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your-nanas-house · 7 months

Note

Soooo I was thinking Cillian X Fan! reader. He takes advantage of the fact that reader admires him sm and uses her for his pleasure…

I'm so so sorry, it took me so long but I was really really smitten with this idea! 🙇🏼‍♀️

Out with the dog

◇ Pairing: Dark!Cillian Murphy X younger fan!Reader

◇ Warnings: SMUT, Cilly is a perv and bit dark, DUBCON, manipulation, bit mean Cilly (?), oblivious fem reader, fluff, frustration and stress.

◇ Summary: Cillian has company during his daily walk with his dog, Scout.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. I didn't proof read it... I mean I don't re-read my works normally but I just wanted to point it out this time in case I wrote some shit. Enjoy!!! Also thank you @kiss-me-cill-me for your advices and motivation! 🫶🏻

It wasn't at all what he was expecting when he left the house just to take the family dog for a walk.

The twisted thoughts and stress that had been troubling him all day had become even more insistent with the cool Dublin air and the fall of evening. His mind was really elsewhere when a soft and shy voice interrupted his trail of thoughts, making him realize that he was standing in the same spot, staring at nothing, since a while now.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to bother you but... I'm a huge fan of your work and—" the voice cracked softly, the younger girl that was standing in front of him looked quite nervous and shy which made him smile slightly.

"I-I-I... sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted you" she quickly apologized, her body telling him that she was going to just walk quickly off... too ashamed of the interaction to actually look him in the eyes again.

"Don't worry..." Cillian started, waiting for her name as he removed his sunglasses, flattering his eyes softly when the dim light hit him. She was very pretty and at least 10 years younger than him for sure, he thought while taking her in.

"Y/n!... Y/n" the young woman revealed nervously, her hands shaking awkwardly, a thing that Cillian noticed immediately and that made him smile a little as soon as she tried to hide it by grabbing into her bag... both hands holding the strap making his breath get bit heavier.

He sure was stressed and frustrated, he thought as his eyes remained on her smaller hands as they moved slightly while she talked... up and down, up and down.

Gosh, he really would have loved to have them wrapped around his cock like that, he was certain that those tiny pretty hands weren't that innocent for sure.

"Beautiful name" he commented with a tiny smile in an attempt to distract himself by his pervy intrusive thoughts. He really didn't need to deal with an article of some random magazine commenting on him walking around Dublin with a noticeable hard-on after talking with a younger woman.

She sure was a pretty thing though, from her hair to her eyes down to her breasts and— he needed to keep hold on himself. What gotten into him? He never objectified a woman like that... it wasn't like him.

He needed to keep going with his walk, clear his mind, regain back the control he usually had and—

"I was actually hoping for a bit of company... would you like to walk with me?... and my dog" the proposal slipped out of the older man unconsciously, as his gaze darkened slowly, his body reacting almost animalisticly... like a hungry predator ready to eat his prey.

Fuck, he cursed in his head, looking away as he waited for a reply from her... a poor way to distract himself from her innocent presence. Poor because the wind was apparently against him as well that evening... blowing her sweet scent towards him so that his nostrils could take her even more in.

The Irishman really hoped silently for her rejection peppered with some tender excuse that could have been true or could have been false... he didn't care much.

But of course, things hadn't been going the way he'd hoped all day so why be surprised when he got a shy yes instead of an embarrassed no.

He couldn't complain though, after the stressful week he had... bit of female company could have been the cure, maybe he was able to do some kind of conversation and focus his mind elsewhere and not on her body... but rather on her brain.

...

The soft breeze started to hit them harder, the walk was going well and the small talk was pretty enjoyable, they talked about lots... changing from deep to light, from silly to serious, from sad to happy.

Cillian was really enjoying her presence, her mature thoughts and her friendly personality. His stress and tension could have flown away if it was for her.... moving lips.

Soft looking, pinkish due to the lipstick she had on and very kissable... the actor could clearly imagine them wrapped around his cock. Wetting it all with her warm mouth as her lips would have painted his bases of that pink— pink, he repeated in his head as his Adam's apple bobbed. He needed to change topic quickly and stop focusing on her goddamn lips.

"What do you think of Barbenheimer?" The Irishman asked, slapping himself mentally for the question.

Just keep walking, Cillian, focus on walking... don't look at her... and her pretty blouse that was getting opened by the wind, exposing bit more of her neckline as it moved the fabric of her shirt as well. Damn wind.

He had reached a point where he couldn't even focus on her speaking, the feeling of being on the edge was getting harder as time passed... he was sure that a little push would have made him completely loose his rational thoughts. And then that's when Scout, his dog, decided to just sprint to reach something... making him loose the lazy grip he had on the leash and make the young woman run after him.

Cillian went quickly after them, his mind trying to stay in focus as he saw her skirt rise up at every bounce she did to snatch the leash for him before anything bad could happen. He was quite sure now that she was hiding a pretty revealing underwear under that modest outfit she was wearing.

"There you go, good boy" her soft voice praised as she kneeled down to pet the dog and take the leash, too busy snuggling with him to notice Cillian's gaze on her bouncing breasts.

She wasn't wearing a bra, he cursed under his breath again, his body too warm because of the jogging, his heart drumming harder against his chest as he tried to calm down and focusing on his breathing... and not her heavy.. panting and sexy one.

When the young woman stood back up and brushed her smaller hand against his to give him the leash... Cillian's self-control reached the end

"Thank you" he murmured in a more low tone as his body started to react at his impulses.

By the way her eyes kept shining as she looked at him, he knew that with a bit of pressure he could have made her do whatever he wanted... but was it really what he wanted? He pondered as his feet made him change the route he normally took when out with Scout, leading the oblivious young woman in a dark alley.

"I agree, things are pretty different nowadays" the older actor commented as he mentioned the conversation they were having, his heart beating even faster as he thought quickly of a plan.

Was he really going to take advantage of that kind fan of him? Was he really that desperate and frustrated?

Questions kept filling his head as his eyes remained on the wet street, lost in thoughts

"Do you do this path every day?" Y/n's voice interrupted the silence, making his baby blue eyes look back at her.

Yes, he was.

"Mhhm.. but I take usually the parallel street" he informed her while looking around to be sure that they were alone. The oblivious and curious look on her pretty face was making him harder than ever, making the uncomfortable feeling become a painful one now.

As soon as the Irishman was sure that there was Noone around he let go casually of the leash, whistling to order something to Scout who... after giving a look at his master headed in a run towards the beginning of the alley, sitting there as a guard. Watching around to warn Cillian if someone would have approached.

A glance at his black dog and he acted, not letting Y/n even questioning him before pressed his plumpy lips against hers as the dark swallowed them more now that her body was pressed against the cold and humid wall.

His big hands moved eargerly to her face and neck to keep her tilted like he wanted so to facilitate the kiss he was stealing.

Her neck was soft and tempting, he could easily leave a mark if he wanted but he didn't had so much time.. so he had to take things faster than he hoped.

As the kiss broke he inhaled deeply, letting his nose brush against hers as his thumbs caressed her skin... he didn't dare to open his eyes and meet her probably wide eyes and swollen lips... his cock was already throbbing and if he did that small action he was sure that the seed he was hoping to shoot in her would have just soiled his trousers.

"Damn, darling" Cillian cursed softly, licking his lips before diving down to kiss her neck while pressing his body against hers in an attempt of finding some friction and swallow her in his lust.. caging her body against the bricks even more.

"Do you want to help me, dear?" he asked softly, stroking her neck slowly as his piercing eyes now watched her carefully, noticing the glimpse of insecurity that was in her wide beautiful eyes

"Bet you want to, hm? Or I could just go to another fan of mine. Bet they would die to have a chance like this, darling... acting less ungrateful than you" he softly threatened in his low voice. His irish accent echoing in her head as he manipulated her young mind.

Of course she wanted to help him, he was her idol and favourite actor of all times... she couldn't really risk it and watch his disappointment towards her. She didn't wanted to be faced by his oh-so famous judgy face.

But the embarrassment and hesitance were there as well... she had a dignity and couldn't just allow him to use her like that, right?

Of course, it was something she dreamed about but was she really ready for that? She didn't even try casual sex in her lige yet. But she sure didn't want him to go to another fangirl and his intense gaze was like a poker face to her... so she was stuck on not knowing whatever he was telling the truth or not.

"I don't have the whole day, darling" Cillian's low voice commented as his gaze shifted towards the spot where his dog was still sitting.

Y/n glances at him again, gulping while trying to silence the battles in her head. She really didn't know what to do, what if it wasn't like he expected or if it would turn out to be a mistake.

"Ok!... Y-Yes, I-I want to help you, Mr. Murphy" Y/n stammered out when the actor started to move away from her.

Her heart beated hard against her chest, making her breath get caught in her throat as her hands started to sweat when he hummed and undoed his pants, pulling out his hard cock without hesitation or patience.

"That's a good girl, get on your knees" his low voice ordered before he moved slowly his tip against her lips, painting them with his pre-cum as he thrusted slightly forward to let them wrap around his red tip.

"That's it... suck" Cillian's voice ordered, allowing to be teased a bit before snapping his hips forward, making her hit her head against the wall and gag around his lenght. "Fuck, love" he cursed with a growl, letting her adjust to him before starting to fuck her mouth till he nearly reached his edge.

The actor's first intention was to just burry his cock deep in her throat and cum there but as his icy eyes wandered down to her kneeled form... and stopped on her clinging thighs the need to feel her young cunt around him became a must.

With a slow motion he moved away from her, letting her breath properly as she dried her spit while catching her breath. Tears already adorning her cheeks... she really was beautiful, the man repeated to himself as a mocking coo left him.

His big hands strokes the soft flesh of her cheeks as he made her get up so that he could smash his lips back against hers, forcing a hungry, toothy kiss that luckily slowed down when she reciprocated it.

Her bare leg was hooked up at his narrow hip, allowing his cock to brush her clothed folds with his help.

He was right... she really was wearing some thing revealing panties, arousing and innocent enough to make him just want to fuck her with them on. His thick finger made its way towards her entrance, curling around the fabric to move it with ease so that it was now half-hugging his lenght... allowing her folds to wet his cock while the panties squeezed it as he thrusted.

His leaking tip kept smearing his pre-cum on her spot skin and onto the fabric of her skirt each time it touched it. The hardness of it managed to gift some attention to her clit as well while his thrusts sped up.

Cillian could feel her juices dripping from his cock down to his balls and the underwear squeeze harder around him now that he was moving them in a difference pace.

It didn't took him much to reach his own peak, his body was quickly shaking and limp against her as his warm cum decorated her clothes. He was too desperate to care or to stop himself so that he could have used her pussy to pleasure him a bit more... not that he complained. He was fully satisfied, sweat was running down his forehead as he breathed heavily against her shoulder as he slowly got down his peak, his thrusts slowing down till he was too overstimulated to receive any further touch.

"Darling... can I keep your panties?... So that I can wash them and give them back to you clean, of course" Cillian casually asked, fixing her hair in a tender manner while brushing slowly his thumb on her swollen lips, watching her panting.

Guess the destiny decided for us... we will meet soon again, darling. Just to give you back your undergarments, of course, he thoughts as he tucked himself back and fixed his clothes, ready to continue the little walk they were having previously.

#cillian fanfic #cillian fic #cillian x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy #cillian x y/n #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fluff

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dduane · 5 months

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Hello! Do you think your conception of magic in YW is influenced at all by computer code? Between High Wizardry and some of the website admin stuff you discuss here, I'm guessing you've coded at least a little.

I'm an actor-turned-librarian who's cobbled together a little bit of coding competency through goofing off. The other day I tried to explain how I conceptualize a coding project and, well, first you need to figure out something's name -- and make sure you're properly specific for the context, you may need a lot of detail in how you name it -- and then you can start figuring out how to persuade it to do what you want ....

So I guess it's sort of a chicken-and-egg question: have I conceptualized coding in the image of my favorite fictional magic systems, or have I been generally drawn to magic systems with a sort of code-y, process-y inspiration?

I wouldn't like to second-guess your in-brain structure. But I can talk about my historical processes a bit, as they may apply to this.

Let me step back slightly. Before* I was a writer, I was a nurse. Before I was a nurse, I was studying to be an astrophysicist. Both of these arts/sciences require a certain sense of the hard structure of the universe—of the ways it requires you to put bits of it together if you're going to get anything useful done. This general outlook has determined, to a certain extent, how I interact with the nuts and bolts of the online world.

More historically speaking: I'm one of an unusual stratum of computer users who were technologically orphaned by the (bankruptcy) failure of the Osborne computer company in the mid-1980s. Those of us who had these machines, and who were at all techie-oriented, quickly became WAY more so in an attempt to keep our Osbornes running after the company went under. We learned how to keep our babies going without any available support, and when we moved on to other machines, we quickly became expert in fixing them... having learned the bitter lesson that when your computer fails, most of the time you're the only one you're going to be able to rely on to keep it going.

We learned to do things for ourselves, from the bottom up: hardware to programming. That mindset has remained with me from then until now.

After my Osborne, I moved from an early Apple (lent by our old friend Michael Reaves) to various early DOS/TRS machines when I moved over to this side of the Atlantic. I wrote Star Trek: The Kobayashi Alternative on a TRS-80 Model 100, gods bless its gentle hardworking heart. (I can still see in my mind the pale, pine-panelled interior of the ancient creaky London hotel, just south of Notting Hill Gate Tube, where I did most of the Trek work while I was in town on other business. I'd hooked the computer's modem to the hotel's phone system with alligator clips.) While Peter and I were later sorting out where we'd live on this side of things, for a long time—before portable computers, except for the TRS—the big machines lived in the boot of the Volvo while we migrated from place to place. And always the alligator clips were there.

Finally we settled in Ireland, and not too long after us, so did the Internet. (But not before I had to go up to Dublin one time, with the alligator clips again FFS!, and show the adorably clueless national telephone company guys how to hook up/in. ...I never pass that building without thinking of it: once Telecom Eireann, then Eircom, then Eir. Now it's a Starbucks. No matter. I remember where to hook the alligator clips in.)

