (Yeah, because he has Bull right there to make sure his drunk friend doesn’t get himself killed.)

Frank Perconte: The Confused Drunk. Only kind of knows where he is. Complains a lot; puts things down, misplaces them, and blames someone else for taking them. Drunk Perco has a ‘Real Housewives at Brunch’ mode, only activated when someone gives him tequila; he will scream and throw drinks. Otherwise he’s just kind of tiresome and needs someone to make sure he makes it home okay.

Floyd Talbert: The Mom Drunk. Yes, he did just do four shots of gin, but he’s still going to make sure everyone else is drinking water and not wandering off with anyone creepy. Drunk Floyd’s got an eye on everyone; he’s kind of the mama hen wrangling all her chicks, making sure they don’t stray far. He parties like a frat boy, but will wrangle everyone like a girl scout mother. 

Shifty Powers: The Missing Drunk. What the hell? What happened, where did he go? He was sitting right there a second ago  ---   when he’s drunk, Shifty tends to wander. He just likes the quiet. His friends will always find him in bizarre places, after a few minutes of panicked searching. Once, he was laying on top of a car; once he was on the club’s roof. He’s fine, he knows where he is, he’s just thinking about stuff.

Donald Malarkey: The Absurdly Lucky Drunk. He’s got some Irish faeries looking out for him or something, because Drunk Don is literally living his best life. If he gambles, he’s going to win. If he misplaces his wallet, he’s going to find it with an extra $30 inside. If he trips, he’s going to land in an attractive person’s lap. Everyone wants to be in proximity to Drunk Don, not only because he’s a pretty good  (if emotional)  time, but because some of his luck might rub off.

Skip Muck: The Giggly Drunk. What’s so funny? No one knows. Skip might not even know, but he’s going to laugh anyways, because everything is hilarious. He somehow tells even better jokes when drunk, but he laughs at them himself, so that measures it out. He effortlessly makes himself the life of the party; Skip will get up and karaoke with the band, cheer all his friends on in their dumb shit, drink way more than he reasonably should...  going out drinking with Skip is always a great time.

Herbert Sobel: The Alarmingly Fun Drunk. No, I’m not going to elaborate. Fill in the mental images yourself.

[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Fifty-Eight

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: Smut and Fluff.

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost)

You were laying there, stunned, mouth still hanging open. He wasn’t trying to pick a fight with you, he was simply trying to assert his dominance.

“Harry…I didn’t flirt with-“

“Ah-ah, don’t need to talk about it, yeh told me enough last night.” He nestles further onto your chest, and wraps his arm around your belly. “Actually your friends ratted you out.”

“They’re your friends too.”

“True…was that the most you’ve ever come in one in go?” You smirk.

“With you? Yeah.” He props his head up and furrows his brows at you.

“And just who else has made you come more than that?”

“Myself.” You giggle. His face relaxes and he rests on your chest again.

“How many times in a row have you gotten yourself off before?”

“Think my record’s ten.”

“Ten?!” He sits up fully to look at you. You’re getting annoyed, you just want to cuddle. “Ten times in a row? Weren’t you tired???”

“Exhausted, and sore.”

“When did you do that?”

“Um, a few years ago. I never really…knew how to touch myself when I was younger, and then one night I just sort of figured it out, so I started doing it more. And one night I just kept going. The friction from my hand just felt really good. It was incredible, I could barely talk the next day because my voice was so hoarse from making myself scream.” You were one hundred percent serious, but you knew it was also torture for him to know this. “Guess I got a little greedy with myself.”

“Hm.” He swallows hard. “Challenge accepted then.”

“Not right now!”

“No, not now. At some point though. I’ll beat your best.” He smirks. “All from your hand, you didn’t even use the vibrator?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a little wild, aren’t ya?” He kisses your smiling face.

“Maybe just a little. Now, can we just lay and hold each other, please?”

Harry chuckles and pulls you onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you. Your eyes flutter closed feeling exhausted and relaxed all at the same time.

//

“What’s this?” Harry asks, looking up at Isaac who just handed him a piece of paper.

“An invitation.”

“To what exactly?”

“St. Patrick’s Day party I’m having.” Harry looks him up and down.

“Isaac, you’re not Irish.”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I can’t party does it?” Harry looks down at the date on the paper.

“Listen, my best mate is actually Irish, like from Ireland, and he usually has a party. I could, um, try to stop by for a bit though since he does an all day thing.”

“Sure.” He tries to act cool. “Whatever works, just wanted you to feel included.” He smiles brightly.

“Thanks, means a lot.” Harry genuinely liked Isaac, he could see himself swinging by the party at some point. Maybe before things got too wild at Niall’s. “Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Who else from here’s invited?” Isaac smirks at him.

“Everyone.”

“You’re a little too nice, you could be a little selective.”

“Bring Y/N with you, okay?” He shakes his head and leaves the office.

St. Patrick’s Day was a couple weeks away, he had plenty of time to decide what he wanted to do. Harry realizes that you weren’t at Niall’s party last year, or maybe you were, he honestly couldn’t remember. When he gets home from work that night he thinks to bring it up.

“Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you do for St. Patrick’s Day?”

“Oh, the girls and I go to the parade in southie. My grandparent’s old apartment is on one of the sidestreets of the parade route, so I know the best place to stand. And then I think we spent the rest of the day at a pub last year.”

“You didn’t go to Niall’s last year?”

“I was supposed to, but I got too drunk.” You laugh. “We’ll go this year, yeah?”

“Definitely.” He smiles.

“Wanna come to the parade too? It’s a lot of fun.”

“Sure!” He pauses. “Isaac is havin’ a party too. Thought maybe we could swing by when there’s a lull at Niall’s.” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You want to spend time with people from work? I’m shocked.”

“I like Isaac, and it would be rude to not at least swing by.”

“You don’t have to convince me, I’m game.”

“He invited everyone.”

“So?”

“So Mykenzie might be there…”

“And?”

“You wouldn’t care?”

“Harry.” You chuckle. “I’m the one fucking you, not her. I’m really unbothered.” You get up from the island and clean your plate from dinner.

He found your confidence and trust to be so sexy. He gets up to clean his plate as well. You kiss him on the cheek, and go out to the living room, plopping down on the sofa and grabbing your laptop. You had some homework to do. Harry sits next to you and turns the TV on. You think of something funny you saw on tik tok. You position yourself so your back is resting against the arm of the sofa. You position your phone, and start filming him. You sigh heavily. Harry whips his head to look at you.

“What’s wrong baby?”

“Nothing, just don’t feel doing my homework.”

“Aww.”

He closes your laptop, and moves it away. He crawls on top of you, making you giggle. You stop recording. You scratch the top of his head and give it a kiss.

“That was cute.”

“What?”

“Watch.” He turns his head to your phone.

“You were filmin’ me?”

“Mhm, watch, you’re so cute. Can I post this?” He sighs.

“I suppose. Did the other one get any likes?”

“You know, I haven’t checked. I’ve not been on the app.” You open it up and gasp. “Ten thousand! Popular trend.” You furrow your brows. “Look at all the comments!”

“He’s so hot, hot bf, looks like he was expecting you, those hands omfg.” He starts laughing.

“Definitely posting this one.” You upload the video and all the hashtags.

You both get cozy and watch the short videos together. Some making the both of you laugh and some that had you both rolling your eyes.

“Did you ever have vine?” You ask him.

“For a short bit, didn’t use it much though. Did you?”

“Oh yeah, I used it all the time. I’d stay up super late in school by accident watching videos. I’d laugh so hard I’d cry most nights.” You giggle. “Sometimes I’ll watch compilations on YouTube. I was genuinely crushed when they announced the app was cancelled.”

“Did you make a lot of videos?”

“Sure! Nothing ever this popular though. It’s a really fun and creative outlet.”

“Glad I could help yeh get some followers.” He grins.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Bet this’ll get thousands too. After all, I’m pretty hot.” You shake your head at him.

“Okay, I actually need to get my homework done now, get off.”

“I see, just use me for gains on the internet.” He fakes pouts.

“Now you’re getting it.” You both laugh.

//

On the morning of St. Patrick’s Day, you dig out your green crop top sweater, and a pair of dark blue skinny jeans. You put curls in your hair, and find your green Celtics hat. You knew it would be chilly. Harry throws on black jeans and the Celtics sweatshirt you had bought him specifically for today because you didn’t want someone murdering him while he wore his Packers sweatshirt. Your midriff was showing just enough that you could see your naval piercing.

“You look cute, baby.” He says, kissing you on the cheek.

“Thank you.” You look at your watch. “We gotta head to the T to meet everyone soon.”

“Alright.”

You head to the T and go the few stops you need to meet the girls, and then you uber the rest of the way to where your grandparents used to live. You point out the apartment to Harry. You get teary eyed, but shake it away as you walk down the street to stand on the sidewalk. You were happy you thought to wear a coat over your sweater because it was a tad windy. You stand in front of Harry, and he wraps both arms around your shoulders, resting his chin on the top of your head. Sarah takes a picture of the two of you.

“Harry, Mariah’s coming to Niall’s party later.” Rachel tells him.

“That’s great! We’re gonna see her at another friend’s party in a bit.”

“She mentioned you were going to swing by where she was. Isaac’s right?”

“Mhm. So you two have hung out a couple times then?”

“Yeah, we’ve gone to a movie here and there, dinner.” She smiles. “I like her.”

“She likes you too.”

The parade starts, and it’s as much fun as it always is. You all clap as the floats go by. You catch a ton of green beads that are flung at you, and you put one around Harry’s neck. After the parade you all head to Niall’s. He didn’t like parades. He was also busy getting his apartment ready for the day and night ahead.

“Hey everyone!” He kisses Sarah. “Thanks for lettin’ everyone up.” He kisses her again.

“Course.” She says with a smile.

“Right, well, I got the boiled dinner goin’, fridge is stocked with beer, got the bar set up too. And there’s lots of other snacks around.”

“It looks great in here, Niall.” You put your hand on his shoulder. You take your jacket off and hang it up.

“When are you guys goin’ t’Isaac’s?”

“Later this afternoon, just swingin’ by quick.” Harry explains. “Let’s have a pint, yeah?”

Harry and Niall both crack open a cold Guinness, and pour them into glasses. As you had gotten older you realized day drinking was way more fun than staying out for hours on end. You and the girls stick with vodka tonics for the time being. The three of you take cute pictures together.

“Oh! Let’s all kiss Niall on the cheek!” Sarah says. “Get it, cause he’s Irish?” She giggles.

“Good idea!” Rachel says. “It’ll be like Charlie’s Angels. Harry, come take our picture.”

“What are we doin’?” Niall asks. Everyone was starting to get slightly buzzed.

“We’re all going to kiss you on the cheek.” Sarah explains. “Hm, how can we get all three of us in here?”

“We should get all of us.” You say. “Harry can kiss the top of his head.”

“No way, Harry gets a cheek.”

“Let’s just each take a turn, and then we’ll get a couple of us on either side, I think that would look cute, but I’m the only when that gets those lips.” Sarah looks at Harry.

“What are yeh lookin’ at me for?”

“I’ve seen the Polaroids.”

“Jesus, fuck Niall.”

“What Polaroids?” You ask.

“Don’t worry about it.” Niall says. “Just take your pictures.”

You take a picture of Niall and Sarah kissing, and everyone awws. Next you and Rachel go on either side of him. You squeeze his cheeks between your thumb and forefinger, and you and Rachel kiss each of his cheeks, leaving lipstick behind. Harry’s jaw tenses when he watches you and Niall giggle. Had you kissed him before? It was only the cheek, but still.

