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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years

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Claire...may I request a lil' writing? I'm thinking of Javi maybe post Columbia and he builds up a routine. He goes to the same coffee shop every morning on his way to work and of course picks up the same order. You're a barista at the coffee shop and eventually, you can pin down his arrival to the minute so one day, you make his drink for the exact moment when he gets there, with your number written on the cup cause screw it, he's damn hot. What would happen? <3

Oh Maia, this was FUN to write for you!!! I hope you enjoy it! :D

Exciting update!!! GIF and media genius @nicolethered made an amazing video for me to go with this fic!! Go give her big love!!

Second exciting update! I was challenged by @quica-quica-quica to play the POV game for this piece (where someone Asks you to rewrite a piece from a different character's POV). So now there is a companion piece to this from Javier's POV, called: "Coffee Shop Girl". Enjoy!

For Now

Word count: 3900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Javier Peña x “You” (Austin coffee shop barista; cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow-burn; oral sex/F receiving; vaginal fingering; protected P/V sex; cigarette smoking

Ten days. It took ten days between the first arrival of the handsome stranger and you ending up in his bed. A new personal record for you, given how reserved you normally were. But it was nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you were careful. It was the 90s now after all, there was zero reason to have to keep your knees closed until marriage, as long as you used condoms and got tested regularly.

You liked the coffee shop well enough, situated on the southern end of downtown near the warehouses and a few clubs. It drew a full spectrum of Austinites: college kids closing out their club nights with breakfast tacos and pastries before going home to crash; early morning construction workers, employees from the big post office around the corner; and the usual boring lawyers and office staff who started streaming in around 7:30 every weekday morning. You could do the job well enough, even considering the odd hours: waking up early enough to open the doors at 5:30, serve the slow trickle of early morning customers with patience and ease until a co-worker joined at 7:00 for the morning rush. And the barista and food service parts of the job were physically but not mentally demanding. It was a job, and certainly less hassle than your bartending gig some weekends. At least here you only had to throw drunks out once a month.

And then one Tuesday in early June, at 7:47 a.m., he appeared. Tall, neatly groomed mustache, dark eyes, a sheaf of bangs swept to the side over his forehead. His navy blue blazer and tie said ‘accountant’ or maybe ‘state employee’ and his sideburns were just a little out of date. You pegged him at about 40, probably one of those men who visited the same barber their whole lives, not bothering to keep up with fashion trends as long as they looked neat and clean. When he reached to take his to-go cup of black coffee from you, you noticed that his ring finger was bare, and you liked that his fingernails were clean and trimmed. He offered you a nod in thanks, and you smiled at him a little more warmly than you had with your other customers so far. He held the door on his way out, pausing just a moment to let two women enter… and then he was gone, out into the bright sunlight and foot traffic and morning rush. You hoped you would see him again.

On Wednesday he came back again, a repeat of Tuesday except with a different tie, deep red today instead of navy. Black coffee to go, leather portfolio tucked under one arm, clean hands, eyes as dark as the coffee you handed him. This time rewarding you with a gruff and gravelly, “Thanks,” instead of just a nod. You relished the accidental brush of his fingers on yours as you handed the cup over, another flash of him imprinted on you, along with yesterday’s vision of him going golden as he stepped out into the morning sun. This time you watched him through the big glass window until he was out of sight, admiring his strong nose in profile, the curve of it perched over that mustache. Two extra seconds of handsomeness poured into your morning before you had to turn back to rinsing mugs and making change. You hoped that he’d come again on Thursday, making it three visits, a genuine pattern instead of a fluke.

On Thursday he reappeared, same time as the previous two days, waiting patiently in line behind two wake-and-bake potheads who were taking their sweet time staring up at the food menu. Today he was dark gray instead of navy, wearing a charcoal blazer and a sharp black tie. You waved him over with a smile, letting it melt all the way up to your eyes instead of flashing the tight, brief, closed-mouth thing you used on most customers.

“Black coffee, right?” You watched his face, taking in the dark eyes, the hair, the brief smile that made a surprise dimple appear in his cheek.

He nodded, “That’s right. Thank you.” He slid a rumpled bill across the counter. “Keep the change.”

You bit your lip as you turned away, preening at his thanks and seven whole words as if they were genuine praise. His voice was deep and rich, landing with a rumble in your own chest, like the remnants of thudding bass from a passing car. You poured the coffee and secured the lid, brain scrambling desperately for something clever to say. To make him come back, to talk to you more.

You turned and handed him the cup, and as he reached for it you again let your hand be in just the right spot to feel the brush of his fingers. Your eyes locked on one another, and for the briefest moment you forgot to let go of the cup. You wanted to swim in those brown eyes forever, get lost and let him drown you whole. He paused, and you thought you saw the briefest twitch of his mustache, a pinprick in his calm exterior before you drew your hand back. He inclined his head, a single nod, and then he turned to leave and your attention was swept back to the register and the next customers.

Friday he arrived “on time” and you met his eyes as soon as he opened the door. Today he was warm earth tones, a dark red shirt under a brown tweed blazer and no tie, a nod to casual Friday. You turned and prepared his coffee, tightening the lid and then holding it up to him across the room, smiling and tossing your chin up in a friendly greeting. He walked up and slid a few bills over the counter to you.

“Thanks.” He winked at you and something in your pelvis fluttered. “See you next week.”

You watched him go, stepping out again into a halo of golden sun, pulling a pair of aviator sunglasses from his pocket and putting them on before striding away. You suddenly felt lost, facing the many hours between now and Monday.

Your weekend passed in a blur of extra bartending shifts and catching up on sleep. You were forever napping at odd hours, trying to reconcile the slightly staggered rhythms of early morning coffee shop hours and late-night bartending. It wasn’t the hardest you’d ever worked or the worst schedule, but it wasn’t fun. At least, it hadn’t been fun until now. Now you had something to look forward to.

Monday morning you opened the shop and kept an eye on the clock. At 7:46 you poured black coffee into a to-go cup. Thirty seconds later, he appeared on the other side of the plate glass window, the navy suit and tie again, blowing out a long stream of cigarette smoke before dropping the butt and giving it a quick twist under his foot. He took off his amber-lensed aviators and tucked them into the pocket of his blazer, then pulled out his wallet. At 7:47 on the dot, he opened the door, met your eyes, and saw you holding up his coffee. And there went that smile again, the dimple, the wink.

You smiled as he approached the counter. “You psychic or something? Or am I just that predictable?”

“Both, maybe.” You grinned and wiggled your eyebrows.

He opened his wallet and passed a bill across the counter, larger than what was strictly necessary for a to-go coffee and a reasonable tip. “Great service, keep the change.”

You thanked him, giving him the full-watt smile and wishing him a good day as you opened and closed the register, putting the change into the tip jar. Thankfully there was no one else in line right now, so you could give his handsome figure your full attention as he left, watching how the navy blazer hugged his shoulders.

He went out the door, turned right like he always did, and then he turned his head and his eyes met yours through the glass. You should have felt embarrassed that he caught you staring, but you didn’t. Mostly because you realized that he had stopped to look back, too, which meant you weren’t the only one hoping for more. He nodded and lifted his cup in a gesture of thanks. Then he was gone.

Tuesday was the same, only with the charcoal blazer and the dark red tie this time. The wink, the flutter in your gut, the over-tipping. The glance across the counter as his fingers brushed yours around the cup. The aviators slung on as soon as he stepped out the door.

Wednesday, again, the navy suit and tie, another brush of the fingers, a smaller tip but a bigger smile, gracing you with that dimple again. Another gravelly, “Thank you,” that sounded warmer than he had to date. The handsome profile and a quick meeting of the eyes through the glass as he left again.

Thursday was the same, only better. You used a permanent marker to write something on his paper cup before you poured it precisely at 7:46 a.m., watching, waiting. He did not disappoint. At 7:47, precisely on time, you caught a glimpse of his profile as he came into view through the plate glass window. Charcoal again. He turned and saw you inside, then opened the door, holding it again for a woman exiting. You pointed at his to-go cup on the counter and smiled.

“You trying to get rid of me? In and out so quickly?” He smiled and twitched an eyebrow at you.

You smiled back, “Depends on how long you were planning to stay. We close at 1:00 a.m. after open mic tonight. After that you gotta go somewhere else.”

The handsome man chuckled and pursed his lips. “And what time do you get off, after the morning shift?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” You winked and immediately regretted it, it felt too bold, it wasn’t your normal mode.

He met your eyes and said simply, “I am.”

You felt your face split into a wide smile. “I finish at 1:00, after the lunch rush.”

He nodded. “Good to know. I’m Javier, by the way.” He stuck his hand out and shook yours. You gave him your name and a warm shake of the hand.

He fished a few bills out of his wallet. “Can I maybe stop by after your shift, take you to lunch sometime?”

“You can do me one better than that.” You rotated the paper cup so that the writing was facing him. “My phone number’s on the cup.”

His eyebrows popped up, and then he gave you an appraising glance, like he was impressed. You saw his tongue shift up under his lip to suck a tooth and you suddenly wanted nothing more than to see how that tongue felt on you. You flushed hot, tingling with desire.

He arched an eyebrow at you. “You do that for all your customers?”

“Just the best tippers.” You winked at him and laughed.

He stuck his hand out once more and you gave him yours. He lifted it and kissed the back of your hand, mustache sweeping ever so briefly over your knuckles before he gently released it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” his voice was low and something in it went straight to your groin, making your pelvic muscles clench. You watched him pick up the cup and go, smiling at you with that dimple through the glass as he left. You stood for just a moment, hoping, hoping, hoping. Maybe he would call you after work?

At 1:00 you finished your shift and handed the register off to Mike. You were just untying your apron and hanging it up when you saw a familiar profile sweep into view outside the window. Javier. Your stomach flipped over and a million little butterflies flew out.

He ducked inside the door and searched the shop for a moment, smiling when he saw you coming out from behind the counter with your bag slung over your shoulder.

“Hey,” you stood for a moment and hesitated, suddenly shy.

Javier slipped his sunglasses off and tucked them into his pocket. “Hey, I’m glad I caught you. Are you busy, or can I take you to lunch today?”

“No, I’m not busy. I’d love to go.” You smiled. “There’s a sandwich place around the corner, and a park we can go sit in.”

He smiled, wider than you’d seen him do so far. “That’s perfect.”

He let you lead, walking him across the street and around the corner to the sub shop. You made small-talk on the way there, finding out that he was from Laredo but new to Austin, a former DEA agent consulting for the state. You picked up your food and walked a block over to the small city park, where you told him about your roommates, your cat, your wish to go back to school and finish your degree. By the end of lunch you were both smiling, feeling that spark, the little magnetic pull that had started over his coffee orders. At 2:00 Javier said he had to get back to his office.

“... but I’d really like to see you again. Can I take you to dinner? Tonight if that’s okay, since you’re working tomorrow night.” He stood close to you, looking warmly into your eyes.

“Yeah, that would be great.” You felt that flutter again, that twitch of interest from looking into his warm brown eyes, seeing the way they crinkled when he smiled. You were so busy looking at his eyes that you didn’t see him reach his hand out, sweeping it around to circle your shoulders and pull you in for a kiss. You kissed him back, as urgently as was proper for the time of day and the public setting. When he pulled away to walk back up the few blocks to his office, you stood there dazed. Wow.

You went home and napped, then showered and changed into datewear. Javier picked you up at 7:30, and you were relieved that the little spark was still there. You had half-worried that it would wear off in the few hours between your lunch date and now, or that it was a localized feeling limited to a small radius around the coffee shop. But dinner was fun and warm, and by the end of dessert and coffee you didn’t want to leave him yet. You decided that you would be bolder than you normally were.

“Listen, my roommates are home, but do you want to go back to your place?”

Javier looked surprised for only a moment and then smiled, “Yes, let’s go.”

You kissed all the way back to the car, ran your hands lightly over the back of Javier’s neck as he drove, kissed all the way from the car to his apartment door, and tumbled inside together, feeling for buttons and zippers and helping each other out of your clothes. His erection felt warm and solid against your hip, and when he finally got naked you were nearly moaning at the expanse of his broad shoulders and golden skin. He was beautiful.

Javier walked you backwards to the bedroom and paused only to pull a wrapped condom out of a drawer and turn on the bedside lamp to chase away the dark. You lay back and watched him as he tossed the foil packet onto the quilt next to you and then knelt beside your legs. He looked at you as he ran his hands up and down your naked thighs. Then he butterflied your legs slowly apart and ran one warm hand up to your pussy, teasing you with his fingers, dipping them in and out between your labia and running them up to tickle your clit.

“Can I eat you out?” He asked almost shyly.

You nodded, a breathy “Yeah,” issuing from your lips. Javier dove down and licked into you with a rush. You gasped and threw your head back, clawing your fingers down into the blankets. Javier worked you open on three fingers and used the tip of his stiffened tongue to flick your clit rapidly from side to side while his fingers slipped slowly in and out. You moaned and fought the urge to close your legs while he curled and stroked inside of you, finding the spots you could never quite reach yourself. Within a few minutes you were cresting the wave of release.

“Oh God, I’m gonna come! Keep- keep going,” you gasped, “Just like that!” Javier kept his pace steady, working you along as you huffed and breathed faster. He curled his fingers just right and you sped off the edge into oblivion, gulping and grunting and making noises that were almost embarrassing, that didn’t sound like you, but you felt too good to even care. Javier stopped licking and slowed his fingers as you clenched around him, using the broad flat of his tongue to swipe a long, comforting stripe up the outside of your labia. When you were finished coming, he pulled his fingers out slowly and sat up on his haunches, smiling like a prizewinner.

He wiped one broad, flat hand down his mouth and chin, and then crawled up the bed to lay next to you, stroking you from hip to breast with his thick fingers. “Was that okay, cariño?”

You groaned out a chuckle, “Oh yeah, that was good.” You rolled onto your side to face him, and drew him in for a deep kiss. You loved the mix of how he smelled and tasted, your own salty musk blending with his spicy cologne and the smoky phantoms of cigarettes past and his after-dinner coffee. As you kissed, his hand came up to stroke a trail of goosebumps on your shoulder, and you reached yours down to stroke his cock to attention. The heft of him was thick and warm in your hand, and within seconds he was hard and throbbing. You ran the pad of your thumb up the bottom of his head and over his slit gently, and you giggled as he shuddered and reached down to pull your hand away.