And then, with the internet, lo, there came the (net-oriented) coding. Our first household web site went online in 1995. I handcoded our site's HTML. (Because what's a girl to do: wait for the techbois to make such work accessible or affordable? Bwahahahaha.) I continued to do that until the early 2000s, at which point I moved our sites to Drupal and learned its obscure ways. These days—having decided that Updating Damn Drupal Core Every Week is not what my mom raised me for—I've migrated all our household sites to WordPress, and I like it. I still pay a lot of attention to them, but at least I don't have to custom-code every whole damn page. I'm happy enough to let Elementor do that, while inserting occasional custom CSS, because (a) I have other writing to do, and (b) Life Is Too Short.

(I also used to hand-build our household computers, because (a) money was short and (b) why not know exactly what all your hardware is? But more recently I've started letting Scan in the UK do that. It's another Life Is Too Short thing... and Scan does good work. Lovely tight builds, and good customer service when needed.)

So: yeah, I code. :) Is the Young Wizards universe’s spell structure influenced by that? Uh, yeah. Inevitable, I’d think. Habit is such a taskmaster.

Meanwhile, summing up: I'm fluent in HTML. I'm nearly as fluent in CSS. I have enough PHP to be dangerous (to myself as well as others). I have memories of C that I can dredge up when necessary. I generated most of the Rihannsu language in MS-BASIC, gods bless it. ...And beyond that (as we say around here), deponent saith not. :)

*Or “while”, as I started writing when I was six or seven.

#coding #writing #Young Wizards #Young Wizards meta

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darkshelbyfiction · 11 months

Text

The Nanny Diaries (Part One)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Innocent Reader

Warning: Dark Cillian has an innocence kink...Smut...Infidelity...Dub Con

It had been three months since you started working for Cillian and Lorna Murphy, looking after their two young children Sienna and Mitch.

You had recently turned eighteen and left your small town in America, eager to see the world beyond your front door so, moving to Dublin, was the perfect opportunity for you.

Through a family friend, who was an actor as well, you were given the chance to work as an Au Pair for the famous Irish actor who, with his wife and children, lived in a beautiful country estate just outside Dublin city, surrounded by vast gardens filled with flowers and trees.

Their home was like a sanctuary where nature merged seamlessly into luxury - wooden floors, high ceilings adorned with original works of art and large bay windows which looked out onto acres of greenery.

Their children were absolutely adorable.

Little Sienna was full of energy, running all over the place, whilst little Mitch would be curled up watching cartoons quietly. At first, it seemed strange, but gradually you found yourself enjoying every moment spent playing games, reading bedtime stories and preparing meals for them.

The only person whose company made you feel slightly nervous, however, was Cillian himself. You felt a strange and somewhat forbidden attraction towards this 45 year old man, something no one could quite understand considering how close he was to your father’s age.

However, being strictly catholic and engaged to young man back home, you brushed this off as simply being star struck and though Cillian wasn't exactly flirtatious, there was something undeniably captivating about him.

Cillian soon noticed the way you looked at him, the subtle flush of excitement that crossed your face when he walked into the room, and despite his own marriage status, he began making excuses to get closer to you. His constant praise made you blush, while the lingering glances gave you butterflies in your stomach.

One evening after Lorna had gone to bed, Cillian invited you to listen to some music with him in the dimly lit living room.

There was a comforting familiarity in the scent of leather, polished wood and roaring embers in the fireplace as you sat down beside him on the plump sofa. For some reason, your heart skipped a beat as you sank deeper into the soft upholstery and Cillian silently handed you a glass of wine and smiled.

"You did well today. Thanks for looking after them so diligently," Cillian acknowledged just as you traced the contours of his strong jaw line with your eyes.

"They are good kids. Despite, looking after them, is my job," you stammered in response. You couldn't help feeling nervous around this man, even more now since it was just the two of you.

"Still, it's nice not having to worry. So, thank you," Cillian said while leaning back into the couch, crossing one leg over another. "It can be quite draining sometimes looking after them."

"It can be," you smiled while your cheeks reddened as you tried not to stare at him openly. For a moment silence enveloped the space before you continued speaking softly, barely audible enough for him to hear properly.

"So you like Portishead, huh?" you asked, changing the topic to music as their album "Glorybox" was playing in the background. His face shifted to curiosity briefly, then turned serious again as he reached out slowly to brush his hand over your knee.

"I do. How about you? he asked, turning his head towards you. "Do you like their music?" he then asked and you felt a mix of fear and excitement surging through your body upon the sudden contact - your heart raced faster, and a warmth seemed to rise up inside you as his fingers caressed gently along your thigh. Trying hard to maintain composure, you responded casually yet uneasily.

"I do," you managed to utter softly as his fingers traced higher along your inner thigh. As his hand lingered there uninvited, your breath quickened involuntarily – a mixture of panic and arousal coursing through your veins. It wasn't right, what he was doing, but still, deep within you, a primal urge took hold.

"How is your boyfriend? Are things good between you?" Cillian prodded, leaning closer as he spoke. You could feel his breath tickling your ear as he whispered these words, sending chills down your spine despite yourself. Your hands trembled lightly, unsure whether to push him away or surrender to his advances, caught somewhere between terror and thrilling anticipation.

"He...uhm...yes... he is good," you stammered as his fingers dipped deeper beneath your skirt, brushing against your underwear teasingly, causing a wave of heat to ripple throughout your core.

Aware of the danger you were in, a part of you wanted to resist, while another desperately desired to succumb to his touch, craving the sensuality he offered with such intensity.

"Do you miss him?" Cillian asked quietly, almost tenderly while his fingers ran circles over your moistening panties.

Unable to think clearly due to the intensity of his advances, you struggled to find your voice. Involuntarily, your mouth hung open, dazed by the sensations that flowed through your body.

"I do miss him, yes," you finally murmured, unable to meet his eyes, as you fought to quell the desire rising up inside you. This was wrong, terribly wrong, but why did it feel so right?

"Do you miss him touching you like this?" Cillian asked huskily as, finally, he pushed aside the wet fabric of your knickers, allowing his finger to slide tantalisingly over your wet slit.

"He never..." you mumbled hesitantly, trying to regain control of both your mind and body, struggling to ignore the growing sense of guilt mixed with exhilaration that consumed you.

"He never what?" Cillian challenged, his tone darkening as his finger continued to explore the sensitive folds between your legs. One of his fingers began to push its way inside you, penetrating your tight entrance gently yet firmly, eliciting gasps and whimpers from you as pleasure ricocheted through your body.

"He never touched me down there before," you admitted reluctantly, knowing it wouldn't matter anyway because you knew deep down that this went far beyond mere physical exploration.

"Really?" Cillian queried with disbelief, pulling his fingers free from your quivering passage before pushing it in again, harder this time, his thumb pressing rhythmically against your clitoris. You let out a strangled cry, lost in the throes of ecstasy as your entire body writhed in pleasure.

"Have you ever touched yourself like this?" Cillian questioned deeply, his tone laced with raw passion, drawing a sharp intake of air from you. You didn't answer immediately, too absorbed in the exquisite sensations consuming your body. But eventually, the truth emerged haltingly from your lips.

"No. It's not allowed," you confessed seeing that you were strictly catholic, ashamed of admitting the fact aloud, wishing to sink into the floor beneath you.

"Do you want me to stop?" Cillian asked softly, lifting his hand away from your drenched crotch to rest it once more on the armrest of the couch. Your mind reeled as the erotic spell broke, leaving you feeling bewildered and confused.

Despite the intensity of the encounter, you shook your head defiantly, determined not to allow yourself to be further enticed.

"Alright. Can you take off your panties for me then?" Cillian commanded authoritatively, breaking the momentary awkwardness. His eyes bore into yours, demanding obedience. Reluctantly, you nodded, sliding your skirt lower until your knickers slipped off easily, exposing your naked thighs and pussy. The bold act sent shockwaves through your system, filling you with a potent cocktail of shame and arousal. Cillian observed you hungrily, appreciating the sight of your supple curves and smooth skin.

With determination in his eyes, he reached for your exposed thighs, rubbing his palms alluringly up and down them until his fingers found your wet labia. Gently cupping your sex, he teased you playfully, watching closely as your breath caught in your throat and your pupils widened with desire.

His erection strained against his jeans, making your nipples perk up in response.

He then inserted not one but two of his thick digits into your dripping core gently, feeling the resistance of your virginity as he thrust them in and out as small streak of blood trickled onto his fingers.

There was some discomfort in your expression, partly due to the pain caused by your first sexual experience but also fueled by anxiety and confusion regarding the situation.

Inside you, your mind wavered between feelings of remorse and yearning satisfaction as his powerful hands controlled your movements, taking command of your pleasure.

As he moved inside you, his touch became firmer, his pace picking up speed, creating a sensation unlike anything you had ever known before. Your whole body ached, your muscles twitching with the force of the waves crashing through you.

"You are incredibly tight," Cillian remarked approvingly, withdrawing his fingers momentarily only to plunge them back in again with greater fervor. His rough hands expertly navigated your insides, working you mercilessly, ignoring the protest of your uninitiated flesh. Each penetration drove a fresh wave of pleasure through your body, your nerves firing rapidly, setting every inch of your skin ablaze until, suddenly, you couldn't hold back any longer.

With a loud moan escaping your lips, you eventually came undone and Cillian covered your mouth with the palm of his free hand as your body began convulsing violently in orgasm.

"Sssh, we don't want to wake up Lorna," he chuckled quietly as your vision swam as your world turned upside down, your entire focus narrowed down to the sensations washing over you. Aftershocks radiated through your limbs, causing tiny tremors to run up and down your body as if electric currents surged through your very soul.

Breathless and flushed, you collapsed back into the embrace of the couch, exhausted and invigorated simultaneously as Cillian carefully withdrew his fingers from inside your body.

Wetness and a tiny amount of blood tickled down onto the leather fabric on which you were sitting as your heart hammered wildly in your chest.

Cillian smiled devilishly at you, amused by how quickly he had brought you to climax, and you felt both grateful and somewhat shocked.

Your stomach squirmed with a strange mix of emotions: gratitude, humiliation, and embarrassment battled furiously amongst themselves. Your cheeks reddened with a combination of both physical stimulation and shame.

"I shouldn't have done that," you muttered, attempting to make sense of your own behaviour. You had committed a sin against God and your morals, and now, here you were - wanting more of it.

The thought scared you, but something stirred deep within you, telling you it would be foolish to dismiss it entirely. There was a power to this darkness that held an addictive quality, like the forbidden fruit you had just sampled.

"You seemed to have enjoyed it though," Cillian smirked. His statement carried undertones that left no doubt as to what he meant just as you both were startled by Lorna who came walking down the stairs to fetch herself a drink from the fridge.

Quickly, you adjusted your skirt to cover your slightly bruised and still wet entrance before hastily grabbing your discarded knickers. Cillian, without missing a beat, made himself appear nonchalant, leaning casually against the armrest beside you.

Lorna looked curiously at the both of you, remarking "It seems quite late. You should come to bed Cillian", unaware of the recent events transpiring.

"I will be up in just a minute love". Cillian lied, hoping to prolong the interaction with you for just a little bit longer but, unfortunately for him, you decided to head to your room instead, claiming tiredness.

After you closed the door behind you, the tension dissolved slightly and Cillian sighed audibly, running his hand through his messy locks, visibly conflicted, pondering on about what happened.

Even as he prepared for sleep later that evening, right next to his wife, he couldn't help but dwell upon the enchanting image of you submitting to his touch, succumbing under his influence. Something about your innocence intrigued him even more than other women had. Perhaps it was the challenge you presented—the thrill of dominance over someone who belonged to another man.

Or maybe it was the sweet, lingering aftertaste of guilt you left on his tongue whenever he took liberties with your pure body. Whatever the reason, he simply could not resist pursuing you further despite the danger it posed to his marriage.

Meanwhile, you too, were laying in bed, thinking about what had transpired.

Your mind raced through memories of your earlier interactions with Cillian – his confidence, his touch, his mannerisms. There was that secret part of you that craved more contact, regardless of where it might lead. This newfound curiosity frightened you almost as much as it excited you.

You wondered what it would be like to touch him the way he had touched you, whether his experienced body would respond to you as you did to him. For so long, the idea of intimacy had been taboo for you, yet somehow, those strict boundaries seemed to shift when it came to Cillian.

Your core ached from the intrusion, and your cheeks burned with indignation, but there was a spark of excitement that lit up deep within you as well.

You wanted him to do this again and you knew that this was wrong and so did he.

#cillian murphy #cilliean murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fic

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bellaxgiornata · 1 year

Text

Whatever You Want

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: You've been having a difficult year adjusting to your life in Dublin, struggling with a few things that you've kept hidden from Michael so as not to burden him further. Though when he comes home unexpectedly early from a family meeting, you realize he's been reading you better than you'd thought.

Warnings/Tags: light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, soft Michael

a/n: Just a short little comfort fic to wrap up my Comfort Fic Week! Always love me a soft Mikey. Feedback is always appreciated!

Grabbing one of Michael’s shirts from the laundry basket on the bed next to you, you proceeded to fold it, your eyes staring absently out of the bedroom window beside the bed. The sky was overcast today, gray clouds hanging low despite the fact that it wasn’t supposed to rain this morning. Somehow it seemed like the weather was reflecting your mood–or maybe amplifying it.

Hands moving of their own accord, you neatly stacked the now folded shirt on top of the pile of Michael’s other shirts before reaching into the laundry basket and removing another one to fold. Your hands continued to move mechanically as you worked, folding clothing item after clothing item as you removed each one from the basket.

Inevitably your mind began to wander.

Michael had already been gone by the time you'd awoken this morning. He had yet another family meeting to attend early today despite the fact that it was now Sunday. He'd been busy this entire past week taking care of a 'problem' with the family's supplier before spending the rest of the week cleaning up some issues on the business end of things. You’d barely seen him for days now, which wasn’t the usual between the two of you. And although he’d been excited to see you the handful of times you’d both run into each other at home this week, you had been distant.