“Alright, my turn.” Harry says grinning. “Gonna be a nice wet one too, c’mere.”

“Please, no, ahhhh gross!” Harry presses his tongue to Niall’s cheek just as you take the picture and everyone laughs. “You’re disgustin’.” Niall wipes his cheek off with the back of his palm.

“Harry we should go before we get too drunk.” You say grabbing your coat.

“Good thinkin’. Be back in a bit.”

You both wave to the group and leave. You knew the apartment would be filled with people when you got back, so you were happy to have the time to pregame together. You uber to Isaac’s apartment. It’s a quaint neighborhood. You and Harry had brought a case of beer with you to give to him. He holds your hand tight, he was a little nervous seeing so many people outside of work for the first time. He rings the buzzer and you’re both let up.

“Harry, you made it!” Isaac gives him a hug. “Hi Y/N.” He smiles.

“Hi Isaac! Here we brought this for you.” You hand him the case of beer.

“Thanks! Definitely going to need a lot of this today. C’mon in. I can take your coats.”

“Thanks.” You smile back. You and Harry hand him your coats.

There were plenty of people here already. Harry keeps his arm hooked around your waist. It was clear you were not to leave his side the entire time you were here. Which was perfectly fine with you. These are the moments you didn’t mind he was clingy. You both still had a good buzz going.

“There’s a keg in the living room, help yourselves.” You both walk further into the living area.

Julia and Dana are standing together near the keg. Ah yes, underage drinking, how fun for them. Their jaws drop when they see Harry, and they drop further when they see you, his pretty girlfriend. They weren’t expecting to see you almost sort of dressed like them. You pulled off the crop top look quite well.

“Hi girls.” You say to them smiling, grabbing two solo cups. You had hoped Julia crapped herself when she saw you, and by the way her cheeks flushed, maybe she had.

“I got it.” Harry says, tapping the keg and filling the cups. Julia bites the top of her cup. “Don’t worry, I won’t tattle on yeh.” She blushes. “I was in college once too.” He winks at them.

“We’re surprised to see you here.” Dana says.

“Why? Awfully rude to decline an invitation.”

Harry hands you your cup and puts his arm back around your waist. Julia has her eyes glued to you. Did you know about what happened? Of course you did, why wouldn’t Harry tell you?

“Well, we’re happy to see you, right Jules?”

“Yeah, super happy.”

“Surprised you two are at such an adult party.” He says.

“We have somewhere else to be later. Just here to pregame.” Dana explains.

“Myk’s here too.” Julia blurts out.

“Figured.”

“And Paige, and Mariah.” Harry nods.

“Myk brought her boyfriend too, H.” Dana says, nodding over to where they were standing and talking.

“Oh, good for her. Babe, let’s go find Mariah, yeah?”

“Alright. Nice to see you two again.” You smile at them as you walk away with Harry, his grip tightening on you.

“Babe, ugh, gag me.” Julia says quietly.

“How could you not be over him after everything that happened?”

“Because…look at him! He’s so fucking gorgeous, it’s not fair.” She sighs.

You and Harry find Mariah and say hello.

“Hey guys! Think I’ll leave when you do, Rachel invited me to your friend’s party.”

“Sounds good, yeah, she told us.” Harry smiles.

“You got your nose pierced! When can you put the hoop in?”

“Just a few more weeks, I’m itching to change it out.”

“I promise, you’ll be happy you did it this way. Makes it a lot easier to change them in and out.” You nod and take a sip of your beer. Isaac comes over to your little group.

“Everyone good?”

“Isaac, you are the perfect host.” Mariah says putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I do what I can.”

“Do you have a roommate, or do you live here alone?” Harry asks.

“With a roomie, he’s over there.” He points. “Some of his friends are here too.” You look around and see a few flamboyant looking people and smile. A couple of them walk over.

“Oo, girl, I don’t know you, but I have to tell you, this look, you are serving mama.” You giggle.

“Thanks! This sweater used to be longer, but I cut it up myself.” You get into conversation with the boys.

Harry feels more comfortable now, so he lets you go. He knew you were social and outgoing, he didn’t want to hinder you. Mykenzie and her boyfriend come over.

“Never thought I’d see you at one of these things.” She huffs.

“You can thank yourself for that.” She rolls her eyes at him and his jaw tenses. He’d slap her if he could, but she’d probably like it so what’s the use?

“Anyways, this is Brian, my boyfriend. Brian, this is Harry. He takes pictures for our studio.”

“Nice to meet you.” He smiles at Harry and shakes his hand. You catch the awkward exchange out of the corner of your eye.

“Likewise.”

Brian didn’t look anything like Harry. He had blonde hair and brown eyes, an odd combination. No apparent tattoos. You wondered how long they had been dating.

“So, where’s your girl?” She asks.

“Right there, making pleasant conversation.” He points to you. You smile at him and excuse yourself from your conversation, and go over to him. He kisses the top of your head through your hat. He snakes his arm back around your waist. “This is Y/N.”

“Hi, I’m Brian.”

“Hi.” You smile and shake his hand. “Nice to see you again.” You say to Mykenzie.”

“Yeah.” She says with a fake smile.

“Need another drink, Myk?” Brian asks her.

“Yeah, actually.” She smiles as he walks away.

“Need to use the loo, Mariah, know where it is?” Harry asks her.

“Yeah, follow me.” Mykenzie crosses her arms when she’s left with you.

“So…you two still doing well, then?”

“Mhm, really well.” She looks you up and down. “Cute outfit, very festive.”

“Thanks.” You smile.

“You’re younger than him, right?”

“Um, only by a year and a half.”

“Interesting.”

“Why?”

“Well…I just always thought he liked be the younger one.” You furrow your brows.

“Why, how old are you?”

“Just turned thirty this year.”

“That’s only a four year age difference.”

“Wow, you are smart.” Her voice littered with sarcasm. You roll your eyes at her. “Careful, he doesn’t like that very much.” Your mouth forms into a straight line. She was trying to make you mad, but this bitch really didn’t know who she was fucking with. You cross your arms and smirk.

“He likes it a lot, actually. Begs me to do it.” Her eyebrows raise. She’s never known Harry to beg for anything.

“That so?”

“Oh yeah. In fact, he begs me for a lot of things. You should see the look on his face when I tell him to wait, it’s priceless.” You take a coy sip of your drink. “But I don’t need to tell you, I’m sure you remember lots of things like that about him. Things I’m sure you’d love to throw in my face. But I’m sure that nice man over there getting you a drink wouldn’t appreciate hearing any of it, would he?”

“You think you’re a tough bitch, don’t you?”

“Oh, you poor, sweet, idiot. I don’t just think it, I know it. You think I have any reason to be afraid of you? Intimidated by you? You’re the last person I would ever be threatened by.”

Harry and Mariah return at the same as Brian does. He hands Mykenzie her drink.

“Thanks.” She says to him, her cheeks hot. Harry snakes his arm back around you.

“Alright?” He asks you, not having realized just who he left you alone with.

“Oh sure, we had a nice chat.” She rolls her eyes at you as she takes a sip of her drink. You feel Harry’s hand squeeze your hip.

So this is where it came from. No wonder he hated when you did it. It must remind him of her every single time you roll your eyes, whether it’s playful or not. The thing you weren’t sure of though was if he really truly hated it, or if the defiance of it turned him on so much it sent him into another state.

“Bought ready to go? I’d like to head back to Niall’s soon…”

“Sure! Yeah, lemme just find Isaac, gotta make the rounds and all that.” You nod.

“Nice seeing you again, and it was so nice to meet you Brian, you have a really great girl here.”

Your sarcasm isn’t lost on Harry. He knew whatever you two talked about wasn’t good. You and Mariah follow Harry around. He gives Isaac a hug goodbye. He waves to Dana and Julia, and then turns to the two of you.

“Ready ladies?” You both nod, and head out to your uber.

You get up inside Niall’s, and there were a ton of people there just like you knew there would be. Once you get settled, Harry pulls you down the hall where there were less people.

“What’s up?”

“Did Myk say anything weird to you?”

“Weird? No.” You smirk. “She wanted to start something with me, but I put her in her place.”

“Okay, but what did she-“

“Don’t worry about it. S’not important. C’mon, there’s a party, let’s drink.”

You go out to find Sarah and Rachel. Rachel was talking with Mariah. They both looked excited to see each other. You decide to leave them alone. You find Sarah by the makeshift bar Niall had put together.

“Shots?” She asks.

“Shots.”

She slices up a lime and hands you the salt as she gets two shot glasses. Harry watched the entire thing. How you slowly lick the back of your hand to get the salt on there, and how you lick at it again before you tip your head back. He watches you sink your teeth into the juicy lime and suck everything out of it, juice rolling down your chin. You use the back of your hand to wipe yourself off. You and Sarah giggle as she makes you both a margarita. Your third type of alcohol for today.

“You’re back!” Niall slaps Harry’s back.

“I wish Lou was here…” Harry pouts.

“I know, he just couldn’t make it to this one. Think he had Freddie this weekend.”

“Can’t blame him for that.” He sighs.

“C’mon, let’s have a drink.”

Harry and Niall go into the fridge and they each crack open a beer. You sip your margarita happily as you chat with Sarah. You knew you were going to get hammered, but you needed to nurse your drinks so you wouldn't throw up. You looked over at Harry, who looked absolutely delicious in your now hazy eyes. You wanted his cock in your mouth, and you wanted it now. He looks over at you and does a double take. He instantly recognized the look on your face as he met your gaze.

“Shit.” He says under his breath.

“What?” Niall asks innocently.

“Hm, oh, nothin’.” Harry smiles awkwardly. Niall looks over at you, and he can see the look on your face too as Sarah absentmindedly talks your ear off.

“Look, if you’re gonna do that again here, could ya clean up? Yeh left the guest bath a mess, and Eleanor thought I was a slob.”

“What? How? How do you know-?”

“Was painfully obvious. You both disappeared.”

“You don’t care?”

“Why the fuck would I?” He shrugs and then grins. “When yeh finally have that house warmin’ don’t be surprised if I fuck Sarah in some random room as payback.” They both laugh and walk over to you and Sarah.

Niall distracts Sarah with a kiss while Harry yanks you down the hall, and into the guest bath, locking both doors like you had done on New Year’s.

“How’d you know?” You breathe against his neck.

“I’d know that look anywhere.” You get on your knees and start undoing his belt and pants.

“Just want it in my mouth, you can fuck me when we get home later, yeah?” He nods.

You tug his jeans down just enough, and take his cock out of his boxers. You don’t even pump him first, you just wrap your mouth right around him, and moan. He grips the counter behind him, watching your eyes flutter closed as you swirl your tongue around him.

“Fuck.” He groans.

Your hands were secure on his hips while you bobbed your head up and down him slowly, trying to take as much of his as you could. He pushes his hips forward slightly and you gag on him as he hits the back of your throat. You come off him for a second just catch your breath.

“Sorry, angel. Got excited.” He breathes.

“S’okay.”

You’re back on him instantly, and you moan at the salty tastes as your tongue slides over his leaking slit. You hear him let out a breathless moan. You take him deep, and suck on him hard until you have him panting.

“Gonna come.” He moans, and it’s music to your ears. “Y/N, gonna fill that pretty mouth up.”

You groan against him. You had to be soaked through, but you’d deal with that later. You feel his come shoot into your mouth and you take it all. You slide off him and swallow every last drop. You stand up and rinse your mouth out quick while he pulls his pants back up. He rubs your back for a moment while you catch your breath.