“You keep going like that and I’m not going to last long.” His thick fingers wrapped around yours, and he pulled your hand up to place a long kiss to the inside of your wrist, blowing warm air out through his nose, the feel of it on your skin sending a thrill up your spine. He reached for the condom and opened it, rolling it down his proud length. He put his hand down and stroked your thigh before hooking one hand behind your knee to pull your leg up and over his hip. He held himself so that his tip was buried just at your entrance, then he thrust up and into you in one swift motion. You inhaled sharply and hooked your leg tighter around him, letting him set the pace. He nudged your jaw, nosing up into the crook of your neck and kissing you from ear to chin and back again.

His hot words sent chills down your neck and your nipples stiffened into sensitive buds. “Baby, you feel so fucking good, so hot and wet. Fuck, you’re amazing.”

You kissed him and shushed him, then you pressed an open palm to his chest, “Wait. Roll over. I wanna get on top.”

Javier grinned in the dim light of his bedroom, then he wrapped his big hand around your lower back and pulled you over with him. You shifted and settled into place, and the feeling of being speared on him, of his cock hitting deep inside, of his coarse curls rubbing against your clit was almost to the point of overstimulation. You whined and fell face down into the crook of his neck, smelling his warm spiced fragrance and going limp at the ‘too much’ of it all. He planted his feet flat on the bed and kept his arms wrapped around you, thrusting up, up, up into you over and over. He made the most delicious noises, sounds that might have been words or not, but which conveyed all of his pleasure in little grunts and groans.

You decided you wanted to watch his face, so you sat back up and braced yourself on your knees, rolling your hips in rhythm with his and helping him chase his high.

“God, you look so fucking good on my cock, cariño. So beautiful.” He started to turn glossy with sweat, tiny golden beads reflecting the single lamp beside the bed and making him look surreal. You followed a drip of sweat as it appeared on his neck and then ran down to pool in the hollow at the base of his throat. You tipped forward once more to lick at it, to taste the salt and the smoke of him and nip one tiny bite into his neck before moving up to lick and nibble at his earlobe.

Javier suddenly tensed his legs, giving one big thrust and then hissing out a “Fffff-” between his lips as he came. He thrust again and then stilled, relaxing back into the bed, but keeping you close against him. You let him hold you, your breaths slowing together until you were back, calm again, heartbeats back to center. He released you and held the base of the condom as you lifted off and rolled onto your back. He went to the bathroom, and you heard him run water before he returned with a wrung-out washcloth. He offered it to you, and you declined with a weak wave. He turned and tossed it into the bathroom sink and then motioned for you to scoot off the bed so he could turn the covers down.

He picked up a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, gesturing at you with a raised eyebrow. You put a hand up, “Not a whole one, but I’ll take a drag off yours if that’s ok.”

“Sure thing.” He lit one and passed it to you, and you took a deep drag before handing it back.

“Thanks.” You blew the smoke out in a blue stream.

He crawled into bed and patted the mattress next to him. “Stay,” he looked at you with a smile. “If you want to.” He parked the cigarette back between his plush lips.

You smiled warmly and crawled in next to him. “Okay, just for a little while.” You checked the digital clock beside the bed. “I gotta go home and change, and then get to the coffee shop at 5:00. Can you set the alarm for 4:00?”

He nodded and picked up the clock, pressed a few buttons and slid a switch into place. Then he raised his arm and settled it around your shoulders, and turned off the lamp. You watched the cherry of his cigarette glow and then turn faint, bobbing in the dark as he moved to flick ash into the ashtray on the nightstand.

He murmured low, into the quiet room, “You know, I’m only here for the summer. The consulting job ends in August.” He paused to take the final pull of his cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ashtray. “After that, I gotta go back to D.C.”

You yawned and nodded. “No problem. We can have fun this summer. I’ll take you to Barton Springs and Mount Bonnell, give you the real Austin tour. We can just have fun for now.”

He kissed your forehead, moving down your nose to land soft kisses on your lips. “Okay, summer girl. I’m all yours… for now.”

---

Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

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#pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier peña x you #javier pena x you #narcos fic #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #pedro stories

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goodgirlsfanficawards · 3 years

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It’s Friday! Kick off your weekend with a reread of these five fics from September!

found my thrill by s_t_c_s / @sothischickshe

12 Sep 2020, M, 2.1K, 1/1

The tip toward Mrs. Boland fell delightfully easy into his lap. And yes, he thinks, absently clacking the hard candy against back teeth, the source of this information isn’t what he’d term the most wholesome. Leslie is, to put it mildly, something of a turd. Apparently one with aspirations of playing cops and robbers, quite possibly unstable. But that’s essentially by the by. Jimmy’s allied with worse for less.

His sweet is practically vacant of flavour now. It’s spent too long being sucked upon, dwindling slow. There’s a packet in the cabinet by his head; easy replenishment is on offer. But it’s the action he enjoys, more than the florid taste. There’s no sense to using up supplies ahead of the need.

She’d been squirrelly, this Mrs. Boland, both times he spoke to her. In the presence of her husband, and without his shade. Maybe she’s not aware Jimmy noticed it, might be unused to having her responses attended to; her man doesn’t exactly impress as the observant type. But Stepford sketchiness wouldn’t necessarily translate to anything relevant right now. He’s focused on breaking this case, not poking at lesser fry. Oh, Jimmy’s seen the seedy underbelly to white picket land, is past naïve over that. Has run into a whole host out there: prescription pills; pimpless, primarily, prostitution; pornography production ranging from the shockingly amateur to the really quite advanced.

Suburban problems have a way of sealing themselves inward though. Rarely spill out their box into messy violence and mass ugliness in a manner which requires large amounts of attention. If it’s something of that type, he may not, for now, have a quarrel with her. Well, unless she brings him one.

The Game by BookBearer

08 Sep 2020, M, 4K, 1/?

This most recent hit was one of the biggest they’ve seen in a while. Rio and his group owned – well, “collaborated with” – multiple grocery stores, businesses, and shops throughout the city of Detroit. Each section had its own purpose, but there were a couple of larger, no-named, grocery stores that were their biggest assets.

One of which was robbed yesterday night.

The first time an incident like this happened, Rio was not overly concerned. There were lowlife criminals scattered all across the city of Detroit- sometimes shit happens. Some people are new to the area, so maybe they didn’t get the memo—don’t fuck with Rio’s business.

Usually he would send out a couple of his boys to rough them up a bit. And if he was feeling generous, he would show them the error of their ways, take the full cut of what they took, and then let the go with all their fingers intact. Sometimes.

But this?

This was different.

With each passing day, Rio would continue to hear about how his shit was getting robbed. A barber shop here, a liquor store there, and now yesterday was the grocery store on 3rd. And it only seemed to be his shit getting hit… each store that was robbed had his cash involved somehow.

To say Rio was pissed would be the understatement of the century.

Let's All Get Drunk And Go To Heaven by Fei / @lanafannabanana, @Nice_diva

01 Sep 2020, E, 3.4K, 1/1

Only it’s not one drink for her. Not even two. The whole situation just feels surreal, and she feels so out of place, so restless. Rio is sitting across from her and she could feel his eyes on her even when she is not looking. Beth ends up having double bourbon. Twice. By the moment she finishes her second glass, she feels her mind blissfully fogging, and she knows she should probably slow down a little, but it’s too late now.

And maybe she’s feeling a little too tipsy right now, so what?

Beth is nursing her third drink, when she feels Rio’s knee bump into hers. She raises her eyebrows, turning to him.

“Yo,” he says lazily.

And that he is tonight – awfully lazy and very relaxed. She finds it suspicious and doesn’t even want to think about why he is so relaxed. Is it because it’s Mick’s birthday, so Rio is letting it go for a moment? Or maybe some deal went really fine? And, gosh, what kind of deal, exactly? Maybe he is just in a good mood? Is he ever?

He is always so much trouble even when he is not.

She doesn’t reply, just snorts and rolls her eyes, twirling a lock of her blond hair. He looks so cheeky and genuine right now, she can’t help but smile back.

don't give it a hand, offer it a soul by medievalraven / @medievalraven

08 Sep 2020, M, 14K, 2/3

“You know I did hear something interesting about the event tonight,” Gretchen says.

“What’s that?”

“Apparently Elizabeth Boland was there, caused quite a stir.”

Rio takes a drink, trying to remember seeing anyone out of place tonight or anyone people had been watching, whispering about. But he can’t place anyone outside the normal crowd.

As if sensing his confusion Gretchen exhales sharply before clarifying.

“Her grandfather was the former governor and she had been a regular at these things ever since she could walk. My mother used to love seeing what dresses she’d wear even as a little girl, it was quite the big deal amongst the newspapers apparently. Anyway a couple years ago there was talk that her husband was being tapped for an appointment to the State House of Representatives when he passed away suddenly. She basically disappeared after that.”

“Is that right?”

“So imagine everyone’s surprise when she showed up tonight as the caterer no less,” Gretchen chuckles.

And of fucking course that was her.

Off The Record by Sdktrs12 / @sdktrs12

18 Sep 2020, T, 31K, 5/?

“It’s a ride along, so you’ll be on the road for a few weeks. But compensation is...substantial.” He pauses and Beth lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s an entertainment piece.” He continues hastily, sensing her impatience. “A series of gallery showings for a photography exhibit.”

She sucks in a sharp breath and she knows Mason catches it because he heaves out a sigh, already knowing he’s losing her. “Absolutely not.” She hisses, her mind immediately transported back seven years.

She can picture herself perfectly, sitting at the hotel bar as she’d tried to drink away her misery. And then he’d been there, materializing by her side, eyes dark and dangerous as they’d scanned over her...

“You didn’t even let me finish.” Mason interrupts her thoughts and she distantly hears the toilet flush down the hall. Then the water is running in the sink and she pushes herself off the island.

She heads toward the door, stopping by the stairs to grab Jane’s overnight bag.

“I don’t need to hear the rest. Honestly, what did you expect? I mean, not only do I refuse to work with him, he refuses to work with me.” Beth scoffs at that—like he had any right or reason to blacklist her.

Not like the reasons she had.

“That’s the thing. His publicist called us and asked for you specifically. Said he doesn’t want the article done under any other publication or written by any other freelancer.”

And just—what? That didn’t make any sense. They hated each other.

If you know of anyone’s tumblr/twitter and we haven’t found it or tagged incorrectly, please send us an ask to let us know.

#good girls nbc #nbc good girls #good girls fanfiction #brio fanfiction #good girls fanfic #fic back friday

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averagejoesolomon · 3 years

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And we're back, baybee. I am hard pressed to remember a time I was this excited to upload a chapter. I hope you have so much fun. 1982 is going to be so, so much fun.

If you're new here—welcome! I know this says chapter one, but this is not the beginning of the story. Full Circle starts in 1978, and you can read the whole thing on Ao3.

Chapter One

“Is that a pistol in your pocket?”

Abby grins at him, the city still hot on her tail until she closes the door to their room, turning the first lock, then latching the second. “Maybe I’m just happy to see you, hot stuff,” she says, a strut to her step. “Picked it off one of the plainclothes standing watch at the shipyard gates—you’re welcome, by the way. That’s one less guy you’ll have shooting at you down there.”

“Don’t plan to have them shoot at me,” Matt says, stepping in from the balcony. He slides the door shut behind him, leaving behind a sea-stained evening breeze and a damn near perfect vantage point. “Don’t plan to get close.”

With each step, Abby unhooks and untucks another strap, peeling away at her own personal arsenal. “No one plans to have a gang of arms dealers shoot at them,” she says, with a handful of knives. “Or did you learn nothing in Tokyo?”

She smells like saltwater and street food as she passes, which might be why Matt’s slow to react when she ruffles her free hand through his hair. “Whoa,” he says, instinctively straightening his cowlick. “Easy, with the hair!”

Her weapons fall to the bed with a bounce, and she’s three pistols deep before she grants him a glance over her shoulder. “You know, I saw a barber shop down there,” she says, as velcro shreds open from around her chest. “And when in Rome…”

Her shirt hangs looser when she finally peels off her standard issue vest. She doesn’t waste a moment before chucking it in his direction. He catches it, easy, and tucks it away. “We’re not in Rome,” he reminds her. “We’re in Naples—and this is how all the cool people are wearing their hair.”

She grins, as though Matt’s just stumbled over a carefully placed trip wire. “Well then why are you wearing it?”

Rachel’s already taking inventory of Abby’s stockpile, her voice slipping into that comfortable, clear command. “Focus up, you two. If everything goes according to plan, he’s not going to get anywhere near the shipyards,” she says. “Or any of Romano’s goons. Matthew—run the plan by me again.”

“We’ve been through it at least a dozen—”

“Run it by me again, please.”

The way she says it makes it sound like a request, but he knows in his bones that it is anything but. He glances over at Abby, who glances right back, and then he surrenders with a sigh. “Romano has a seven-o’clock dinner reservation at Il Piatto del Raccolto. Thanks to our friends at Langley, so do I. When the opportunity presents itself, I’ll bug his briefcase, which will follow him all the way to the ports, and then we wait for him to incriminate himself. When he inevitably does, the bug will broadcast to our friends at Interpol who, handily, have a team on standby. Then, when we’ve sufficiently saved the day, the three of us will walk away with some delectable italian cannolis.”

Rachel cuts him a forbidding glance.

“Alright, so we skip the dessert.”

“Thank you.” She’s laid their small armory in line atop the floral comforter, careful eyes scanning every inch. They’ve run enough missions together for Matt to know that she’s got stats flashing through her head—the range of this one, the precision of that one. Finally, she lands on the sniper and reaches for it. “Abagail, you’ll be our eyes in the sky. Take this and hit the balcony.”

“Gimme a minute,” says Abby, pulling her hair up onto the side of her head with a bright, red scrunchie. “A girl can only do so much recon before she needs a bathroom break.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “Matt needs time to get down there before the reservation—”

“Do you want me to pee now, or do you want me to pee when I’ve got a sniper in my hand?”

Rachel has to think about it, because Rachel thinks about everything. “Fine,” she says. “Make it quick.”

“Would you take a chill pill?” Abby grumbles, and she’s already circling back toward the bathroom before Rachel can give her another order.

As she shuts the door behind her, it leaves Matt and Rachel in a familiar sense of shared focus. Rachel idly slides and snaps pieces of the sniper into place and Matt joins her without a second thought. On the opposite edge of the bed, he reaches for one of the pistols and checks it for bullets.

Her eyes don’t leave her busy hands as she says, “So when are you going to tell her you’re in love with her?”

He doesn’t stumble. He doesn’t stutter. Rachel tosses a clip in his direction and he catches it without looking, then slides it into place. “One day I’ll get shot in a firefight—nonfatal, but heroic nonetheless—and she’ll realize she can’t live without me. Figure that’ll be my moment.”

Rachel snaps her cartridges into place and chambers a fresh round with a dense click. Safety still on, she leans the sniper up against the nightstand and moves onto her next. Matt’s already tossing an empty handgun her way and she snatches it straight from the air. “That’s your plan?” she says. “Wait until you get shot?”

