#my jame was VERY unique

[barbossas-wench]

[cryscendo]

kurt hummel in every performance

3x16 - Saturday Night Glee-ver

Boogie Shoes - Unique Adams + Vocal Adrenaline

“Look, Wade, I know we sent you those shoes as a good-luck gesture, but we talked it over, and you can't do this. I admit that I've worn some flamboyant designer outfits, but I've never dressed up like a woman.”

[scattered-winter]

ask me about a celebrity and i will have no idea who tf you're talking about but ask me my opinions on movie score composers and i will be pulling up my powerpoint

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

I am begging DC artists drawing Flash comics to stop drawing Axel looking exactly like James.  Please.  They are two different Tricksters with distinct looks.  It’s not like the two Mirror Masters, who wore basically the same outfit.  Axel looks like this:

James looks like this:

And more recently like this:

Yeah, it’s similar because they are both blond Tricksters, but they have their own distinct styles. 

The Greatest Trick of All story, much as I disliked it, actually managed to differentiate the two:

They have similar outfits, but those are clearly two different people.

Look, it’s bad enough that my fave, James Jesse has either been dead or written badly for like 20 years, but it’s extra frustrating when Axel the Replacement Trickster keeps popping up in comics drawn to look exactly like James, down to the outfit and hair and everything.  Especially since Axel has his own unique look that works better for him as a character.

[brydigdraws]

Did requests on an anonymous local app again about a year ago, this time to try out Rebelle and my new tablet

Very diverse prompts as usual

[drchucktingle]

i have always been fan of HBOMBERGUY since he invited me onto his trans charity livestream, very good creator and buckaroo. but DANG his video about plagiarism and james somerton is OTHER LEVEL of investigation and journalism. really dang interesting.

especially fun for chuck because i have NO IDEA who any of these scoundrels are i am a little older in my trot so i am kind of new to youtube. so coming in with no prior knowledge makes chucks perspective kind of unique and GUESS WHAT it still works very well i have learned a lot

[bandomgay]

.

[saintkevorkian]

personal liberties are supreme but there are two reasons why one might consider caring whether or not others enjoy the same freedoms

1. when you see people whose rights are being treated as optional on a regular basis you begin to see human rights as flexible (including your own) --to an extent this will happen anyway but as one lays down new memories theyve got bits of indexing information on (c.f. tags on tumour site) which are dependant on one’s thoughts in the moment--e.g., ‘why do people slide down this slope? well, simple types become violent when presented with the illusion of a zero-sum game, but the conclusions theyve reached can’t be trusted & won’t apply beyond the immediate situation etc’

2. most people do yearn for a bit more cooperation because everything could proceed much more smoothly. --when treated like dogs most people will act accordingly tbh and you can’t dismiss this behaviour as simplicity because, unlike in the first example where one attempts to improve one’s position by leveraging a demographic advantage to ‘adjust’ the most sensible rules of engagement so theyve for example a smaller pool of competitors, if a person who is dehumanised acts violently they are reacting to a confining situation and violence is not the worst reaction (submission would be)

(3 is mostly fake and you can tell when people are ‘behaving themselves’ because they fear this lol) if people in your demographic are seen as oppressors and you are not seen as distinct from that demographic (you may have a sedulously crafted identity but you literally cannot control how others see you) then it isn’t impossible you might become the object of rare reprisals --although in most cases (see: rarity) these will be aimed more carefully, viz., at someone who personally harmed x group

note: this only matters if you will make a political spectacle of yourself which most people ought not to do for obvious reasons

[iberiancadre]

I've talked about this before but I have a deep dislike of sentiment like this within "leftist" circles, regarding unions. And it's practically always from USamericans, go figure.

(Before anyone interprets this post on bad faith, which is inevitable, I am not against being in a union and I am not telling people not to join a union, it's the most inmediate form of protection workers have and that is, in fact, good)

It's this overbearing insistence on joining unions, treating it like the best (and only) way of achieving workers' liberation, and I think that shows either a bad understanding of what unions are or a bad understanding of how capitalism works. Unions are bargaining bodies for workers, that's it. They aren't revolutionary, and they aren't going to kill your boss. And I want to really hammer in this point. They aren't revolutionary. Precisely because their role is to bargain, and to achieve better conditions within the system of salaried work.

You are never going to "liquidate the ownership class" by getting longer breaks, paid holidays and an excellent health plan. Keep in mind, bargaining with the capitalist is necessary, and that in itself isn't non-revolutionary, not necessarily. But the only purpose of a union is to bargain. I really don't think people get this. A union's only purpose is to bargain, it is to negotiate. Negotiations also necessarily imply compromises and unsatisfactory deals. Unions are not a magic key to not being exploited, and they especially are not the way to liberation.*

I think this is especially prevalent in the US because of two things:

Their labor movement is so fucked that any kind of opposition to capitalism is by default radical. And therefore some people feel it's enough to just tell people to join a union. However, this isn't unique to the US and many places have it much, much worse

Living in the imperial hegemon makes it very easy to ignore any other place outside of their little sphere. People can go years engaging in left-of-DNC circles but without ever leaving their USamerican community, they end up not knowing who James Baldwin is, to give a topical example. This affects the US labor movement by allowing them to ignore other places' struggles, so it's very easy to see anything they do as the horizon of political action. They only need to look to their own country for examples in action, and the truth is that the labor movement in the US has been largely very mild. In the cases when it has not been mild (notable exceptions include the Black Panthers), it's largely forgotten, demonized or revised in bigger circles.

So you get people who call themselves communists just for being unionists. But a communist is someone who identifies the core of exploitation to be the very structure of capitalism and work and attacks it. You are not a communist, however, for believing the core of exploitation is your shit boss who refuses to pay for dental.

And what's funny is that 90% of what people on here claim to be communist and anti-capitalist is just the norm on most of the world. People will hype up the DSA or VoteSocialist2024 as if they're breaking ground, and then you read their programs and they're just socialdemocrats. They are nothing more than reformists, just another manager of capitalism.

My father works for one of the biggest textile manufacturers and distributors in the world, and unionization is the norm, it's a "union job" but it's still shitty and exploitative. There are in fact 3 unions, and they engage in petty electoralism within the workplace, only sometimes actually protecting worker's rights, and that's a country-wide norm. This is what unions end up becoming when they become established, especially with a friendly government in place.

CCOO was a union created in the late fascist dictatorship in Spain, and they were genuinely fighting (with guns!) against the dictatorship. And the moment the dictatorship ended and they became the largest union in the country, they slowly became less and less radical, and more complacent. Last year they signed a labor reform that legalizes highly precarious and inconsistent forms of work contracts. That's not "liquidating the ownership class", that's just social-democracy when it doesn't need to be the opposition anymore

To wrap up, a note on syndicalism, anarcho-syndicalism, etc.