“Sure I can’t do anythin’ for yeh, love?” You smile and kiss his cheek.

“You just did. S’all I wanted. Just wanted to, hic, taste you.” You were drunk, this you were sure of. You hear some Nicki Minaj song come on. Damn the music was loud. “Shit, I love this song.”

You practically race out of the bathroom, and guest room with Harry not too far behind. You find Rachel and Sarah and the three of you start dancing. Harry’s face was absolutely flushed. Mariah comes over to him.

“Dontcha wanna dance with ‘em?”

“Nah, I’m fine watching the show.” She looks at him. “You okay? Your cheeks are really red.”

“Just the alcohol, love.” She smirks at him.

“Sure it is.”

“Oh shut up.” He nudges her. “How are things with Rach?”

“Good! Think we’re going to hang out later in the week.”

“Can I ask a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Have yeh kissed or anythin’?”

“Yes.” She giggles. “The other day, but that’s all we’ve done. She said she moved too fast with the last person she was with and just wanted to take things slow for a while. Which I’m perfectly fine with. No need to rush.”

“Right.” He nods, and looks back at you dance with your friends.

“They really know how to move, huh?”

“Oh, you have no idea. You should see them at a club. They’re crazy.”

“Especially Y/N.”

“Keep your eyes on your own girl.” She nudges him. “Kidding.”

“No you’re not.” She snorts. “You’re a possessive guy Harry. You’re possessive with your equipment, your shoots, and the people in your life. You barely let her go at Isaac’s.”

“That was due to nerves. Bad enough I left her alone with Myk.”

“Why did you sleep with her anyways?”

“I was younger and stupid. Thought she’d be a quick and easy fuck, and she was, until it continued…for far too long. Least she has a boyfriend now, she bothers me way less.”

“I swear she’d pounce at the chance to fuck you with the way she looks at you sometimes in our staff meetings.” She laughs.

“Any one of them would, I’m afraid.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Am I that good looking? Honestly?”

“Harry, I’m a very gay woman…but honestly…I’d take a ride.” She smirks and they both burst out laughing.

You eventually get Harry to come dance against you when Niall joins Sarah. Mariah eventually joins Rachel, but the two opt to sit on the couch together to chat. You grind your butt up against Harry’s pelvis in time with the music. Niall had put a great playlist together.  

“Hey, we’re gonna go.” Rachel says putting her coat on. “Mariah said she’d help me get home.”

“Oh!” You practically lunge at her with hug. “Let me know when you get back!”

“Okay! Thanks for everything Niall.”

“Glad yeh could make it.” He slurs.

“See you Monday, H.” Mariah gives Harry and you a hug. “Good to see you Y/N.”

“Same to you, bye!” You watch them leave. “They are so cute!” You kiss Harry on the cheek. “Good job.”

Harry had you up over his shoulder when it was time to go. You had drank so much with Sarah that you could barely walk. You were still singing along to whatever music was playing while Harry carried you around to say his goodnights. Sarah was about to pass out when she gave Harry a loose hug.

“Night mate, thanks again.”

“Night! Safe travels.” He chuckles.

“Niall!” You yell from behind Harry. He walks around and bends down to meet your face. “Lemme smoosh that little face.” You grab his cheeks. “I had so much fun today, you throw the bessssst parties, I love you.”

“I love you too.” He giggles and you let go of him. He kisses your forehead making you giggle.

“Alright, I’m takin’ her home before you two start makin’ out behind me.” Harry huffs.

“Chill, not where my lips wanna be.” He nods towards Sarah.

Harry walks out with you still over his shoulder. You didn’t mind being carried by him until you realize Michael would be at the desk when you got back.

“Harry put me down! I don’t want anyone in the lobby to see me like this.”

“You can barely walk.”

“Gimme a piggyback ride then.” You smack his butt as he crosses the street.

“Oi!”

“I’ll do it again!” You smack his butt again.

“Jesus!” He sets you down and crouches in front of you so you can get on his back. “Alright?”

“Mhm, much better.” You rest your chin on his shoulder as he hooks his arms under legs, and stands effortlessly. “You’re so strong, baby.”

“I know.” He sighs as he enters the building. Luckily there were other drunk people stumbling in.

Michael looks up and smiles at the two of you, you wave to him.

“Can we say hi to Michael, pleasseeeee, poor thing didn’t get to enjoy the holiday.” Harry sighs again but does as you ask. He knew you’d keep whining if he didn’t. “Hi Michael.”

“Hi Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Styles.” He smiles. “Have a nice St. Patrick’s Day?”

“The best! Did you get to enjoy it at all?”

“I did! Just came in a couple hours ago actually. Opted for the night shift so I could hang out with friends earlier.”

“That’s nice. We were with friends all day. Our best friend lives across the street.”

“That’s nice.” You smile big at him.

“Right, well, we’re gonna head up now.”

“Goodnight.” He smiles as you wave.

Harry gets you two into the elevator, you still secure on his back.

“Michael is so nice, Harry.”

“I know.”

“How come you’re not drunk?”

“I am.”

“You’re not acting like it.”

“I started drinking water over an hour ago, unlike some people.” The elevator door opens and he makes his way with you down the hall and into your apartment.

“Didn’t want any.”

“Well, you’re going to drink some now.” He brings you right into the kitchen and sets you down on top of the island. He unzips your jacket for you and you shimmy it off while he fills a glass of water for you. “Let’s go, slow sips.” You shake your head no. “I’m not kiddin’, c’mon.”

“I wanna dance some more.”

“I dare you to try and stand on your own two feet right now.”

“Fine.” You hop off the counter and immediately lose your balance, landing on your butt. You start laughing. Harry sits down next to you, leaning against the island.

“Please, drink the water. You’re gonna have a massive headache tomorrow if you don’t.”

“It’s already tomorrow.” You take your temple knowingly.

“Y/N, for the love of god, drink the fuckin’ water.”

“Why are you getting mad at me?” You pout.

“M’not.” He sighs.

“You swore at me, you’re mad. And I was so nice to you earlier, I let you come in my mouth.”

“Yes, you did.”

“So be nice to me.”

“I’m tryin’.”

“Ask me nicely, Harry.”

“Y/N, would you please drink this water?”

“Fine.” You snatch it from him and take slow sips. Your eyes feel droopy, and you lean your head back against the island.

“Can’t fall asleep, love.”

“M’not.” You take more sips of the water.

You eventually hand him the glass of water, and you climb your way up to your feet. You close your eyes and then open them again. The room felt like it was spinning.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“I have the spins, fuck.” You clutch at the counter.

“Are you gonna throw?”

“I…I don’t know, help me get to the bedroom, please, I’ll lay on the rug.” Harry picks you up and carries you to the bedroom. You start giggling.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re like my prince, no, you’re better than a prince. You’re like a knight in shining armor.” You nuzzle into his chest as he sits you on the bed.

“Let’s getcha outa these clothes, hm?” You nod.

You lift your arms up so he can take your sweater off. He reaches around you to unhook your bra, effortless as usual.

“You’re too good at that.” You say as it drops to the floor.

“Lots of practice, I’m afraid. Stand up.” You use use shoulders to steady you as he takes your pants and underwear off.

“Can I wear that t-shirt to bed? You know that one I really like?”

“My uni T?”

“Mhm, please, I really wanna wear it.”

Harry rummages through his dresser for the shirt, and helps you put it on. It hugs around your thighs.

“Makes me feel like I’m one of your college hookups.” You giggle.

“And you like that?”

“S’fun to play pretend sometimes.”

“You’re killin’ me.” He shakes his head. “C’mon, you’ll be pissed if you don’t wash your face.”

He gets you into the bathroom, and grabs one of your scrunchies to put your hair up with. He runs the water and grabs a washcloth. He gets your makeup off. Your eyes flutter closes as he does so. He washes his hands before lathering them up with your face wash. It was like you were getting a facial. After thirty seconds he wipes it all off with the cloth. Next you each manage to brush your teeth.

“I need t’pee.”

“Alright, let me help you to the toilet.”

“I don’t want you to watch me pee!”

“You could easily pass out on that toilet. I’ve been in the bathroom with you plenty of times while you’ve wee’d, I’ll turn around.” You nod.

You sit down to pee, wipe yourself, and flush. He turns back around and helps you up. You wash your hands quick.

“Stay right there, now I need t’wee.” He does so quickly. You look up and away. You hear him zip up his pants and then suddenly you’re being lifted. “Still have the spins?”

“No, but I’m sure the second I lay down I will.” You chuckle against his neck. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“Course. You’d do the same.” He lays you down on your stomach.

“I really would.” He strips himself of his clothes and climbs in next to you. You turn your head slightly to face him.

“Hey, um…” He rolls over onto his side to face you. “How come you wanted to squish Niall’s face before we left?”

“I wanted to do what? Ugh, fuck. Yeah, I need to sleep on the floor, I feel like I’m swimming.”

You grab your pillow and throw it to the floor. You drag half the blankets with you as you make it to the floor. Harry crawls to the edge of the bed to look at you. You curl up and sigh.

“Better?” He asks.

“Mhm.”

“Alright make room.”

“No, stay on the bed. What if your back hurts?”

“I won’t be able to sleep with you…” It’s a shameless admission, but he’s still sort of embarrassed.

Harry grabs his pillows, and the comforter, and joins you on the floor. He wraps his arms around you and you back up into him. You prayed you wouldn’t need to throw up. You felt less spinney being on the floor, so that was a good sign. You feel yourself drift off to sleep slowly, and thankful that tomorrow was not a work day.

[demivampirew]

So we meet again - part 2

Henry x Reader

Summary: A recent graduate recounters someone from her past with who things did not exactly ended up in great terms. She holds a grudge on him for that and still has unanswered questions about what happened.

This will have another part soon.

You can find part 1 in the Masterlist

Triggers: crying; cursing and drinking.