Admittedly you’d been struggling for this entire past year that you’d officially been living in Dublin. Struggling under the weight of your own family issues that you often kept from Michael–because he already had enough problems to deal with when it came to his family. You’d also been struggling under the pressures of things at work, forced into playing the mediator between the two owners of your company who fought with each other like actual children on a near daily basis. It had been wearing on you for months now, but you yet again never revealed any of this to Michael. He was busy enough as it was, and even though he was nothing but loving and attentive to you when he was home, you knew he had enough on his mind to worry about. So you always greeted him with a smile when you two were together, choosing to shove everything down, down, down until you couldn’t feel it for a bit.

But truthfully? You felt like you were drowning. You missed your family now that you were living abroad in Ireland so you could be with Michael; a feat accomplished with the help of his family–the one good thing they had managed to accomplish for you both when they had fast tracked your visa. But all the health complications back home had you missing your family even more. And you had quickly begun to hate your job with a passion ever since the owners had begun to bicker and fight, leaving you to solve the company's problems. And the office work you were doing wasn't even remotely your dream job, but you knew it wasn't realistic for you to quit just to pursue a dream.

The sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs met your ears, causing your hands to momentarily pause their movements, the shirt partially folded in between them. You could hear the sound of Michael downstairs, opening the closet door and putting away his jacket and shoes. Brows furrowing together, you wondered why he was home so soon.

“Where ya at, love?”

Michael’s voice rang out through the house, the sound of it drowning out the noise in your head–for now. Stacking another shirt of his onto the pile, you turned over your shoulder and called back to him.

“Upstairs, Mikey. Just doing the laundry.”

You grabbed another pair of jeans from the basket, hearing the heavy and tired footfalls of Michael as he made his way up the stairs. As you sorted the pair of pants in your hands with the others, leaning across the bed to reach the pile, you heard Michael making his way across the bedroom before you felt him come up behind you. His arms were soon wrapping around your waist, his nose brushing back and forth against the side of your neck as he let out a pleased hum.

“Missed ya, pet,” he murmured.

Straightening back up, your hands landed on his forearms, giving them a gentle squeeze before you unwrapped them from around you. You felt the way Michael stiffened against the back of you, his face soon drawing away from your neck. Glancing over your shoulder at him, you sent him a brief, tense smile. He took a step back, his eyes narrowing as he studied you.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you back this morning,” you said, turning back towards the bed and reaching a hand into the basket, pulling out another piece of clothing to fold. “The meeting go alright?”

“Yeah, it was grand,” Michael answered distractedly. “Ya alright, love?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed out. “Just trying to catch up on laundry. Figured you’d be gone most of the day. Knew you were low on fresh clothes with how busy you’ve been this week. Thought I’d take care of it for you today.”

“Pet, ya know I could’ve done the laundry myself later today,” he told you.

You neatly stacked yet another one of his shirts onto the pile beside you, nodding as you reached your hand into the basket. You drew out the last piece of clothing, about to fold it, but Michael pulled the pair of pants from your hands.

“Hey, stop,” he said softly, catching your eye. “Is somethin’ wrong? Ya haven’t been acting like yourself all week.”

You bit back the urge to point out that he hadn’t actually seen you much this past week. Instead, you sent him another tense smile.

“I’m fine, Mikey,” you said, gesturing to the pants in his hands. “Now can I finish the laundry? I’ve got other things to take care of today.”

Michael drew the pants out of your reach, his dark brows knitting together. His lips thinned along his face as concern washed over his features.

“What other things have ya got to take care of?” he asked.

You sighed in irritation, crossing your arms over your chest in annoyance with how he was slowing down your list of chores and errands for the day. Michael certainly helped out with many things around the house, but usually when the Kinsellas came to him to solve a plethora of problems for them, you were left to pick up the slack. Which is exactly what had happened this week on top of everything else you’d been silently dealing with.

“The house needs to be cleaned, Mikey,” you pointed out. “And the kitchen is an absolute disaster. I haven’t even managed to finish working my way through all of the dishes from the other night when Jimmy and Viking decided to eat every last damned thing in the house. Which also means I need to pick up groceries from the market still, and I haven’t even had a chance to sit down to make the list. Not to mention, I still have another two loads of laundry to take care of, so can you please just let me finish?”

A frown pulled the corners of Michael’s lips down, his hazel eyes softening as they held yours. A second later he expelled a rough breath, his shoulders dropping at the movement. When he tossed the unfolded pair of pants onto the bed, your eyes widened in shock. Your mouth opened, ready to chastise him for being so uncharacteristically callous, but he’d so tenderly grabbed your hands and drew you towards himself that the gesture quickly left you stunned and speechless. All you could do was stare in confusion at him as he drew you into himself.

“Forget ‘bout all o' that today,” he told you. “I’ll handle it tomorrow. All of it, I promise.”

“But don’t you have things you need to do?” you asked.

Michael wrapped his arms around your shoulders, one of his hands gently guiding your head to rest against his chest. Reluctantly you allowed it, though you were tense in his embrace, your body unable to relax. You really needed to get these things done because you didn’t feel like grabbing groceries at the market after work tomorrow.

“I’ll take the day off,” he replied. “Handle everythin’ at home. Even have dinner ready for us when ya finish work. Yeah?”

“Mikey, don’t promise me something that you can’t follow through on,” you warned him. “I know how your family is. I know they’re going to–”

“Hey, shh,” he hushed you, one of his hands soothingly running up and down your back. “I’ll tell ‘em no. Not to bother me tomorrow. Doesn’t matter what they say. Ya deserve some help ‘round here. Been takin’ care of everythin’ this past week–everythin’ this past year, really. And I wanna show ya that I appreciate it, love.”

“It’s not a big deal, I can handle it,” you told him, the lie almost automatic.

You felt him shift above you, resting his cheek against the top of your head. His hand continued to soothingly run the length of your back over and over, the calming feel of it slowly easing the tension in your muscles.

“I can tell ya have been stressed, pet,” Michael murmured. “Can see it on your face. Somethin’s been goin’ on with ya. It has me worried.”

Nervously your tongue slipped out, wetting your lips. You couldn’t believe he’d picked up on anything being off with you. You thought you’d been hiding everything from him so well. And you certainly didn’t need him worrying about you, too.

“I’m fine,” you whispered.

“Don’t lie to me,” Michael said, voice firm but not angry. “I know ya too well, love. I know ya aren’t alright.”

Turning your head, you buried your face into Michael’s chest, breathing in the scent of him. He smelled faintly like his leather jacket and gasoline, probably from riding his motorcycle this morning to the family meeting. Just beneath the scent of both of those you could smell the bit of his soap that always seemed to linger on his skin. It was something with sandalwood–you knew that because the nights he’d be out working a job and not coming home to you, you’d purposely shower with his soap. Just to feel like he was still there in bed with you. You couldn’t fall asleep otherwise.

“Tell ya what,” Michael said, breaking the silence that had fallen. “How ‘bout I take ya for coffee this mornin’? Your favorite shop. Then we can visit that little bookstore ya love so much. The one just on the corner? I’ll buy ya whatever ya want.”

A small smile slipped onto your lips and you reluctantly withdrew your face from where it had been buried against Michael’s chest, his own head withdrawing itself from the top of yours. Looking up at him, he was smiling warmly down at you, his eyes full of affection and love.

“Yeah?” you asked him softly.

“Buy ya the whole damn store if ya want,” he said, tone light and teasing as he grinned back at you. “And ya know I would, love. ‘S’not like I don’t have the money.”

“Okay,” you answered slowly, your attention shifting back to the laundry on the bed. “As long as you really will have time to take care of everything tomorrow though. Because I have to–”

Michael’s hand gently cupping your cheek and turning your face back towards him quickly quieted you. That warm smile was back on his face, the brightness of it reaching his eyes.

“Go get ready,” he ordered. “I’ll finish the rest of this. And the other stuff I’ll do tomorrow. Promise. Forget ‘bout it already, yeah? Just go take a few minutes for yourself.” His smile briefly faltered as he nervously added, “Then maybe afterwards ya can tell me ‘bout what’s been goin’ on? Ya keep lockin’ me out, pet, and I really wish ya would let me in. I want to help.”

“You just–just always have so much going on, Mikey,” you told him softly. “You don’t need my shit, too.”

“Hey,” he said firmly, his eyes narrowing as he lowered his face towards yours. “It isn’t shit, ya hear me? Ya matter to me. More than ya know. Don’t brush yourself off when it comes to me, love, alright? Talk to me. I’m beggin’ ya.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you slowly nodded. “Okay,” you agreed. “Later, I will.”

“Good,” he replied, gesturing his head towards the bathroom as a smile curved his lips upwards. “Now get your adorable arse ready. ‘Cause I wanna spoil my girl today. I’ll take care of the rest o’ the laundry.”

Feeling giddy at the prospect of having a day to spend where it was just you and Michael, grabbing coffee and buying books, you spun on your heel without further encouragement, hurrying your way to the bathroom to get ready.

°•°•°•°•°•°

You hummed out a curious noise, skimming over the summary on the back of the book in your hands for the second time. Behind you, you heard Michael huff out an amused, light laugh. The sound caught your attention and you looked up from the back cover, eyeing Michael’s smiling face curiously from his place beside you. He held up the small stack of books in his hands, gesturing his head towards the one you were still holding.

“Add it to the pile, love,” he urged. “Ya know ya want to. I can see it on your face with the way you’re lookin’ at it.”

Rolling your eyes you held out the book, a grin on your lips as you added it onto the stack Michael was holding. He shot you a flirtatious wink that only had you grinning wider, but when your eyes landed on the clock on the wall behind him, the grin faded. Surprise washed over you instead, a pang of guilt hitting you instantly.

“Why didn’t you tell me we’d been here for over two hours already?” you exclaimed, wide eyes landing back on Michael. “I’m so sorry, Mikey. I didn’t mean to be here so long!”

Michael only laughed, shaking his head back at you. “Pet, I told ya this mornin’ like I told ya over coffee before we came here–take as much time here as ya want. Buy whatever ya want. I’ve seen how much ya have been workin’ your arse off at that office this year. I know ya haven’t been goin’ shoppin’ or out to dinners with your friends as much lately.” Something like guilt spread across his face as he continued. “And I–I know I haven’t been ‘round as much the past few months, what with everythin’ goin’ on with the family. But I wanna change that. Startin’ today. Besides,” he said, suddenly looking a little shy, “I could honestly spend my day watchin’ the way ya wander ‘round in a bookstore. The way your face lights up when ya find a book–" he paused, that shy smile still on his mouth directed at you, "–the only other time ya look like that is when you’re lookin’ at me," he finished softly.

“Because you make me happy,” you told him, the grin returning to your lips.

“I know,” he replied with a nod.

“And coffee also makes me happy,” you added before gesturing a hand at the shelf beside you. “So do books. Best way to relieve stress is with a good book and some coffee.”

Michael chuckled, nodding his head even more as his own smile widened. "Exactly why I suggested gettin' coffee before buyin' books, love."

The corner of his lips twitched before his expression changed to something serious, his lips thinning as he shifted his weight back and forth on his feet, looking like he wanted to say something else. You hadn’t missed the shift in his mood as you curiously eyed him in return, wondering what was now suddenly on his mind.

"How has work been?" he asked carefully. "Ya seem stressed more than usual lately. Been worried 'bout ya."

Expelling a sigh at the topic change, you turned and made your way out of the aisle of books you both were in, searching for another one in particular as you mulled over his question. Michael followed closely behind you, still carrying the stack of your books in his arms as he walked.

"It's been difficult this year," you admitted slowly, eyes scanning the aisles as you looked at the different genre signs hanging above them. "I can't stand it lately, if I'm being honest," you finally confessed. "My bosses literally bicker in every meeting I have with them and I'm always trapped playing their mediator, always left cleaning up the company problems they don’t even deal with." Hands curling into fists at your sides, you could feel your irritation returning at the thought of work tomorrow. "They don't even talk about work most of the time anymore, either. I swear, they're going to run their business into the ground if they keep it up."

"Then quit."

You abruptly stopped in front of the aisle you'd been looking for at his blunt suggestion. Turning swiftly on your heel, you looked back at Michael in confusion and shock.

" Quit ?" you asked him in disbelief.

He shrugged easily. "Yeah," he answered. "Quit. You've always hated it there and now it's upsettin' ya. So quit. 'S'not like ya need the money. Ya know I'll take care of ya."

"Mikey," you said, pulling a face, "I'm not going to just sit at home and be some–" you waved a hand through the air, "–trophy wife. Or–or girlfriend or whatever," you awkwardly added when Michael’s smile grew at your word choice. "I like feeling productive."

"Your choice, love, but I happen to think ya would make a fine trophy wife," he playfully teased, shooting you another wink. "But ya know I've got ya. So quit. Find somethin' ya like. Because I know that's not what you're passionate 'bout."

With a huff you turned, focusing back on the aisle before you. You stepped into it, eyeing the books on the shelves as you looked for one in particular.

"Say it like it's that easy," you muttered, eyes scanning the various titles.

"It is," Michael pressed. "Give 'em your notice tomorrow. Quit. Do what you're passionate about. Because I know you've been dying to do photography instead. And you're damn good at it, love. And I know ya been dyin' to work for yourself.”

Chewing your lip, you let his suggestion settle in your mind. He was right, you did want to do photography. You'd been talking about it since you'd first met him. And you had been dying to work for yourself, especially with how your bosses had been this past year. It would be nice to do something you were actually passionate about, and you did know that Michael would take care of you while you started up the business–he'd already told you he wanted to marry you. He certainly wasn’t planning to go anywhere.

You hummed out a noise, your hand reaching out and pulling the book you'd been looking for off of the shelf. "Alright," you told him, turning around and placing the book on the stack in his hands. "I'll quit tomorrow," you told him. "You're right, photography is my passion. And if you're going to push me–"

"I absolutely insist ya do, love," he cut you off.