Unions are by their very nature an organization that only operates within one aspect of the life of the working class, the workplace. Sure, it's the main one and the part that defines us as a class, but it isn't the only one. In order to actually "liquidate the ownership class", you have to take power by force, and that will have to involve intervening outside of the workplace. What syndicalists used to claim is that unions can be the base of a socialist society and organize the entire working class to destroy capitalism. However, at that point, you have created a party and called it a union. And not only a party, but a myriad of them, each with their own characteristics and desires. So a multi-party system. I will not get into the viability of multiple parties in socialism in this post, but they are not unions in anything by name.

Footnote under the cut:

*I know I'm repeating myself a lot these days on this topic, but if you live in an imperial core country, there is no way to have prosperity (as the example above puts it) without some of that wealth coming from imperialism. It does not matter if your particular country never had colonies, it does not matter if your country is stereotypically nice (fuck the Nordic countries). And no, the expoliated wealth does not only remain within the capitalist class, there is always at least some circulation of wealth from the capitalist to the workers within any welfare program. If your workplace can afford to have long breaks, that is at least in part because your capitalist is profiting from the exploitation of the third world, and because the entire economies of imperial core countries uses the wealth extracted to support their deficits and to stabilize their currencies.

It's not a hard concept. If you can understand that it's basically impossible to manufacture batteries for renewable energy without exercising violence on places like the Congo, it's not that hard to understand the same is true for most things.

[egophiliac]

Hi!!! I just wanted to say that I really love the way you draw/write Vil in your little comics! I think you do a great job at capturing the more fun side of him in addition to the “pretentious, wine mom” look that’s often portrayed. It just makes the character feel more real.

Also, I was wondering if there was any way you could post that other version of Vil’s unique magic poster to the drive? The one with the full body shot? That’s one of my favorite pieces! (If not it’s totally chill - just figured I’d ask)

Thanks and have a great day!!!

thank you! 💜 and yeah, sure! I popped it in there as "Fairest One of All (Alternate)", and I apologize in advance for your black ink. (secretly though I also love how that one came out, so thank you for the validation. :') sometimes I do good!)

confession: when Twst was still in pre-release, I was not expecting to like any of the pom trio (the website descriptions are kinda terrible for everyone, and especially them). fortunately I was immediately proven wrong when it turned out that they're less ~mysterious aloof beauties~, and more the very weirdly specific dynamic of "Team Rocket except James got all the camp (and also Meowth is their weird little feral child they're trying to pull a pygmalion on against his will)".

(it's a good dynamic)

[kquil]

POLY MARAUDERS | HEROES IN TATTOOS PART 2

02 : THANK YOU

SUM. : you thank your heroes with home made lunch at their work place, leaving with a temporary tattoo and three men wrapped around your little finger.

TAGS. : modern au ; muggle au ; tattoo artist sirius ; tattoo artist james ; piercer remus ; innocent reader ; all three are smitten with you ; all three also being casually dominant with you ; sweetheart reader x rough tough men is the trope! ; prepare to be as obsessed as i am over these men! ; marauders with tattoos and piercings are hot

LENGTH. : 2.6k

PREV. : 01 | RESCUE

“Well there’s a familiar face,” Remus greets with a smile as you step into the shop. You timidly smile back and wait for him to wave off a customer with their care kit before stepping forward with your heavy tote strung over your shoulder, “do you have an appointment for a tattoo or a piercing?” he asks, eyes trained on the tablet at the front desk. 

“Oh, no no,” you bashfully stammer, “I’m not here for any of that, I’m scared of needles,” 

“That’s a shame,” Remus contemplates and you look up to see him leaning over with a thoughtful look, his elbows on the counter as one hand holds his chin up - he’s so handsome. He has several piercings decorating his ears and an eyebrow piercing to accentuate the angles of his brows. As he moves his chin off his palm to caress it in contemplation, he continues to take you in as you also take the opportunity to admire some of the tattoos on his arms. There are some phrases in different fonts, an impressive vision of a wolf with a full moon and a minimalist set of the moon phases alongside much more, “you’d look good with cute little piercings on your ears,” he finally comments, reaching out to point at your ear. 

“Th-thank you,” you subconsciously reach up and touch your ear, his statement making you briefly consider his suggestion.

“So what are you here for if not for a piercing or tattoo?” straightening up into his full height, Remus lets a light scowl take over his face, “Is that bastard troubling you again?”

“It’s alright, don’t worry, I told my manager and he’s been banned from the pub I work at so I haven’t had anymore bad encounters,” 

Remus smiles at your precious appearance, you really look adorable being all timid in front of him, “I’m glad,” his voice is warm and comforting, different to the roughness brought on by the ink on his arms. He was dressed in a white shirt under a sleeveless brown sweater vest, high-waisted, tailored pants with the bottoms just about reaching his Doc Martens - he’s a good balance of soft but edgy. It’s a unique charm of his, you gather.

“I-I just wanted to say thank you to you guys,” you gesture to your tote bag, “so I made you some lunch, I hope that’s okay…” 

“Free lunch, home cooked by the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen?” Sirius interrupts, stealing your attention as he appears from a corridor to your left with a boyish grin. He reaches for your hand and brings your knuckles up to his lips for a soft kiss, “what an honour,”

Your cheeks heat up incredibly at the gesture, “it’s really nothing, you guys saved me last night, it’s the least I could do,”

Sirius smiles down at you and after sharing a look with Remus he begins to lead you down the same corridor he had just appeared from, “well, you have the most perfect timing, darling because it’s a slow day and almost our lunch break,”

“I’ll tell James and help him finish up with his last client for the day. We’ll see you in a bit,” Remus announces as he flips the sign at the door to ‘CLOSED’. You wanted to protest and say that you didn’t want to waste too much of their time but the mousy haired piercer smiled and that was enough reassurance for you to hold your tongue. 

“Let’s go love,” Sirius leads you down a corridor to a room with rock posters and varying pieces of art decorating the wall as sofas lined half of the walls with varying aesthetics, one was very much distressed but still cosy looking, as the other was of a sleek, black leather. Thankfully, there was a pretty large coffee table that you could set your tote bag on and slowly began to take out the food you had cooked. On the distressed sofa behind you, Sirius admired your tentative figure and appreciated your stark difference in aesthetic to the room around you. Your style fits close to Remus although more feminine and carefree. There was a cosy structure to Remus’s fashion but with your long flowing white skirt, chiffon blouse and delicate jewellery, you embodied a breath of fresh air under the summer sun, “what a beauty,” Sirius says to himself, arms resting along the back of the sofa as you finally settled down.

Thinking he meant the food in the tupperware, you smile, “you like the food already?”