- Look who decided to re-joined human society! Have you finally broken your relationship with your boyfriend? - greeted you, Mark, as you approach the bar. - What boyfriend? -you asked confused - Book. - he joked and you rolled your eyes and grinned - Nope. I'm still working on it. But fortunately, everything is going great. I have a lot of material to cover yet, though. I'm just here because I needed a drink and some human interaction as well.- you replied winking. - My friend asked me to come and meet her here. She met a guy in this pub and wanted to introduce us. - Has cupid brought another couple together? - he questioned as he gave you a cold Guinness - Apparently. I mean, I'm the reason she's allowed to drink here, so I guess I play a part in their love story. - you smiled. - Which one of your friends is? The cute blonde one or the brunette? - The blonde one. The other one is Emma, the doctor. - Oh, so it's the college girl. The one that brags about being friends with you. -he added laughing. -Does she? - you were amused by that fact - Are you kidding? She always brings your name when she orders something. It seems that she wants everyone to know that she's friends with a graduate and the pub's owner's niece. That makes her feel exclusive. - he pointed out and you both laugh and then you started to drink your cold beer. - So, tell me, when is cupid going to get her piece of cake? - Nah, I don't care about relationships, at least not at the moment. I'm focusing on my book and later to seek for a job teaching in a university. Besides, with my luck, he's going to be either a liar or a cheater. - Isn't that the same thing? - Well, yeah... - you sighed.- I'm the worst at dating. - Maybe if you let me I could introduce you to someone. - You just want to steal my job as cupid. - you joked. - No, I'm fine, but thanks. - You let me know if you change your mind. And, here comes blondie. - he said pointing out with his head towards the entrance of the place. You turned around and saw your friend approach you, with a huge smile on her face. Y/N! - she exclaimed excited- I haven't seen you in months! I missed you so much! - she said as she hugged you. - Hi Tara. You look gorgeous! - you saluted her. It wasn't a lie, she always looked beautiful. She was younger than you; she was a junior in college and you were a senior. You met her when tutoring for a class that she needed to pass and then you became good friends. Even though she was a few years younger, she was mature for her age and she was one of the girls everyone turned around to look at. You, on the other hand, were pretty - like the girl next door kind of- but definitely not a femme fatale. She was the one who would wear dresses, skirts and whatever was trending at the moment, while you were the girl who loved jeans, leggings and t-shirts or plaid shirts. - I've been working on the book, as I told you when we chatted before; that's why I haven't had much time to get out and party. - It's great that now you can finally work on your book. You have been planning that since I met you. - Since before that, actually. - you said smiling - That makes me even happier! You deserved to do what you love and what you're amazing at it. - she assured you. - So, you wanted to introduce me to someone.- you reminded her, raising an eyebrow.- Where is he? - He was answering a phone call outside, he'll be here in a minute.- she explained. She started talking about how they met right in that place about a month ago, and how sweet and wonderful he was and more great things. Then you hear a deep male voice calling her name. A voice that you'd have to recognize everywhere. And you felt a lump forming in your throat and felt dizzy for a moment. Your luck was getting worse day by day. - Baby, come! - Tara invited him to join us. You could see in his face that he did not expect to see you either. - Let me introduce you to my friend, y/n. - she told him as she grabbed his arm and the looked back at you- Y/n, this is my boyfriend, Henry. - her smile couldn't be bigger. She was beyond happy. You, on the other hand, were dying inside. You wanted to run far away. What were you supposed to say? Should you mention to her that you knew him and why you did it? Has he ever talked about his past feelings for you with her? Probably not by name, but were you important enough for him to mention you as part of his past? Your brain was about to explode of how fast was working and that made you even dizzier. You gulped and try to speak when he interrupted you. - Hi, y/n, nice to meet you.- he said smiling and your world crashed into pieces. He pretended that he didn't know you. He probably had not to desire for her to know about your past friendship and the reason why it ended. You shook his hand without saying a word, just nodding. - I have to be honest, I did not only asked you to see you introduce you to him.- she said and looked at him excited- I asked to see you because,  as a thank you for being the reason why we met, we wanted to invite you to a yacht trip in the Caribbean. You don't have to worry about money, its all taken care by this amazing guy. - she explained as she put her arms around him and smiling at him. On one hand, you were so happy to see her like that. On the other hand, you felt like if someone just dug a hand in your body and grabbed your heart and was trying to ripped it off. How was it possible that you had such crappy luck? Why did he continue to go to that pub? There were plenty of places in London where he could've gone, but no, he went to your uncle's pub. And also, there were tons of beautiful women out there, why did he have to meet her?- So what do you say? Would you join us? You have been working so hard, you deserve to have a break and enjoy yourself for a moment.- she prompted, smiling. - I'm sorry, I need to get this. - you said after taking your phone from your pocket and pretending to answer a call. You went to the back of the place and locked yourself in your godfather's office. You were out of breath. You pressed your back against the door and slide it until you were sitting on the floor, grabbing your knees with your arms and hiding your face in your thighs as you started to cry. Seeing him a few months ago made you realize that you still had feelings for him and that was the reason why it hurt you so bad the fact that he cut you out of his life without explanation. You thought about him constantly. And now you saw him again, happily in love with your friend, pretending you were a stranger to him. "Fuck my life," you thought. You decided to text her and excused yourself for going out again, explaining that your uncle asked you to do a work in his office that would take you so time. Tara said that was ok and she insisted on you thinking about the trip and to let her know your answer as soon as possible. A few moments later, you heard a knock on the door. You cleaned your face, you did not want your uncle or Mark to see you cry. You opened the door and saw Henry standing outside. He asked you for permission to get in and you allowed him to enter the room. After he closed the door to make sure no one heard you two talk, he turned around to face you and apologized. - I had no idea she was your friend. She said that a friend that worked there allowed her to hang here and I thought she meant Charlotte or Felicity - the other bartender that cover shifts when Mark and Charlotte couldn't go. If I'd have known she was your friend, I would have not asked her out.- he assured you. - Why did you still hang out here?- you said angrily - You know that I hang here. This is like a second home to me. Why do you still come here?! You have an entire freaking city to go for a drink, why did you have to come here?! - Because I was expecting to see you. - he admitted.- After our last encounter, I felt so bad that all I wanted to do was to apologize to you for everything, but I did not have your number. So I came here every chance I had, expecting to see you and then, one day, I met Tara and we started to see each other. - Well, good for you - you sarcastically said.- You might feel good about lying, but I don't. I'm not going on that trip, obviously, and I want her to know why. So will you tell her or should I do it? - you told him firmly and he sighed. He decided to tell her the truth about what happened between you two. The next day you received a message from Tara in which she apologized for having to cut her friendship with you. She appreciated you deeply, according to her words, but she simply could not be friends with someone that had a history with her boyfriend and she could not leave Henry. She insisted on the fact that she was truly sorry about it and that she felt terrible for having to make that choice. If you were mad at Henry before that, now you straight hated him. He did not just take himself away from you, but now he took other of your closest friends as well.

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [4]: Frustration

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Death and life are the same thing- like the two sides of my hand, the palm and the back. And still the palm and back are not the same . . . They can neither be separated, nor mixed.” —Ursula K. Le Guin

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Lir takes Simon Marson’s statement with a grain of salt. It’s not that she doesn’t trust him—she doesn’t trust lawyers as a whole, but nothing so far has given her a reason to believe he’d outright lie—just that she’s learned firsthand how memories get clouded and fuzzy, particularly about routines. Sure, their victim worked for him. And, yes, she probably did the exact same thing every day, going to her paid internship at her father’s office Monday through Saturday, taking Sunday off, and spending Friday night bar-hopping with her friends. Yet there’s simply too much Marson was unaware of. The questions of who her friends are, what she did when she wasn’t working, her hobbies, any potential lovers, hell even where she lived, are all ones he provided no answer to or understanding of. To him, Sophie truly existed only in the hours between 8:00 am and 6:30 pm. Which isn’t exactly unusual, but it makes her job of following those leads harder, and she ends their interview feeling more irritated than she had when she started.

Dante, too, must be frustrated, because he says nothing at all to her when he leaves the observation room to join her at their desks, merely clacking angrily on his keyboard as he types his report. Lir does the same, transcribing the interview with Marson and her notes to send to Morrison later. A stiff drink is what she needs, maybe a call to Joan for a bit of relaxation, but she settles for chewing aspirin and drinking the bitter coffee unique to precincts. By the time she’s done recounting the events of the last thirty-six hours, her fingers are stiff and the throbbing in her temples has turned into a fierce clawing that makes her eyes water, and she’s keenly aware of the fact that they’re fast closing in on the forty-eight hour mark and how much more difficult this investigation is going to be beyond it.

“You eaten?” Dante asks. Lir shakes her head, and he picks up his phone, dialing quickly. “Me neither. ‘Bout to keel over, if I’m honest. You good with pizza?”

“Sure. Whatever toppings are fine.”

He flashes her a grin before speaking into the receiver, and Lir uses the time to read back over Trish’s findings. They aren’t pretty. While there were no ligature marks, showing that Sophie was neither restrained nor strangled, there were heavy levels of Rohypnol in her blood, meaning she would have been unable to do anything at all. In fact, Trish notes that the dose probably would have been fatal, given the fact that Sophie was well over the legal limit for intoxication, clocking a BA of 0.16%, putting her at the threshold for alcohol poisoning. Did she normally drink so much? Lir runs her fingers over the paper, frowning slightly as she thinks. Joan hadn’t said much more about Sophie’s habits other than her cocktail of choice, and they hadn’t asked for a receipt, a stupid oversight that needs to be corrected. Because if that much liquor was’t common for Sophie, it means either she was drinking a lot more, which could lead them to recent stresses.

Or that the killer was feeding her margaritas all night to make sure she was too weak to fight him.

“There was no phone recovered from the alley, right?” she asks. Dante gives a grunt as he hangs up the phone, and she leans back, stretching to relieve the tension in her shoulders. “We’ve got to find her friends, talk to them.”

“What about the mother?”

“Gone. Parents divorced when Sophie was . . .” Lir checks her notes. “Six. The original custody agreement was for the mom to have supervised visitation, but she went no contact when Sophie was twelve. The last Marson heard from her, she was living with her new husband in Portland.”

Dante whistles. “No contact? Think Marson was abusing her?”

“Maybe. But why would Sophie hang around, if that was the case? You watch your dad beat on your mom for six years and wind up working for him?”

He grunts and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest and staring thoughtfully at a spot just over her right shoulder. “Abuse doesn’t always make it to the kids,” he says after a moment. “Sure, maybe pops was an asshole, but he was probably smart enough to keep it behind closed doors. Or maybe there wasn’t anything goin’ on other than two people who didn’t want to be together anymore.” He pauses to take a sip of coffee. “Could have been mom, too.”

“Right.” Lir massages her temples, and the pressure there subsides enough that she no longer feels like her eyes are going to burst. A migraine is the last thing she needs right now, but that’s exactly where she’s headed if she doesn’t get some sort of rest soon. “So, we have a victim whose father knows nothing about her personal life, a killer who was smart enough to make sure we couldn’t trace her beyond the bar, and, after nearly forty hours, no real answers.”

“Sounds about right.” Dante’s grin is bitter.

“Fuck.” She drums her fingers on her desk. “Crime scene still roped off?”

“As far as I know. You plannin’ a visit?”

“Yeah. I need to get some air, and I want to take it in now that it’s quiet.” Lir grabs her coat from the back of her chair as she stands, sliding it on before leaning to open her desk and grab her gun and badge. Fastening them to her belt, she mutters, “Maybe something got missed.”

Dante gets up, stretching with a loud yawn. “Alright. I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t need—”

“I’m not babysittin’ you, Lir.” His eyes are somehow both grave and mocking, and she’s not sure which irritates her more. “There’s a killer. None of us should be goin’ out alone, especially with the statistics about who else might show up there to get their jollies.”

That gives her pause. “Right. Okay. You driving?”

He dangles his keys. Lips twitching, she turns and heads down the stairs and out to the lot, listening to the quiet thumping of Dante’s shoes as he follows her. For someone so big, he doesn’t make a lot of noise when he moves, and she wonders idly if it’s a force of habit or just how he is as she slides into the passenger seat of his car and fastens her seatbelt. Like always, he flicks on the radio and finds a classic rock station before starting the drive, and he ignores her popping two aspirin into her mouth and chewing them dry. 

The ride back to the alley passes in the silence between them. Lir looks out of her window, the rain sliding along the glass turning the world outside to a muted painting of blurred shapes and bright flashes of color on an otherwise dreary background, and thinks. Sophie Marsons had gone to the bar, as was her usual weekend habit, and ordered her preferred drink. Had she gone with friends? Had they danced, and laughed, until a stranger stole into their group, with eyes only for Sophie, eyes full of murder that she might have mistaken for desire? Despite what she had said to Dante about their victim being chosen randomly, Lir has little doubt that she knew her killer. Statistics point to it, the inevitable need for the comfort brought by familiarity that a new killer needs to do his work. Statistics, the voice of her old academy instructor rasps in her mind, are statistically incorrect.

If Sophie wasn’t the first, then there’s another victim out there.