"Alright," you repeated, nodding your head. "I'll do it."

Michael's smile grew even wider, the warmth of it reaching his eyes as they fondly gazed back at you. You couldn’t fight the smile on your own face knowing that you’d never get over how lucky you were to have met him–or how handsome he looked when he smiled at you like that.

Eventually Michael's eyes curiously glanced down to the book you'd so quickly placed onto the pile he was carrying. A look of confusion crossed his face, brows drawing together as he looked back up at you.

"One Hundred Years of Solitude?" he asked.

"Yeah," you said, your smile turning cheeky as you made your way out of the aisle and over towards the register. "It's for you. About time you read something that wasn't a Steinbeck, babe."

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella #michael kinsella fluff #bellas comfort fic week #kin amc

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blingblong55 · 1 year

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Normal People- Simon ''Ghost'' Riley

You and Simon were once together when you were younger, you eventually grew apart. Years later you two by some coincidence meet once again.

A/N: listen to any of these songs, trust me!!! (This Town-Niall Horan, Photograph- Ed Sheeran, Strange-Celeste, Like Real People Do- Hozier, Sparks- Coldplay)

Based on a request:

GN!Reader, little angst, lovers to strangers(in a way) to lovers again

You and Simon have known each other since primary school. Neither of you knew you'd end up falling in love by the time secondary school came around. It was always you two against the problems of life and teenage drama. He asked you to be his boyfriend/girlfriend by year 10, ever since that day you and him were more than inseparable. His mates always teased him about it, it was rather adorable how much he would blush when they'd mention you two as a couple. He would sneak into your room after hours, whisper everything and try to contain his laugh when you'd say some terrible jokes. At times you two would sneak up to the roof and just stare at the stars all night.

One night as you two watched the stars he asked you to school formal. It was a big deal amongst friend groups and couples, so you of course said yes. That night as your friend group all drank beer by some campfire after the dance, you sat on his lap. He was all quiet, his eyes never leaving yours. "I love you, r/n'' he whispered into your ear. You looked at him with puppy eyes. You smiled and kissed him.

Ever since, any time you really meant it, he or you would say it, even if the time wasn't right, it could only be said when it was meant and no other time. As time went on, he joined the military, you stayed back and finished college, when he came back, you were working as an assistant. One night he went to visit his mum, she advised he visit you. And as he walked the streets, there you were with the same friend group. You and your friends laughing and drinking, everyone with their significant other, you sat with them, an empty stool next to you.

"Okay Simon, I understand, and don't worry darling, at every table I sit by, I'll save ya a seat, that's a promise''

''you don't have to do that, love''

Eventually one night you and him broke up. His role in the military got more serious, it demanded more of him. And you both knew it was time to just call it quits. You two had grown apart, it was an event that had to happen. You would move out to Dublin soon, a top Uni there accepted you(see what I did there,,anyways). Simon would have to leave England for months on end, it was just bound to happen. So when you called it quits, you moved to Ireland and he to somewhere in the world, wherever the military took him.

He carried a picture of you both from the night of the school formal. It was you and him sitting by the campfire, you in your attire and he in his suit, he had his arms around your waist. The way you two smiled at the camera, a true moment where he felt safe and at home.

--------

He was now 29, soon to be thirty, you'd be around the same age as well. He was now a lieutenant for the army, you a successful company executive. There were nights were he wondered where you were in Ireland, if you had met someone new, if maybe you had written him letters but just never sent them out. If you had maybe settled down, if you even remembered how at some point you were his life, the sole purpose why he always was a better man.

At drunken nights, thats when he thought of you the most. How you kissed him on rooftops, sneaked out just to talk to him, or the nights where you played the piano at some pubs. Maybe it was the sense of home, belonging that he missed, but maybe it wasn't, it was your sweet voice, how you would caress his face, rub his back, listen to his problems, kissed him under that stormy night, how by morning, you two laid on the couch at his mum's drinking tea and eating soup because you two got sick.

On cold lonely nights in the desert, thats when he missed you the most.

But as any true mystery in this world, you one warm night found each other once more. You in some jeans and a white tee, he in a black shirt and an old pair of jeans. Manchester was quite boring if you've been a local. You pushed your trolly around the store, you accidentally bumped into a tall man. ''Shit, sir I am incredibly sorry I was looking at this stupid stupid date on the-'' You looked up from the can of beans.

''R/n?''

''If it isn't Simon Riley'' you said in a happy tone.

He noticed the same old locket he gave you on your 16th birthday, it was a picture you took on a booth. You and him smiling at the camera. It gave his chest a good kind of ache. It was nice to know he was thought of.

''I thought you'd forgotten all about me, love.'' He walked up to you, his arms opening a little. You too walked to him and hugged him, ''not in a million years, Simon.'' You kissed his cheek, oh that warm fuzzy feeling of belonging.

He looked at you, his hands caresses the sides of your face. He looked at you, mesmerized you hadn't changed a bit, your smile still warm and beautiful. He smiled as his hands had a feel for your still soft skin. Your eyes welled up a little, it was a relief he was still on this Earth.

The many nights you wished you went to Sunday school and learned to pray, to believe, to hope. One night you did though, you had just arrived from Ireland, you went to a local church, you sat there and whispered, ''please, if you really are real, if he is still out there, just..keep him safe, please''

''You look rather ravishing my love.'' He smiled at you, he looked all over your face, studying it and remembering all of the small details.

''Sorry, again for hitting your bum with the trolly.'' you chuckled. He shook his head, ''s'right, love.'' he said almost in a rather happier tone. It was crazy to see you here, but he wasn't complaining, thats for sure.

''when did you get here by the way?'' he took your trolly, and tossed his basket on it, he pushed the trolly and walked towards the next aisle, you following along.

''Here in Manchester? well lets see, I came back I think 6 years ago?..yeah definitely six. And you?''

''Got back last week, you know the whole army thing.'' he said as he happily looked through his list of must buys.

''Hm I see...I suppose your partner made that list for ya?'' you asked in a curious way, looking for a 'no, my mum needs this,,,no partner..been waiting for ya' type of answer.

''No, I am making some dinner for myself, and no, no partner,,,still.'' he had given up in trying to find someone after you, and that one failed date he had about 8 years ago.

''ah I see well-''

''do you..y'know, have someone to go home to? is this to forward or-''

''no no, not all, no, its not forward..um..no I don't been too much of a selfish person since my job.''

It was silent for a few minutes as he walked down the aisle. ''so,,,I get to have a second chance? or we..we can be friends? I would be okay with just anything..or not..I don't know.'' he let out a nervous chuckle as he tossed a box of sponges into the trolly.

''well..i..um do you want us to..have a second chance or-''

''yes!,,,if you're okay with it, I want to work on us, I have more time now, maybe not the most time but..this is going to sound-''

''stupid? cheesy? weird?'' you tried guessing.

''all?'' he chuckled, ''i..always thought we would end up together, you know the whole living together, walking down the aisle to me, I don't know maybe getting a dog and taking him on walks on our days off,'' he shrugs, ''its dumb, but I always thought you'd be my...my future, my little something.''

''The one thing I can get to be selfish about.'' you said, he looked at you, blush spread across his face.

''yeah,,,the one thing I can get to be selfish about, I like that,,so?''

''lets be selfish Simon, together.'' You kiss his cheek.

'Maybe the events in our lives were set in motion a long time ago. There's an old Buddhist saying that when you meet your soulmate, remember that the act to bring you together was 500 years in the making. So always appreciate and be kind to each other.'

-Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

A/N: I just rewatched and re-read Normal People, that shit is just so..real. Anyways anon I hope you enjoyed it!

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jokeroutsubs · 1 year

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Interview with Joker Out's member Nace Jordan, from Slovenian magazine Kranjčanka!

"Enriched by a special experience"

We caught up with Nace Jordan, bassist of Joker Out, a week or so after the Eurovision show in Liverpool, a few days after the show in Zagreb, and just before they left for the show in Dublin, where they sold out their first show in twenty minutes… On stage, they kept company to the Irish performers.

The fact that this guy, who is otherwise from Mlaka (T.N: small village near Kranj), is fully booked, can be confirmed by telling you that he moved into a new flat in March of this year - he has been living in Ljubljana for some time now - but he has spent less than 14 days there until it was time for the Eurovision Song Contest. He still returns to Kranj at least twice a week to visit his mother and to stay true to himself: he decided to get a personal trainer a while ago, so now he also goes to Kranj to train there.

Nace Jordan came into contact with music in primary school. He first played the guitar, which he soon replaced with the bass guitar. "Around the fifth grade of primary school (T.N: 10-11 years old), I became interested in instruments and a classmate and I decided to start a music group. He bought a drum set and I bought an electric guitar. Then we quickly saw that there were no bass players. So I sold the guitar and bought a bass guitar," he explains. He has no formal musical training, but says he has been lucky that wherever he has gone in life, there has always been a good mentor who has been able to guide him.

I: How long did this primary school group last?

N: In those days it was a well-known Kranj band called Success. We did a lot of gigs. It's interesting that all the band members from that time are now living off music. They are, for example, the guitarist Nejc Ušlakar, Tajda Jovanović - also from Mlaka - who is a top classical singer and used to sing at the famous Scala in Milan; if I am not mistaken, she is now teaching classical singing in Dubai. We just created an environment for ourselves and stayed in music. The drummer and keyboard player, Aljaž Bernik and Miha Petrovič, have, for example, a very successful wedding band, called Pop Deluxe.

I: What came after primary school? (* (T.N: In Slovenia, primary school lasts for 9 years, from ages 6-15)

N: I enrolled at the then Iskra University, majoring in mechatronics, but just before graduation I started working - actually playing on a cruiser. By some chance I found myself at a jam session open mind in Kranj, where the Kranj drummer Rok Rozman was looking for someone to go on the boat with him. He was impressed with me, I auditioned and of course they weren't very happy at home when I confronted them with the fact that I was going to take my final exams the following year. I was just 18 years old.

I: Was that a cruise ship?

N: Yes. We were travelling in the Baltic Ocean. I remember that we started in Germany, in a port north of Hamburg, then continued on to Gdansk, St Petersburg and to the Scandinavian countries.

l: That was probably the only time you've been on a cruise ship of that kind, a tourist cruise ship?

I've had a lot of people ask me if I would ever go on holiday on a cruise ship. Probably not. But I would go and have another look at the one I played on.

I: When you came back to Slovenia, did you graduate from high school? N: I didn't and I still regret it a little bit. When I came back from the ship, I started working with the singer Katarina Malo. During that time, I was also taken under the wing of two musicians from Primorska (T.N.: a region in the South-Western part of Slovenia) - that's what I mentioned: I found myself somewhere and then a mentor came along. I learned a lot from them. They were David Morgan and Denis Beganovic - Kiki. The first one is a top jazz drummer from the coastal area, he organises a lot of stuff, and he also plays with Avtomobili (T.N. slovenian band), I think he even played with Plestenjak (T.N. Jan Plestenjak, a famous Slovenian pop singer) at one point. Whereas Kiki is a multi-instrumentalist. He's an extraordinary talent. He has worked with Kanzyani and other famous DJs and musicians from abroad. He has made a lot of music, and he also led the Big Band from the coastal region. That was a really nice period for me. I even moved to the coastal region for a short period.

I: Why music, why not football?

N: Certainly not football (laughs). It's the sport I'm least talented in, or rather, all ball sports fall into that context - be it table tennis or football; and, even though my surname is Jordan, I'm the worst basketball player in the world (laughs). Just two days ago, I met my first grade teacher, and of course the topic of music and Eurovision came up. She told me that she knew even back then that school was not for me, but that I would definitely do something creative in my life. It brought back memories of how bored I was at school and how I would rather draw under my desk than listen, even though I was not a bad student.

I: You haven't been a member of Joker Out for long.

N: Since last year. Martin Jurkovič, the original bass player, felt at some point that music was not his main path. He is also an extremely talented programmer and is studying in that direction. He wants to study abroad and decided to finish that chapter. I knew the lead singer of the band, Bojan, from some mutual friend groups before, and the guys were looking for someone who was around their age, professional, good at what they do, and they thought of me. And Martin was in favour of me coming into the group instead of him.

I: And did you imagine that the band would continue the way it did?

N: From the beginning I went into the band with a bit of hesitation. I even suggested a test period. I had learnt that there has to be chemistry between the members. And if we didn't get along with each other the way we do, we wouldn't have performed on the Eurovision stage. We would have had a fight otherwise.

I: Do you spend a lot of time together?

N: First there were the Eurovision showcase concerts, and now there is the summer concert tour in Slovenia. We also have quite a few problems, because we get a lot of calls from abroad. It's logistically difficult, so we're looking for a solution to link some of the concerts to the tour. After the Eurovision Song Contest, we really started to get noticed abroad.

I: Was this your first Eurovision Song Contest?

N: Yes. But I have been to EMA (slovenian national selection for ESC) several times before.

I: Was it as you imagined it would be?

N: Even better. I can say that everyone who has been through this kind of experience has told us that it will be really tough: there will be a lot of work, but that we should also expect crazy parties. But in the end, it was much less exhausting than we expected. In fact, we had such a busy schedule beforehand that Eurovision itself was almost easier for us afterwards. We were practically in the Arena for five days, the rest was socialising, interviews and other commitments. In principle, we like that.

I: You seemed to be well received.

N: We were lucky enough to have connected with practically all the performers. We were always in a good mood, which was seen and felt both in the performances and in the interviews, during the statements. We came home really enriched by a special experience. And it was really nice to see how the people at home supported us. After the first semi-final, we got some footage of how they were watching us and we were just amazed how behind Bežigrad (Ljubljana district), let's say, they watched the first semi-final show in an organised way. The energy was crazy, like at a match.

I: What about Liverpool? Was there any time to "play tourists"?

N: During Eurovision, not really. We were in Liverpool before, because we were shooting a video. I think it was after Barcelona, and we did a lot of walking around the city then. For those who like the Beatles, Liverpool is great.