“It ain’t my best.”

“Well I should hope not.” She unloads the handle and checks the magazine. There must be enough bullets, because she snaps it right back into place. “We’re coming on two years of this now and the best you can come up with is taking a bullet?”

“Just to the shoulder or something.”

“Christ, Nebraska.”

Click, snap. “Well what do you suggest?”

“You’re in Italy. Ask the girl to dinner.”

“Getting shot sounds easier,” he says, and he cocks his gun. “And besides—I’ve already got dinner plans.”

“Tonight,” Rachel confirms. “But what about tomorrow? Or the night after that?”

“I’m getting there.”

Zip, click. “Well get there faster. I don’t know how much longer I can watch you swoon at her without barfing everywhere.”

“Real nice.”

“And whatever you do,” she says, with one final snap of her clip, ”get a haircut before you do it.”

“Okay—my hair ain’t that bad.”

She glances up at him from the tops of her eyes. A lot of people make the mistake of thinking that Rachel’s the quiet one between the sisters, but that just ain’t true. If a person looks hard enough, they’ll learn real quick that Rachel’s far louder, even if she doesn’t say nearly as much.

Matt opens his mouth for further protest, but a toilet flushes behind him and Abby makes a spectacular return. “Alright, dweebs, let’s get this show on the road,” she says, taking her pick from the pile. Then, to Matt, “Are you armed?”

He shrugs. “Oh, you know. Just with”—he pulls his arms up into a flex—”these guns.”

It doesn’t get the laugh he hopes for. It doesn’t even get a smile. Abby just stares at him. Blinks. “You should really take a pistol with you.”

He lets his arms fall. “Yeah, alright,” he drones. “Although, a civilian ain’t likely to have a gun in this situation. It’s gonna be hard to explain away if Romano sees it.”

“Then it’s a good thing he won’t see it,” Rachel cuts in, and she slides a semi-automatic his way. A smile still lingers on her lips and Matt uses it to patch up what’s left of his pride. “Remember, I’m your backup on the ground. If anything goes wrong—”

“You’ll be the first I call in,” he says, tucking the pistol into his holster.

Satisfied and armed to the teeth, Rachel nods and starts toward the door. In Matt’s experience, it’s usually best to follow and so he does without thinking. He follows her through the hallway and down the elevator. He follows her past the great, round reception desk and beyond the wood-panelled lobby, right through the revolving door.

He can’t tell which is a better sight to behold—the city from above, or the city from the streets. From his spot on the balcony, Naples had been red rooftops a hundred times over, a beautiful speckled vision beside the sea. It had been sparkling windows giving way to a sunset and ships sailing across serene waters. Back home, the States look like they were built, piece by manufactured piece, but from his spot in the sky, Matt had decided that the European cities seemed to be grown. Harvested. As though God himself laid the seeds and entire civilizations had since sprouted and vined throughout the centuries.

But down here, it’s clear that the city is rooted in its cobblestone and crumbling archways. It is grounded by bold paints and meticulous brickwork. Overflowing clotheslines fade without effort into brightly colored flags, all of which hang above bundles of long, red peppers out to dry. A picturesque city comes to life in between its narrow alleyways and sprawling potted greenery, if one only takes the time to look.

It’s an impossible decision. He turns to Rachel for her thoughts, but she’s gone. Of course she’s gone. She’s just that good.

So he once again follows her lead and decides that it’s his turn to vanish now. Italy won’t miss him, just the same as it doesn’t miss her. He starts off toward the fruit stands, letting the foreign chatter fill him, and then Matt does what he does best—he blends in.

It ain’t hard. It’s never hard, but it’s made especially easy by the busy streets and the evening hour. Bikes zoom past him while locals barter and tourists swoon. Horns echo against the distance. History brims at the edge of each step. It’s strange, the way he feels most like himself in times when he’s trying to be anything but.

He spots a couple walking their dog and asks to pet it in a smooth Italian. He admires a street musician and tosses a few coins into her case. A grey-haired vendor tries to overcharge him for a mandarin, but Matt talks him down and walks away with two. It’s no cannoli, but they’ll satisfy his sweet tooth well enough. He snacks on them as he walks, leaving the peels behind in planters as he passes.

A crowd gathers in one of the many city squares, lending their ears to a public prayer Matt doesn’t know. He slips by with ease, most of them distracted by their devotion. Some mutter along in the original Latin, while others simply lay their eyes closed. Even Matt bows his head—the result of habit—as he glides easily from one side to the other.

The congregation seems to part specially for him, and he only bumps shoulders once. The gentleman mumbles a quick “Scusi,” and the two carry on toward different paths. Matt hadn’t even seen him.

Matt hadn’t even seen him.

He stops in his tracks, which proves to be a mistake. If there is any one way to call attention to himself, it is by standing, struck, amongst strangers. Eyes fall to him, but Matt can’t help himself, because something ain’t right. He’s got hairs standing up at the back of his neck, so he checks his pockets. Sure enough, he’s been relieved of his wallet.

He throws his head toward the heavens, sighs, then turns on his heel. Rachel is gonna give him an earful after this. Abby will never let him live it down.

There’s not much to be gained by getting his wallet back—the ID is fake. So are the cards. The money is real, but it’s Langley’s, not his. More than anything, he chases after his pride, because he ain’t looking to be the spy who lost to a pickpocket.

The man doesn’t move quick, but he does move smart. He knows how to cover himself in a crowd, pivoting and dodging with every step. It’s impressive at first, and grows more annoying as Matt’s dinner reservation grows closer and closer. He has to sacrifice some stealth to do it, but among all of these worshipers, Matt finally catches up with the sinner.

He reaches out a hand and starts speaking up a storm of Italian, but the man speaks back in clear English. “Morgan?”

Just like that, they’re both stopped at the center of the crowd. The pickpocket turns into Matt’s grip and recognition kicks him like a horse to the chest. “Zeke?”

He remembers too late that, of course, his name isn’t Zeke. Not really. And anyway, the man standing before him ain’t the Zeke he came to know in Basic. This man is thinner, and paler, and entirely too weak. This man is out of breath, covered in sweat, and he’s pressing his hand at his side. Matt doesn’t need an intelligence background to see that something about him is awfully and terribly wrong.

But he doesn’t get to say so before he’s proven right. With a sharp, quiet cry, a dear and distant friend is suddenly in his arms once more, hunched over a pain too hard to bear alone. “Oh,” says Matt, catching him. “Okay, yeah.”

“Morgan,” he huffs, glancing up through a squint. “You—gah!”

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “I hear you. I’ll get you out of—”

“You have hair now.”

The observation is enough to totally disorient him. It’s hard to think of a less immediate concern than the state of Matt’s hair in this particular moment. “Yeah.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Okay?”

“Last time I saw you,”—his words are fading, his eyes are fading, he’s fading—“you didn’t have hair.”

And with that, Joe Solomon falls limp into Matthew Morgan’s unprepared embrace.

#Full Circle #hot DOG #here we go gang #buckle the HECK up

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caspers-chibs-imagines · 4 years

Text

Redemption

Summary

Riley Teller and her son move back to Charming. When Riley returns however, she is faced with the fact that she had to take on her responsibilities as a mom better than before when they are apart of The Sons. Allies are made and maybe a little something more with a certain Scotsman.

I just want to say a huge thank you to all of you that have read and supported my story this far. I’m struggling a lot with my health at the moment. But please don’t worry, this story will be kept updated as much as I can write for it. Enjoy this chapter!

____

Chapter Twenty One

The tension was thick when we all pulled up into the clubhouse to meet with the others. Jax sent me a look and I nodded my head in return. There was something up with the others. I knew exactly what it was when Bobby sent me an apologetic look.

Clay reeved up his bike before pulling out of the lot and we all followed. I was riding next to Filip as Sack wasn’t with us. I looked over to him and he shook his head at me. We both knew that today was going to be a very long one.

We all parked outside of Zobelle’s shop and I cut the engine to my bike. Clay got up from his bike and entered the shop after a small encounter with Jax – earning an eye roll at how sarcastic Clay was being today.

I hang my helmet on my bike and lean back to get comfortable. Chibs’ hand pats my knee and I look at his face. Giving me a reassuring smile before saying:

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s goin’ to be fine.”

I don’t reply verbally. I just smile and nod my head before we go back to being silent and waiting for Clay to return. Bobby was the next one to get my attention as he stood in front of my bike, leaning on the bars.

“Clay is gonna pull you pair up in the next meeting.” He informs me and catches the attention of Chibs too. “He found out through Opie.” We all look over to the frowning bastard that leant against his bike. As though he felt our eyes on him, he turned to look me dead in the eye. I shake my head at him before huffing and turning back to Bobby.

“I know you told Jax.” I mutter. Bobby again gives me an apologetic look, but I put my hand over his on my bike. “Thank you.” He raises an eyebrow in amusement at my sudden thanks and I smile. Nothing else is said as Clay walks out of the shop. He throws everyone a box of cigars, expect for Jax and I.

“Chibs,” Clay looks over to us both. “You’re with me and Opie. Rest of you head back to the clubhouse.”

At his words, I look back over to Chibs and he shares my look of worry but also frustration. Without another word to another, everyone rode off. I pulled off from the others as they headed back to the clubhouse. Cutting the engine and swinging my leg over the frame, I took in the sight of the graveyard.

I walked to the familiar headstone and smiled in greeting to it.

“Hey brother.” I sigh as I sit on the grass next to the headstone. Resting my head against its side and placing my right hand on the ground above where my brother would be lay to rest.

“Been a while since I’ve sat here and spoke to you like this.” I continue as I look up to the sky. It was a nice day; the clouds weren’t heavy or darkened. It seemed like Thomas was listening to me.

“I have a son now. Called Tommy. I know, ironic right?” I huff a gentle laugh to myself. “I named him after you. When I saw his little blue eyes and I felt like you were with me there. He is great, you’d love him. Jax adores the bones of him. If I’m honest, I think he just enjoys that he was made an uncle first.” I smiled at the thought of how Jax is with Tommy. He loved him like his own. He always let him say hello to Abel, let him hold his cousin. Letting him gain that connection to his family even more, after I stupidly didn’t come home for seven years.

“I’m prospecting too. Though, with becoming public with Filip I may not last very long.” I look at the inscribing on the stone and sigh. “Hopefully the club can get behind us, though I have a feeling two or three of them might not.” I look back towards my bike when I hear the familiar rumble of a motorcycle. Seeing Bobby pulling up besides my bike and cutting off his engine.

I turn back to my brother’s headstone and stand up. Putting my hand to rest on top of the marble before pressing a kiss to it.

“See you soon, brother.” I whisper and make my way to Bobby.

“Thought I’d find you here.” He greets me and offers a cigarette over. I take it and he lights it for me. Inhaling the smoke, holding it in for a second then exhaling it gave me the small nicotine rush I needed for the day.

“Am I in trouble or something?” I huff as I lean against the body of my bike.

“Just wanted to see if you were okay.” Bobby replies, exhaling smoke from his own cigarette. I shake my head and look down at my boots. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Wouldn’t know where to start.” I sigh in defeat. I take another drag and exhale the smoke. “I mean… I finally have something going for me. I have a great son; I’ve got a partner who adores both me and my son. I’ve got the club.”

“But?” Bobby pushes.

“I don’t know.” I shrug and run a hand through my short locks. “I feel like shit from the past ain’t done with me yet.” And that was the truth. I was getting unsettled by the fact that those loan sharks hadn’t come knocking for their money. Ever since they followed me from Tommy’s school, I haven’t been able to keep from looking over my shoulder.

“Shit has a habit of biting us in the ass.” Bobby chuckles and throws his burnt cigarette bud to the ground. My own following suit. “But you’ll be okay. You’re stubborn. You’re strong. You got us.” I nod my head at Bobby’s words and grab my helmet to put on.

“We better get back to the clubhouse before Clay has us both hung from our ankles.” I joke and Bobby chuckles as I reeve my bike to life.

***

I had been helping out Piney in the office of the garage when Jax rode back in. I stood up from the desk and walked outside to meet him as he got off his bike.

“What’s going on, Jax?” I ask him. He shakes his head and puts his helmet onto the handlebars on his bike.

“Otto got attacked by Zobelle’s men.” He replies, his lips setting into a tight line once he finished. My eyes widened at the news.

“How the hell is the club going to react?” I press as we both head inside the clubhouse.

“Clay’s going to want an instant retaliation.” He responds.

“But that’s too risky.” I interrupt as I start to put the pieces together. “You’re gonna need the votes.”

“I know. Shame I can’t have your vote in this.” Jax frowns down at me. I shake my head and smile.

“You’ll get the numbers over Clay.” I assure him. My head turns when the sound of a Harley rumbles through the lot. Seeing Filip pulling up into the lot made some of the worries on my shoulders fade – but they still lingered when I remembered the club meeting that would be tonight.

“Convince your old man to be on our side.” Jax pats me on the shoulder before he walks over to where Bobby had been sitting.

I walk across the lot, watching as Filip pulled his bike up alongside my own. He didn’t look up at me at first as he cut off the engine, but once I was only a couple steps away he smiled up at me.

“You alright?” I ask him, coming to a stop just in front of his bike. He removes his helmet and tosses it to me. I catch it and put it on his handlebar as he gets off the back of the bike.

“Was fine. Then Opie opened his mouth.” He scowled as he came to wrap his arms around my midsection. Pulling me into his embrace and his lips pressing to my own. My hands came up to rest on his shoulders as I returned his affection. When he pulls away I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Can’t I kiss my woman?” He grins and I roll my eyes at him before pecking his lips again.

“Did you hear about Otto?” I ask him and he responds with a nod.

“Clay got a call after we finished talking to Oswald.” He replies and we pull away to start walking back to the garage. Piney had returned back into the garage itself to speak with one of the guys, so it was just the pair of us in the office.

“Zobelle isn’t messing around. But if we lash out in response, god knows what will happen.” I tell him. Filip collapses onto the chair behind the desk and reaches for my hand, pulling me so that I sat on the desk in front of him.

“Jax doesn’t want to retaliate?” He asks as his thumbs rub against my jeans along my thigh.

“I don’t think we should. But I don’t get a vote in this.” I reply and he looks up at me. My hand subconsciously reaches out and cups his cheeks. My thumbs tracing the scars that lined each of his cheeks. Filip inhales deeply as he closes his eyes at my touch.

I really wanted to retaliate against Zobelle – especially after he hurt my mom. I’ve wanted to put a bullet through the man’s skull the moment I had saw her cry. But I needed to support Jax in this situation. I had to follow my brother so that the club could go back to the ideal that our father had for it and somehow get out of the gun business.