“I’m talking about you, darling, although the food does look delicious,” Sirius chuckles under his breath as you timidly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Th-thank you but really, I hope you like the food,” 

“I’m sure I will,” silence slowly permeates the space between you as you wait for Remus and James but it was still comfortable, not awkward at all. In that time, you both take in each other’s appearance. Sirius wears a white tank that clings to his toned figure and ends just under his belly button, showcasing a majority of the tattoos that embellish his skin. He’s also in black jeans and a pair of worn combat boots. The tattoos on his arms and those that peak out from his torso and chest don’t have a visible theme but they all still go together somehow. There are many unknown symbols and long winded sentences written decoratively around said symbols and the occasional elaborate illustration. There are some doodles dedicated to music, some to inside jokes you would guess and you want to ask questions but you bite your tongue. You didn’t want to be rude. 

“Curious?” Sirius asks, having noticed your wandering eyes and smiling at your kitten-like interest. 

“A little bit…”

“Ask away,”

When James and Remus finally join the two of you a few minutes later, they see you fully turned towards Sirius on the sofa, eyes focused on a tattoo on his chest that he was explaining the meaning of, catching you in a trance with his voice. The tattoo artist has his tank top moved down and to the side as you absentmindedly reach your hand up to his tattoo, almost tracing the ink on his skin with your delicate fingers. From the grin on Sirius’s face and the love-eyes he was watching your face with, they could tell he was smitten with you, which was rare. Sirius was very much a ladies man but you’ve managed to rope him in with hardly any effort put in. Remus doesn’t blame his friend, though, you’re very captivating. 

The chuckle from both Remus and James pulls your attention away from Sirius who smirks up at them, unbothered by their interruption.  

“I heard a pretty lady was treating us to some home made lunch today,” James eagerly sits down in the space beside you as Remus sits atop the far right of the coffee table. 

“Y-yeah, I hope you like it, please dig in,”

“Don’t mind if I do!” James cheers and promptly consumes his share of food, giving the occasional groan of satisfaction from the taste in his mouth, “Sho good!”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Remus corrects with an amused smile before turning to your with an appreciative grin, “Thank you, truly, (Y/N), I was getting tired of take out,”

“Home cooking is the best,” Sirius groans from your other side, already half way through his share, which makes you giggle in happiness. Your heart swells with joy knowing that you could properly thank your heroes. Speaking off, you finally get to admire James in better lighting than the street lamps. He isn’t nearly as decorated with ink as Sirius but there was a pretty illustration of a stag on his forearm that you admired. You hadn’t wanted to feel awkward so you brought some lunch for you too and ate alongside the trio, stealing secret glances at James who remained oblivious, too engrossed in his food. He’s in much cosier attire compared to Srius and Remus. Hanging from his broad shoulders was an oversized, faded shirt and washed-out jeans with the bottoms rolled up to showcase his high converse shoes. Framing his face was a charming pair of round glasses and, matched with his unruly curls and tattoos, made him a pictured balance of casual and wild that suits only him.

Lunch passes and James was the first to finish between the trio, quickly proceeding to pull puppy eyes at his two friends in a soft plea for them to surrender some of their food to him but they firmly decline. 

“I’m not letting you have some of my lunch just because you finished yours too quickly,” Sirius huffs, pulling his tupperware closer to him. 

“Sorry Prongs,” Remus laughs, “those puppy eyes aren’t going to work on me, our dove’s cooking is too good to share,”

Unable to resist James’s pouting face, you hold up a spoonful of your meal, “it’s okay James,” you bring your spare hand to sit under the spoon and move it to James’s lips, “here, say ‘ahh’,”   

With a boyish, golden-boy grin, James happily accepts the mouthful and moans in happiness, chewing away like a happy squirrel. Enjoying his glee so much, you happily feed him the rest of your lunch, saying that you were already far too full to eat any more so that Remus and Sirius didn’t scold James too much. It was partially true though because seeing James eating was enough to make you feel full already. 

Once done, you set aside the tupperware and was completely unprepared for when James kissed your cheek as thanks for feeding him the rest of your lunch, “you’re too kind, angel, thank you,” he whispers into your ear, his breath brushing against your sensitive skin and sending a shiver down your spine. You could only muster a timid nod in response. 

When lunch ended, casual conversations started which slowly divulged into the boys wanting to give you a temporary tattoo as thanks. You wanted to protest the redundancy of their actions but were quickly convinced by the verbal pleas of Sirius and James as Remus simply stared at you with interested eyes.

“What tattoo would you like, doll?” Sirius asks, smiling at your pondering face. You're far too cute for your own good.

“Surprise me!” you finally chirp, missing the roguish grin the three men share. 

Not too long after, you were brought into a room with a computer connected to a specialised printer against one wall of the room. Remus and Sirius immediately move to prepare the temporary tattoo on the screen and set up the printer while James leads you to the tattoo bed in the middle of the room. 

“This can fold into a chair but that’s a bit of a hassle right now, do you mind sitting on the bed instead?” James asks as you shake your head and reassure that it’s alright. He loves how compliant you are and watches for a moment as you struggle to get on the high bed before offering assistance, “May I?” his hands hesitates just before they reach your figure but you pay his touch no mind and nod, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders as he secures his hold on your waist. With a small countdown, James lifts you onto the tattoo table with hardly any effort. 

Shuffling back, you smile up at James who remains taller than you on the table as he stands between your thighs, “Thank you, James,” the tattoo artist smiles when you say his name but frowns at the distance you’re sitting at the table. 

“No worries sweetheart but you we need you a little closer than that,” without another word, James grips your thighs with his large hands and pulls you with some force to sit closer to the edge of the table, which also pulls a surprised squeal from your lips, “sorry sorry,” James chuckles softly his hands still on your thighs and shudders at your proximity when he looks down to see your skirt bundled up, accentuating how close your hips were to his. Stepping away, James tidies up your skirt as you giggle and thank him once more for his assistance. He smiles at you before being called over to the computer, trading places with Sirius. 

“Where would you like your temporary tattoo, love?” he asks gently, opening a packet of sanitising wipes as the sound of the printer starts and whirrs in the background. 

“Hmmm…even though it’s temporary I want it to be easily hidden,”

“Such a shy princess aren’t you?” Sirius comments with a smile, “it’s so cute,”

Ignoring his comment, you rush to think of the perfect place for the tattoo and distract from your racing heart, “how about here?” you point to your chest, just above your breasts and below your collarbone. Sirius immediately recognises the placement and raises an amused brow. 

“Like my tattoo?”

You timidly smile, “yes please,”

“Very good choice,” Sirius praises playfully as pride swells within his chest, “but we need to get to that spot first, love,” you look down at your blouse and curse under your breath. 

“Umm…” you try to pull down the collar but it was a small cut and the fabric resists. The temporary tattoo finishes printing and Remus approaches the table with James to see you struggling with your blouse.