I : How did it come about that you went to Eurovision in the first place?

N : When I came into the group, the guys and I immediately started talking about whether we would go to this year's EMAs. We decided to go. We knew we would definitely be one of the favourites because we have a really big and extremely loyal audience. Well, then the EMA didn't happen. The jury decided to make their own choice, from the five entries who had the most songs of the week during that year. And I think only two of us ended up applying. There was no EMA, and they sent us to Liverpool.

I: You mostly use Slovenian in your songs.

N: Of course. We have a few songs in English, but we mostly sing in Slovenian. We were talking about how we would work going forwards, and we agreed not to bother with the language. We are proud of our Slovenian language. It's really something beautiful when you see an adult Peruvian man or a five-year-old Spanish girl singing our song in Slovenian. In that moment you understand the athletes and you are proud to be Slovenian.

I: How is it on the street? Do people recognise you? You often hear: is that the bass player of Joker Out?

N: Yes, quite. Most of the time it's people who say something nice to you, or want a selfie. Of course, there are also some "admirers" who stick gum all over my car or leave messages. There's a good side and a bad side to being a public personality. Sometimes it requires of you to spend three hours taking photos - but if you enjoy doing something, that's not a problem either.

I: Do you think that it is actually the fact that you get along well in a group that "pulls" in the audience?

N: The energy between us is definitely something that is contagious. I don't know if it's what makes the audience really like us, but it's something that puts even someone who is in a bad mood in a good mood.

Translation by @kurooscoffee (jokeroutsubs). DO NOT REPOST!

#nace jordan #joker out

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kindestofkings · 8 months

Text

got a book for every situation

ryan mcmahon x reader

reader runs a bookstagram/bookclub but instead of just reading about love, until she meets a certain drummer...

authors note: guys i think i love ryan an unhealthy amount

yourusername

location: london!

liked by bookfan1 and others

yourusername heyy guys sorry I've been kind of quiet on here but I've MOVED egh it's been v scary and hectic even though it was only from Dublin to London. don't worry tho bookstagram will stay alive !

hows everyone doing?! what are yee reading rn?

view 100 comments

bookfan1 wow city girl! I'm reading normal people at the moment :)

yourusername ik shaking things up hehe, also hope you're enjoying the heartbreaking miscommunication ... bookfan1 it is hard out here :(

bookfan2 no way I'm living in london ! lmk if you need any friends here xx

yourusername omg yes! I was thinking of starting a bookclub? thoughts? bookfan2 yes I'd so be down !! bookfan3 me too! I just moved here aswell

bookfan4 currently just buying books and not reading them

yourusername meee, expect I'm now broke from moving so I'm on a self-inflicted book ban 😔😔

ryanmcmahon_15

liked by elijahhewson and others

ryanmcmahon_15 get on your jogging shorts and pick up a brush

view all 83 comments

inhalerfan1 ok artist 🥴

inhalerfan2 your bob ross era omg

yourusername

liked by yourbestie and others

yourusername new city but same old hopeless romantic <3 maybe london will hold a romantic interest ?

also next months bookclub is organised so keep an eye out for my story with the dets 💗

view 70 other comments

bookfan1 yayyy can't wait!!

bookfan2 omg getting closer to a face reveal by the day

yourusername 🤭🤭

yourbestie YOU COULD EASILY HAVE A ROMANTIC INTEREST IF YOU TEXTED THAT GUY ! (also come home I miss your bookclub)

yourusername ughh leave off it ! he was just being nice .. yourbestie oohh yeah he walked up to you at a bar, talked to you for a few and then gave you his number only because he was being nice... mmhmm bookfan2 omg text him what the hell! bookfan3 this is the stuff of books! bookfan2 is he cute?? yourusername ahahha yes. and fineeee I'll text him 😅 terrifying😅

ryanmcmahon_15 added to his story!

location: london!

replies:

bobbyskeetz ehhhhh what do we have here??

joshjennkinson_ IS THAT THE GIRL FROM THE BAR !!!

↳ ryanmcmahon_15 it might me yes 🤭

inhalerfan1 ryannnn okay cheater !

yourusername posted on their story!

location: national gallery!

fear I'm terrible date company, but in my defence there was stuff to read EVERYWHERE

replies:

yourbestie WE DONT CARE ABOUT THE PLAQUE HOW WAS THE DATE !!!!

↳ it was so good, he was the sweetest and really into art and and is really passionate about music and and and he was just really pretty ...

↳ yourbestie omg girlllll you are hung UP

ryanmcmahon_15 great company* lets not lie

↳ ahhh have you not made me blush enough this month !

bookfan1 stop you are slay, he's so lucky for your company !

joshjenkinson_,bobbyskeetz and elijahhewson just followed you!

yourusername

liked by ryanmcmahon_15 and others

yourusername happy 9 months to my pride and joy, our book club <3

your support has meant to me and has supported my reading addiction, big MWAH !

I've met so many new friends, insanely made it onto three publishing houses pr list?!?!? and got a job all through this little bookstagram. you all are the best xx

view all 100 comments

bookfan1 wooow we love a successful queen !

bookfan2 reading is sooo hot and sooo slay

bookfan3 is that a book bouquet? and a pic taken by someone else???

yourusername mwhahah eagled eye youuuu. also HOW cute is the bouquet ! (liked by ryanmcmahon_15)

inhalerfan1 high key why did all the band follow a random bookstagram?

inhalerfan2 shes irish living in london, maybe they're friends from home?? inhalerfan3 but then they'd already follow her tho

yourusername

liked by yourbestie and others

yourusername dating a musician means one thing... associating tunes with books !!!

(also getting your oranges peeled for you 😭😭)

view all 75 comments

yourbestie y'all are adorable, I love <3

bookfan1 he seems so sweet !

ryanmcmahon_15 you forgot forcing people to listen to lana del ray...

yourusername oh yeah !! how could I forget that I'm bettering the lives of others :))) bobbyskeetz he does be humming let the light in constantly. yourusername awhhh too soft for it

inhalerfan1 ooohhh is she dating ryan !?

yourusername

liked by elijahhewson and others

yourusername ugh sick with love, but he reads my favourite books and instead of annotations he paints them 🥹

also tickets for next month's book club are out this sundayyyyy ! Xx

view all 123 comments

inhalerfan1 omg boyfriend ryan is everything

joshjenkinson_ ryan being in his bookworm era has the tour bus kinda quiet

bookfan1 sooo invested in your relationship , also have the alarm set for the tickets !

ryanmcmahon_15

liked by yourusername and others

ryanmcmahon_15 black and white is owned by lewevans btw

view all 88 comments

yourusername being really cool is owned by you btw

joshjenkinson_ 2/3 pics you're reading, yourusername your power is unmatched 🤭

elijahhewson reading era

inhalerfan1 hahaha ugh I love them your honour

lewevans 🖤 🤍

yourusername posted on their story!

gorgeous boy <;3

replies:

ryanmcmahon_15 love you ❤️

↳ LOVE YOU MORE

inhalerfan1 im so so jealous of you

bookfan1 when are you writing a book about your love story ??

↳ hahhaha omg imagine ! dont tempt me..

yourusername

location: new york new york!

liked by ryanmcmahon_15 and others

yourusername yeah my boyfriends pretty cool but he's not as cool as

THE BOOKSTORE THAT I FOUND WHICH SELLS BOOKS AND PICKLES !!!

view all 64 comments

bobbyskeetz meeeee, im a brooklyn babyyyy

yourusername you get me.

yourbestie you are SO cool

bookfan1 wait I need all the details ??

yourusername it was the cutiest little secondhand bookshop in the lower east side of manhattan but they also make their own pickles

the end

what did you think? 😏

#inhaler band #inhaler dublin #ryan mcmahon #ryan mcmahon imagine #ryan mcmahon x reader #ryan mcmahon fanfic #fake instagram

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pictureinme · 1 year

Note

KITTEN BRADEN WITH READER THAT WRITES SONGS ABOUT HER AND PAINTS/DRAWS KITTEN CONSTANTLY AND WHEN KITTEN LOOKS AT THEIR JOURNAL SHE SEES SO MANYS SONGS AND DRAWINGS OF HER. please I can't stop thinking abt Kitten with an artistic gf

this sparked so much in my mind ... i'm definitely going to do more with this + the musician gf !!! thank u so much for your request, love!

thursday morning

patricia 'kitten' braden x f!artist!reader word count: 1.1k tags: domestic fluff, established relationship, suggestive dialogue

(ao3)

The two of you are seated at a beach side café, enjoying some of the most elegant breakfast and tea. This sabbatical to Dublin was unexpected, but very necessary. Both of you under stress from your respective jobs, it was beginning to create fissures.

Kitten’s gaze is towards the sun rising atop the waves. Her blonde tresses move elegantly in the ocean breeze, she looked like a movie star. Her plush, peach lips were curled into a content smile as she watched the crashing and flowing of the water.

To you, Kitten was your muse, even if she didn’t know it yet. On your lap was your sketchbook, no bigger than your hand, and you were sketching her timeless beauty while she was none the wiser. Her jawline sharp, her features soft, and her eyelashes delicate; you capture every detail to the best of your ability.

She hums happily, and turns to face you, “Isn’t it such a beautiful morning?”

“It truly is, my love,” you close your sketchbook, and take a sip of your now lukewarm tea.

Her plate was now empty, but yours was half full.

“Are you not hungry, dear?” Kitten’s eyes glint with concern.

You shake your head, smiling, “You just distract me, that’s all. I could go weeks without eating when I stare at you.”

She laughs softly, “That’s not healthy, now is it? Finish your food and let’s head back to the hotel.”

Smiling widely, you begin to finish your sandwich, still watching her every move. Kitten pulls out her rather expensive compact, and begins to reapply various aspects of her makeup. Her lipstick was called Portrait Pink, if you remember correctly. She always raved about her cosmetics, and you adore it. The passion in her ignites your own.

You watch her clean up the lipstick with a napkin, lost in how absolutely feminine she is in everything she does. As she adds the final touches, you begin to get ready to leave.

Offering Kitten her coat, and bats her eyelashes at you coyly, “What a gentleman you are, (Y/N)! Well, not in every way.”

You roll your eyes, and walk out with your hand on the small of her back, “I’m a gentleman in the ways that matter, aren’t I?”

She leans to your cheek, and leaves a chaste kiss. You decide to not wipe away the mark she definitely left.

The two of you walk arm in arm down the pavement in the direction of your hotel. To the right was the ocean, and you could smell the salt in the air. Kitten leans on your shoulder, her fur coat tickling your neck.

Arriving at your room, you both begin to shed your various layers of clothing almost immediately. You both tend to enjoy each other’s company more when there’s the least amount of obstacles in the way.

You lounge on the sofa, diagonal to the bed in which Kitten is currently laying. As your eyes glaze over her almost naked form, you immediately reach for your sketchbook. You sketch without abandon, detailing every curve, freckle, and shadow.

Lost in the cross-hatching and stippling, you fail to notice her crawling towards you, still on the bed.

“You writing in your diary, my love?”

Her words surprise you, causing your pencil to make a stray mark on the page, “Something like that, you could say.”

Kitten cocks her head, her curiosity obviously unsatisfied. She hops off the bed, slowly making her way behind you in order to see what has you so captivated.

She gasps loudly, a hand reaching to cover her mouth. Your heart drops, wondering if you somehow offended her.

“Oh, darling… you never told me you were an artist!”

Your eyes widen, heartbeat calming. Before you can respond, she turns the sketchbook so she can see it properly.

The evidence of your secret indulgence was all over the pages, and Kitten couldn’t resist flipping through them. Sketches of her sleeping, with little notes written next to them saying things like ‘princess’ or ‘saint.’ Fully colored and shaded portraits of her just existing, whether it be sitting at the dining room table or mending her various outfits.

You watch her flip through every page, and see her lip tremble.

“(Y/N)... these are all of me.”

“I know, it’s a bit odd, but you’re just so…”

She shakes her head, stilling your words, “No, no, no, it isn’t odd, my love.”

Kitten sits next to you on the sofa, placing the sketchbook onto your lap. She grabs your hands, and looks into your eyes, “What… what makes you want to draw me, dear (Y/N)?”

You smile widely, eyes crinkling, “Everything about you, my Kitten. Your whole being just… exudes this energy I can’t tear away from. You’re my muse.”

A small tear escapes her eye, almost going unnoticed. You wipe it away gently, holding her cheek.

“Do you mean that?”

You laugh softly, “Of course I do, darling. I have another sketchbook full of you, if you don’t believe me.”

Kitten smiles, and leans into your touch, “You’re so wonderfully skilled in everything you do, (Y/N)... how did I get so lucky?”

“I could ask the same question.”

You gaze into each other’s eyes for another moment before she grabs the sketchbook from your lap again, “Now, walk me through each and every emotion you felt when you drew these.”

She leans against your chest, and you chuckle, “That won’t be a problem at all, Kitten.”

As she flips delicately through the pages, she lands on the portraits you did of her just earlier today.

Kitten turns to raise an eyebrow at you, inviting your answers.

“I couldn’t resist you, darling. Even if we’re at the fanciest restaurant in all of the world, your existence begs to be depicted in some form of art…”

You blush slightly, realizing how passionate your words come across.

Her hand reaches up to pet your hair gently, “And this one?”

Glancing at the portrait you just did of her practically bare, you clear your throat, “Well, you know how I am when your body is all for me to see. You can’t blame a girl for wanting to preserve that moment!”

Kitten giggles, her head thrown back against your chest, “I truly cannot, especially when that preservation is so lovingly depicted… and when the artist is so irresistible.”

You kiss the top of her head, and she turns to face you again. Her lips landed on yours in a kiss so ardent you felt as though you were knocked flat on your back. Your fingers comb through her hair, trying to close every gap that could possibly exist between you two.

Separating to catch your respective breaths, you smile, “You truly are my muse, Kitten. I don’t say things like that lightly.”

Kitten places a harsh kiss against your lips again, before grinning, “I love you, sweet, sweet (Y/N).”