“I’ll back Jackie boy.” Filip tells me and reaches up to take my hands from his face. Holding them in my lap after he had kissed the backs of them.

***

“Mommy!” Tommy cheers as the elevator opens, he runs towards me as I step out with Jax. I catch him in my arms and hold onto him as he giggles. “Grandma hit aunty Tara.”

“She what?” Jax demands as he looks at Tommy. Jax takes off to find Tara as I look at Tommy in surprise.

“Where’s Grandma now?” I ask him when I don’t see mom anywhere in the waiting area.

“She said I had to stay with aunty Tara. Then she left.” Tommy explains and frowns. “Am I in trouble with uncle Jax?”

“No baby.” I reassure him and brush his hair off his face. “He is just worried, that’s all.” I put him down on his own feet and take his hand. I look at Tommy’s hair and realise that he could really use with a haircut.

“How about we go get a haircut today?” I ask him and he nods his head with a smile. He quickly runs back over to his bag and picks it up along with his teddy, Toby.

***

The ride to the barbers was fun with Tommy cheering the entire time. He really loved riding the motorcycle. When I pulled up, I noticed Clay, Tig and Opie were here too. Looking inside and seeing the trio, I decided to distract Tommy from the barbers.

“Do you want ice cream, bud?” I ask him as I point to the ice cream truck just down the road. When he nods his head, we get off the bike – but the trio were walking out of the barbers.

“Hi uncle Tig!” Tommy waves, but he is ignored by the man as he was looking across the street. Turning my head, I was quick to clock onto Zobelle’s thugs standing there. I pulled Tommy closer to me and looked back at the three men. Opie had saw them and had began walking towards them.

“Tommy stay here.” I demand as I put Tommy back on the bike. I quickly catch up to Opie and put my hands on his chest.

“Opie, stop!” I shout as he tries to push past me. Each time he stepped away I was quick to get back in front of him. “Ope! You can’t just be starting fights!” I yell again, only for him to ignore me. I look to the left to see Jax riding up behind me. He hops off his bike and makes Opie come to a standstill. I move away from Opie just as Zobelle’s right hand man pushes Jax’s bike over.

“Son of a bitch!” Jax shouts and then swings for the guy. I step back when the brawl begins and head back over to Tommy. He was watching the chaos and I could see he was getting upset. I hug him into me and turn my head to Clay.

“Happy now?!” I shout at him and he glares daggers into my skull. I don’t look away until Hale pulls up with some other deputies to start arresting the ones in the fight.

“Mommy, why did uncle Jax hit the man?” Tommy asks me as he looks up to me with tear brimmed eyes. I look where Jax was being put into a cruiser and shake my head.

“I’m not sure baby.”

***

“What do you mean they have footage of me?” I demand. After the street brawl, I had returned back to the clubhouse with Tommy and mom. Mom had been the other side of the mess and when she saw us, she was quick to come over. Jax and Clay were released not long ago with the others and now I was standing in the clubhouse at the bar. Whilst my brother told me about Hale having a disc with my face as evidence on the explosion at one of Darby’s meth labs.

“They gave Hale the disc, but Hale seems to see things our way.” Jax tells me and I run a hand through my hair.

“Fuck.” I sigh and look over at Tommy and Filip playing on the pool table. “Where is it?” I ask Jax.

“I’ve got it. Gave it to Juice to wipe.” He reassures me. I nod my head. The settling worry of what could have happened if Hale had been on Zobelle’s side. I could have risked my entire life and the thought of losing Tommy made my heart bleed. I won’t lose my son.

“Look, Clay isn’t going to bring up you and Chibs in the meeting.” Jax tells me and I frown up at him. “I think he is more focused on the retaliation at the moment. But just talk to the guys and make sure that they’re on your side with this. It’s bound to come up sooner or later.”

“Yeah, I will.” I sigh and look back at Tommy.

“Let’s go!” Clay calls as he walks through the clubhouse to the chapel. Jax taps my shoulder and head into the chapel. Filip high fives Tommy before he enters the chapel too. Because it was a committee vote, I had to stay out the chapel for now. I walk over to join Tommy at the pool table as he rolled the white ball across the table.

“Want to play mommy?” Tommy asks as I stand next to him and nod my head in response.

We spend another five minutes playing pool, aka me trying to practise my shots for when I play with the others and Tommy rolling the ball and cheating as a child does. The worry of the disc was still plaguing my mind – now being added to it was the possibility of having to retaliate against Zobelle. Which could be bloody.

“Mommy?” I look down to my left to see Tommy looking up at me, his head tilted to the left.

“Sorry baby.” I apologise as I realise I let my thoughts get the best of me. I look down at him again and my chest pulls as I worry about the thought of him being taken from me. Could I keep doing this? In supporting Jax, I risked my whole world. But coming back into this world, I didn’t have an escape. I need the help of the club and Jax needs my help. I need to be careful with whatever the decision is.

“Tommy.” I say as I kneel down to match the height of my son. His attention turns to me as I put my hands on his shoulders. “You know that mommy loves you and I would never let anything happen to you.”

“Yeah. Mommy is a superhero. Like Wonder Woman!” Tommy replies. Beaming with his usual joyous smile, he looked at me. A smile made its way onto my lips after his words.

“I don’t think I can compare to her sweetheart.” I ruffle his hair up before standing back onto the heels of my feet. I turn as the chapel doors open and everyone starts to file out. Jax and Filip come over to me and Tommy – Tommy jumping into Filip’s arms.

“What was the verdict?” I ask Jax as the anticipation of whether I’d be preparing to be apart of something bloody was building up an anxiety I haven’t felt for years.

“We wait on retaliation.” Jax smiles and I sigh in relief. A smile creeping its way onto my face as we all walk outside the clubhouse. Tommy’s giggles fill my ears as Filip lifts him up over his shoulder and running across the way with him.

“Careful boys!” I shout after them, earning a wink from Filip as he brings Tommy back to the floor.

“He really loves that kid.” Jax smiles as we watch Filip crouch down to Tommy. I give Jax a quick hug before walking to where my bike had been parked.

“Mom, can I help fix a car with Chibs?” Tommy asks as Filip instructs one of the guys to back up the truck being brought in. I nod my head and he runs back over to Filip. Tommy starts to copy Filip’s hand that was signalling for the pick-up to back the van up. Filip laughing at the copycat actions and ruffles my son’s hair. I shake my head and go to lean against my bike.

Noticing a piece of paper stuck to the back end of my bike, I frown. Moving over to it, I pull it off from where it had been taped to metal frame. Lookin over the envelope, I don’t recognise the writing on the front that said my full name in black ink. I tear my thumb through fold to get to the letter inside. Unfolding the paper, my hands begin to shake. A picture of George’s body at the side of the road was what greeted me. His bullet wound to the head looked fresh and the words scribbled at the bottom saying ‘you’re next’ cutting the air I was trying to gasp for.

“Riley!” The deep wave of heat blows the image from my hands as my body is flung backwards into my bike. Knocking the bike onto its side and causing the other bikes to clatter to the ground.

I gasp in pain as my hand grips my side, the still fresh bruises slamming against the concrete from the fall. My ears were ringing with a high pitched screech, as I tried to understand what had happened. How had I ended up on the ground? Remembering the feeling of being pushed, I look towards to the direction that the force came from. My eyes widening in horror when I see the van in a fiery inferno. My ears still ringing as I frantically push myself up, feeling hands on me as I try to balance myself.

Where’s Tommy?

My mouth widened with my cries as I saw my son on the concrete. His eyes closed as he clung to the body of Filip, as he had his arm hanging loosely around him. They were both unconscious. There’s blood. My legs wobble as I fight against the arms around me. I hear screaming. Not sure whether it was my own or someone else. I run over to where my son lay.

Jax was already trying to wake up Filip as I came crashing down to Tommy. My hands shaking as I reached out to my baby’s face. There was still a flush in his cheeks and his chest was uneven with breath.

“Tommy!”

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kybusan · 3 years

Text

#Draft Grimmjow x Starrk

*”I bet you're one of those liking it hard and fast, or am I wrong?”*

*Grimmjow looks down on the guy kneeling between his legs. Drowsy, almost disinterested grey eyes look up. But then thin lips stretch into a knowing smile as Grimmjow's hand grabs for dark, brown, chin-long locks and lightly pulls on them. *

*Ah, hit it spot on,” the guy purrs and slowly stands up. He puts the pencil he deliberately has let fallen a few seconds ago right beside Grimmjow who’s sitting shirtless on a mixture of an old barber-shop chair and modern dentist patient’s chair. *

*”That’s the problem with you youngsters. All those muscles, all that power and strength. And for what? The stamina of a short-distance runner!” *

*He is leaning into Grimmjow, obviously is teasing him. He can't be that much older, Grimmjow muses. Maybe seven, ten years, but not much more. Although, it is hard to tell. *

*”Afraid you're not getting it up in time, old man?”, Grimmjow asks with a low snicker, slightly backing off from the other. How has it come to this? All Grimmjow did, is walking into a tattoo shop and asking about the possibility to cover-up his tattoo on his back. And the guy sitting, or more like lying, on an old shabby sofa in the corner of the shop did not seem too enthusiastic about a new customer. So much so, Grimmjow almost has left the shop again. But somehow he's ended up on that chair anyway, half naked and semi-hard. *

*The guy’s hands suddenly find their way on Grimmjow's thighs and let them wander up, up, and up. Grimmjow slightly twitches upon feeling curios fingers trailing along the waistband of his pants and sucks in some air as two fingers dive down the fabric. Not because the hands of the shop-owner are cold, they are indeed warm and surprisingly gently. Damn it, has it been that long he'd been touched?*

*"Hmm, interesting," the guy murmurs amused and locks his eyes with Grimmjow's.

*It looks as if that light grey color of his iris is reflecting Grimmjow's own blue color. Or maybe somewhere behind him there's a blue light-source, but Grimmjow suddenly feels almost enchanted by that look and can't let go of it. He's leaning further back to have a better view and he feels his heartbeat getting stronger. And there is this fluttering, undefined feeling in his stomach – something he hadn't felt for a very long time. Shit, this isn't good. Not at all. He's returned to Tokyo only a couple of weeks ago, after five years and six months living and working in Kushiro. Although being one of the bigger cities on Hokkaido, Kushiro still felt more like a village. A very traditional, secluded village with a society's mind stuck in 1950. Grimmjow's unmissable appearance and the fact that his teammates made no secret about their beliefs about gay teammembers had lead to a lean period. A very dry lean period obviously, because one of the first things he's doing upon being back in modern civilization is falling for a tattoo-artist he does not even know the name of. His irritation must be written all over his face because the guy slowly pulls back his hands and fingers.

*"Second thoughts?", he asks and there is no sign of accusation or complaint in that thick and smoky voice.

And maybe it's this question, or the tone he uses, or the fact Grimmjow truly hasn't had sex for quit some time, or the reason that after five and half years there finally is no longer a reason to hide his sexuality, or the tiny detail he truly is as horny as fuck, but he's reaching out and stopps the guys hand from leaving his skin.

This time it's him leaning into the other and in a bold move his free hand grabs for the other's crotch. He hums approving upon finding a promising hard and thick rod twitching in his palm.

*"I see, no problem getting it up in time," he purrs lowly, slightly leaning his forehead on the guy's stiff shoulder. Who wouldn't stiffen up upon suddenly getting his most delicate parts manhandled? Grimmjow grins satisfied and turns his head to the side. His lips are almost in reach of a delicate neck and throbbing vein but instead just whispers huskely: "So, what about your stamina, old man?".

*A light, short laughter escapes the dark-haired man and he relaxes into Grimmjow's touch.

*”Think you've got enough for a marathon, youngster?”, he snickers and pushes him back. Grimmjow lets go of his hold and leans back on his arms, a challenging glint in his eyes and an almost madly looking grin on his lips. He rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically.*

*”Got anything else then sport allusions?”*

#bleach #i know it’s silly #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #coyote starrk #random #texts #rough draft #delete later maybe

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adarlingwrites · 4 years

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Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who's willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XIII

December 28, 2277.

“Wait. Enclave? What the hell is an enclave?” Butch asks, brows furrowing.

“In this context, they’re the other group of power-armored assholes running the other radio station with patriotic music, and fancies themselves as the United States of America, though I think they really are what remained of the USA. They’re also the bitches responsible for my dad’s death, so there’s that,” Percy tells him.

“Holy shit,” DeLoria murmurs, throwing back another shot. “Hey hey wait, how do you know that? I didn’t pay much attention to history class but I don’t remember Mr. Brotch mentioning anything about the American government going all psycho with power armor.”

Percy pauses, brow wrinkling. “Dad mentioned something when I was younger, about how some of the history books we study as kids didn’t paint the entire picture, and when we were reunited in the wasteland, at some point when one of his scientists switched to the Enclave radio during dinner, he asked her to turn it off. Said it was run by fascists that came from a failed pre-war government.”

“But how does your old man know about that when the vault was sealed- oh. Oh right. The Overseer lied to us.” Butch finally gets it. “Damn.”

“Yeah, and look at where that got us. I always suspected that things weren’t always what it seemed. Plus, the truth slips out of Old Lady Palmer’s mouth whenever she mentions dad “arriving” in the vault. My doubts were confirmed when I looked through Almodovar’s terminal, before I opened the door. There were scouting reports. Pictures of giant ants.”

The bartender serves Percy another shot and she gulps it down before resuming her story. The number of cigarettes in DeLoria’s box is dwindling, and so did mine.

“Then when I got to Megaton, some of the locals knew about the brainwashing stuff, and all the pieces of the puzzle fell in place. Finding out that dad was parroting the Overseer’s propaganda hurt. The worst part is? I haven’t forgiven him before he died.”

“I um… I’m sorry, Perce.”

My friend shrugs at DeLoria. “It is what it is. I miss him already. He’d know what to do. I wish I didn’t argue with him before those assholes...”

A sniff resounded in the mostly empty bar. Soft cries escaped Percy’s lips, tears streaming down her red face. I wanted to offer an arm, a hand, anything , but DeLoria already wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Right. Great. That’s probably for the better. Sticking my non-existent nose in her business is becoming a dangerous habit.

Last night was probably a mistake.

“Okay, I think you had enough alcohol for the night,” the barkeep announces, and takes the scotch away. “The two of you, make sure she sleeps it off.”

“Hey Butch, you said you were gonna start a new gang, right? May I suggest ‘Our Dads Got Fucking Killed by Fascists’ for the name? We three could be the first members,” Percy slurred in between sobs. How she can find humor in the situation is beyond me.