“Where does she want it?” James asks as Remus carefully holds the small tattoo. 

“Where mine was,” Sirius points to just below his collar bone, “but her blouse is in the way,”

Remus nods and approaches you, “that blouse is going to have to come off, dove,” his brown eyes watches you gnaw at your lip, it’s a hesitance he’s familiar with so he knows what to do, “don’t worry, you have nothing to be scared of, okay?” he gives you a warm smile when you look up at him and soon feel assured enough to untuck your blouse and pull it over your head, “good girl,” he praises with the same soft tone. You feel silly, these men give tattoos and pierce people’s skin, you’re sure that they’ve seen plenty of shirtless women in only their bras. Remus especially…he’s an expert piercer and has probably been asked to pierce lady parts that weren’t…very common.

“I’ve got to prepare your skin, love,” Sirius holds up the wipe and once you confirm exactly where you wanted the tattoo again, he wipes the area clean. Your skin is soft and slightly bouncy as it leads down to your breasts that makes the tattoo artist wipe at your skin a little longer than normal. After Sirius finishes prepping your skin and letting it dry, Remus steps up and applies the tattoo as best as he can without wrinkles. He swipes over the tattoo with his fingers and smiles at the handiwork. Beside him, Sirius and James admire the temporary ink, all three internally screaming at what you had let them ink you with.   

“Wait a full hour before you peel off the applicator,” Remus gently instructs, “and try to avoid sweating or showering for the next 6 hours okay?” you nod and Remus pats your head in approval with a contented hum. You put your blouse back on and let James help you down, laughing brightly when he raises you up high and spins you in the air before he finally sets you down, laughing alongside you. 

The boys still have a business to run so you collect your empty tupperware and wave the three goodbye before hurrying home, excited to see what tattoo they had given you as they were adamant at keeping it a surprise from you. When you finally arrived home and got a hold of a mirror, you examined the tattoo with your blouse off and felt your cheeks gradually heat up as you trace the differing fonts of the three names decorating the space beneath your collarbone. 

Their names in their handwriting. James, Sirius, Remus.

NEXT : 03 | GROCERIES

NAVI. | HEROES IN TATTOOS SERIES

A/N : i'm becoming more and more obsessed with this au - i couldn't stop writing! if i'm going down, im bringing your darlings with me! no survivors allowed! maybe i'll make a part 3? i don't know yet. again, i've added additional tags of the people who have expressed interest in more parts for the timestamp. tell me your thoughts, lovelies!

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins ; @astonishment ; @until-i-found-you ; @goodoldfashionedluvergirl ; @tiensmamains ; @manical-heaven ; @ch3rry-pops ; @unholyhuntress ; @animeluvr99 ; @peppers-library ; @thepowerthismanhasoverme ; @buck-fics ; @bohemian-lavender-girl

[luveline]

hi jade!! can i request something with the marauders (platonic or romantic) maybe reader has been real stressed with work or school and the marauders try to get her to relax once they realize how stressed she actually is?? ty! u don’t have to do this, it’s just a thought :))

thank you for your request my love, nearly romantic poly!marauders x fem!reader

James notices first, surprisingly. While Sirius is fluent in what goes unsaid, and Remus is more than familiar with stress, it's James who has learned to read his sometimes sulky friends, and so it's James who knows that your tight shoulders and your half-hearted smile are from more than being tired. 

He doesn't want to announce your potential upset upset the world, so he waits for Remus to get a drink while Sirius is in the loo and slides down the sofa toward you until you're sitting thigh to thigh. He doesn't ever want much space from you. He's fortunate that you feel the same. 

"What, James?" you ask, leaning on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" 

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, solemn, so you know he's serious. 

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" 

"You just seem unhappy tonight, is all. You know you can tell me. Or if you don't want to tell me, you can tell one of the boys." 

Because you and your friends are in an incredibly weird (not weird, really, unexpected, but so full of love and sweetness that weird doesn't apply) situation in which you aren't dating anyone but it feels like you are. James imagines it as a sort of precipice, where you might choose one of them, or, in what seems the more unique but better fit, you might not choose at all. 

James only knows you feel the same way about them as they do about you because you'd confessed to Remus how guilty you feel for stringing them along. He reported back, and is quoted by himself to have said, Well, we must be stringing you along too. While I string James along, and Sirius strings me. 

So everybody fancies everybody and nobody knows what to do about it. (Well, apart from that one kiss between James and Remus, which went exceptionally well. James had known what to do about that). For tonight, nothing has to be done. All James needs to do is figure out how to make you feel better. 

Remus is offended at having had his seat stolen when he returns, but then he sees your sad face slack on James' big shoulder and forgets to be annoyed. Crouching down in front of you, Remus tilts his head to the side to align his face to yours, a frown mirrored on his lips as he asks, "What's wrong, dove?" 

The way he says it makes James pleased, and it also makes him like Remus impossibly more. James is earnest and ardent in wanting to comfort you, but Remus is very, very good at it. He has this seriousness, no-nonsense tone wrapped in a soft affection that could draw out James' very worst secrets. It's no surprise when you crack clean in two and confess.

"I'm really stressed out." Your voice takes a horrible dive, like you might cry. "Um, work is just hard, and I'm worried about money, too." 

James doesn't suppose you're in the depth of a relationship where it's appropriate to offer to bankroll you, and it's not what you want anyhow. He bites back any affluent admission in favour of a subtler approach. 

"You're worried about money?" he asks, gently as he can. "You aren't going without, are you? I really hope you'd tell us if it were bad." 

You shake your head. "I'm not going without. Don't worry, it's not that bad." But it could be, goes unsaid. 

Remus hums, his hand on your knee. "You know we care about you. Please, don't not tell us if you need something, okay?" His hand climbs the stretch of your thigh. "What's worrying you, dove? With work, are they giving you a hard time again?" 

Sirius returns somewhere in the midst of your talking, and he's absolutely horrified when a single tear bounds down your cheek. He squeezes between you and the armrest of the sofa to wipe your face as it comes, his weight almost entirely on top of you, so close that his hair tickles your cheek and neck. "Don't cry. I promise not to leave you alone with these two ever again," he jokes, though the tenderness with which he holds your face is nothing but sincere. 

James, sick of being the only one not comforting you physically, finds one of your hands to hold. It's smaller, and warm, and he pulls it to his chest as though that might hide you away from all the things that are freaking you out. 

To no one's shock, the boys are good listeners. Not always to each other, but what one lacks another can make up, and they manage to pull out from you your pack of troubles one by one. When that's done, they assuage each accompanying fear. 

If the very worst happens, you'll always have them to lean on. 