You wrap your arms around her in a warm embrace, “I love you so much more, darling Kitten.”

#kitten braden x reader #patricia braden x reader #breakfast on pluto #cillian murphy x reader

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sixty-silver-wishes · 4 months

Text

Original short story: On the Train

Georgia settled into her seat, her luggage stowed by her feet and a book lying unopened on her lap. It was a paperback romance novel- not the sort she found interesting, but that was why she’d chosen it in the first place. Mysteries and horror novels were all very well, but trains made Georgia anxious, as did any public transport, and a dull, predictable paperback was just what she needed to keep her mind off of things. She glanced at the cover, feeling her face heat up; she should have known better than to have something like this out in public. The picture was ridiculous- a man with plausibly photoedited muscles wearing nothing but a Scottish kilt leaned over a lady in a vaguely Medieval dress, which may have very well been from the discount section at a Halloween store. The title of the book, in flowery pink letters, was Decadence in Dublin- despite, Georgia noted, the Scottish kilt. It was quite an amusing cover, although sitting in the train compartment with nothing but the Photoshopped lovers for company, Georgia felt the opposite of amused.

What if someone came into her train compartment and saw her reading it? What sort of things would they think of her? They’d think she was one of those silly women, she thought, who actually enjoyed paperback romance novels. I’ll have to make a point of not enjoying it, then, she thought, and wondered how to do that without coming across as childishly conceited. Or, worse, suppose one of the sorts of women who did like books like Decadence in Dublin came in, and Georgia would be forced into feigning interest out of politeness. What if they tried to talk to her about it? What then?

Suppose I don’t read it at all, she thought, but then she would have nothing to do but look out the window as the train was moving, and she would much rather subject herself to uninspired romantic drivel than focus on the lurching machinery beneath her, the dizzying blur of the outside world and the faint amalgamated chatter of the people outside the compartment. Sighing, she opened the book to the first page, gearing up to read all about Emerald MacMaureen and her unwilling betrothal to Prince Tobias O’Greenheart.

It was going to be a very, very long train ride.

As Georgia turned the page, she felt herself shift, and the train slowly pulled away from the station like a lumbering beast. She inhaled sharply, and directed her focus back to the book, but was interrupted once again when she saw her compartment door slide open. Startling, she dropped the romance novel onto her lap, looking to see a young girl standing opposite her.

She couldn’t have been any older than ten or eleven, and appeared to be at that brutal, awkward stage of life where little girls thought all sorts of things about themselves that they ought not to, like whether they were too fat or too skinny or if they needed to wear makeup or if they’d be popular or if the boys liked them or if they were too old to play dress-up or believe in Santa Claus or if they’d ever get married one day or how many children they’d have once they were old enough. Georgia, at least, had all of those thoughts at that age. But the girl didn’t seem like the type to have any of those thoughts cross her mind, not even once. Her teeth were crooked, and her eyes were wild like two trapped fireflies. Dirt smudged her face, and her unicorn t-shirt was stained- with what, Georgia couldn’t tell.

“I’m sitting here,” the girl declared.

Georgia blinked. “I’m sorry?” “I said, I’m sitting here,” she said again. Before Georgia could respond, the girl marched into her compartment and sat down in the seat across from hers.

Georgia looked down at her book, then at the girl. “Are you with your parents?” she asked.

The girl took out an opened chocolate bar from her pocket, crinkled away some of the wrapper, and noisily bit into it.

Where are her manners? Georgia thought, watching her lick chocolate off of her fingers. Maybe she didn’t hear me.

“Are you with your parents?” she repeated.

The girl looked up from the chocolate bar, visibly annoyed. She shoved it back into her pocket, as if Georgia was interrupting a particularly important engagement.

“I’m by myself,” she said.

“By yourself?”

“Duh,” the girl answered. “That’s what I just said.”

“Where are you going? Will you meet them there?”

“I’m not telling,” the girl said. “You’re a stranger.”

Georgia figured she couldn’t blame her for that; despite how confident and brash she seemed, it must have been very scary to be a child traveling alone. Hell, I’m scared to travel alone, she thought, and gripped the romance novel a little tighter.

“I’m sorry,” she attempted. “I was just worried about you; I won’t bother you anymore.”

The girl grinned, displaying gaps in her chocolate-stained teeth. “Course you won’t,” she said. “You never did.”

Georgia wasn’t sure how to respond, so she went back to her book. The girl pulled her chocolate bar back out of her pocket, and continued to gnaw at it. Georgia found herself growing annoyed; the girl’s lips smacked loudly, and the noise from the candy wrapper made it hard to concentrate.

I’m sure she’s not such a bad kid, she tried to reason with herself. It’s a big decision, going by train on your own, especially at that age. That’s not a good age to be at. She peered over her book to the girl once again, who didn’t seem to be paying her any mind. She’d finished the chocolate bar, and was preoccupied with picking at a loose thread from her shirt.

“Fine, I guess I’ll tell you,” the girl said, breaking the silence. “I’m going to my dad’s house. We’re going fishing on the lake for his birthday.” “Oh,” Georgia smiled. “That sounds nice.”

“Then we’re going to the movies,” the girl continued, “and then he’s taking me to the zoo. And then we’re getting dinner and then we’re going to grandma’s and then we’re going to the Civil War memorial and then we’re going to probably go fishing again, and then…” She reached for the chocolate bar again, remembered the empty wrapper, and defeatedly tossed it aside. “And then we’re going back to his house.”

Divorced parents, Georgia thought. Or at least, they live apart, if it’s just her dad. “I hope you’ll have a good time,” she said.

“Yeah,” the girl answered, and began fiddling with her shirt again. She pulled a sequin off the unicorn’s horn, then absentmindedly popped it in her mouth. Georgia averted her eyes once again, back to the romance book.

She’s having a busy week, Georgia thought. But at least she won’t be all alone. Sounds like she’ll have fun.

They passed through a tunnel, and once they were out the other side, the sun shone through the window on the girl’s hair. It was a pretty bright yellow, thick and tangled, the kind that everyone envied but nobody wanted to deal with. The girl chewed the sequin thoughtfully, although it obviously wasn’t a worthy substitute for the chocolate bar.

“I have a question,” she blurted.

Georgia put the book down. “Yes?” The girl smiled at her- the kind of smile a child beams when receiving the birthday gift they’ve begged for all year. A proper bath, a toothbrush, and a comb, and she would have looked downright cherubic. She wiggled impatiently in her seat, looking up at Georgia with her wide, innocuous blue eyes.

“How do you kill a man?”

Georgia felt her jaw drop open, and she blinked several times. The little girl kicked her feet in the air, rocking back and forth on her palms.

“What did you just say?” Georgia said.

“They always use poison in the movies,” the girl said thoughtfully, “but poison doesn’t seem like a lot of fun. There’s no blood. He has a big toolbox- I could go in there and find a hammer, and I can beat him over the head with it over and over until his head breaks open, and then I can hit his brain with it too, until it’s all mushy- oh! Or maybe, I could find a saw…”

Georgia stared at the girl, dumbfounded and unable to think of what to say.

“I can also break up a bunch of glass,” the girl continued, “reeeeal small so nobody can tell. And then I can mix it in his food so he eats it and gets lots and lots of little cuts on the inside, but he can’t scream because of all the glass in his throat-”

“You don’t mean…” Georgia began, pressed against her seat, “you don’t mean your father, do you?”

The girl gave her a half-guilty, half-incriminating look, like she was accusing Georgia of ruining her fun. “Yeah, I guess so,” she shrugged. “There’s not really anyone else I want to kill.” She may be abused, Georgia thought. It would make sense- her strange behavior, why she was on the train alone, her sudden veer into graphic violence- children could have odd ways of processing horrible things they were too young to understand, and that may have been the explanation to everything.

“Are you…” Georgia paused, figuring she should choose her next words carefully. “Are things… difficult at home? You can talk to me about it; it’s all right. We can find someone to help you if you feel unsafe.”

The girl narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose, the side of her lip curling in a mix of disgust and confusion. “You think he’s mean to me, don’t you?” she asked.

Georgia shifted uncomfortably. “You were saying some pretty scary things,” she said.

“Hm,” the girl said, as if it hadn’t occurred to her. “I guess it would be scary, at least for someone like you.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” Georgia scolded, the barb incensing the slightest tinder of bravery within her. “If people hear you saying those things, you could get in serious trouble.”

“I knew you’d say that,” the girl said, folding her arms and pouting. “People like you always say that.”

I really should let someone know, Georgia thought. Someone who can figure out what’s actually going on. She wasn’t sure if it would be for the girl’s safety, or for her own.

“Why would you…” she began. “Why would you want to- to do that?”

The girl looked up. Her pout transformed into a crooked smile, sunshine beaming through the gaps in her teeth. Georgia held her breath, bracing herself for the answer.

“Because I don’t like fishing,” the girl said, in the same tone one would use to deliver the punchline to a joke.

Georgia, feeling herself prickle with sweat, laughed nervously. The girl laughed too, high and hiccupy and punctuated with snorting. And because the train was moving, and because she was so scared, Georgia kept laughing as well, and so did the girl. Georgia felt the paperback romance fall off her lap. The girl screeched with mirth, showing all her missing teeth. And they both laughed so hard and so loudly, tears streamed down their cheeks and they felt their sides hurt and each forgot exactly what it was they were laughing about in the first place.

#writing #my writing #original writing #short story #horror #horror writing #original story

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quickremoval · 7 months

Text

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#home movers dublin #house moving company #house moving dublin #house moving company in dublin

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justforbooks · 1 year

Text

The word “great” is somewhat promiscuously applied to actors. But it was undoubtedly deserved by Sir Michael Gambon, who has died aged 82 after suffering from pneumonia.

He had weight, presence, authority, vocal power and a chameleon-like ability to reinvent himself from one role to another. He was a natural for heavyweight classic roles such as Lear and Othello. But what was truly remarkable was Gambon’s interpretative skill in the work of the best contemporary dramatists, including Harold Pinter, Alan Ayckbourn, David Hare, Caryl Churchill and Simon Gray.

Although he was a fine TV and film actor – and forever identified in the popular imagination with Professor Albus Dumbledore in the Harry Potter franchise – the stage was his natural territory. It is also no accident that, in his private life, Gambon was an expert on, and assiduous collector of, machine tools and firearms for, as Peter Hall once said: “Fate gave him genius but he uses it as a craftsman.”

Off-stage, he was also a larger-than-life figure and a superb raconteur: a kind of green-room Falstaff. I have fond memories of an evening in a Turin restaurant in March 2006 on the eve of Pinter’s acceptance of the European Theatre prize. Gambon kept the table in a constant roar, not least with his oft-told tale of auditioning for Laurence Olivier as a young actor in 1963 and cheekily choosing to do a speech from Richard III; but the next night Gambon gave an explosive rendering of Pinter’s poem American Football that threatened to blow the roof off the Turin theatre.

However, Gambon’s bravura was also mixed with a certain modesty. In the summer of 2008 I met him for tea in London and found him eagerly studying the script of Pinter’s No Man’s Land, in which he was scheduled, several months later, to play Hirst. He told me that he had started work on it so soon because he found it difficult to learn lines at his age.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I sleep with a script under my pillow, or just carry it around in my raincoat pocket, in the hope the lines will rub off on me.” I think he was genuine; but with Gambon, one of life’s great leg-pullers, you were never entirely sure.

Gambon achieved greatness without either the formal training or genetic inheritance that are often considered indispensable.

He was born into a working-class Dublin family that had no artistic background; his mother, Mary (nee Hoare), was a seamstress, and his father, Edward, an engineer. When the family settled in Britain after the second world war, the young Gambon went to St Aloysius school for boys, in Somers Town, central London. On leaving at the age of 15 he signed a five-year apprenticeship with Vickers-Armstrongs, leading to a job as a tool-and-die maker. With his mechanical aptitude, he loved the work. But he also discovered a passion for amateur theatre and, having started by building sets, eventually moved into performing. “I want varoom!” he once said. “I thought, Jesus, this is for me.”

With typical chutzpah, he wrote to the Gate theatre in Dublin, creating a fantasy list of roles that he had played in London, including Marchbanks in Shaw’s Candida; in the end, he made his professional debut there in 1962 as the Second Gentleman in Othello. His best decision, however, on returning to London, was to sign up for an improvisational acting class run by William Gaskill at the Royal Court.

Gaskill was about to join the newly formed National Theatre company at the Old Vic and recommended Gambon for an audition: hence the celebrated story of Gambon’s first encounter with Olivier, which ended with the young actor, in his excess of zeal, banging his hand on a nail in an upstage column and bleeding profusely. Far from being the nail in Gambon’s coffin, this led to a productive four years with the National in which he progressed from walk-ons to substantial roles such as that of Swiss Cheese in Gaskill’s revival of Mother Courage.

On Olivier’s advice, however, Gambon left the National in 1967 to hone and pursue his craft at Birmingham rep – a shrewd move that saw him, at the astonishingly early age of 27, playing his first Othello. He moved on later to the Royal Shakespeare Company, and in 1968 made his first foray into television with the leading role in a BBC adventure series called The Borderers.

However, it was through working on another TV series, The Challengers, that he made a contact that was to transform his career. His fellow actor Eric Thompson was moving into directing, and in 1975 was set to do an Ayckbourn trilogy, The Norman Conquests, at the Greenwich theatre. He cast Gambon, against type, as a dithering vet.

He revealed, for the first time, his shape-shifting gifts; and the sight of him, seated at a dinner table on a preposterously low stool with his head barely visible above the table’s edge, remains one of the great comic images of modern theatre.

This led to a highly productive working relationship with Ayckbourn including key roles in Just Between Ourselves (Queen’s theatre, London, 1977) and Sisterly Feelings (National, 1980).

At the same time, Gambon began an association with Gray by taking over, from Alan Bates, the role of the emotionally detached hero in Otherwise Engaged (Queen’s theatre, 1976).