Cold, bitter rain lashes her as soon as she steps out of the car. Huffing, watching her breath condense and twist in the air, Lir pulls her hood up around her face and tucks her hands into her pockets, wishing she had a slicker even if the garish yellow color of it would make her stick out like a sore thumb. Dante joins her, grimacing as he sets a black trilby on his head, water dripping from the brim steadily. “Good thing we already got forensics,” he mutters.

“Mm.” Making a non-committal noise in her throat, she ducks under the crime scene tape and walks into the alley, where she stands and takes it in. Without pedestrian and vehicular traffic on the street, it’s unnervingly quiet; is this how it was at four in the morning? Nothing but silence as the dull oppressiveness of the city while Sophie was carved open like livestock? 

Lir is moving towards the dumpster when something rustles behind it. Pausing, she stares at it, her brow pinched and her hand moving slowly to her gun, waiting. Cat, she thinks, or rat. Something digging for scraps now that humanity has gone away. But the silhouette she can just make out on the other side is too large, and, as she watches, a tanned hand grips the edge before a rain-soaked head pokes cautiously around, the eyes that she sees wide enough that the whites are like spotlights. Behind her, she hears Dante hiss, the faint splash of water as he slowly comes up beside her. Looks like he was right. Someone else had shown up, and now all that’s left to do is figure out whether or not they’re the murderer.

“Police,” Dante barks. “Don’t move!”

The man jumps to his feet and takes off, and Lir lets out a string of curses as she darts after him. They always fucking run, guilty or innocent, because seeing a cop always makes them feel like they’ve done something wrong. Bearers of bad news, thugs with guns, she’s heard it all, and she wonders how this guy thinks of the police even as she chases him down the winding alleys of a city she’s already growing to hate. “Thorne!” Dante shouts, his voice dwindling as the distance between them grows. “Goddamnit, Thorne!”

Up ahead, the black coat swirls as the man rushes through the maze. Sometimes all she has is a glimpse of fabric as he turns a corner, others, on the straight, narrow stretches, she can make out more of him, and her mind catalogues these snapshots. Slender build. Dark jeans. Heavy boots. The glint of a ring. A pair of wild eyes peering over his shoulder. Despite knowing she should draw it, Lir leaves her gun holstered. Don’t you ever, her instructor had said gravely, take that thing out unless you intend to shoot, and she’s got no desire to fire a bullet that would at best embed itself harmlessly into a wall and at worst ricochet and cause more damage.

Her hood falls back, rain plastering her hair to face and neck. In her chest, her heart is a drum, and her blood roars in her ears, equaled only by the low whistle of her breathing as she tries to control it to fight off fatigue. Keep moving, she tells her legs, don’t fucking stop until you know who he is.

At her hip, her radio crackles, only to be ignored. Right now, it is only her and her prey, locked in the chase until one of them is forced to stop. Guilty people run, sure. So do frightened ones. Which is he? Killer or morbid onlooker, dangerous or afraid? 

Lir never gets the chance to find out. They burst into a side-street, the cars around them blaring horns of fear and anger at this sudden intrusion, and a hand clamps onto her shoulder and yanks her back as a truck passes through the space she’d been about to step into. By the time it and its trailer clear out, the man is gone, and a scream bubbles in her throat that she fights to swallow. She knows who grabbed her—the scent of Dante’s cologne, muted by the rain, wafts into her nose, accompanied by the spiced, salty blend of sweat and deodorant—and she allows him to lead her back to the sidewalk, where she doubles over with her hands on her thighs and struggles to slow her breathing from the harsh, jagged pants to something close to normal. At this angle, she can make out the way water has turned the leather of his shoes a dull brown. Never gonna look nice again, she thinks, and closes her eyes against the swell of nausea that comes from exertion on an empty stomach.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Dante growls, his voice rasping and hoarse from chasing her. “You ever stop to think for a damned second that we’d need backup? Or that chasing that idiot could have gotten you killed?”

The scolding makes her angry all over again. “I’m sorry,” she snaps, straightening to glare at him. “Should I have let our only lead so far go?”

“If it meant surviving? Yeah, you should’ve. Or were you hoping to wind up like Marsons?” His eyes are cold with fury, his cheeks flushed with it. “I told you, I fucking told you—”

Lir’s phone rings, cutting off whatever tirade he’d been heading towards. Scowling, she answers it. “Thorne.”

“You with Redgrave?” Morrison asks, crackling with static. 

“Yeah.” Dante makes an impatient motion with his hand, and she holds up a finger in the standard request for a minute of silence.

“Get your asses over to Tellula Park. He’ll know where it is.”

There’s something so foreboding about Morrison’s tone that Lir knows the answer to her question before she even asks it. “What’s there?”

Morrison sighs. “Another body. Looks like our killer didn’t want to wait for us to catch him.”

“We’ll be there.” She hangs up, then looks at Dante, frustration and defeat welling within her to make her voice curiously flat. “There’s another victim in Tellula Park.”

Dante curses. “Our guy?”

“Morrison said it was,” she replies.

He glances around, studying the street sign at the intersection. “C’mon. Car’s about two blocks away. We’ll have to book it if we don’t want Morrison to rip us new assholes for taking our sweet time.”

Lir nods. Dante turns and starts down the sidewalk, and she follows, craving a drink and a good night’s rest and maybe a bit of company, angry to have wasted time on some idiot onlooker when the killer was busy leaving them another corpse, another family to notify, another twisted web. I didn’t know, she thinks, and that just makes her feel worse. Tunnel vision, that’s what she had fallen into, too focused on what was in front of her nose to take a second to really contemplate if a killer who took such care not to be noticed would have been so stupid as to come back to the scene of his crime in the middle of the day with cops still around. 

They’re sweating and miserably damp by the time they reach the car. Dante pulls towels from the backseat for them to sit on—something her father had done, to keep water from damaging the seats—and turns on the heater to fight some of the chill. It’s only once they’re on their way to the new scene that he says anything at all. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Lir’s head snaps towards him at both the words and the sympathy within them. Not that it’s unusual for cops to know how their partner feels, but usually that takes years of working together, not days, so either he’s particularly good and reading the people around him or he’s projecting. “What?”

“The new victim,” he explains. “Wasn’t anything you could have done. We had and have nothing to go on, and you chasin’ that guy didn’t get this one killed. Or,” his mouth twitches, “do you think you’re better than every other cop on the force?”

“Of course not,” she protests hotly. “I just . . .”

Dante cracks the window and lights a cigarette that he pulls from the pack in his door. “Look,” he says, exhaling smoke, “I get it. You’re new, gotta prove yourself, and this guy is a pain in the ass. But you ain’t got any control over him, or what he does. Only thing you can do is learn, be better, so you can catch him.”

It’s spoken in the same tone he might have used to console a weeping toddler, and she bristles. “You don’t know me.”

“No, but I read your file.” He glances at her as he tosses the cigarette, still half-lit, out of the window. “You know what was top and center on the behavior section? Empathetic. You feel things, Thorne, feel ‘em deep, maybe, and that’s great for gettin’ inside the head of whoever’s doin’ this, but it means he can get inside your head, too, if you let him.”

She sinks into her seat, thinking of her dream, and gooseflesh breaks out across her arms despite the warm air blowing from the vents. “So what’s your drive, then? Fame? Promotions?”

Dante snorts. “Nah. Just don’t like bastards who hurt women, that’s all.” He pauses, then exhales slowly. “Look. I’m not gonna rat you out to Morrison. You made a decision that anyone else would’ve made. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a fucking stupid decision, but . . . It stays between us. Right?”

There’s a rush of gratitude that she hates feeling. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay,” he agrees amicably.

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

FFT : p.s I lo-; jon moxley

Notes:

so this originally came from @vonschweetz​ on my main’s asks... and it gave me yet another chance to play around with Jon and Jane, which is something I personally enjoy doing a lot. Perhaps I’ll get inspired to sit down and actually re-work their entire universe at some point, who knows.. until now, it’s here.

Summary:

Jon and Jane have been apart for years until finally... They’re not. Jane decides that she can’t take it anymore and she’s tempted to do something about it, but as per usual, Jon beats her to the punch...

Warnings:

uhh, alcohol tw - bc takes place in a bar.

Pairing:

Jon Moxley x OFC, Jane - from my vast universe for the two of them.

The paper fell out of his locker backstage, and before Mox could bend and pick it up and shove it back inside where it belonged, Sami was grabbing it off the floor and reading it, leaned against the door of the adjoining locker, using a cheesy narrator voice to really call attention to the good parts.

Mox snatched for it but Sami dove out of his way, snickering. “What’s your deal, man? It’s just an old note.”

“It ain’t just an old note. Give it back before I knock ya teeth down ya damn throat, Callihan.”

Sami eyed his friend and then the paper in his hand and a realization hit him. About a forgotten drunken conversation when they were both talking about regrets and things they’d do differently.

The letter in his hand was a break up letter, so it begged to question, why would Mox hold onto the damn thing?

Unless it belonged to Jane, the source of his friend Mox’s  one regret. “Jane wrote this, didn’t she? The night she packed up and left while ya were gone to a show in the next town..”

“Give me the fuckin note.”

Sami thrust it at him. It was either that or Mox bust his nose and frankly, Sami wasn’t into a trip to the ER that night.

“Still say ya oughta find her. You guys are gettin time off after this pay per view.. maybe ya head back to Ohio a few days, hmm? I can take ya, since I’m goin back after I watch your ass win this pay per view… Not like I got anything else goin on right now.” Sami offered his friend.

“And I said it’s in the past. I keep that to remind myself that this really is all I got, okay?”

“You got me.”

Mox snorted and Sami pretended to look hurt. For the time being, he dropped the subject.

It’s just too bad Mox’s mind didn’t. Instead, he found himself doing it again, just like he did a lot lately, and he found himself wondering what might have happened if he’d just… Tried a little harder, stopped fighting her so much and keeping her at arms length back then.

He thought she’d left because he was always gone. He was only just really realizing that it wasn’t him always being gone that had driven her away. It was him, keeping her at a distance, picking fights, doing stupid shit, making her doubt how he really felt. He was older now, so he could see the situation for what it was and he knew he was totally at fault.

Before, he kept the letter as a reminder that he’d literally given up everything for wrestling. Now, he kept the letter because it reminded him that he’d come a far cry from the guy he used to be. He was better, because of her.

And tonight, he kind of wished he’d be leaving the arena and going home to her. All the other guys had someone waiting. Mox was only going to have his empty Vegas apartment.

Maybe that dog who hung around the alley waiting for someone to throw food down.

And Sami’s simple question nagged at him again.

Why not reach out to her?

It was worth a shot, right?

He found himself opening and reading the letter again, furrowing his brow over the bottom of the page where the paper had gotten old and torn away at some point.

“Ps I Lo..”

( LE TIME SKIPPE)

The bar was playing his match tonight. The owner, Phil, he had a thing against WWE, but when he found out that hometown boy Jon Moxley switched over to AEW, he said he’d start showing their pay per views, so now, every few weeks, Jane found herself sitting at the same old bar her old man had when she was a kid on football weekends, nursing a Guinness and watching a sport that she only kinda loved because it made the man she loved happier than anything.

… sad part of it is, it made him happier than I did… the thought surfaced and Jane rolled her eyes at herself, ordering another beer and more hot wings. “Extra blue cheese this time, Phil. I see you skimping on it, I’m not stupid.”

As she dug into the plate of wings once they got bought out to her, she stared at the tv, watching Mox in his latest PPV match, yelling at the screen, prouder than anyone could possibly be of a man that while not hers, she still very much considered her man.