That makes you cry more than the stress. Grateful —though the last thing they're comforting you for is gratitude— you needle your arms around Sirius' waist and hide your face in his chest. He frowns down at you as he wraps you up tightly. James doesn't even feel jealous. Well, mostly, until Sirius kisses your forehead and James can actually see your happy shudder. Lucky for him, you aren't done. You squeeze Sirius before pulling away and turning to James. He realises then what made Sirius so bold, your whispered thank you like a vibration through his chest. He pats your back. 

"That's alright," he murmurs. 

You nod and squeeze and move on to Remus, who's been sitting at your feet for the last twenty minutes while you cry, concerned but not complaining. He's eager even if he won't say that, climbing to his feet so he can reach down for you and receive his own hug. James is a ridiculous romantic, and he just aches with affection for both of you as he watches Remus nose your cheek. When Remus finally pulls away, Sirius is looking at them with the same expression. 

"Do you feel better?" he asks you. 

You sniffle and wipe your nose with your sleeve sheepishly. "Yes. Thank you, boys. I really don't know what I'd do without you." 

James forgets restraint and swings his arm around your shoulder. "It's a good thing you'll never be without us, then," he says, and kisses your cheek.

[hotchfiles]

lover to lover.

⋅☆⋅ mrsaluado's first xmas event ⋅☆⋅ masterlist

pairing: james x fem!reader.

summary: it's your first gift exchange as a couple and you are both dangerously lovesick.

content warnings: JUST FLUFF. I SWEAR.

word count: 1,4k

you felt silly, you felt like your gift was silly and felt even sillier for worrying so much about it your palms were sweaty even though it was very late at night and the house was surrounded by the whiteness of snow. this was your first christmas as james' girlfriend and even though you had been to his home before, that was the first time you would be staying the night as well.

to top that kind of pressure, it was the first year your gift to james would actually matter, you couldn't just give him a sweater, or a book or a coupon for free of charge homework help, it had to be good, it had to be meaningful.

and it was hard to do that for someone who had everything. he was the golden boy, not only were his parents generational wealth loaded, they were caring, loving and were always making sure he and his friends had everything they could ever need. how could anything you try to give him compare to that?

nonetheless, you tried your best, and now the party was over, the other three marauders black out drunk in sirius' room from spiked eggnogg mr. fleamont pretended not to see them drink and you on james' bed waiting for him to come back after helping them out.

his smile brightened up the whole room, even though the lights were on and the warmth in his eyes made you forget about any worries that surrounded your mind while he was gone. you stretched your arms to pull him in a hug after he closed the door, though he ignored completely, simply laying on top of you with all of his weight, forcing you to lay down as well. "honeyyyy, i'm so tired." he whined, his cheek touching yours as he spoke.

one of your hands went to his arm, while the other played with his hair, he was such a baby when he wanted to, but you were lovesick, dangerously lovesick, so it was endearing to you. "no gifts today, then?" that made him get up in a jump, excitement filling him with the energy he had lost to sleepiness.

"nooooo, not what i meant." he pouted, batting his beautiful eyelashes at you, you laughed, knowing that would be the reaction, he had been extremely curious by your present from the time you showed up engulfed in green flames inside his family's fireplace, a big heavy something, perfectly wrapped, to jamie written in your handwriting in a heart shaped note that he knew he would keep safe inside his wallet to the rest of his days.

you got the gift from his nightstand and handed it to him, the anxiety coming back again as you started overexplaining yourself to him, "wanted to make something special, but you have so much stuff i... didn't know what... so i asked your mum to help me with this. i know it's like, nothing super unique but... i don't know." you fumbled completely over your words and he looked so deep into your eyes you knew he was able to read your whole entire soul without even trying at all.

"even a rock you find on a road and decides it reminds you of me would be special." everything you do, everything you touch is special, is what he actually wants to say, but he refrains from it, carefully taking out the tape holding the wrapping paper together, refusing to rip it apart. his eyes sparkled when he saw the leather cover, his name golden along with his gryffindor quidditch number.

he opens it, not sure what would be inside, the first page had your handwriting again, written in red and filled with doodle hearts: my quidditch lover boy, know that wherever you play, i will always be your biggest cheerleader.

the rest was pictures, from the first one his mum took of him with a broom when he was still barely a person, his little arms holding tight to his dad. the first time he flew alone to show them. the letter he sent when he made the gryffindor team, his first captain's armband, tickets from matches he went with his father. the last picture was from his last victory, you both kissing with the biggest smiles while sirius covered you both with red paint.

it was a good thing he never pretended to be one of those emotionless guys, because his nose was red, his eyes watering as you heard him sniffing. "this... honey, this is the most beautiful thing." his fingers passed over the picture, with such care it seemed he was afraid to ruin it, he pulled you into a hug and then lifted your chin to face him, his lips touching yours like you were a treasure he needed to protect. you felt the saltiness of his tears and you couldn't help but laugh, it was just too adorable.

james let go of you, but not before kissing your whole face. he found a spot on his desk for your present, where it would be the first thing anyone spotted when looking around his room, and then took a small box and a piece of parchment from the first drawer of his nightstand. "m'feeling a tad inadequate now, mine isn't as thoughtful but... ms. euphemia did help me with it too." you laughed at the way he talked of his mum, "i wanted to give you some sort of jewelry, but everything i chose was simply grim, james darling." he gestured air quotes while trying to get his mother's tone across.

he handed you the velvet box, parchment still in hand as he waited for you to open, you were still stunned by the information he wanted to give you jewelry, you felt like your heart and your stomach were dancing and twirling around inside of you as how official that sounded. opening the box you find a beautiful, seemingly antique, silver ring, it had a red gem on top in the form of a triangle. you were completely speechless as you touched it lightly.

"m'dad proposed with that ring." your eyes widened at that, positive you were gonna pass out at any moment. "it's very old, and it's been in our family for generations, if you look closely you can see a symbol, the triangle one is for my invisibility cloak."

"james, this is beautiful, but... i can't accept this, it's a family heirloom i... it belongs to your family." you couldn't even look at him, you were out of breath, out of words, out of ways to react.

"yeah, that's sorta it. you're part of my family now." he takes the ring out of the box and slides it on your right index finger, so not to pressure you, so you knew it was a present, a promise of commitment, but not an obligation or a way to imprison you to him. "and my mum kept this for years, i had no idea, she says it's adorable, so..." james hands you the parchment finally, and you open it to see the date on top, stating it was a letter from two years before.

a letter he sent to his mum, from hogwarts, talking about you.

he went on and on talking about sometimes he felt like his heart was gonna jump out of his chest when you were around and that wasn't normal, that didn't happen before. and how he could smell your perfume before even seeing you had got into the room.

he was fifteen and down bad for his best friend and was so confused he asked his mum for advice. it was indeed the most adorable thing. and euphemia was so sure something would come out of it she kept the letter. you had to put it down on his bed so you wouldn't wet it with your tears. "you're such a sap oh my god." you said in a mocking tone even though you were the one crying like an absolute baby.