“Yeah, she’s wasted alright,” Butch mumbles. “Hey, um, I don’t exactly have caps on me yet. Is Perce gonna pay the tab?”

I scoffed, fishing around Percy’s pack to pay off our bill. After tossing a few caps to the old lady, I helped Percy to her feet, and so did DeLoria. It was a struggle. I am a few inches shy of seven feet, DeLoria’s around six, and Percy is just a little taller than five. DeLoria looks at me with a weary smile. The two of us did the best we can to ensure this small girl doesn’t land face-first into the ship’s metal flooring. Us both being inebriated and Dogmeat bumping into us every three seconds did not help. I heard a patron that frequents the bar snicker at the sight of us, a girl about Percy’s age with the shittiest pigtails I’ve ever seen. On a human, anyway.

“Y’know what? Just carry her,” said Butch, rubbing the back of his neck. “This isn’t working. I need to get some shuteye for my first day as a barber tomorrow too. See you two around.”

“Goodnight, Butch,” Percy slurs, half of her ass leaning on a nearby table for support.

I nodded at the greaser and he left the premises, the confidence in his gait replaced with drunk swaying and awkwardness. Gathering our gear, I carried Percy’s pack and weapons on my back, then I swept her off her feet in a bridal carry.

She’s gotten lighter.

“Hey, big guy,” slurs Percy, hiccuping. “You do know that I am -hic- perfectly capable of walking, right?”

“The last time you said that, you almost fell off the boat.” I started heading towards the exit.

My friend sighs, shaking her head in resignation. “I might as well enjoy riding you then.”

I froze in my spot. The girl with the shitty hair snorted her drink and outright laughed at us. I couldn’t bring my eyes to look at Percy but I know that she’s even redder now, and she felt a few degrees warmer in my arms.

She stammers, slightly flailing. “I mean, I might as well enjoy you- the ride! I might as well enjoy the ride! Dammit!”

“Sleep it off, Percy.”

“Hey, lovebirds,” the bartender barked at us. “Get the fuck out of my bar and go hump each other someplace else. I’m closing shop.”

We left in a hurry.

Percy was breathing softly, seemingly asleep when we arrived in the Weatherly Hotel, the only clean place to sleep on the boat, where we were greeted by the owner and a Mr. Handy. Beside her, the boy we rescued and brought from Grayditch stands up and runs to us.

“Hey! You two came to visit! Whoa, what happened to her? Is she hurt?” the boy exclaims.

“She’s fine, just tired. We need a room.”

“Hi, Bryan,” Percy slurs. She wasn’t asleep after all. “Shouldn’t you be asleep already?”

The owner smiles. “She’s right, Bryan. Off to bed.”

“Aw. Aunt Vera, I wanna hang out with Percy and Charon more.”

“You can do that tomorrow when Percy is feeling better,” Vera replies, and she nods to us. She had the room unlocked and I stepped in, placing Percy on the bed, and I dumped our gear on the floor. I locked the door behind us afterwards.

While I made sure nothing was out of place, Percy was sloshing water in her mouth, which she spat in a bucket. Staying clean even when she cannot take a full bath are some of her habits and rituals that I got used to. They’re probably good ones. She’s not resistant to disease like I am.

I turned to check on Percy. She had stripped down to her underwear, glasses haphazardly tossed to the bed.

The alcohol in my system is impairing my judgment. I should be turning around and should not be watching Percy tend to herself, but I just watched her. Life in the wasteland claimed some of her softness, and she had a few scars here and there, but she’s still attractive. Her legs are toned from all the walking we do, and her shoulders slightly are wider than her hips. When she turns around though, her behind is… something else.

Wait.

I’m looking at her bare ass.

I need to turn around. I need to turn around, but my body isn’t letting me. I can feel myself tenting at the crotch of my pants. This isn’t good.

When she turned to me, naked, swaying, and smiling, I thought I was in another dream, but I felt her warm breath and I know I’m awake. Things are happening too fast. My eyes dared to meet hers, then it trails below, to her small erect nipples, wet and shiny from her half-bath, and the dark patch of fuzz between her legs.

Damn it. I wanted to claim her. Act on the fantasies I have about her on nights that my body was too warm for my own liking. Put those nipples in my mouth. Bury my face between her legs. Pin her against the bed and make sure the entire boat hears her cry out my name.

“Big guy. Come to bed with me?”

But I hear the slur in her speech, and it took all of my willpower to shake my head.

“No. Percy. You’re drunk,” I say to her firmly.

“And?”

“I don’t want you to do things you’ll regret later, and I do not want to take advantage of your vulnerability.”

“Wait, who said anything about- I just want to sleep next to you again, Charon.”

“Naked?”

Mouth open and brows furrowed, she looks at herself, and curses. “I am- oh no, I am so sorry, holy shit,” Percy apologizes. “Fuck. Fuck! Stupid ass drunk idiot! I’m never drinking again,” she says to herself.

“Keep your voice down. I’ll go look for something you can wear.”

“Dammit, Charon I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to harass you like this, oh my God-”

“I do not feel harassed, but I appreciate the apology. Now, refrain from making any more noise,” I tell her, and I reach into her pack. A flimsy red nightgown was the last thing I expected.

“Percy, is this fine? This will not protect you from the cold much.”

She looks at me, then at the thing, and snatches it from my hand. “Yes! Um, thank you Charon. I found it when we were looting and-”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Percy. Get dressed.”

She nods, turning around and dressing herself, then she clears her throat. “All clear. Your turn.”

I cleaned up and changed into something more suitable for sleeping, Percy’s back in sight, her arms wrapped around herself, shivering. When I finished changing, I got in bed.

We lay on the bed next to each other, but she seems so far away.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“Charon. I don’t want you to think that I’m like some of your former employers who, uh, used you for your body.”

“I don’t think of you that way.”

“That’s a relief. You’re important to me.”

I look at her, and she’s facing me now, eyes soft and filled with a feeling I cannot describe. “Thank you. You are important to me too.”

Burying her face in my chest, she wraps an arm around my waist. I pulled the covers over us, and I held her.

“Night. Love you.”

February 7, 2278.

Two days after DeLoria’s first visit, he came over again. He brought with him a few of Percy’s belongings from Megaton, including Dogmeat’s teddy bear. The mistress entrusted a copy of the house key to the greaser, much to my dismay, but the dog has been restless without Mr. Bubbles and having it back gave me some relief.

It smells more like dog slobber now than it did Percy, but Dogmeat is still comforted by it. He misses her. I miss her too.

Dr. Li said she is getting better, but she’s still cautious. The doctor told me to not have too much hope; she had seen patients seemingly recover only for them to crash after a few days. It scares me. I wouldn’t know what to do with my life if Percy dies.

Dammit, I don’t want to think about that. She is going to live. Percy is a tough gal.

At this point, only Dr. Li, the greaser, and I are allowed in Percy’s room. She caught one of the scribes she entrusted attempting to extract blood from my partner without her authorization. I know something’s up, but the doctor isn’t budging. What is she hiding from the Brotherhood about my partner?

One of these days, I might need to confront her.

Smoking isn’t allowed in Percy’s room, so DeLoria and I just chewed bubblegum in silence while I maintained our equipment. I sorted out Percy’s change of clothes, came across that flimsy red sleepwear, and tucked it under her other belongings, what’s left of my skin burning hot. I’m doing my best not to let my mind wander to that night. Butch is fiddling with his Pip-Boy, identical to the one my partner owns, and I sigh in relief in knowing that he didn’t see me touch that thing. He already has several wrong ideas.

While I was hastily putting it away, a slip of paper fell.

It turned out to be a photograph. She found a camera when we stormed Paradise Falls, to save some kids. I remember the look on her face when Little Lamplight’s brat of a mayor told them that slavers took their friends. We ended up opening the slave pens and trashing the place. Percy and I told them to find Hannibal Hamlin in the Washington Monument. Meeting Hamlin was one of my nicer memories from the past few months.

I’d do anything to see the determined gleam in her eye again.

I look at the photograph. It’s of me and the dog. Why would Percy keep something like this?

In the photo, I am asleep, taking a nap on the couch, and the dog was laying on my chest, looking at my partner behind the camera. I flipped it over, and there was some writing on it. Months of being taught by Percy paid off. She taught an old dog new tricks: I learned how to read.

“1-13-2278. Charon and Dogmeat.” This was two days after we got rid of my contract. “The two loves of my life, after scotch,” she wrote under that. There’s a hollow heart drawn next to it.

I snort at the caption, knowing Percy’s sense of humor. Calling me Mr. Dreamboat, joking that I am her boyfriend… hell, she managed to freak out a few of the bigots in Tenpenny Tower with it once.

Now that I’ve thought about it… the playful nicknames, the touching, the concern, her putting me above herself, the trust she puts in me, the “love you” she mumbled while piss-wasted when I slept next to her in Rivet City; how did I miss all the signs?

Was I too taken in by the belief that smoothskins cannot harbor these feelings for ghouls? What did that damn kiss in the rotunda mean?

Does she even know the consequences of that kiss? If blondie wakes up and tattles to the Brotherhood about the Lone Wanderer kissing her ghoul bodyguard before running inside the chamber, it will ruin her. They might treat her even worse than before. My fears of people hurting her because of being associated with me gets worse as the days pass. There are so many things I want to ask her, so many things I want to talk about, but she’s still lying there, unconscious, under life support.

This can’t be the way things end.

Does she love me the way I love her?

I just want to know my place in her life.

#lone wanderer #female lone wanderer #charon #fallout charon #charon fallout #charon fallout 3 #fallout 3 charon #butch deloria #oc: percy zhou #fanfic: absolution #series: through river acheron #fallout 3 #fallout fanfic #fallout 3 fanfic #writers on tumblr

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newstfionline · 4 years

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Headlines

Masks, gloves, and other coronavirus waste are starting to fill up our oceans (Fast Company) It’s not news that our trash eventually finds its way to the ocean. Because oceans are downstream, litter will eventually find a pathway into our bodies of water if it’s not discarded properly—and often even if it is. But as the COVID-19 crisis slowly generates a new kind of waste, made up of disposable masks and other PPE items, it’s posing new problems for the Earth’s oceans.

Dark days in the cinema business (The Week) Movie theaters will need more than popcorn to persuade audiences to catch the latest blockbuster this summer. Cinemas are among the last businesses to reopen in the United States and Europe, and with good reason: Plenty of customers remain skeptical that it’s “safe to sit in a room with strangers for two hours during a pandemic.” But the largest chains, AMC, Regal, and Cinemark, are forging ahead with plans to reopen nationwide by mid-July. It’s already proving tricky. AMC, the world’s largest theater operator, “drew outcry when it said it wouldn’t require masks” because the company “did not want to be drawn into a political controversy.” AMC later reversed its policy. It’s still capping seating at 30 percent, which will make chopping down its $10 billion net debt difficult. Meanwhile, the threat from streaming services has only grown during the crisis. If the public decides that going to the movies is unsafe, studios can go straight to video.

Protesters Won’t Leave CHOP in Seattle as Tensions Rise (WSJ) Several hundred demonstrators are staying in an autonomous area claimed by protesters for racial justice in Seattle, even as its size is shrinking and pressure to shut it down completely is increasing from local businesses and residents, as well as city officials. The Capitol Hill Occupied Protest zone, or CHOP, began on June 8 after thousands of protesters moved into a six-block area in the artsy neighborhood. Seattle Mayor Jenny Durkan ordered police to abandon the local East Precinct police station to help end violent confrontations there following the killing of the African-American George Floyd by a white Minneapolis policeman on May 25. The CHOP was initially akin to a community festival focused on antiracism and police reform, with few problems or complaints from local residents. But last weekend there were three shootings in the area, one of which left a man dead. Police attempting to respond to the fatal incident in the predawn hours Saturday were blocked by a crowd telling them to leave. The 19-year-old victim, shot by an unknown assailant inside the occupied zone, was taken by private citizens to a hospital where he was pronounced dead. “It’s time for people to go home,” Ms. Durkan said in a press conference Monday. “We can still accommodate people who want to protest peacefully, come there and gather. But the impacts on the businesses and residents and community are now too much.”

272 uniformed NYPD cops file for retirement after George Floyd death (NY Post) Cops are hanging up their handcuffs in huge numbers. The flurry of farewells began after the police-involved killing of George Floyd on May 25, with 272 uniformed cops putting in retirement papers from then through June 24, the NYPD says. An NYPD source suggested the recent departures could signal a coming crisis for the 36,000-member department, which also faces a $1 billion budget reduction amid the “defund the police” furor. Police Benevolent Association president Patrick Lynch said cops are “at their breaking point, whether they have 20 years on the job or only two. We are all asking the same question: ‘How can we keep doing our job in this environment?’ And that is exactly what the anti-cop crowd wants. If we have no cops because no one wants to be a cop, they will have achieved their ultimate goal.”

In Haiti, coronavirus spreads in slums (Reuters) Berthony Clermont shares a two-room flat without running water with 10 relatives in the Haitian capital’s Cite Soleil slum, so when he fell ill with the novel coronavirus, they all did. “I tried staying at home at the beginning but it was difficult to isolate myself as the house is too small,” said the 45-year old. Mistrustful of the dilapidated public healthcare in Haiti—the poorest country in the Americas—Clermont and his family treated themselves at home with herbal teas. Clermont’s plight is shared by many in Haiti and, more broadly, across the Caribbean and Latin America. Home to 654 million people, it is the most unequal region in the world, according to the United Nations. As governments in Europe and some parts of Asia have managed to stem the spread of coronavirus, Latin America and the Caribbean have emerged as one of the epicenters of the pandemic.

A divided Poland holds presidential vote delayed by pandemic (AP) Poles voted in a presidential election Sunday that was delayed by the coronavirus pandemic and was taking place amid deep cultural and political divisions in the European Union nation. President Andrzej Duda, a 48-year-old conservative backed by the nationalist ruling Law and Justice party, was running against 10 other candidates as he sought a second 5-year term. Whether Duda wins or not will determine whether the ruling party keeps its near-monopoly on political power in Poland. Most recent polls showed that no single candidate was likely to reach the 50% required to avoid a runoff given the crowded field of candidates, all of whom are male. In that case, the two top vote-getters will face each other on July 12.

After deadly border clash, India faces uncomfortable truths about its reliance on China (Washington Post) After 20 Indian soldiers were killed in the first deadly clash with Chinese troops in decades, India faced a dilemma. Could it retaliate against its more powerful neighbor? Military action held obvious risks, including a dangerous escalation between two nuclear-armed nations. Some called for an economic boycott instead, urging ordinary Indians and companies to shun Chinese goods. Now India is facing an uncomfortable truth familiar to governments around the world: It’s difficult to disentangle from China. In wide-ranging goods such as cars, cellphones and medicine, Chinese components are a crucial part of Indian supply chains. Even bulletproof vests used by Indian soldiers are made with material imported from China. China is India’s second-largest overall trading partner and its biggest source of imports. India, by contrast, does not figure in China’s top 15 trading partners and is even lower on the list of sources of imports.