If she thought he’d have her back, she’d reach out. She was older now, she realized just how childish she’d been back then, how much she tried to force him to be and do things that he wasn’t and couldn’t at the time.

… if I had a chance to do it over… i’d just be happy he was mine… if he walked through the door right now, I’d go to him so fast…

What happened next shocked her.

The owner came out, walking towards the door.

Jane was torn between watching the Pay per view and watching where Phil went for some reason. When she saw who Phil was talking to, and saw both of them looking her way, she quickly turned her attention back to the television, busying herself with the last of her hot wings and the remainder of her beer, waving over a server for another.

She already had the beginnings of a decent pyramid in front of her.

The chair across from her own screeched as it was pulled out. Her heart was hammering in her ears. When she looked up, her eyes got lost in the endless baby blue of his and she swallowed hard.

“You’re on…”

“They film ‘em a day or two before they show ‘em, doll.” Mox explained calmly. Well, as calmly as one could be, given what he was doing on a whim.

Everything changed, and yet.. She was still as devastatingly beautiful as she’d been the day he spotted her dancing in the dance studio down the hall from the room he’d been sparring with Sami and some others in.

“Mox..”

Jane was still shocked. She pinched herself, swearing when it hurt. And then her thought from ten minutes before came rushing back and she didn’t think, she reacted.

Leaning in, she grabbed hold of the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him across the table and over the remaining plate of wings. Her lips crashed against his greedily and all she could do was this bizarre mixture of crying and apologizing and telling him over and over that she still loved him and she regretted leaving every single second since the night she’d done it.

The kiss broke and Mox smiled. It felt foreign, wearing a smile. He hadn’t really smiled in a long time. “Had a little time between shows and I happened to come back.. I had to see ya.”

“You did, hmm?”

“I… wanted to tell ya I was fuckin dumb. I shoulda come to ya the night ya left and went back to ya dad’s place. I shoulda fought harder. We… we coulda made it work. I coulda tried… something.”

“It’s my fault too.. I was putting too much pressure on.”

“No, all ya wanted was to know ya were loved. I guess that’s why I came… Wanted to tell ya I never stopped.”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

“You wanna get outta here, maybe take a walk?”

“I’d love that, actually. Your match is the only reason I came down to watch tonight. Fuckin cable is out at my place. Guess my post dated check of Fuck You didn’t go through.”

Mox snickered and stood, holding out his hand, pulling her off her seat and against him as they walked out of the door.

[skiasurveys]

497

If you were to get a tattoo, what would it say or what would the graphic be?

- I’m not sure maybe a cute fox or something dedicated to my dad who died

If you could play any musical instrument, what would it be and why? If you already play an instrument(s), what do you play and why?

I wish I could play the piano

When trick-or-treating as a kid, was there any kind of candy that you didn’t like to get?

- tootsie rolls, or anytnjnf that would get stuck in my teeth

Why do you live in the Washington DC area?

Nope

What is your favorite memory of Christmases past?

- just going to bed on Christmas Eve excited and my sister texting me on our iPod touches that we got being all excited lol

If a movie was being made of your life and you could choose the actor/actress to play you, who would you choose and why?

Natalie Portman but idk

Paper or plastic?

Plastic isn’t good so I guess paper

What was the weirdest food you’ve ever eaten?

Tbh I’m basic as hell lmao so nothing

What do you keep in the trunk of your car?

Grocery bags, Manuel’s and some car junk

When you were in grade school, what did you want to be when you grew up? Why?

- artist bc it was fun and I enjoyed doing it

If you owned a CB radio what would your “handle” be?

Not sure

If you were given 24 hrs to live, what would you do?

Hang with those I love, write notes to everyone but I wouldn’t tell anyone

If you were in the “Miss America” talent competition, what would your talent be?

Hmmm prob being a dumb ass bitch

What do you think the most ultimate gift of the world is?

Idk

If you had one extra hour of free time a day, how would you use it?

More art or sleeping tbh

What CD is in your CD player right now?

I don’t have a CD player lol

Name the most famous person you’ve had a face to face encounter with.

No one

Name your favorite children’s story.

Idk tbh didn’t have any

If you could spend 15 minutes with any living person, who would it be and why?

Gabbie

What person in the Bible do you most closely identify with?

Lmao let’s b real Judas

What article of clothing most closely describes your personality?

Jeans bc I’m so basic LMAO

If you were to write a book what would it be about?

Maybe mental health or poetry.

How many rings before you answer the phone?

2

What is the first thing you think of when you wake in the morning?

Depends on the day. Sometimes it’s ugh and sometimes I’m excited

If you won a million dollars, what would you do with it?

Pay off my loans and pay back some people

If you had to, what part of your body would you get pierced?

Ears

Who was your favorite teacher and why?

My social studies teacher for grade 11&12. She made everything so fun

What makes you feel the most secure?

I really don’t know cus I never feel secure

Who do you admire the most?

There’s quite a bit

Have you ever had a reoccurring dream? What was it?

Not really

What was your nickname growing up?

Jean... or jenen so cringe so cringe

Peanut or plain?

Like on toast? Peanut ?

What is your favorite cartoon character & why?

Idk Simba or Bobby hill lmao idk why

How did you learn to ride a bicycle?

I got on the bike and my dad helped.. lmaoo

Based on something you’ve already done, how might you make it into the Guinness Book of World Records?

I have no talent so

What’s the closest you’ve come to becoming a pop star/winning an Oscar?

I admire you for thinking this 😂

When was the last time you did something for the first time? What was it?

A bout a month ago I one wheeled

What is your concept of a fruitful day?

What does this mean lmao

What was your favorite thing to play with as a child? Why?

Plastic wolves, animals or the game cube

If you could be any animal in the world for 24 hours, which animal would you be? Why?

A wolf

Have you ever jumped out of a plane?

I wish

If you could rid the world of one thing, what would it be?

World hate

What is your best personal characteristic?

I’m a good listener I think

What is your favorite quote?

Idk I like whatever happens, happens

If you could be invisible for a day, what would you do?

Possibly steal 😳

What is your favorite weird food combination?

Ok hear me out but maple syrup on pierogies

If you had to be a flower, which one would you like to be and why?

Sunflower

If you were stranded on a desert island, what three books and three people would you take with you?

Books?! Prob a Manuel on how to live and jennifer, connor and Julie maybe

My biggest pet peeve is…

Men tbh

What is your favorite commercial? What commercial annoys you the most?

Don’t have one bc I don’t watch tv

What’s the most interesting “Ice Breaker” Question you have ever been asked?

I don’t know any lol

If you could be an ice cream flavor, what would it be? Why?

Cake batter or mint

Name a turning point in your life that makes you smile/cry.

When I realized my friend was toxic af or when my dad died. Happy? Idk

If there were a holiday in your honor what would it celebrate?

Idk

What clubs were you a member of in High School? Are you still interested in any of the same things?

None

If you were to be on a reality TV show which one would you be on and why?

None tbh

If you could be anything in the world, what would you be and why?

Artist

If someone rented a billboard for you, what would you put on it?

My ig

If you had to enter a competition for the “Most Uselessly Unique Talent,” what would your talent be?

Make mole hills into mountains

If you were a Smurf, what would your name be?

Idk

What is your worst personality characteristic?

Insecure af

If you had to be a teacher of something, what would you teach?

How to draw maybe

How would you like to be remembered?

I don’t even know. Maybe how kind I am or my art

What is one thing that you constantly think about (other than material things)?

Life I guess

What do you like best about your hometown?

Nice paths I guess

Something interesting you might not know about me is…

Idk I was hit by a car at age 8

[tessatechaitea]

The Invisibles #1

If I had to pretend to know anything about art, I'd say this cover represents how pop culture can kill. Or will blow your mind. Or feels dangerous but it's actually pretty safe because the pin is still in the grenade.

What the fuck do I know about art and why the fuck am I assuming this comic book is going to be about art anyway?! Just because Grant Morrison wrote it and I happen to think Grant Morrison has written some pretty smart comic books? Well, I'm pretty sure he's written some huge fucking turds too! It's just that I haven't read any of them that I remember. Apparently I've read a few issues of this but I don't really remember it. I don't like to tell people that I don't remember it when they talk about how great it was because that's admitting that 22 year old me wasn't a discerning critic of his entertainment. At least I also can't remember the truly garbage comic books I was reading in 1994 as well! So it's possible I read this and thought, "I'm so smart because I understand what's happening!" Now I'm terrified to read it because I'm absolutely certain I'll think, "What the hell is going on in this comic book? I'm such a stupid asshole!" Oh boy. This comic book is forty pages long. Get ready for a review that explicates the first fifteen pages thoroughly while also digressing twelve separate times before quickly summarizing the last twenty-five pages so I can go play some Apex.

I can't say for certain this is a shot at Ann Nocenti but, thankfully, I can say it's definitely not a shot at me!

This guy is Elfayed. He's retrieved a mummified scarab from the desert believing it might be a sign for the mysterious bald man with too many face piercings and the endeavor he's currently on. Which is a mystery because Grant Morrison isn't going to let the reader understand the comic book on the first page! Sheesh! The second page doesn't help explain things but it does place the word "synchronicity" burning in my brain like a buzzing, blinking neon sign.

Get it? Mummified beetle. Dead Beatles. Boy throwing a Molotov cocktail. Pop culture and violence. I think I intuitively understand this comic book so 70% of the rest of what I say will be dick jokes.

The kid throwing the explosive is one of three members of a gang called the Croxteth Posse. Every youth in Britain joins a gang no matter how stupid and lame they are. It just proves how hard they are even if they never throw one Molotov cocktail or ever even get their genitals touched. The gang members run off into the night, past some "King Mob" graffiti which will be important later, yelling, "We are the boys! We are the boys!" Is that a thing lame youth gangs in London did in the 80s and 90s? Because I remember Lister and his posse saying that shit about being the boys of the Dwarf when they thought they were acting hard on some adventure that probably involved Lister fucking a future version of himself. The Croxteth gang are from Liverpool because Croxteth is a suburb of Liverpool. It shows how imaginative these youths are. I bet there are at least fifty different Croxteth Posses bumbling about at night destroying things. The bald guys name is Gideon (and possibly King Mob. Unless the antagonist is King Mob. I should probably keep reading to find out) and he's both young and old at the same time. He's probably some kind of spirit of the zeitgeist or something, Grant Morrison's Jenny Sparks. He's looking for a new recruit for his own gang since something happened to John-A-Dreams. He might have just died of old age because Gideon's other acquaintance, Edith, is now 95 years old and sulking in her mortality. He wants her to contact somebody named Tom to let him know he thinks he found their new recruit. I think it's probably the anarchist kid because I know how stories work. I'm starting to think maybe The Invisibles are a bit like the Upright Citizens Brigade. Their only enemy is the status quo. Their only friend is chaos. Except there will be less skits with people wearing giant papier-mâché cat heads and more ultra-violence. The arsonist kid's name is McGowan and he's smarter than he acts, according to his teacher who gives him the old "you're not fulfilling your potential and your friends are just dragging you down" speech. But what kind of an anarchist would McGowan be if he gave a shit about what his teacher thinks of him? Oh, that's right! He'd be a good anarchist if he really gave a shit and a bad anarchist if he didn't give a shit but he let the teacher's words affect him anyway. That's how anarchy works, right? The problem with anarchy is that it needs a few rules to make it work well but you can't enforce any rules or else you're not living an anarchic lifestyle. Here's my definition of anarchy from Places & Predators, my roller playing game: a philosophy where anybody can do anything they want without worrying about some stupid guard putting an axe in their head. But they have to worry about everyone else putting an axe in their head all the time because there are no guards. I should probably read The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin instead of all these stupid Han Solo and Lando Calrissian adventure books.