"enjoy it now, next year you're getting a simply grim necklace and a honeydukes discount coupon." james replied matter-of-factly, but his grin and his eyes showed how glad he was that you had enjoyed the gifts that much, "i love you too much, you're gonna wake up one day and m'gonna have inflated and exploded by how much." you couldn't even reply to that with anything other than a loud laugh, your hands quickly going over your mouth when you remembered how late it was.

you felt his weight over you again, but this time before he could be completely over you using you as a mattress, he slides beside you, pulling you closer to him, and closing his eyes. "merry christmas, lover boy." is the last thing you say before falling asleep in his embrace.

[moonstruckme]

hey :)) first off, i love the hozier caption in your bio. second, I’ve been reading so many of your fics recently and i think you’re sooo talented! i wanna be like you when I grow up (im 20 almost 21 lol)

anyways, I’ve never really requested anything but i wanna give it a try. I was wondering if you could do a poly!marauders x reader fic or a just remus x reader fic where’s she’s driving and accidentally hits an animal and is really upset about it but they’re there to help to her move it and comfort her.

i just hit a cat and im not taking it well. we think it was just a stray cause I left my number with it in case but no one has called. my family kinda, but not really, made fun of me for being so sad about it and i kinda just need something with the guys being so affectionate and loving with her after everything.

it’s totally okay if youre not up to it! I understand that it’s such a hard topic so I won’t be offended if you don’t feel comfortable writing in this.

thank you again and im sooo looking forward to youre future work!! you’re talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before (lady gaga)

Mwah mwah mwah <3<3

-aves

(sorry this is so long)

Hi sweetheart, thank you so much! (Is your username a Lizzy McAlpine reference? I love that) I'm really sorry you went through this, I've been fortunate enough to have never hit an animal but I've seen it happen and it's so horrible, I'm really sorry you've been dealing with this :(( I think you did the right thing by leaving your number with it, and I hope the weight of that trauma and grief is starting to lift off you my love. Thank you for requesting <3

cw: mention of killing an animal, reader feeling guilty

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k words

James hears the door and is up instantly, bounding down the hall to greet you and Sirius. 

“Hello!” he calls ahead, eager for company after being left alone in your flat for over a half hour. “You guys took your time today, I thought even Remus might beat you home. Was traffic a riot, or…”

Sirius is looking at him with panic in his blue-gray eyes, clearly trying to convey one of those telepathic messages James has never been great at interpreting, and you…you’re looking at nothing. Your gaze is distant as you work off your shoe, the area around your eyes puffy and gray with smudged mascara. 

“Hey,” James breathes, then feels stupid. It sounds like he’s accusing you of something. He tries again. “Is everything okay?” 

Sirius gives him a look that says What do you think? and crouches beside you to help with a stubborn knot in your shoelace. Your hands are trembling, James notices. Dread settles like a stone in his stomach.

“I’ve got it,” Sirius murmurs to you, fingers gentle as they intercept your own, but the alarm doesn’t leave his expression as he watches your face. Ah. As much as it kills James to see you upset, Sirius will have no idea what to do with you in this state. Tears have always set him on edge. 

James squats, joining the two of you on the floor. “Hi, sweetheart.” He does his best to keep his own anxiety out of his voice as his hand finds your ankle, fingers wrapping around the bit of skin between the hem of your jeans and your socks. “Has something happened?” 

Your eyes meet his already full of tears, and James braces himself. Sirius does too, by the look of it, his shoulders tensing as he watches your face like you’re about to crumble away to nothing right here on their doormat. 

“I—” That’s all you get out before you have to bite down on your lip to keep from crying. A tiny whimper escapes, and spider web cracks spread across James’ heart. A sluggish tear leaks from your right eye. 

“It’s okay,” he swears, though he has no way of knowing it. You press the back of your hand to your mouth, trying to quell the sobs that shake your frame even with no air to feed them. “Oh, honey.” James leans forward, wrapping you in an awkward but very heartfelt hug, your knees between his chest and yours but your head crossing the distance to wet his shoulder with your tears. 

A sympathetic pressure builds in James’ sinuses, but he does his best to breathe through it. Stability tends to help you more than sympathy in these situations, and since Remus isn’t home yet, it’s left to James to be the reasonable one (Sirius would have all sorts of jokes to make about that, but he doesn’t seem to be feeling up to them either). 

He gives you a few moments of reprieve, a few passes of his palm up and down your spine, before trying again. “What’s going on?” he asks, gently as he can. “You guys are scaring me. Sirius?” 

Sirius’ brow pinches like he almost doesn’t want to say it either, and the anticipation in James’ chest heavies. “We were driving home,” he says slowly, keeping a wary eye on you lest he worsen your upset, “and a rabbit ran in front of the car.” 

Relief nearly chokes James at the same time as a sympathetic sorrow takes ahold of him. He pets the back of your head. You tremble with the force of your crying, leaning into his touch greedily. 

“She was driving?” he asks quietly, though he’s nearly sure. If your reaction isn’t enough to go off of, he already knows that you usually pick Sirius up from work and drive the both of you home. 

Sirius nods. 

“It doesn’t sound like there was anything you could do,” he murmurs to you, cupping the back of your neck to encourage you to look up at him. You do, sniffling as your lip quivers, and James uses his thumb to brush a wet streak of mascara from your blotchy cheek. 

“It must have been so scared.” Your voice breaks on the last word and James’ heart along with it, leaving a throbbing wound in the center of his chest. 

“I doubt it had time to be scared, honey,” he tries to reassure you, but his own voice is fraught. He looks to Sirius. “Did you…do you know if it…passed?” 

Sirius is half hiding behind his hair, a sure tell of his disquiet, and it brushes his shirt collar when he nods again. “We weren’t sure at first, so I got out to move it off the road. It was dead.” He winces at his wording, and you bite down on your lip harshly. His tone softens as he addresses you. “I really don’t think it felt any pain.”

You look nowhere near ready to believe him, and James is preparing to offer to make you a cup of tea and let you sort out your grief at your own pace when the front door opens again, stopping when it hits Sirius’ side. 

“Oh.” Remus pokes his head through. “Hello. Why are we all sitting on the floor?” 

Sirius scoots the rest of the way out of the door’s path before deciding to stand instead. He speaks to Remus in a low voice while James runs a hand up and down your side in an attempt to soothe you. He locks eyes with Remus over your shoulder, watching as the taller boy’s gaze takes on the weight of understanding. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Remus wraps Sirius in a half-hug, kissing his surprised boyfriend on the temple before stooping beside you. “That must have been awful to have to see. Let’s get you up, yeah?” He wraps a spindly hand around your forearm, more encouragement than anything, and James grips your other hand as he stands to pull you up with him. 