China virus cases stabilize (AP) China has extended COVID-19 tests to newly reopened salons amid a drop in cases, while South Korea continues to face new infections after it eased social distancing rules to lift the economy. Hard-hit Italy, meanwhile, registered the lowest day-to-day tally of COVID-19 deaths Saturday in nearly four months. No positive cases were found in Beijing’s beauty and barber shops in a further sign that the city’s recent outbreak has been largely brought under control. Beijing officials have temporarily shut a huge wholesale food market where the virus spread widely, reclosed schools and locked down some neighborhoods. Anyone leaving Beijing is required to have a negative virus test result within the previous seven days. The Korea Centers for Disease Control and Prevention said that 40 of the newly reported cases were domestically infected, while 22 others came from overseas. In Hawaii, the city of Honolulu announced that campgrounds will reopen for the first time in three months with limited permits to ensure social distancing. In contrast, Washington Gov. Jay Inslee put a hold on plans to move counties to the fourth phase of his reopening plan as cases continue to increase.

Dozens arrested as Hong Kongers protest planned national security laws (Reuters) Hong Kong police arrested at least 53 people on Sunday after scuffles erupted during a relatively peaceful protest against planned national security legislation to be implemented by the mainland Chinese government. Armed riot police were present as a crowd of several hundred moved from Jordan to Mong Kok in the Kowloon district, staging what was intended as a “silent protest” against the planned law. However, chanting and slogans were shouted towards police and later scuffles broke out in Mong Kok, prompting police to use pepper spray to subdue parts of the crowd. The proposed national security law has raised concerns among Hong Kong democracy activists and some foreign governments that Beijing is further eroding the extensive autonomy promised when Britain handed the territory back to China in 1997.

Arab leaders say West Bank annexation will imperil regional security. Will Israel listen? (Washington Post) A succession of Arab leaders and officials have sharply warned Israel against moving forward with a controversial plan to annex Palestinian lands in the Israeli-occupied West Bank as early as this week—an action they say could destabilize the region and undermine peace efforts. Jordan’s King Abdullah has declared it “unacceptable” and warned of a “massive conflict” in the region. Senior Jordanian officials have threatened to reconsider their peace treaty with Israel or their security cooperation agreements. Egypt, the only other Arab nation that has signed a peace treaty with Israel, has also objected, as have Saudi Arabia and Bahrain. The United Arab Emirates said annexation would imperil Israel’s chances of building stronger ties to Persian Gulf nations. But it remains to be seen whether Arab leaders will go beyond mere statements of solidarity for Palestinians and take concrete measures in the event of annexation, Palestinians and regional analysts say. Pressure from the streets to do so could be limited, as Arabs across the region are distracted by the coronavirus pandemic, economic instability, civil wars and other woes.

Opposition wins historic rerun of Malawi’s presidential vote (AP) The opposition has won Malawi’s historic rerun of the presidential election, the first time a court-overturned vote in Africa has led to the defeat of an incumbent leader. Lazarus Chakwera’s victory late Saturday was a result of months of determined street protests in the southern African nation, and of a unanimous decision by the Constitutional Court that widespread irregularities in the May 2019 election—including the use of correction fluid on ballots —could not stand. President Peter Mutharika, who had sought a second five-year term, earlier Saturday called the rerun of the election “the worst in Malawi’s history.” He alleged his party’s monitors had been beaten and intimidated during Tuesday’s election, but the Malawi Human Rights Commission, an observer, called the vote peaceful and transparent. Chakwera won with 58% of the vote, or 2.6 million votes out of 4.4 million cast. Mutharika received 1.7 million. Flag-waving supporters erupted in cheers as the results were read out, and some street celebrations began. Fireworks popped.

#headlines #news

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goodticklebrain · 5 years

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Q&A August: Kevin Condardo and Dan Beaulieu

It’s the final installment of Q&A August! I hope you’ve had fun meeting some of my Shakespeare friends. I know I’ve had a lot of fun asking them these questions, and I’m definitely going to do this again some time, as I have SO MANY MORE cool Shakespeare friends for you to meet. But for now, let’s turn to my closers, my last and least, Kevin Condardo and Dan Beaulieu, the bros behind one of my favorite Shakespeare podcasts: No Holds Bard!

I was skeptical about No Holds Bard at first. Launched in 2015, it appeared to be two white dudes yelling about Shakespeare at each other, which did not particularly appeal to me. I didn’t even start listening to it until I met Dan and his partner in crime, Christine Penney, in person at the Shakespeare Theatre Association conference in 2016. Tousled and bewhiskered like a pirate, Dan was overwhelmingly brash, loud, unruly, obnoxious, insufferable… and somehow inexplicably charming. After meeting him, I finally started listening to No Holds Bard and found that the podcast was also brash, loud, unruly, obnoxious, insufferable… and somehow inexplicably charming.

Two things are immediately apparent upon listening to No Holds Bard: Dan and Kevin (his slightly less unruly and obnoxious co-host and the brains of the operation) both know their Shakespeare and love their Shakespeare. Their highly entertaining arguments and bro-y banter are backed up with serious knowledge of Shakespearean text and performance, and, in spite of their best efforts to contrary, you can actually learn a lot from them. Also (and this is important) they regularly make me laugh out loud.

In 2017 Kevin and Dan invited me to be their first ever guest on No Holds Bard. With some trepidation, I agreed and discovered that Kevin and Dan in real life are EXACTLY THE SAME as they are on the podcast. Recording with them was a blast, and since then I have thoroughly enjoyed keeping up with the podcast (occasionally falling months behind and then frantically trying to catch up) and interacting with them and other No Holds Bard listeners (a.k.a. Bardflies) on Twitter.

And so, it gives me great pleasure to present that charmingly insufferable duo, the joint top bananas of No Holds Bard, Kevin and Dan!

1. Who are you? Why Shakespeare?

KEVIN: I’m Kevin Condardo: host of the NO HOLDS BARD podcast (The Shakespeare Podcast Shakespeare Would Have Listened To*), performing arts administrator, Boston sports fan, and lover of all things theater. I’m the managing director of the Seven Stages Shakespeare Company based out of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and I work on the business end of the Off-Broadway theater industry in New York City.

My first introduction to Shakespeare was a terrible production of Romeo and Juliet that I saw on a school field trip in eighth grade, most notable for everyone being in Elizabethan costumes and having Mercutio thrusting himself seemingly on every other word in a failing effort at convincing school kids that Shakespeare was making dirty jokes and is therefore relatable. I loathed Shx until my sophomore year of college, when I auditioned for Cymbeline in college because it was a shared audition for the play I really wanted to be in (Twelve Angry Men). I was required to prepare a Shakespearian monologue and so I memorized and performed it with a British accent (as a sophomore in college!!), and about ten seconds in my professor Deb Kinghorn stopped me and asked me what the hell I was doing, and I said Shakespeare, and she said no I wasn’t. Somehow I was cast as a boorish, fratty Cloten, and over the course of that production I fell in love with Shakespeare and never looked back.

DAN: Hey! I’m Dan Beaulieu: I’m an avid Shakespeare lover, performer, director, student of the game. I am CO-host and top banana on the aforementioned No Holds Bard podcast with my fellow CO-host Kevin. I am the co-founder and Artistic Director of Seven Stages Shakespeare Company, a former Ambassador for the Shakespeare Society in NYC, member of the internationally renowned Passion in Practice and The Shakespeare Ensemble (both helmed by the incomparable Ben Crystal), and frequent collaborator with the New York City based company Rude Grooms (led by the always lovely Montgomery Sutton).

Why Shagspeare? I deeply admire his sprawling exploration of the human condition, his probing of Magick and Witches, his Timelessness, and perhaps most importantly the fact that it IS in fact for everybody, if you let it be.

2. What moment(s) in Shakespeare always make you laugh?

KEVIN: It’s more of an incredulous cackle than a laugh, but...after the Richard / Lady Anne scene, after we think we’ve seen the bunch-back’d toad bare his soul in expressing his love for his lady, he tells us “I’ll have her, but I will not keep her long” - cueing the audience to hopefully boo and hiss - after which Shakespeare gives him “What?” to respond to the disgusted audience. What a joy for an actor! (And if you have a Richard that doesn’t elicit at least one gasp on that line and thus has no audience members to give that “What?” to, you know you’re in for a long evening of theater.)

DAN: I think Petruchio’s entrance to the wedding, when costumed properly, is pretty hilarious. I also get a good chuckle out of “That’s a shelled peascod” from King Lear. Something about the phrase “Shelled Peascod” just gets me. Hamlet’s sardonic humor in the scene leading up to The Mousetrap is also stacked up with great laugh lines.

KEVIN: Do you mean country matters?

3. What's a favorite Shakespearean performance anecdote?

DAN: As a raging egoist, I’ll share my favorite anecdote from a performance I was in. I was playing Titus and in the scene where I lose my hand I was given a messenger bag to carry around with me. They actually had me carry it for the whole first half of the play so it wouldn’t be weird when I had it in this scene. The dummy hand was stored in there so when the “theater magic” moment happened I’d dip the hand out of the bag and TADA! I’m handless! Well, one night the hand fell out of the bag several moments before it was supposed to be cut off. I jumped on the hand like a fumbled football and took my rant from the floor of the stage. (It was a three quarter thrust, 70 seat black box so there wasn’t anywhere to hide.) After the show, several members of the cast commented on how I was “really feeling that scene”, not realizing I was not feeling it at all...I was simply scattering to figure out a way to justify a random hand lying on the ground moments before the audience would see it again.

KEVIN: When I was a company manager at Shakespeare in the Park in NYC, it was my responsibility to cancel or hold the show in case of inclement weather - which meant my “job” all summer was to sit in the back of the house and watch every performance while refreshing about five different weather apps and calculate if we were going to be able to get the show in. During The Merchant of Venice, we were flirting with a rainstorm all night - the sky looked very ominous from the start but nothing had fallen, even though I and the entire audience knew it was coming. The weather held all evening, up until Portia’s “The quality of mercy is not strained / It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven…” at which point, the gentlest rain you ever felt began to droppeth from heaven, allowing Portia to turn her palm up to feel the rain fall and the entire crowd to “ooh” in unison. Goosebump city.

4. What's one of the more unusual Shakespearean interpretations you've either seen or would like to see?

KEVIN: I’m no director, but I’d love to see an As You Like It set around 1910, where the music at the court is all Sousa marches and barber shop (basically The Music Man), and then when they go to the country you have the same musicians and instrumentations playing Jelly Roll Morton and the jazz and dixieland that was exploding at the same moment. (Artistic directors: I’ll be waiting by the phone for my call.)

DAN: I called you to do this several years ago, but...musicians.

I’d like to direct a production of Twelfth Night in a very large warehouse immersive experience where the central design conceit is a House of Mirrors….possibly around Halloween or in Coney Island during the winter. Full creep zone. Similarly, I think it’d be fun to do an As You Like It in a corn maze or a Jacobean influenced pageant production of Midsummer Night’s Dream as a haunted hayride that starts around 6pm and goes til midnight, getting scarier and scarier as the night goes on. Bring the little kids early for fun fairies and come back at 11pm for the weird ones.

5. What's one of your favorite Shakespearean "hidden gems"?

DAN: I’m a sucker for the fact that when Romeo and Juliet meet for the first time their exchange is a shared sonnet. It’s not necessarily “hidden” but I love when I see a production that is clearly “going there” with that moment.

KEVIN: I talk about it all the time on the podcast but I LOVE the King of France in All’s Well that Ends Well. So deferential, kind, funny, but also strong and forceful when required - along with some endlessly quotable lines. Perhaps more “underrated” than “hidden gem?”

DAN: I like that we both just couched our answers in “this isn’t exactly what you asked, but it’s the answer we’re going to give anyway”. If you enjoy this kind of response to questions, you’ll love our podcast!

6. What passages from Shakespeare have stayed with you?

KEVIN: Ironically and annoyingly, the Shakespeare quote I use the most is actually a misquote that got locked into my brain during my only professional gig - a production of Antony and Cleopatra at the Theater at Monmouth. There’s a sequence where Antony is waiting for an update from the field, and when the messenger arrives the actor playing Antony would turn violently to him and spew out “The news from Sicyon, ho!”. I loved the way he delivered the line and started incorporating it into my life every time someone entered a room with information that the rest of us were waiting on. Unfortunately, that line doesn’t exist - either the actor learned it wrong, or the director inverted it - and the actual line, “From Sicyon, ho, the news!”, doesn’t quite have the same allure.

DAN: I suppose I have to go with the two I have tattooed on my body, as they literally stay with me. They are “To Be” and “This above all, to thine own self be true”. I’m grateful that the verb in both lines is Be, which is deceptively simple. As an actor, it’s really what we’re asked to do---just be.

7. What Shakespeare plays have changed for you?

DAN: I used to make Pericles the butt of all of my “Shakespeare made mistakes too you know?!” jokes. Admittedly that was before I ever read it or worked on it. Now it is easily one of my favorite Shakespeare plays and one that I expect to see more and more of in the future. Disney is sleeping on a gold mine, though I hope Pixar beats them to it.

KEVIN: I have to ask: which play is the punchline to that joke now?

DAN: Henry VIII or Measure (come at me Measure lovers!)

KEVIN: For me, it’s the histories. A few summers ago, Seven Stages Shakespeare Company (helmed by Dan, Christine Penney, and myself) did a one-day, fourteen-hour reading of all eight of the linked history plays one after the other. After seeing the way the storylines feed so deeply one into the other (most particularly Margaret’s arc), I don’t think I’ll ever be able to see any one of them individually the same way again.

Mya interjects: The Seven Stages history day is definitely on my list of “productions I’m kicking myself for missing”. If you do it again, boys, let me know. I am available for any bit parts that don’t require replicating actual human emotions.

8. What Shakespearean character or characters do you identify the most with?

KEVIN: I feel the deepest connection to the seconds-in-command, but to choose the one that encapsulates that the most I’ll say Gloucester from King Lear. Ever since childhood I’ve always considered myself a second rather than a first - I took pride in Little League being the catcher that served as the psychologist for the pitchers, I relate much more to Tom Hagen than to Michael Corleone, and in Shakespeare I’m much more connected to the person who holds the ear of the person everyone is looking at rather than being the center of attention myself.