Oh, well McGowan's mother withholds love and affection and blames him for all the ills in her life. I suppose I can now forgive him for torching the school library, right?

McGowan heads out to sit in the cold and watch John Lennon have a conversation with Stuart Sutcliffe. They joke about being dead and it's funny because they are dead. Stuart even says he wants to die young which is doubly funny because he does. Ha ha! McGowan doesn't laugh because maybe he doesn't find gallows humor funny. But some weird creature that speaks some German does laugh. He's all, "Ha ha! They're going to die young! Oh ho ho! Such jolly fun! Now join with me, you dumb kid." He also says some German stuff that I can't make sense of because I don't speak German and I don't want to ask the Non-Certified Spouse what it means. I could use Google but I'm being extra lazy right now. McGowan tells the weird German tourist to fuck off because he doesn't care about anything. But you know what kind of people actually care a lot about everything? The kind who need to tell everybody that they don't care about anything. Only people whose feelings are super hurt say stuff like that. And maybe serial killers. Later McGowan decides to prove he doesn't care by suggesting he and his friends blow up the school. Not because he cares how they think they know everything and they want him to be just like them and all adults lack affection and sincerity. No, he just wants to blow it up because he doesn't give a shit about nothing, man. The scene switches to the bald guy who might be King Mob on an LSD trip. It's nothing like taking LSD but I'll pretend it's all metaphor and analogy and spiritual nonsense. In his trip, he sees a gigantic head of John Lennon. Mostly because the whole trip was to summon this head. It's a double page spread of psychedelic images and nonsense mixed with Beatles lyrics and album titles. Strange that Morrison fails to translate an acid trip involving The Beatles when The Beatles themselves have a song that I think most feels like and describes an acid trip. No, it's not "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds"; it's "Strawberry Fields." If I had to state what my favorite Beatles song was right now, I'd say "Strawberry Fields" even though Magical Mystery Tour might be my least favorite (later) album (although now that I type it, I remember it contained "Penny Lane" and "The Fool on the Hill" and "All You Need is Love" and I guess I was wrong about Magical Mystery Tour being my least favorite album). I added the later because their early pop shit doesn't really resonate with me. I don't think I appreciate their music until after they've met Doctor Robert. Just listened to "Strawberry Fields" and now I'm crying. Fucking great song. While trying to burn down the school, McGowan is caught be his teacher. He gives his teacher a brutal beating and then answers a question he refused to answer in class, just to show he's both smart and violent.

McGowan's arrested and Hugh Laurie sentences him to hard juvenile labor.

I was speaking of acid earlier and I'd like to recommend the documentary on Netflix called Have a Good Trip, especially to people who have never done acid. It's enlightening. You might think that my favorite part was one of the crazier bits about hallucinations or one of the stories about how something odd always happens when on acid (it totally does) but I think my favorite bit is when the musician from Bikini Kill, Kathleen Hanna, tells the story about how acid made her realize that you didn't have to cross the street along the legs of the two triangles comprising the square intersection but can just cross along the hypotenuse. It's not that the idea is mind blowing or even close to an "A-ha!" shower thought; it's just that's the kind of mundane thought that seems like a fucking magic revelation when you're on acid. It's the epitome of the acid experience. LSD makes the mundane profound which is way more exciting than you might think. If you've never done acid, you might have fucked off to the comment section just now to point out that the universe is a wonderful and magical and profound place even without acid. And I fucking agree. But LSD makes everything profound. Every single thing you see or think combines with the fabric of the universe and it all becomes staring at the stars and wondering how it all fucking fits together. But you don't need space or infinity or philosophy; you just need LSD, a stapler, a bottle of water, and a Jack Kirby comic book from the early 70s. Dane McGowan is sentenced to ten weeks in a juvenile facility called Harmony House. It's where violent teenage boys aren't taught to stop being violent; it's where they're taught to use their violence to benefit the government! At least that's my guess. I like to pretend I know what's happening in the comic book as I write the review and then later I delete the wrong assumptions I made and replace them with lies to make me look like a Grandmaster Comic Book Reviewer! Actually, that last sentence was a lie. Normally if I get something wrong, I just write "Oops!" later and then tell readers to forget the terrible mistake I made.

This is the plot to every young adult dystopian book ever written: "Society says conformity is good. But one young spunky individual with weird hair won't submit and will save the world!"

Sometimes I feel the only people touched by stories about the individual refusing to be a sheep of the status quo are people who tend to be sheep of the status quo. To rely identify with the hero in one of these stories, the reader needs to have though of themselves as part of the status quo and felt the need to participate in some activity that would prove that they weren't. Instead of, you know, just being themselves and never actually giving their place in society a second thought. I find odd people who are inspired by a story that tells the reader to be themselves. How is that inspiring unless you never really knew that was an option? And how could you fucking not know it?! But then again, Heathers is one of my all-time favorite movies and I suppose that's got a similar message about being oneself. But it also has murder and some seriously great lines of dialogue and Christian Slater blowing himself to bits.

Oh, remember where I mentioned this comic book was basically screaming "synchronicity" at me and that I understood it on an instinctual level after page two? Grandmaster Comic Book Reader!

The leader of The Invisibles (man, I wish the comic book would just tell me that the bald guy with piercings is actually King Mob already) decides to infiltrate Harmony House to make sure their soon-to-be new recruit, McGowan, is doing okay. I'm sure he'll find he's fine because he's not buying into the whole "be a soldier of the status quo" bullshit being fed to the young boys at the institution. It's easy to be against a Headmaster who thinks arguments like "Liberals love freedom but do they want people to be so free that they can steal their VCRs." But will he be able to stand up against the techno-brainwashing and the influence of the mystical creature running things from behind the scenes?! Probably but only with help from the Upright Citizens Brigade. I mean The Invisibles.

It's surreal that this is the way we thought of controlling the populace in the 90s: turn them into content sheep without any anger or frustration. And yet the exact opposite of that is true: control them by making them angry and frustrated at as many lies and half-truths as you can.

The big twist reveal isn't that the boys' brains are cut up and messed with; it's that the boys genitals are removed as well. Yeesh! Now I'm angry and frustrated! I'm totally against this Harmony House bullshit. Is this actually happening red states?! Horrific! King Mob (yes, they finally reveal that's the bald guy's name) rescues Dane from Harmony House while shooting a bunch of people (including the Headmaster) and blowing the building to bits. It's a good thing we learned the real antagonist was some dick-eating creature called the King of Chains. Dane McGowan isn't ready to join The Invisibles which King Mob was ready for. He had a tarot reading earlier that said the kid was going to have to be put through the wringer first. So he leaves the kid in London and disappears, just so we all know why they're called The Invisibles. I guess Batman is a member? The Invisibles #1 Rating: B+. This issue was forty pages long and it felt like it used every page to move the story along. It's insane that that's one of the greatest compliments I can give a comic book. Way too many writers just fill their scripts with nonsense because they don't have a real plan for their story. I know everybody espouses the idea that a good comic book story should teach the reader something new about the character. But unless learning that Superman can punch something harder than he previously thought he could, or Batman is super resilient and can take a ton of punishment for five issues before rising to the occasion through pure force of will, most comic book writers really don't put a lot of thought into themes. Sure, sure. This sort of feels like the mystic super hero version of Catcher in the Rye which might be why I stopped purchasing it after six issues. Although it's just as likely that I stopped purchasing it at six issues because my infrequent visits to the comic book store made me miss Issue #7 and I just gave up on it. It's not bad and it's put together well and as a young 48 year old who thinks the man can go fuck himself, I'm totally into it's message about being a unique individual! Anarchy rules!

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Tomorrow Never Came PT. 12

Now that you’ve done what you came to do, what comes next? Where do you go? How do you cope?

Read PT. 1 here | Read PT. 2 here | Read PT. 3 here | Read PT. 4 here | Read PT. 5 here | Read PT. 6 here | Read PT. 7 here | Read PT. 8 here | Read PT. 9 here | Read PT. 10 here | Read PT. 10.5 here | Read PT. 11 here

TRIGGER WARNING: BIG SAD. also low quality pic of roger hehe

The last of your measly belongings were packed tightly into that folded up box you’d stuffed into the closet a year ago, the clock reading some time around 2 in the morning as you took a deep, shuddering breath. A few tears escaped your eyes, and you reached up to quickly wipe them away. This was it.

Weston had explained everything from the beginning, pausing only to let you cry it out. He was patient – a bit irritable, but not outwardly, and he always waited until you were calmed down a bit to continue. He was understanding, you thought, as you made your way down the hallway to Roger’s room, which was still empty. Roger wouldn’t be back for a good 6 or 7 hours, leaving you plenty of time to process what Weston had said.

Roger was the universe’s punishment for your involvement in Weston’s creation. He had manifested the time portal, through some sort of quantum physics mumbo-jumbo you hadn’t even pretended to understand. He did it for his childhood friend, a redhead that went by the name of Abigail. She was beautiful, and all the boys chased after her, including Weston. But he had the upper hand as her best friend, and he squandered it away by pining after her silently until it was too late – Abigail was gone, victim to an IRA car bomb that detonated yards from where she was standing, outside of a pub. She was killed at the ripe age of 16, before he could even say goodbye.

“So you made a time machine to save a girl you were obsessed with,” you deadpanned in between crying sessions, Weston’s face twisting up in annoyance and agreement as he struggled to form a comeback.

“Well, when you put it that way…. I guess.”

He’d studied for years, running algorithm after algorithm, test after test, until a successful run in 1993 – he found himself thrust back into the 1970s, at the same exact time, in the same exact place. Roger and Freddie became background characters in his quest to fix what he saw as an error in the timeline, people who just happened to be there every time he came back to try and fix it again.

But that was the problem both of you had – you saw the tragedies as erroneous, but as traumatic as they were, they were not errors. It took Weston years to finally realize there was no way to fix it.

“I spent all of my time from 1993 to 2010 trying to figure out what I was doing wrong,” he’d quietly remarked, tugging on a string that was frayed off of the knee of his baggy jeans. “Turns out, it wasn’t my place to try and change history anyways. Abi wasn’t meant to be with me, as much as I wanted it to be true.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, not sure what to say. It was overwhelming, all of it, and an excessive amount of shame and pain washed over you as you realized that you were not the only one chasing something that wasn’t yours, that didn’t belong to you. A small part of you still wanted Roger, but the common sense in you knew it wasn’t in the cards.

Weston was silent as he stared at the floor just past his knees, chewing on the inside of his lip before he stood up and brushed his jeans off absentmindedly. “I spent 2010 and on trying to convince Dan that it wasn’t worth it. He caught me one time, coming out of the closet door. Wouldn’t leave until I explained, shit a brick when I did.”

“But you let him?” you countered, furrowing your eyebrows as you looked up at Weston.

“It’s hard to say no to someone who offers to pay double the rent for an apartment that only offers you pain because of a time portal you can’t get rid of. And I figured he’d get the message eventually. I never imagined….” He trailed off, looking down at you as he tried to find the words to say that wouldn’t offend you. It was clear that he found you incapable of dealing with the consequences, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he cleared his throat and shook his head. “I didn’t think he’d send anyone else.”

“I get it,” you muttered, standing up as well as tears once again threatened to spill out of your eyes. “I’ll just pack up my things.”