Neither of them seem quite willing to break contact with you, walking you over to the couch like a newborn fawn despite your murmured I’m okay. Sirius follows close behind. The both of you look like you’re perching rather than sitting, unable to completely relax even now that you’re home. 

“It must have been quite a scare,” Remus sympathizes, sitting on the edge of his favored armchair. 

“A bit,” Sirius mutters, and your throat bobs. 

Remus cocks his head. “What’re you thinking, darling?” 

James almost wants to look away at the rawness in your expression as you raise your eyes to meet Remus’. “I just…I can’t believe I killed it. I’ve never” —your voice pitches, and you swallow again— “I’ve never killed anything before.”

 “It was an accident,” James tells you, beseeching. 

“You couldn’t have stopped,” Sirius says. His voice has an odd, desperate quality to it, and James sees Remus notice it at the same time as he does, both boys leaning forward to see Sirius better. For the first time, James notices—had he missed it before, or has it only just started?—that Sirius is trembling slightly too. James�� free hand twitches instinctively toward him, but his dark-haired boyfriend is only touchy when he’s in a good mood. He’s not keen on physical comfort; no matter how many years James has worked on him, Sirius has always preferred to keep his struggles internal. “Or avoided it,” he goes on. “It happened too fast.” 

Remus nods at you. “As awful as it is, these things happen sometimes. Hopefully,” he adds when another tear slips down your cheek, “never again to you, but selfish as it is, I’m glad you didn’t slam on the brakes or anything else that could have gotten you and Sirius hurt instead.” 

You glance at Sirius, and he gives you a weak smile, taking your hand and squeezing gently. 

“Nothing you could have done,” he whispers. 

Your lips tremble again. James watches as panic flashes in Sirius’ eyes, but he keeps it together. “I’m really sorry,” you tell him, voice wavering. “I shouldn’t have made you take care of the bunny by yourself.” 

James' chest aches as Sirius takes a steadying breath. “You were frazzled. Understandably upset,” he corrects himself, squeezing your hand again. This time you squeeze back. “It was a one-man job anyway.” 

You make a soft sound, leaning your head on his shoulder, and James has the sense something has settled a bit in each of you. He raises your joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of yours as Remus’ eyebrows furrow. 

“Have you had a chance to wash your hands, love?” he asks Sirius, who blinks.

“No. I forgot.” 

Despite the heavy atmosphere, James actually feels the beginnings of a smile tempting his lips as he watches Remus forcibly quell his horror. “Right, then. Why don’t we go do that in the kitchen now, and I’ll make us all some tea.” 

“Good idea,” James says heartily, swiping his thumb back and forth over his own kiss on your hand. “Hey, could we take out the good cookies as well?” 

Remus hums what James chooses to interpret as assent, shepherding Sirius into the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry,” you say to James once the other two are out of hearing. 

He looks down at you. “What for, sweetheart?” 

You shrug, your shoulders remaining just a tad too high after the motion. You’ve stopped crying, and James is grateful, but he doesn’t think this shameful look is a vast improvement. “I feel like I’m being dramatic. And Sirius is the one who had to see it. He had to drive home too, I was too upset.” 

James’ battered, broken heart wells for the both of you. He forgoes his attentions to your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulders instead to tuck you against his side. “You’re not being dramatic,” he promises, “okay? You and Sirius were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you both had to witness something awful.” Your head sinks onto his shoulder, and he rubs your upper arm. “I think it’s alright to be sad for a while. For yourselves, and for the bunny. Just, don’t torment yourself, alright?” He withdraws enough to see your face, and you tilt your gaze up to his. “Please. You don’t deserve the guilt.” 

Your eyes cast down, contemplative and a bit shy, a moment before your head comes back to its spot on his shoulder. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

“No thanks necessary, babe. You can cry all night if you need to, I’ll be right here. Just do me a favor,” he lowers his voice, glancing toward the kitchen, “let me sit between you and Sirius if you do. Many more tears and I think he’ll have a heart attack.”

[efingcod]

Lipstick Masquerade - Chapter 1

Captain John Price x fem!Reader

You are a bartender at a high-end club that serves very powerful and dangerous men. Price is Price. He's undercover.

TW: The general kind of misogyny you would expect from the clients at an establishment like that. Mostly hinted at, if I can avoid stating outright. Sexuality.

This idea has been floating in my head for some time so I knew eventually I would get it out.

The vinyl of your boot creaks as you stretch out your ankle. It’s been such a long night. You take a deep breath and check your makeup in the mirror. You slip two fingers between your corset and your breasts, producing a tube of lipstick, Blood Red, which you swipe over your lips. You tuck the lipstick safely away and stick your finger in your mouth to remove the excess lipstick. No sense in looking this hot if you have lipstick on your teeth. Then you blow your reflection a kiss.

You back away from the mirror to get a good look at yourself. Your ass looks amazing in your surprisingly comfortable leather pants. Your outfit was chosen for both comfort and sex appeal. Hard to find, but you knew where to shop. You yank your corset up and, heels clicking on the tile, exit the employee bathroom.

The booming music of the club, muted in the bathroom, now fills your ears. Things have begun to quiet down a bit after the rush in the evening. It’s always like this on Tuesdays. The clients check into their hotels, get a steak at The James Tavern, and then head here. They get a drink and see their favorite girls in the back. Despite the fact that the only thing you do for money is serve drinks, for some of them, you’re their favorite girl. Some would love to bring you to the back. They see you as a challenge. In your experience, some men, even when placed in front of a row of beautiful women, will always eventually turn their heads to see what else is out there.

And that’s fine by you; you pour heavily and leave with a fat wad of cash every night. Everything is in cash. No one wants a transaction from this place on paper.

You grab your towel and do a quick wipe down of the bar counter. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a man approach the bar. You saunter over, a smile widening across your face. You look at him through your long fake eyelashes and say, “What can I get for you?”

Oh, he’s good looking.

Not that you don’t see good-looking men come in and out of here. Even the hot ones buy it from time to time. But this one, he looks a bit more down-to-earth. Even in his nice suit and with his hair slicked back like that, the uniquely styled facial hair tells you he's not like some of these other overgroomed and sculpted assholes. He places his hands on the counter. Fingers cleaned up, buffed, no hint of even clear polish. Someone had a job working over his callouses, but you didn’t miss the remnants on the pads of his knuckles.

Well, perhaps he was hired muscle.

Either scoping out the place for his boss or cashing in on his employee appreciation gift. It made no difference to you.

He orders a whiskey neat. Not top shelf either. A man who knows what he wants and he doesn’t seem concerned with impressing anyone.

Interesting.