DAN: I feel a deep connection to Jaques- especially his description of melancholy and the cynical way he sees the world around him, as witnessed in the Seven Ages speech. I fancy myself a fool and appreciate Jaques function in the play, both as a countervoice to the romanticized experience of Arden so many have, his dismay at the murder of the deer, and his departure from the rest of the group at the end.

9. Where can we find out more about you? Are there any projects/events you would like us to check out?

KEVIN: I bare my soul weekly* on the NO HOLDS BARD podcast, which Dan frequently appears on as co-host / second banana. The show is available for download on iTunes and Stitcher, and also the full* archive is available on our website at noholdsbard.com. You should also follow us on Twitter @NoHoldsBardCast and on Facebook at Facebook.com SLAAAASSHHHH NoHoldsBardCast!

DAN: If you are the market for stuff about the top banana specifically check out my website at www.danbeauknows.com. Seven Stages has a ton of exciting projects coming up including season eight of ShakesBEERiences in NH and a full production of MacBeth this autumn near Halloween. If you want more luscious No Holds Bard Content, check out our Patreon at www.patreon.com slash noholdsbard. Also, I’ll be touring Japan with several dear friends, including Dylan Kammerer, Tim Jacobs, Andrew Codispoti, Ben Crystal and The Shakespeare Ensemble this September playing Hamlet in Hamlet, Banquo in MacBeth, and Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet. It’s a dream track with an incredible ensemble so if you are in Japan, come check it out!

(Back to Mya) Thanks so much to Kevin and Dan for answering my questions and helping me out this month! Confession: when I was scheduling my guests for this month, I deliberately penciled Kevin and Dan in for the last slot, not because I thought they’d be a particularly boffo ending (although, obviously, they are) but because I was sure they wouldn’t get their answers in until the very last second. To my shock, they send them in well over a week early, which, I can only assume, involved a great deal of personal sacrifice and discipline on their part. For that, and for constantly entertaining me as I drive around town, I am very grateful to them.

You can listen to me banter with Kevin and Dan on the following episodes of No Holds Bard:

#86 - Holy Sh*t It’s Mya Gosling

#138: The Fantasy Shakespeare Season Draft II

Also, do consider chucking a couple bucks their way each month on Patreon, as I do.

Thanks once again to EVERYONE who helped me out this month: Austin Tichenor, Kate Powers, Sam White, David Prosser, Kate Pitt, Christy Burgess, Kevin Condardo and Dan Beaulieu! I am so lucky in my friends and in my Shakespeare community. My life is still kind of crazy at the moment so I’m taking next week off, but I’ll be back after that (hopefully, and at last) with some new comics!

#Q&A august #shakespeare

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axwellflex · 5 years

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D6 : finally, we escaped from Alcatraz Island. A ship was gently waiting for us. We met George De Vincenzi, 92 years old, one of the 4 last guards still alive. Guaranted emotion...

“My first day on the job was a Monday,” he said. “I had a new uniform, starched white shirt, shiny new shoes. My first assignment, 9 o’clock sharp, was in the barber shop. I was locked in with nine inmates, seven sitting on a bench, one a barber, a man in the chair getting a haircut.” The barber and Barsock were speaking in whispers, so the guard could not hear. “Then they raised their voices, and Barsock jumped out of the chair,” De Vincenzi remembers. “The barber stabbed him with 7-inch-long barber’s shears, stabbed him over and over, while I, like a damn fool, blew my whistle and tried to separate them.” In less than a minute, Barsock lay on the floor in a pool of blood, dead. “The barber leaned down and kissed the dead guy,” De Vincenzi said. “He cut me with the shears, too. By mistake, I guess. I had a cut 10 inches long.” Welcome to Alcatraz.” (From San Francisco Chronicle, 2016).

#2019 02 30

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minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong · 6 years

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Arranged Chapter One

Description: Y/N is a struggling student in Seoul: working multiple jobs, living in a broom closet apartment, and often sacrificing her dignity for the sake of her livelihood. What happens when a handsome stranger presents her with an offer she cannot refuse at the moment she needs it most?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x (f) Reader

Word Count: 5,142

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Chaebol!Au, Company!Au, Arranged Marriage!Au

Warnings: Coarse language, although not frequently

A/N: Hey there! This has been sitting on my computer for ages and I’m just now finding the courage to post it. I’m already a few chapters in, so if you guys (whoever you are) enjoy it, then by all means let me know and I’ll post more! I really love writing, and I’m working on multiple things at once, but if this is something you guys want to see more of then I’ll prioritize it. Hope you enjoy!

--Mercury

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen (END)

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“He’s been here for two hours…”

“He’s been here longer than that.”

Hana sent Bongki a glance that told him to shut up, but the latter only chuckled and continued polishing the violin he’d been working on for an hour. The three of us stood in a huddle behind the counter, looking more like a group of gossips than a group of employees. I took a look at what the two were talking about, or rather who. He was a reasonably tall man with only his broad back on display as he took slow, thoughtful steps across the carpet, eyeing the guitar display on the south wall. He pivoted on his heel when the wall ended, only to be met wth the violin display right beside it, which he then began to peruse.

“I asked if he wanted help, like, an hour ago and he said no,” said Hana, pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

Bongki didn’t look up from his violin when he murmured, “Should’ve asked again.”

“I don’t wanna bother him!” she exclaimed, then quieted herself and pushed her dark hair behind her ear. “Besides, what if he doesn’t have money?”

I furrowed my brow as I clipped my name tag onto the too-loose shirt I’d been assigned upon starting this job. “He might be too shy to ask for help,” I said, mostly to myself as I tidied my collar and dusted off the front of my jeans.

“He didn’t seem like he needed help,” said Hana.

Bongki chuckled. “You seem pretty interested,” he said lowly with a wink her way.

Hana visibly flushed and stuttered out an unconvincing, “I’m not!”

“I’m gonna go. Since Y/N’s here now,” said Bongki, finally dragging his eyes from the warm brown of the violin, although unwillingly. He met my gaze and smiled gently. “Will you finish this? It’s the used rosewood that got donated yesterday.”

I took the instrument from his fingers and tried to grab the rag, but was too slow as he had already placed it atop my head. Disgusted, I shook it off and patted down my hair.

“Why are you such a dick?” asked Hana as she grabbed the rag from the floor and handed it gingerly to me with a soft smile.

“It’s a gift,” said Bongki before offering a grin that read as sadistic and bounding out the door after tossing his name tag over his shoulder onto the glass countertop.

Hana fumed after him. “He’s seriously the worst!” she exclaimed.

I chuckled. It seemed to be a pretty slow day at the shop if Bongki had really spent an hour polishing an old violin. I glanced down at it and picked up where he’d left off, only to groan when I noticed he hadn’t been careful around the F-holes and the polish had begun to gather in their narrower curves.

“Can you hold onto this? I gotta go to the back and grab a clean rag,” I said to Hana with a disgruntled sigh.

Her expression slackened and she raised an eyebrow. “He managed to mess up polishing a violin?” she asked in disbelief.

I nodded. “Seems so,” I said, laughing. “I need to clean it up. Think you can hold down the fort while I’m gone?”

She smiled at me and swept her gaze around the empty shop. Well, mostly empty. “Don’t worry. I think I’ll be okay,” she said, then sighed down at the violin. “Working with Bongki is like working alone anyway.”

I chuckled and stepped out from behind the counter, casting a brief look at our customer. To be fair, had he come in at any other time, or any other day of the week, we wouldn’t have noticed him at all. People browsed the store often, but he was here on a Wednesday afternoon, at 3:08 exactly. It was a slow time. In fact, the owner of the instrument store, Mr. Kim, had considered limiting the hours we were open during weekdays for that very reason.

But there he stood, studying the cellos now, occasionally running a finger across their spines or touching a string. I wondered what exactly he was doing. I stared at him for a long moment, stopped in my tracks as he ran his hand through his dark, smooth hair. Perhaps he felt me looking, because he turned to face me suddenly. I stiffened and thought about turning away, thought about going into the back room and continuing my task, but seeing his face rendered me immobile. His black locks framed his face is soft bangs, with an undercut so sharp I was sure he had weekly appointments at the barber shop. His skin was milky white, like sugar. His eyes were deep and dark, entrancing as they settled on my form. He had lips that I, briefly, wondered about kissing, and an uncharacteristically cute nose.

And then he cocked his head to the side.

And my heart rate doubled.

A flush kissed my cheeks and I wanted to splash my face with water. I wasn’t this sort of person. I didn’t get flustered like this. I was Y/N, I was a stark realist. But his gaze was disarming, weaving up and down my body, touching my blushing cheeks, brushing through my messy hair, tracing my parted lips. His eyes told me that he knew I’d been looking at him, and that he would take his time as he took me in. We locked eyes. It was almost like a dare, like he was challenging me to come closer.

And, even though I shouldn’t have, I took the challenge.

Slowly, I approached and cleared my throat as I neared. “Are you a cellist?” I asked. I’d almost asked if he wanted help, but I remembered Hana’s luck with that and decided to try something else.

He kept his eyes trained on me for a moment before looking back at the cellos. “No. Not at all.” His voice was deep and rumbled low in his chest, and the words came out almost connected. A heavy mumble.

I nodded. “Is there an instrument in particular that you do play?” I asked.

He pursed his lips and from below he looked awfully innocent for a moment. “Piano.”

He seemed contemplative, maybe a bit quiet. I tried to keep that in mind as I asked another question. “Would you like to look at them?”

His eyes widened and he looked down at me once again. “Can we?” he asked.

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged my lips and nodded. “Sure. We have one grand piano on the floor and a few uprights. But you saw those already, didn’t you?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been here for a while,” he said with a chuckle.

I found myself wanting to hear that sound more. “Mm,” I said, then nodded my head towards the door I was about to enter before he’d distracted me. “I don’t normally do this, but we have more in the back of the shop,” I said.

His face lit up at the idea and I felt, again, the overwhelming urge to please him. “Is that okay?”

I nodded. “Mhm,” I said. “My boss is usually the one who shows these pianos, since they’re too nice to be on the floor where kids could touch them. But he told me that if I needed to I could take a customer back there on my own.”

He nodded and I smiled as I turned and led the way. “So…,” he said. Perhaps an attempt at keeping the conversation from going stagnant?

I smiled to myself as I pushed open the large door to the expansive back of the store, more of a small warehouse. “We have a few nice pianos back here, but,” I started, then gestured towards the far south side of the open space where one particular piano was glistening, begging to be played. “The best one is back here,” I said.

He followed me quietly through the rows of stringed instruments but once we got to the far end of the windowless room, his breath escaped in a quiet, “Oh.”

“It’s a Steinway,” I said, lowering my voice in the impossibly silent space.

He looked down at me with wide eyes. “It’s really something,” he said.

I smiled. “It’s used, so its value has gone down quite a lot. But it seems like it was only used lightly. Maybe by a chaebol or something,” I joked with a laugh.

He returned it, but it was clear he was still in awe of the thing as he sat down at the bench. I rested my hip against the side of the piano, running the palm of my hand over its glossy surface.

“May I?” he asked, poising his fingers over the ivory keys.

I nodded. “Of course.”

Gently, tenderly, his hands moved across the keyboard, slowly at first and then with more enthusiasm. The sound was remarkably clear, and his playing was oddly warm for someone who seemed a bit reserved. The melody was soothing and I found myself shutting my eyes and swaying with the music as it wrapped around me like a blanket. I was sure I’d never heard the song before, which made me wonder if it was an original.

Silence settled around us as he finished. The song was beautiful and at times dissonant, leaving me waiting for the next dramatic rise or fall. But when it ended I felt its absence.

“That was really nice,” I said, and felt betrayed by my lackluster vocabulary. Of course, it had been more than just nice.

Lucky for me, the quiet man seemed gracious enough to understand what I’d meant as he offered me a small smile. “Thank you for showing me.”

I nodded. “Of course. To be honest, I’ve been wanting to hear how it sounded since we got it last week. But I didn’t feel confident enough to play it myself.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “If you like it then play it.”

I shook my head and chuckled. “No, really. I’m not that good.”

He smiled, and I caught a glimmer of mischief in the deep brown of his eyes. Quickly, he captured my wrist in his big hand and pulled me to sit beside him on the bench. Startled, I gasped as my bottom made contact with the cool wood and I turned to face him wide-eyed.

“Play me something,” he said.

I shook my head. It felt disrespectful to use my mediocre skills on such a pristine piano. But that wasn’t the only reason I had reservations. Truthfully, I would get in big trouble for playing that particular piano. Any of the other ones were pretty much free game, but the Steinway? Of course, an employee shouldn’t play it. Mr. Kim was a kind man, but he was economical above all else. If I were to put his goods in danger, I would be out a job. And I really couldn’t afford that…

But to explain all of that to this handsome stranger felt a little difficult. He was looking at me expectantly, he was smiling just a little, he was waiting. So I did the only thing I could think to do in that situation.

I began playing Liebestraum.

It was a lovely song that I’d liked since I was young. Quiet and full of longing, the notes always felt so rich with emotion, while my notes flitted through the air with uncertainty and worry. I never felt like I played it well enough. Even when I took lessons, my teacher had recommended that I didn’t try to play Liebestraum until I’d mastered easier, less emotional pieces. But I was lucky that day, since my concerto was cut short.

I was unlucky that day too, since my concerto was cut short by my boss.

I leapt from the bench and stood to my feet as Mr. Kim and his son Namjoon entered the back room, side by side. Upon seeing me at the piano with this stranger, Mr. Kim’s eyes went wide and he crossed his arms.

“Y/N,” said Namjoon, clearly concerned for me.

Of course, why wouldn’t he be? I was breaking a rule.

I shook my head and gestured towards the man on the bench who, following my lead, had stood to his feet. “I was just showing this customer our Steinway,” I said, but the excuse came out flat.

Mr. Kim’s eyes flared just a little and so did his nostrils as he kept his anger at bay. He was a kind man, but his instruments were his livelihood. If I’d put them in jeopardy…

“You are strictly prohibited from playing that piano,” he said.

I nodded. “I know, Sir,” I said, unable to even so much as defend myself.

But the man beside me seemed to have more to say than I did. “Excuse me, but I asked her to play,” said the man.

Mr. Kim gave him a glance before his expression cooled slightly and he took a steadying breath. Namjoon approached me and placed a hand on my shoulder, looking me closely in the eye. If my expression revealed even a fraction of my fear, then he would certainly have seen it. “It’s fine,” he whispered.

I nodded, but I couldn’t let myself believe it. I was already writing my farewell to the instrument store. “I’m very sorry, but our employees are really not supposed to be playing the more…er…expensive instruments,” said Mr. Kim with a soft smile.