And now here you were, standing in the middle of Roger’s room, silently crying as you took one last look. It was a mess, clothes laying across the bed that wasn’t made, an ashtray with an abundance of cigarette butts near the window, and tons of crumpled papers with scrapped songs on them – but it was home to you. You approached the desk, picking one paper up that seemed to be an abandoned love song. Those weren’t typical of Roger, so you folded it up slowly and pushed it into your pocket, sniffling once before grabbing the pen and a discarded paper, writing out a note to your boyfriend. Could you call him a boyfriend now? It was all so confusing.

I did it. I love you forever. Please keep writing music, and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine – you just keep being the best drummer out there. Queen is going to do numbers, I promise. Gotta go now.

Placing the note on his bed, you walked back out of his room to where Weston was waiting, his arms crossed as he watched you wipe away the last of your tears.

“Ready to go?”

The apartment wasn’t like you remembered it. When you and Weston walked back through, it was an unfamiliar layout, complete with a mirror in front of the door that you nearly broke upon opening the door outward. But Weston shoved through, strolling into the bedroom as if it was his own. Which, you quickly realized, it was. Pictures of him with a strange redhead girl you recognized as Abigail were on the dresser, coupled with some stacks of papers with equations and diagrams that looked like another language to you.

“Wow. Guess you really did do it. Wonder where Dan is,” he remarked, mostly unfazed by the fact that it had returned to his own apartment. He looked around for a moment, then turned to you and nodded. “Uh, sorry about your boyfriend. I know what it’s like, so if you ever need anyone to, uh, talk to-“

“It’s okay,” you cut him off, a bit more sharply than you intended, but the rim of red around your eyes was enough to keep him from being offended. “I’m just going to go.”

He was quiet, just nodding in response and heading for the door so he could open it for you. “Okay. Hope everything works out.”

“Okay.” You took a deep breath, then hurried out of the door with your box of belongings. It felt heavy in your arms, heavier now that you had the weight of the world on your shoulders, but you managed to make your way down to the street, the church’s shadow looming over you like a death sentence as you hailed a cab that took you all the way to your mom’s house. It wasn’t home. Not anymore.

When you arrived at the small house on the other side of the city, you saw the driveway had your car in it, plus an unfamiliar junker that looked like it might fall apart if you shook it a little bit. Furrowing your eyebrows, you eyed the car suspiciously as you paid the cabbie with the pocket money you had left. It wasn’t yours, and it sure as hell wasn’t your father or mother’s, so whose was it?

Stepping out of the car, you shifted the box to your hip and stared up at the house. It seemed dirtier than you remembered, but maybe it was a year without seeing it that stained your eyesight, so you walked up to the door without another thought. Your feet dragged just a bit as you ascended the stairs, the reality of finally seeing your mom again after a whole year hitting you like a freight train. What if she was still an invalid? What if nothing had changed?

“Y/N?”

The front door swung open before you could even get to it, the familiar voice of your mom flooding your ears. But there was something off about it, a slowness to the way she spoke your name that made your ears ring as you looked up to find her standing in the doorway, leaned up against the frame.

Jesus, she was a mess. She looked at least 20 years older than she should have been, her collarbones jutting out of what used to be a healthy, toned body. In fact, all of her bones were sticking out, a sickly pallor discoloring her face and making her seem as if she was a ghost as she smiled lazily at you, her eyes a bit bleary and unfocused as she searched your face.

“Mum?” you asked unsurely, still standing at the top of the stairs as you stared at the woman who had taken care of you for the last 20-something years, a shell of what she’d been when you saw her literally hours ago, young and relatively unscathed.

“Can you go get me some Guinness? I’ll give you the cash.”

Staring blankly at her, you sat the box down on the porch and nodded slowly. She wasn’t drunk. This wasn’t the body of an alcoholic. This was something else you couldn’t put your finger on, something worse. Registering your nod slowly, she shut the door again and left you out on the porch, reeling from the interaction that had just taken place. Seconds later, she came back with a wad of cash, your phone, and your keys. Walking out to you, or rather, wobbling, she gave the handful to you with a shaking hand, then picked up your box and carried it inside without another word.

“What the fuck?” you whispered once she’d shut the door, still shocked from what had just happened. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?” you continued anxiously, slowly turning on your heels to walk out to your car that was waiting in the drive. What in the fuck had just happened?

Opening the car door, the familiar peony and cherry car freshener assaulted your nostrils as you dropped in, closing the door behind you and shakily unlocking your phone. It was still March, maybe 30 minutes after you’d went in to the portal, and yet, you felt like it had been forever since you’d been here. There weren’t any notifications, just the time and the date staring you back in the face from your iPhone.

Dan. He would know what’s going on. Opening your phone, you quickly pulled up his contact, calling him and pressing it to your ear as you listened to it ring, ring, ring. But he never answered, eliciting a string of curses out of you as you called him again, refusing to quit. And he finally answered on the third ring, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

“What d’you want?”

The words tumbled out of you before you could even think, pouring out of your mouth like a torrential waterfall of stupidity. You would regret it in a moment. “I did it, I went back and stopped William and Ted, and I thought mum would be alright, but now I’m here again in 2018 and I just-“

“Jesus, what are you on about? Did your mum let you shoot up with her, finally? She let you in on her stash of smack? Fuck, no wonder your dad took off, you’re both so cracked out. You both still owe me.”

“Wha- I-“ You were floored, so many truths attacking you at once you could barely comprehend the situation. “Smack? Owe you?”

“You’re high,” he accused, sounding even more annoyed than before, if that was possible at all. “And you owe me 700 fucking pounds. Remember that? Don’t fucking call back until you got it, you and your fucking thief of a mum. Fuck you.”

The line went dead. Stunned, you stared at your phone as it returned to the home screen, still devoid of notifications, and for some reason, you didn’t cry. You just breathed slowly, almost heavily, a hundred needles poking into your heart while you watched the screen go black after your inactivity. Smack? Your mom was a heroin addict? That explained the sluggishness, the harrowed appearance, but didn’t explain why? What had you done wrong? This wasn’t supposed to be how it happened. You were supposed to come back to a normal family, a normal life, not an addict mother and an uncle that despised you, plus a still-absent father.

No tears came, still. All that overtook you was a need, a desperate one at that. You needed his name to pop up on that phone, to call you and ask you if you were okay, because you weren’t, not anymore.

You needed Roger.

Roger. Roger, fuck, where is he? Scrambling to open up your phone, you opened Chrome and typed in his name faster than you’d ever typed in your life, hitting search even though you misspelled his last name in your haste, and feeling a flood of relief when you saw his Wikipedia page pull up. For a moment, you felt like at least something went right. But, as your luck would have it, you were wrong.

Roger Meddows Taylor was an English musician, singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist, best known as the drummer for the rock band Queen.

Was?

Clicking on the Wikipedia link, you waited a few seconds for the page to load before you were met with a picture of Roger, one that was slightly unfamiliar due to the shorter length of his hair. He looked middle-aged in the photo, the caption indicating it was taken around the mid-90’s, but you didn’t pay attention to it for too long before the death date caught your eye.

August 3, 2000

“No, no, no, no,” you whined, a tear immediately springing forth out of your eye as you scrolled down to the Personal Life section of his Wikipedia. What awaited you there was crushing, and you continually swept tears out of your eyes as you read it, so distraught you couldn’t even make a sound.

Following the 1997 release of No-One but You (Only the Good Die Young) and Deacon’s departure from Queen, Taylor unexpectedly committed himself to an unnamed institute, allegedly in the countryside near London unexpectedly. Remaining Queen member Brian May, speaking about the situation on a talk show later in 2000, cited ‘personal issues related to grieving,’ mentioning Freddie by name. He also briefly mentioned an old girlfriend from the early days of Queen, although this story is unconfirmed and no evidence of this relationship was brought forth upon public doubt. Taylor passed in 2000, leaving behind five children with two ex-wives.

“Oh, fuck me,” you sobbed as the tears finally began to fall in full force, your phone dropping to your lap as you pressed your hands to your face. Roger was dead. Your mom was just as fucked. Dan wanted nothing to do with you. Your dad? Might as well not exist. Everything was somehow worse than before.

Forgetting completely about the Guinness, you curled up in your car and sobbed for a good hour, the sky darkening to the point where you could barely see your hands in front of your face when you finally pulled yourself together, sniffling and wiping your nose on the back of your hand. Locating your phone, you grabbed it and shoved it into your pocket, neglecting to grab the keys out of the ignition before you wobbled back inside, overwhelmed with grief for both of the lives you had lost – one here, and one with Roger.

When the door on the porch opened again and you saw the outline of your mom lit by a single dim hallway light, you cursed yourself silently for completely forgetting what she’d sent you to do.

“Did you get it? Took you long enough.”

Her selfish, stinging words hit you like a slap to the face as you fully stopped in your ascension of the stairs. In her hand, she held the dress from Biba, the one Roger had bought you. “Give me my dress,” you immediately demanded, hopping the rest of the steps in one leap and coming to stand in front of her. She stared at you like an alien, eyes still bleary, probably from shooting up while you were busy mourning all of your mistakes in the car. This was not her fault, but as you stared at her offended expression that was chastising you for what you did, you couldn’t help but feel like it was.

“Where’s the fucking beer?”

“Fuck you!” you spat, snatching the dress from her hands and taking off for your car again as she yelled after you, berating you for being ungrateful and a thief and every nasty name under the moon. But you ignored her, climbing back into your car and starting it before ripping out of the driveway and peeling off down the street. Fuck her.

The dress laid in a pretty pink heap on the passenger seat, tossed over there hastily and taunting you as you drove aimlessly through the London night, not sure where to go. You didn’t even know where your dad was, so that was out of the question. And you were as good as dead to Dan. Maybe your friends? But how would you explain that? Hey, so I went back to 1971 to save my mom, but then I came back and she’s just a fucking druggie now, and my boyfriend from the 70’s is dead, and my uncle hates me, so can I crash on your couch? No. You were officially homeless.

So you went back to Weston’s. Parking on the street outside the building, you stared up at that church, the same one that had been so lofty and imposing in the 70’s now seeming small and pathetic as you examined the cracked brick, the crumbling stairs leading up to it surely being a safety violation. Your hand found the dress blindly, resting on the soft, velvety fabric and giving it a small pet. God, how desperately you could use a hug from Roger right now.

You weren’t sure was propelled you up to Weston’s door, or how you even made it up there, but a few minutes later, you were knocking on his door rapidly, your free hand clutching onto the dress desperately. When he opened the door, he didn’t even look remotely surprised to see you, though his words were polite enough.

“Hey. Back so soon?”

You groaned softly at the greeting, not sure whether to smack him or run away or both, but you shook your head and pressed your palm to your forehead. “I have to undo it. Everything. You were….. you were right.”

“Could have listened to me half a year ago, but okay,” he sighed, opening the door fully and letting you in. You beelined for the bedroom, not even stopping for a moment to explain the situation to him. It had to be done. You had to erase this reality, to start over. Your mom was too important. Roger was too important. Everything was too different. You should have listened.

And so, in you went again, plunging in to the darkness of the closet with only a few pounds and a dress on you, plus an all-too-familiar idea of what came next. As you opened the door to the 70’s décor in the hallway of the building you’d come to adore over the past year, you sighed.

Here we go again.

PT. 1 PT. 2 PT. 3 PT. 4 PT. 5 PT. 6 PT. 7 PT. 8 PT. 9 PT. 10 PT. 10.5 PT. 11

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