You’re also not surprised when he speaks with a gruff British accent. Again, the facial hair gives it all away. “Thank you,” He says as you pour his drink and hand it to him. You note that not once in the past five minutes has he even looked at your tits. That’s practically a record. You doubt most of the regulars, besides the ones who favored you, of course, could pick your face out of a lineup. Which was good; you didn’t need anyone hounding you while you were shopping at the grocery store. Now, your décolletage - well, that was a different story. You smile warmly at him and tell him the price as you pass a tray to him.

There’s a hot second where you wonder if he’ll balk at it, but he just grabs his wallet. Nice leather, nondescript, and practical - a brand you don’t recognize. He counts out the cash, clearly familiar with the currency, and places it on the tray.

You take the tray and return the bottle on the way to the cash register. As you count it out you realize he’s left you a nice tip. You already knew you were going to like him and you're always pleased when you've got a good read on someone.

When you turn back around, you see he is still facing forward. He wasn’t staring at your ass, nor was he enjoying the floor show.

Unusual.

But as you think that, he turns in his seat toward the stage. Sandy is currently hanging from the pole, doing the splits in mid-air. She tried to show you how once, but you decided you were never going to be that flexible. The tips of her long strawberry blonde hair just brush across the stage. The light picks them up, making the strands seem to sparkle. You can’t recall if that’s her actual hair or a well-applied wig. Not that anyone cares, she’s beautiful and skilled; it would be hard for anyone to keep their eyes off of her.

With no one to serve and nothing to clean up for the moment, you lean on the bar and watch. Even though you’ve seen it before, you’re always impressed when she spins around the pole upside down and, at the same time, manages to remove her bra with one hand. The newcomer chuckles good-naturedly and turns his attention back to you.

“Talented gal, isn’t she?” You grin at him and make a soft humming sound of agreement. “Can I get you anything else?” You ask. He puts a hand up and shakes his head. “Long night?” “Something like that,” He says. “We do have quieter rooms,” You suggest. “Nah, not ready for that yet,” He says with another chuckle. You note something in his eyes and wonder if he’ll ever be ready. Most of the men who come through here have a certain way about them. Posturing. A little money, and they can own every woman in the room.

Well, almost every.

That’s part of what they pay for, of course. That feeling of power. This guy didn’t seem to want it. Or maybe you prefer to think that.

Were you just getting a little sucked in by those soft gray-blue eyes?

“What’s your name?” He asks. “Uh- Jessie,” You say. It takes you a moment to recall your fake name. It’s not like you’re going to give the clients a real name, not that most of them ever ask. “I’m Owen,” He offers. You know a fake name delivery when you hear one. And that’s fine. Most clients preferred their anonymity as well. “Nice to meet you, Owen,” You say.

He looks ready to say something else when a group of several large men- bodyguards- walk through the door. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see Owen straighten up. You glance at him, apologetic, but he waves you off. The bodyguards part to make way for their boss. It’s a bigwig. Everyone just calls him Mister.

You conjure his usual order with fast but controlled movements. It’s in front of him before his ass hits the stool. You note that he’s wearing a particularly gorgeous gray suit of silk wool. A suit sold by a store that requires a referral letter and a credit check before you step one foot in the door. The way you hear it, the place doesn’t publish their address. Word of mouth, just like here.

“That’s why I like you, Jessie,” He says, giving you a wink. You’re one of his favorites. Luckily, he respects your boundaries. You mix the finest Manhattan he’s ever had, and he’d never do anything to interrupt that process. He had actually said that to you once. The thought made your skin crawl. You don’t know what he does in those quieter rooms. But the girls he chooses come back with red-rimmed eyes and purses filled to the brim with cash. Some of them take long breaks, some never come back. You smile your Blood Red smile at him.

You wait for a moment in case he needs something else. Despite his favoritism, he doesn’t have a high tolerance for you waiting on anyone else. But this time, he seems content to watch Sandy dance. He says something disgusting about her breasts. Then he speaks in a low voice to his head bodyguard, Lars. Lars looks like an extra from a Thor movie. But he’s not someone you should mistake for a meathead. There’s a reason Mister chose him as his head bodyguard. He speaks to Lars as if you’re not there. He always does that. You know more than you’d like about the ins and outs of his business because he thinks you’re just some dumb girl who’s never going to do anything about it.

Sometimes, you imagine going to the cops, telling them everything you know, and taking down every bastard who frequents this place. But you know that no one will listen to you. And you’re sure that some of them line their pockets in cash.

Mister doesn’t seem interested in you at the moment. It seems he’s found a companion for the night. You breathe a sigh of relief when he and his entourage leave your bar and move to one of the rooms in back.

Then you glance in Owen’s direction. Against your better judgment, you've found his presence comforting, but his stool is empty.

[leupagus]

I was pleasantly surprised to see Trent’s return at the start of the episode, because his ending struck me as a definitive one. Were you also surprised to have a bigger role this season? I found out that Trent would be featuring more in season three in between seasons one and two. You see, I had a really interesting thing happen with this role. After I finished my very first scene in the first season, I was walking through the car park and Jason stopped me and said, “Hey, it’s really good to have you onboard. I love what you’re doing with Trent.” And we had a three-minute conversation that changed the course of my career and Trent’s life.

Well, now I have to hear about this conversation. I said to him that I felt the reason Trent was the way he was has to do with his father. He had a dad who really wanted him to be a manly man and be sporty, but Trent wasn’t that guy. So he hit the library and donned intellect as his shield and armor. Jason was looking at me sort of mystified, and he said, “Hey, I’m going to tell you something. This whole show is about bad dads.” And I said, “Really?” And he said, “Yeah. The reason Ted is the way he is is because his father committed suicide and he decided to embrace life and adopt that positive attitude.” And I was like, “Oh, wow. Well, this is really resonating with Trent as well.” And then I said, “I think he’s bored of sports journalism. There’s more in there. He’s not living the life he wants to live.” Jason just nodded and went, “Okay, yeah, great.” And that was it. It sparked something that was maybe already in Jason and it certainly fanned the flames for what’s going to happen in season three.

There’s a moment in the season-one episode “Trent Crimm: The Independent” when Trent is tasked with basically eviscerating Ted in the press. Of course, that’s not what happens at all because he realizes he’s dealing with somebody quite special and unique. During that scene in the Indian restaurant, Ted says something that blows Trent’s heart open: “It’s not about the winning and losing, it’s about these boys becoming the best versions of themselves both on and off the pitch, and it ain’t always easy, especially if they’ve had a tough childhood.” That spoke directly to me with Trent’s backstory. As a boy, he’d always wanted to hear something like that. He’s now looking at this extraordinary father figure, which really does change Trent’s perspective and sends him on a journey in the background.

[please click on the link for more of the interview, including the fact that Lance did in fact flinch like a motherfucker every time Roy yelled at him]