That was directed by Pinter, for whom in 1978 Gambon created the part of Jerry in Betrayal at the National. It was a production beset by problems, including a strike that threatened to kibosh the first night, but Gambon’s mixture of physical power and emotional delicacy marked him out as a natural Pinter actor. That power, however, manifested itself in the 1980s in a series of performances that staked out Gambon’s claim to greatness.

First, in 1980, came Brecht’s Galileo at the National: a superbly triumphant performance that brought out the toughness, obduracy and ravening intellectual curiosity of Brecht’s hero. It was a measure of his breakthrough that, as Gambon returned to his dressing room after the first night, he found the other actors in the National’s internal courtyard were shouting and roaring their approval. Two years later, Gambon returned to the RSC to play both a monumental King Lear and a ravaged Antony opposite Helen Mirren’s Cleopatra.

But arguably the finest of all of Gambon’s 80s performances was his Eddie Carbone in Arthur Miller’s A View from the Bridge, directed by Ayckbourn at the National (1987). It helped that Gambon actually looked like Miller’s longshoreman-hero: big and barrel-chested with muscular forearms, he was plausibly a man who could work the Brooklyn docks.

Gambon also charted Eddie’s complex inner life through precise physical actions. He stabbed a table angrily with a fork on learning that his niece had got a job, let his eyes roam restlessly over a paper as the niece and the immigrant Rodolpho quietly spooned, and buckled visibly at the knees on realising that a fatal phone-call to the authorities had ensnared two other immigrants. In its power and melancholy, this towering performance justified the sobriquet once applied by Ralph Richardson of “the great Gambon”.

When you consider that the decade also saw Gambon playing the psoriasis-ravaged hero of Dennis Potter’s TV series The Singing Detective (1986), you realise his virtuosity and range.

And that became even clearer in 1990 when he played the mild-mannered hero of Ayckbourn’s Man of the Moment (Globe theatre, now Gielgud, London), had another crack at Othello for Ayckbourn in Scarborough and appeared, in 1989, as a romantically fixated espionage agent in Pinter’s TV adaptation of Elizabeth Bowen’s The Heat of the Day: that last performance, alternately sinister and shy, was one of Gambon’s finest for television and deserved a far wider showing.

In later years Gambon successfully balanced his stage career with an amazingly prolific one in film and television. In Hare’s Skylight at the National in 1995 he combined the bulk and weight of a prosperous restaurateur with a feathery lightness – a skipping post-coital dance across the stage with the balletic grace often possessed by heavily built men.

Gambon was equally brilliant as a disgusting, Dickensian, accent-shifting Davies in a revival of Pinter’s The Caretaker (Comedy theatre, 2000), as a perplexed bull of a father in Churchill’s A Number (Royal Court, 2002), as a Lear-like Hamm in Beckett’s Endgame (Albery, 2004) and as a brooding, alcoholic Hirst in Pinter’s No Man’s Land (Duke of York’s, 2008). Even if Gambon’s Falstaff in a 2005 National Theatre production of Henry IV Parts One and Two did not quite match expectations, his work for the theatre revealed an ability to combine volcanic power with psychological depth and physical delicacy.

Ill health and increasing memory problems forced him to retire from stage acting in 2015, but not before he had given memorable performances in two Beckett plays: Krapp’s Last Tape (Duchess, 2010) and All That Fall (Jermyn Street theatre, 2012), where he played, opposite Eileen Atkins, the sightless but stentorian Mr Rooney.

He also continued to work in television and film for as long as possible. He belied the whole notion of the small screen by giving large-scale performances as the black sheep of a big family in Stephen Poliakoff’s Perfect Strangers (2001) and as a reclusive plutocrat in the same writer’s Joe’s Palace (2007).

He was nominated for awards for his performances as Lyndon Johnson in an American TV movie, Path to War (2002), and as Mr Woodhouse in a BBC version of Jane Austen’s Emma (2009). Later TV series included The Casual Vacancy (2015), Fearless (2017) and Little Women (2017).

In film, he had a rich and varied career that ranged from the violent hero of Peter Greenaway’s The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover (1989), to a heavyweight mafia boss in Mobsters (1991), the aged Lord Marchmain in Brideshead Revisited (2008), a cantankerous old director in Dustin Hoffman’s Quartet (2012) and the bearded Hogwarts headteacher (whom he privately referred to as “Dumblebore”) in six of the eight Harry Potter films, taking over the role for Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004) following the death of Richard Harris.

He also provided the narration for the Coen brothers’ Hail, Caesar! (2016) and voiceovers for the two Paddington films (2014 and 2017).

But Gambon brought to everything he did, in life as well as art, enormous gusto, a sense of mischief and a concern with precision: he was almost as happy restoring old firearms as he was working on a new role.

In 1992 he was appointed CBE, and six years later was knighted.

He married Anne Miller in 1962, and they had a son, Fergus. From a subsequent relationship with Philippa Hart, whom he met on the set of Gosford Park, he had two sons, Michael and William.

He is survived by Anne and his three sons.

🔔 Michael Gambon, actor, born 19 October 1940; died 27 September 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Michael Gambon #in memoriam

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materialsscienceandengineering · 3 months

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Splitting hairs: Research team applies science of biomechanics to understand our bad hair days

Academics are often accused of "splitting hairs," but a team at Trinity College Dublin has now devised a machine to do just that. We all have a bad hair day from time to time, and split ends are a common problem. However, the science behind this kind of hair damage is poorly understood, which is why the Trinity team, led by Professor David Taylor, is investigating this knotty problem. Prof. Taylor's research in the Trinity Centre for Biomedical Engineering covers all kinds of natural materials, from human bone to seashells but he had never worked on hair. So, when cosmetics company L'Oreal approached him, he was happy to accept the challenge. Working with colleagues, he developed the "Moving Loop Fatigue machine," which has been expertly designed to recreate what happens when tangled hair is combed out. The results have just been published in the journal Interface Focus.

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queenshelby · 2 years

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Blue Eyes Blues (Part One)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 5,456

Warning: Smut, Cheating, 20 Year Age Gap (all in later parts)

Notes: This plays shortly after Cillian finished filming Oppenheimer and is not based on Cillian’s real life.

Please comment and engage!

Background

It has been three months since you finally graduated from university and became a qualified drama and music teacher. Being young and energetic, you enjoyed working with children and the fact that you had to teach your very own niece did not bother you.

Your niece was only eight years old and her name was Mia. It was the name your sister had given her with great thought. It was your late grandmother’s name and you adored Mia more than anything else in the world. Just four years ago, when you had turned twenty-two, you adopted her much to the dislike of your parents who believed that a boarding school or something the like would have been more appropriate for her. But for you, this was not an option. You had promised your sister to take care of her just before she had passed away five years ago. You were twenty-one at the time and whilst this was a huge ask, you well and truly intended to keep your promise to her after all she had been through.

You loved your sister and your parents eventually came around and accepted your decision to become Mia’s permanent carer. As such, they supported you not only emotionally but also financially. Your parents paid for your degree and purchased you a large townhouse in the outskirts of Dublin which is where you lived now with Mia and your husband Kurt who was three years older than you.

Kurt, too, had finished his degree at the tender age of twenty-four and whilst he was not good with children, he worked hard and your parents were impressed by his eagerness to provide for you and Mia when it came to it.

Kurt had been working in your father’s law firm for the past six years, first as paralegal and then, he took up the position of a solicitor. You met him through your parents when you were only twenty and he was well liked by your family. His family was as wealthy as yours and, by now, Kurt had moved up the ranks and was a senior associate, handling large commercial litigation cases and, whilst he worked side by side with your father, this never really became an issue for you until now.

Just six months ago, Kurt had employed a new secretary and you were almost certain that there was something more than a professional relationship between them as, every time you went to see him at work or attended a function with him, she glared at you in the most unusual and uncomfortable way. There had been whispers and rumours which employees spread and which you had heard about and even your father seemed to have been turning a blind eye on what was happening between your husband and this other woman. To him, Kurt was a valuable employee and you knew that, your father himself had never been faithful to your mother either. You knew of at least two affairs which your father had engaged in when you and your sister were still young and your mother even left him at some point before returning to him again after as little as three months.

Kurt’s secretary’s name was Corina and she was still in law school herself. She was merely twenty years old and rather attractive. She was outgoing and had no responsibilities in life which may be one of the reasons Kurt was enjoying her company. He never wanted the family life you did and always criticised you for taking Mia on as a child of your own. It was not what he wanted and he often blamed you for forcing the obligations of fatherhood on to him.

With Mia’s needs having being more complex now that she has comprehended what has happened to her mother, you did not like to leave her with a stranger for a long time. A babysitter was out of the question and even your parents lacked the necessary parental instincts to look after her. Thus, you often stayed at home while Kurt was going out with his friends. He frequented expensive bars and restaurants, travelled on his own for work and even went on a trip to Ibiza recently.

Luckily for you, however, you made peace with the fact that your party years were over and you knew that Mia needed you, especially at night, when her nightmares were haunting her. This occurred at least once or twice per week these days and, with that being the case, over the past year, you often shared a room with her when she became too scared, leaving Kurt on his own.

Since he did not comprehend what Mia was going through, he always complained about it. He complained that, over the past year, your sex life had deteriorated and there was certainly some truth to it. Sex no longer interested you and whilst you missed erotic and non-erotic intimacy with your husband, you did not miss sleeping with him.

Sex with Kurt had always been repetitive. He was a missionary ten-minute kind of guy, thinking that, since he was working hard, it was simply your job to please him rather than the other way around. He had always been a selfish lover and you never knew otherwise. He was the one and only man you had ever been with but now that you were getting older and had come through some of the darkest times in your life, you felt as though something was missing from your relationship.

But what was missing was not only some passionate and heated sex. You also missed love, care and non-sexual intimacy. Your marriage lacked understanding and you often questioned yourself as to why you had married this man in the first place.

For Kurt, life was all about money and reputation and reputation was something that was rather important to your parents as well. Not only your father, but also your mother. She was the principal of the prestigious school you were now working at. It was an all-girls school that was highly regarded in Ireland and the fees charged to parents for their children’s education were almost outrageous. But, clearly, most of these people could afford it. They were all filthy rich too. Just like your parents.

***

Over the past three months you had not only just met your students, who ranged between the ages of six to ten, but also their parents. Or at least some of them. Most of them were rather demanding and about eighty percent of the parents engaged in their children’s schooling activities were stay at home mothers with hard working husbands. They were large income families, mostly lawyers, doctors, politicians and bankers and you were always somewhat impressed by the way these women were presenting themselves.

Most of them were much older than you and you glanced at their Louis Vuitton handbags and Cartier jewelry, both of which were things you could easily afford for yourself. But you had no desire in material things like this and ignored the hype surrounding the newest fashion trends and styles. You were as plain as one could be, preferring comfort over style and, whilst this was a prestigious school where you had to dress appropriately, in your mind, a nice dress from Primark and some Birkenstock sandals sufficed.

Mia, too, did not care much about trends and, at least in this regard, she was an easy-going child who loved to read, play the piano and spend some time at your parents’ holiday house in Cork. She was intrigued by nature and she most certainly was a bit of a tom boy when it came to sports. She loved soccer and played tennis too, both of which you had limited interest in yourself.

Over the past three months, since starting up in this new school environment herself, she had made some new friends and whilst she did not participate in the group of popular girls at school, the acquaintances she made came as a relief to you. The two girls she spent most of her time with were Ava and Eloise, both of whom stood out to you for the simple fact that they were identical twins.

Eloise and Ava looked the same and, on occasion, you had to ask who was who until Mia gave you some pointers. It was easy for her to differentiate them both and all you had to do was to look at their left forearms on which Eloise had a small birth mark whereas Ava did not.

Both Eloise and Ava were down to earth and whilst Eloise was into the newest fashion trends, Ava enjoyed theatre and music. Both of the girls were well mannered and, even though their parents were separated, their emotional and mental state was exceptional. They were both rather intelligent and empathetic, thus making them both a good match for Mia.

Over the past three months, you had only met their mother though. She was single, in her mid-forties and had told you that the girls’ father, who would usually have shared care for the twins, was away for work. Unlike most of the other mothers in the parent group, Ava and Eloise’s mother worked very hard herself and, as such, was often late to the meetings which she had scheduled with you. Her name was Martha and she was a photographer who specialised in advertisements. Her work was predominant in the fashion industry and, as such, she often travelled to London, Paris and New York to photograph models and the like.

According to her, she had recently taken up a new position though, opening an exhibition space south of Dublin. The opening of her exhibition was taking place this week and, whilst you never took an interest in fashion, it was your husband who suggested that you should take him to the opening night so that he could make contact with her and her famous friends.

He told you that there were many legal cases in the industry right now, all of which were surfacing in the UK and Ireland, pertaining some trademark related issues. Getting one of those cases could lead to another promotion in your father’s firm and, being a good wife, you agreed to his request and whilst it was a school night, you shipped Mia off to your mother’s house nervously so that you could make it there without having to worry about rushing home.

***

‘This is ridiculous Y/N. Your mother will know what to do’ Kurt scolded after you spent time preparing everything for Mia’s sleepover at your parents’ house rather than getting ready yourself. You simply put on a plain black dress and a pair of flats.

‘My mother has nothing at her house for Mia. She needs her toothbrush, her hair-brush, a school uniform for tomorrow…’ you tried to explain, causing Kurt to yell at you again, which is when you put down your foot and told him to leave you alone. You hated it when he got angry with you and were grateful for the fact that Mia could not hear him.

‘This is not my problem Y/N! You need to hurry up for fuck sake…’ Kurt said before giving you a deadline and then he disappeared into the living room.

‘Why did you take her on anyway? You are too young for this. I am too young for this…fuck…’ Kurt then mumbled under his breath as he walked away from you and this was a very common argument you had with him. It always sent tears to your eyes and tonight was no different.

***

Eventually though, you calmed down, wiped your tears away and put on some make up and then you made your way to the gallery with Kurt which was shortly after your mother had arrived to pick up Mia.

As usual, she was late which meant that, you too, would be late.

***

Soon after you arrived at the gallery and were handed a glass of expensive champagne, Kurt made his way to the main foyer to socialise. By that point, you had already introduced him to Martha in passing and he took it from there. As usual, he left you standing, knowing very well that you would be struggling with the impending small talk and, with Kurt having gone his own way, you realised that, perhaps, you should look at the photographs and get a feel for them.

Thus, you walked around the back of the exhibition room, watching a slide show of skinny ladies wearing hideous clothes while reading the booklet which Martha had handed you earlier that evening. But, even despite the thorough description of what was displayed in this room, you could not really make sense of it. Vogue, Bazaar…Victoria Secret… You did not really care. It all was a blur and, just as you starred at the installation in front of you, you realised how out of place you appeared in an exhibition like this. This was not your scene and the more you looked around the room, the more uncomfortable you began to feel.

Everyone around you seemed to be getting what this weird fashion and the photographs were all about, but you did not and, just as you starred at the video changing once more, looking at it blankly, you heard an unfamiliar voice speaking to you from behind.

‘You look like you are concentrating really hard’ a male voice said from the right, causing you to startle. The truth was that you had been daydreaming and did not want to socialise with anybody but, when you turned around, you saw a man who almost instantly took your breath away.

‘Yeah’ you gasped momentarily while sipping on your champagne but the man was not looking at you. He was looking back at the video installation in front of him with furrowing eyebrows and this gave you a chance to absorb him.

He was not tall. Not much taller than you, but with a lean and compact build. His profile was of a man in his early or mid-forties perhaps. He featured a slight stubble as if he could not have been bothered to shave that day and his cheekbones were razor sharp, unlike anything else you had ever seen before.

His skin was pale and freckled and his hair was slightly grey. It was short but messy, as if he had just gotten out of bed. His style, itself, was interesting. He did not fit into the elegantly dressed crowd and, whilst he wore a very nice dark coloured suit, he stood out for his simplicity. From what you could tell, it was expensive suit and yet, he clearly did not care about it much as, with the suit, he wore a simple black t-shirt and above the hem of his t-shirt you could see some of his chest hair. It was curly and a little grey as well. Then, above all, he had the most amazing and beautiful blue eyes you have ever seen and, on his left wrist, he wore two braided crochet armbands, one pink and purple. They looked a lot like the ones Mia made with her friends Ava and Eloise and thus they stood out to you immediately as well, even more so than his plain look. He had children, surely. A daughter perhaps. Or maybe two?

When you were done assessing him, you glanced back at the video and finally took up the courage to answer him properly as, clearly, he had not heard you before.

��Yes, I am concentrating hard. I cannot make sense of fashion like this. It’s absurd, really…” you admitted which caused the stranger to chuckle softly.

“You are not alone then” the man said to you before giving you a warm smile. “I don’t care about fashion much either” he admitted and the sound of his voice almost shook you. It was so low, soft and, yet, melodic.

“Then why are you here?” you laughed, knowing that he could be asking you the same thing.

“This might sound weird to you, but my ex-wife invited me, so I came” he admitted with another quiet chuckle.

“Your ex-wife?” you queried then and he nodded.

“Yes. She is the photographer of whatever this is” the man then said with amusement and, just as he did, your breath faltered as you made eye contact. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, her photos are great, just…you know…the clothes are…never mind” he then stammered, seeing that he talked himself into a corner but you knew exactly where he was going with this.

“Don’t worry. I get it” you said with laughter while continuing to stare at him. His eyes were something else. They were so goddamn blue and mysterious, sparkling under the bright gallery light which made his corneas look like moving water.

“So, Martha O’Connor is your ex-wife then?” you eventually asked after, clearly, you had starred at this poor man for long enough and he had already turned silent in response.

“Yes” the stranger responded quietly while continuing to smile at you awkwardly and you smiled at him in return, feeling momentarily uncomfortable under the weight of his eyes.

“You aren’t the twins’ father then by any chance?” you then asked quickly, recognising some resemblances within him of them both. The eyes, the facial features and even his lips were something both Ava and Eloise featured as well.

“Ava and Eloise?” he asked surprised and with a great sense of curiosity, to which you nodded.

“I am” he then confirmed. “How did you know?” he asked while still looking at you with a half-smile and a half-frown. There was something in his stare, something you did not quite understand and when he lifted one of his hands slightly and ran his fingers across his mouth thoughtfully while he studied you, you could not help but gasp inadvertently. You immediately noticed that he had nice hands for a man which was always something you appreciated. His fingers were long and elegant, yet somehow still thick and masculine.

“I am their teacher. I teach them in drama and music and they are both friends with my daughter” you eventually explained and this, clearly, made more sense to him now.

“So, you are Y/N then?” he asked, in response of which you swallowed and your eyes narrowed a little. How did he know your name, you wondered?

“Yes” you said nonetheless and, luckily for you, he intended to give you an explanation.

“The girls have told me a lot about you. You are new at the school and, according to Martha, you are their favourite teacher now” he laughed and you smiled again.

“Just now?” you giggled and the stranger nodded at you.

“Well, they don’t usually get excited about anyone teaching them anything really but your name comes up constantly so they must really like you” the man chuckled before, finally introducing himself. “I am Cillian by the way” he then said while shaking your hand, which was a gesture that surprised you a little. After all, you had been standing there for a while and it was only now that he shook your hand.

“Right, yes” you said, vaguely remembering his name from the files you read about the girls when you took on their class. Cillian Murphy is what it said and the name sounded vaguely familiar to you. and after you spoke about Ava and Eloise with him for a little while longer, your husband came and interrupted you both, seeking an introduction.

But then, without you even having to make an introduction yourself, your husband approached him and whilst you wondered how he already knew Cillian’s name, you did not think to question him about it.

You now simply stood there, allowing Kurt to talk to this stranger even though it was obvious to you that, clearly, Cillian was not interested in what he had to say. Yet, you did not intend to save either one of them from each other and, instead, you simply watched on and smiled. They were incompatible. Different even and, seeing your husband next to the stranger you just met was an interesting look. Your husband was well groomed, wearing a navy-blue Gucci suit, an expensive tie and shirt, a Rolex and even some gold cufflinks and then there was Cillian, wearing a suit probably equally expensive, a simple t-shirt and braided wristbands.

Eventually though, Martha came by and broke up the conversation. She was accompanied by another woman who was much younger than her and it was obvious to you that, despite their acquaintance to each other, they did not get along.

‘You should have worn a shirt babe’ was the first thing she said while approaching Cillian and kissing him on the cheek while taking his hand into hers.

‘Why? To look at videos and photographs?’ he chuckled in response and this amused you. You could not help but chuckle again and it was at this point that Martha introduced the woman by her side as Cillian’s fiancée Lorraine.

Both, you and Kurt greeted her and made your introduction before you had a chance to listen in on their conversation and it appeared to you that, on occasion, Lorraine and Martha had to work together. But this did not mean that Martha had to like Lorraine and the tension between these two women was almost overwhelming, making you feel sorry for the handsome stranger you just met.

He was clearly trying to stay out of whatever they argued about but, in the end, he was caught up in the middle of an argument which clearly pertained some sort of engagement for a magazine.

Shortly after the argument emerged however, Cillian received a phone call and excused himself. It was his sister who had been calling him and since she was the one looking after the twins that night, he was sure to answer.

“I have to go. Ava has been throwing up and I should go and check on her” was the next thing you heard and, just as he addressed you and Kurt once more, you finally got to shake his hand which was incredibly soft and warm.

“It was nice to meet you” he then said with a warm smile and whilst you had expected Lorraine to leave with him, she did not. According to her, she had plans to go out with some friends later that night and whilst Martha was concerned about Ava’s health, Cillian reassured her that he could handle it.

With that, he left and you did not get to speak with him again that night but this did not mean that you forgot about him when you left the exhibition yourself. There was something about him that intrigued you and you did not know what it was. He was different to anyone else you had ever met before and even a little rough around the edges. He was handsome and you felt a strange sensation in the pit of your stomach when you thought about him. It was a sensation you had never felt before, but it felt incredibly good.

The way this man looked at you made you feel something married women were not supposed to feel about men who were not their husbands. His eyes seemed to have burned themselves in to your brain and, whether you allowed it to happen or whether you had no choice in this matter, you did not know.

He had a quiet thoughtfulness and depth about him, as if he understood exactly who you were even though you had never met him before. It was like he could really see you and you did not know how you could possibly have thought this way about a man you had just met and spoken to for mere minutes.

After the Opening Gala -Your POV

“Tonight was nice, was it not?” Kurt eventually asked as you stumbled into your house around midnight and his words removed you from your intrusive thoughts about this handsome stranger.

“Yes, it was lovely” you told him and, since he had a bit to drink already, you knew what it was that he wanted when, eventually, he approached and kissed you passionately.

This was unlike Kurt, but you were not surprised. You had not had sex for three months and, clearly, he thought that, tonight was the night.

Slightly tipsy yourself form the three glasses of champagne you drank, you gave into the kiss and, just as you were kissing your husband, Cillian unbiddenly began to float in to your mind.

What were you doing? This is what you asked yourself as you could not help but wonder what it would feel like to kiss this stranger and, with those intrusive thoughts lingering in the back of your head, you moaned into your husband’s mouth.

“I need you tonight” Kurt then told you and whilst this all felt wrong to you, you nodded reluctantly before pulling yourself away from his embrace.

“I will meet you in the bedroom?” he then asked and you nodded again while wondering why he always wanted to have sex in bed. Why not anywhere else? Why would he not just pin you up against the wall or bend you over the kitchen table? Why always so boring? You met each other over eight years ago and still sex was nothing but a chore for you.

Overwhelmed with guilt for having neglected your husband for a while now though, you made your way to your marital bedroom and, shortly after you arrived, you stripped off your clothes and laid down with the doona covering your naked body.

Kurt arrived five minutes later and did exactly what he would usually do. He kissed you and climbed on top of you, not worrying about any foreplay whatsoever. He just expected you to be ready and thanks to your uneasy thoughts about the handsome man at the gallery earlier that night, you were. You were ready for your husband to have sex with you which, these days, was nothing but exhausting.

As he entered you, he groaned loudly and you simply closed your eyes. You pretended to enjoy it and faking an orgasm was something you were already an expert in these days but then, after about two minutes of relentless and repetitive pounding, your intrusive thoughts returned.

Cillian’s blue eyes and his pink lips were all you were seeing now and, as Kurt was fucking you, you imagined what the stranger’s lips would feel like on your skin.

This went on for a while but, even despite your sexual thoughts about Cillian, you could not quite get there and finish as, after seven minutes and thirty-five seconds of being pounded like a doe, Kurt was done and rolled of you.

This time, you did not even bother faking your own orgasm and your husband must not have cared about your enjoyment either as he rolled to the side and pretty much instantly fell asleep.

It was depressing. Very depressing. But in the end, it was exactly what your marriage had become these days and you knew that you had more pressing matters to think about.

After the Opening Gala -Cillian’s POV

Later that evening, after around midnight, when Cillian arrived at house and checked on the girls who, by then, had both fallen asleep, he gave them both a kiss goodnight and thanked his sister for looking after them for the evening.

“I think she got it all out and is feeling better for it now” Cillian’s sister told him after he enquired about Ava’s episode of illness once more.

“It seems that way” he acknowledged, knowing though that he would have to keep a close eye on her for the rest of the night.

“It might be emotional Cills” his sister then began to say, but Cillian did not know what she meant.

“What do you mean?” he thus enquired but his sister shook her head.

“You know what I mean!” she spat before carrying on. “How much longer will you put up with this, huh?” she then asked almost bluntly but Cillian still did not know what she was talking about.

“What are you talking about?” Cillian thus asked once more and his sister immediately brought up Lorraine’s recent antics.

“Lorraine is not a good role model for Ava and Eloise. Everything she talks about these days are new age diets, which clearly the girls do not need, and designer clothes” his sister pointed out before throwing a stash of magazines onto Cillian’s living room table.

“What is this shit?” Cillian asked while picking them up, looking through them and then throwing them into the bin.

“Teenage magazines which I found in Ava’s room. She has been looking through them, getting the wrong ideas about pretty much everything” Cillian’s said with great concern, feeling as though Lorraine was the culprit behind all of this and, if this was not enough already, she told him what else had happened earlier in the day.

“Just today, before Lorraine left to go out and meet up with you, she got into an argument with Ava. Ava had been using her perfume and Lorraine did not like it. She also felt it necessary to tell her how much she paid for fifty millilitres of fancy water and I am telling you right now that, if this does not stop, both girls will be trouble for you and Martha after you both did so well to keep them out of the movie and fashion scene” Cillian’s sister went on to say while Cillian’s mind began to work overtime yet again.

Things had not been easy for him and his fiancée ever since she took up a new job at a large magazine in London, writing a blog about fashion and life. Her presence on social media was something he disliked especially when pictures she posted included him and his children as well. Martha and him quickly put a stop to this and, yet, Lorraine shared much more about her private life with him than he would have liked.

It was good for her reputation and fame and, as of late, going out, clubbing, was one of her favourite things to do and in return for a good night out, she would write up a review of all the trendy places in town. She did the same for new products which emerged and the spare room which Cillian kept in his house. It had soon been filled with rather useless merchandise that Lorraine adored and shared with the girls but, the worst of it all was that, in addition to this, Lorraine’s latest article mentioned her giving up part of herself for family life which was not even true. She gave up nothing and Cillian never asked her to. She told him that she did not want children and he accepted her position as he, too, did not want to expand his family any further. He was too old for this. The girls were enough for him but, him having them over 175 days a year was a burden to Lorraine and, just tonight, when he had met you and you were speaking so highly of them both, this made him think. Perhaps his sister was right when she told him to keep on looking rather than settling for Lorraine.

“I will talk to her” Cillian said in the end just as his sister was about to leave.

“You should” his sister said while, deep down inside, she thought that Cillian should be looking for someone else. Someone mature and closer to his own age. Someone who was not in showbiz. Perhaps even someone normal.

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