I bit the inside of my cheek and felt my brow furrow as I looked up at the stranger while he offered Mr. Kim a smile. “I see. Well, excuse me, but I really did force her. She was just showing me the piano.”

Mr. Kim nodded and glanced at me only to shoot me a loaded look. I stiffened. “Well, I apologize for my employee. She knows better,” he said, once again giving me a look that rooted me to the spot.

I felt my chest tighten with tears. I’d done something wrong, so of course I should be reprimanded. But I’d built myself up to be a capable person, a reliable person. I hated that I’d let him down. “Y/N, don’t you need to get out on the floor? Some customers came in behind us,” said Namjoon.

I raised my brows at him and nodded. He was giving me an out. I had to thank him for that later. “Ah, uh…yes. I’m very sorry, Mr. Kim,” I said, giving him a curt bow before exiting the backroom as quickly as I could, casting an apologetic glance at the stranger before scurrying out.

I didn’t miss the way his eyes looked…almost worried for me.

The stranger never emerged from the backroom, and I assumed he’d been let out through the back after having been given a discount on his next purchase, or some equivalent token of apology. Not only had I broken a rule, I was sure I was costing Mr. Kim money. He was indeed an economical man…

“Y/N!” called the very man I’d been fearing for fifteen minutes.

Hana had asked what had happened, but I couldn’t give her an answer. I’d been too nervous to even really speak. If I lost this job, I was well and truly cooked. My body snapped to attention and I turned to watch him as he and his tall son walked toward me, the younger with his brows knit in worry. That was certainly a bad sign. I braced myself for a swift firing. It had to be coming.

“You’re very lucky,” he said.

I flushed and looked at him from across the counter. “Excuse me, Sir?”

“That customer spoke very highly of you. It’s because of him that you have a job,” he said.

It’s because of him that I almost lost my job…, I thought to myself. But I only nodded and bowed my head while he rattled off his scoldings. For a few minutes I stayed that way, head low and eyes on my dirty sneakers, until abruptly Mr. Kim stopped talking altogether and his attention seemed to be seized.

“Thank you for your help today,” said a deep, rumbling voice.

I blushed and raised my gaze to meet his. That man. He was looking down at me with a mixture of kindness and pity. It made me equal parts happy and frustrated.

I nodded. “Of course,” I said softly.

He stared at me, standing there submissive to my boss, terrified of losing my job, and my pride was shaken. He looked at me the way someone would look at a cold dog on the street. I would have liked to have faced him as a person of stronger character, a person who could explain myself rather than just accept a punishment.

But I wasn’t just living for myself.

“Have a wonderful day,” he said gently before turning towards the exit.

Mr. Kim gave him a broad smile and waved after him. “You as well, Mr. Min!” he called.

The name sounded so familiar. Before I could think about it any longer, Mr. Kim was back to scolding me, all while Namjoon offered me quiet, sorry looks from over his shoulder. Mr. Min…?

My eyelids became heavy and drifted shut as I stood. The fluorescent lights above me did little to help ease me into sleep, but nonetheless I felt like I could nap right then and there.

“Excuse me?”

I snapped my eyes open and looked down at the customer that was waiting for me to scan their items. It was about midnight, and the interaction I’d had with Mr. Kim at my last job was still weighing on me. Perhaps I wasn’t as capable as I tried to be. The way this customer, a young girl with meticulous hair and nails, was looking at me seemed to prove that.

I scanned her items: a bowl of instant ramen, some triangle kimbap, and a hardboiled egg. I wondered what a clean girl like her would do with something like that, but then I remembered where this convenience store was located. Gangnam was not only wealthy and glitzy, but also brimming with young rich kids trying to escape. She gave me a smile and a thank you before exiting the corner store and bracing the warm evening, tying her plastic bag handles in a tidy bow before walking down the street alone.

I briefly worried for her, being out so late, then I remembered I was in Gangnam and settled down a little.

I watched the navy blue night outside the windows with my head in my hand and my elbow on the counter. I’d been working all day, but that wasn’t all that new. I supposed I was more exhausted than usual because I’d spent the last night at my Mom’s place in Sillim. I never slept well there.

But the night was deceptively calm, and from my vantage point in the convenience store it was deceptively beautiful. I wanted nothing more than to clock out and go home, maybe take my time walking to the bus station so I could stroll in the nighttime air. But I still had an hour of work before my coworker, another college student named Jungkook, came to take over the shift. Because we were both on summer break, we had been given the gift of extra free time which really meant extra work time.

A small yipping noise interrupted my melancholy thoughts and I stood up straighter, squinting my eyes to peer out into the night. The convenience store was located on the corner of a busy block, with cars rushing at all hours of the night and customers coming in no matter the weather. The city seemed never to sleep.

But the yipping made me nervous. It sounded like a dog.

I glanced around the convenience store and furrowed my brow. I was the only worker there, and I wasn’t supposed to leave the counter unless I was stocking or cleaning. Who would know, though, if I took a little peak out the window onto the busy street?

So I did, but even though I was alone I still crept like a bandit, like someone who knew they were doing something wrong. Stealthily I stepped forward, keeping to the balls of my feet so my footfalls didn’t make too much noise. After a moment, I realized this was silly and instead chose to walk normally, albeit cautiously, to the window.

I couldn’t see the source of the yipping, only the clamor of Gangnam at night. But as I neared the window, the sound got louder and louder. I was certain whatever creature was making that noise was nearby. I just couldn’t see it from the window.

If I wasn’t supposed to leave the counter, then I definitely wasn’t supposed to leave the store. But after my hellish day with Mr. Kim I figured I’d done enough rule-breaking for the day to warrant just one more.

And as I opened the door I was glad I did.

Sitting beneath the tall awning with a blue collar around its neck was a small dog, about to the middle of my calf, with curly brownish hair and perfectly shaved feet. I cocked my head to the side at the dog, trying to figure out its breed, when it suddenly turned its sweet face towards me and let out another yip. I crouched down beside it and read the name on its collar. We were now sitting just off the sidewalk together, this dog and me. Its name was, apparently, Holly. And as I examined it, I realized that it was a he. I pet his sides and gave him a good scratching, smiling down at the little guy. It seemed much too dangerous to leave him sitting out there near that busy street. Nobody drove well in Seoul, and between the delivery guys and their motorbikes and the business executives and their private drivers, it was unsafe for a small dog to be without a leash and without an owner.

“Holly,” I cooed gently, scratching behind his fluffy ear. “Let’s go inside, okay?” I asked.

He offered no response, but simply licked my hand which I took to be consent. I picked him up carefully and carried him into the convenience store. I placed him on the linoleum floor where he promptly peed. Sighing, I grabbed the mop from behind the counter and scrubbed away the mess while Holly explored the aisles.

“You had the whole outside world to pee in, and you choose my store?” I asked him.

I heard him pushing things off shelves and followed after him to place the items back in their proper spots. As I walked behind him in a crouch I snagged a can of dog food and, in one quick swoop, snatched the dog off its feet and carried him to the bar counter by the window. I set him atop the counter and sat down in front of him, blocking his escape route. He sat, surprisingly obedient, and I pried the can open, presenting it to him with a cocked eyebrow.

Not a picky one, Holly began to eat. He was a clean eater, and once again I found myself admiring his owner for training him so well.

“Hey!” called a frantic, panting voice from the doorway of the store.

Worried I’d get into more trouble, I launched to my feet and set Holly and his food onto the floor where he resumed his feast without complaint. I turned to the source of the call and made an effort to push the hair that had fallen from my hastily-made bun behind my ears. But as my eyes came upon the person who’d called out for me, I could only stare slack-jawed.

“You…,” I started, then shook my head. How could he be here?

The stranger from before, Mr. Min stared down at me with sweat beading along his exposed forehead and hairline, his mouth agape and his eyes wide. “You…,” he mimicked.

I stared at him as he stared at me, then we both stared at Holly. “Is he your-,” I began.

“Yeah,” said the man before I could finish.

I blinked down at the dog that had brought us back together and furrowed my brow. “I…he was outside crying so I…,” I said. I wasn’t sure where I was going with that thought, but I was sure it wasn’t important.

“Thank you,” he said, shutting the door and coming inside the store to crouch in front of Holly as he ate. “How much did the food cost?” he asked, peeking up at me.

I blushed. He looked different than before. His hair was pushed off his forehead and he was dressed smartly, a pretty watch decorating his slender wrist. He looked like a Gangnam man. And I looked like…well, I looked like someone working at a convenience store.

“No, don’t worry about it. It’s fine,” I said, walking to the register to put my own money inside, just the right amount for the cheap food. “He seems to like that,” I remarked as Holly polished the tin.

The man chuckled and nodded, patting his dog on the head. “Yeah. He’s not picky.”

I looked down at him as he examined his dog with such tender eyes. I wondered what he was thinking about, but mostly I wondered what he was doing here of all places.

“Were you out tonight?” I asked.

He looked at me, seemingly startled, before he glanced at his clothes and a chuckle escaped his lips. “Yes. A marriage meeting.”

“M-marriage?” I asked, my body tensing. “You’re so young!”

He smirked and stood to his full height, now towering over me. “Never too young, I suppose.”

“No, I’m pretty certain there is too young,” I mumbled, scratching my exposed forearm.

He laughed lightly and nodded. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, sitting down on one of the barstools so he could watch Holly eat his meal.

“Well…how did it go?” I asked, feeling bolder. Maybe it was because it was nighttime, or because this was our second time meeting, but I felt comfortable asking.

He shrugged, and a certain sadness overcame him, perhaps a little worry. “About as well as I figured it would,” he said.

I nodded and timidly joined him on the stools, sitting one stool away from him. “You don’t want to get married?” I asked gently.

He smiled at me, and there was something soft about it. “Not like this, no.”

“Hm,” I said, trying to think of a way to console him. “Ah! How did Holly get out?” I asked.

He glanced at me, smiling his gratitude at my changing the subject. “My assistant was supposed to take him on a walk while I had my meeting, but Holly doesn’t like him very much. So he got away. I left the meeting because I wanted to find him.”

I nodded. “That sounds troubling.”

“Yeah. The potential fiancé wasn’t too pleased that I left her to find my dog,” he said, breathing out a laugh.

He seemed now to be someone that was very far out of my reach. Marriage meetings and assistants and fancy watches…he wasn’t someone in my league. It made me feel slightly inadequate, and without realizing I covered part of my smock with my arms, embarrassed of the way it sat, dingy on my lap.

I’d never liked rich people, even when I was one.

“It’s good though, don’t you think?” I asked, musing out loud. “You should marry someone whose lifestyle is compatible with your own. If she couldn’t accept the part of your life that belongs to Holly, then maybe it’s for the best that things didn’t go well.”

He pondered this for a moment, then chuckled. “I suppose.”

“Ah!” I said as Holly began licking the jagged edges of the now empty can of food.

I jumped from my perch and grabbed the can before he could cut his tongue and, in the process nicked my own finger. Before the blood could drop from my new cut, I hurried and threw the can into the trash with a sigh. I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand, swiping away the sweat that was budding there, and rifled around in the cabinets behind the counter for some bandaids.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, suddenly on his feet and walking close.

I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Better me than Holly,” I said, snatching the first aid kit and pulling a bandaid from its depths.

“Let me help,” he said, reaching out across the counter to assist me.

I shook my head and smiled. “I can handle it myself,” I said, wrapping the bandaid around my cut and shutting the first aid kit.

He stared at me curiously for a long moment, his brow furrowed like he was deep in thought. “You know, you managed to appeal to the two things I care about most in the world today,” he said, still examining me with that perplexed expression.

I flushed. “Excuse me?”

“Music and Holly.”

I blinked a few times to think about what he’d said. He was definitely strange, but he didn’t seem like a bad person. Perhaps he was only caught up in his own thoughts and didn’t realize that what he was saying was odd.

“Ah,” I said, then smiled as Holly approached me, licking my pant leg. “Well, I think both of those things are very worthy things to care about,” I said, rubbing Holly’s head as the force his his tail wagging behind him caused his whole body to wiggle.

A moment of silence passed as the two of us stared at Holly behind the counter, now on his back and rolling around in an effort to get a belly rub, both of us examining him fondly. After a long minute, I began to feel the sensation of eyes on me and raised my own to look at the stranger across from me. Handsome as ever, he watched me curiously, dark eyes never leaving my face. I felt my skin grow hot and wanted nothing more than for him to either stop looking or start speaking. Whichever one made the situation less tense.

But when he did speak, I wished we could go back to silence.

“Wanna marry me?”

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #min yoongi #yoongi #suga #bts reactions #bangtan #bts au

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cwkrp · 6 years

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have a little imagination, will you?

INTRODUCING son sujin, she/her, 17/12/95 COURSING ba in applied arts, second year AFFILIATION ursa ANNOTATIONS n/a

a note from the past.

TOKEN.

slender fingers combed through freshly dyed hair, a smile aimed at her from behind the barber chair.

“you look so beautiful, my love.”

it’s a compliment, so eight year old son sujin smiles back through the mirror. after all, a compliment is such a rare thing from her mother. she’ll take what she can get, even if it only comes after everything about her has been modified. if that’s what it takes, then maybe the change was needed.

heels clicking with every step and sneakers slapping against linoleum, a little girl trying desperately to keep up with her mother. she looks out of place next to her, a clumsy child with rubber bracelets and scabbed knees to accent her school uniform while the woman is anything but. she’s all elegance and curves accentuated by a tight red dress and red lips to match. they’re a site to see as son mirae guides her child into an expensive shop, littered with mothers and daughters who looked to be in the same boat.

“try this on,” she suggests, holding out a simple white dress to the schoolgirl. sujin takes it, albeit reluctantly, and lets herself be shown to a changing room. that’s where it begins. she exchanges her bland school uniform for something more glamorous and before she can even show her mother, more dresses are being handed to her through the curtain. galactic shades of blue and purple, oranges and yellows that could put the sun to shame. she’s made into a doll, so she might as well play dress-up.

“what is all of this for, mama?” she asks as they exist the store, now wearing a soft yellow dress and white wedges. she doesn’t quite like it and she’s found that walking feels weird when she isn’t wearing sneakers, but she doesn’t say that. how can she, when her mom is smiling so widely at her, radiating happiness? how can she ruin that?

she learns that it’s for a pageant. she’ll get to dress up like a princess. it will be fun. she’ll be the envy of all the other little girls. that’s what mirae tells her, anyway, and sujin still doesn’t say anything because that doesn’t sound very fun to her but she was never taught how to say no. even if she had, something told her it would be a losing fight.

one pageant turns into two, and then the number multiplies. she can’t eat her favorite foods anymore because she has to stay skinny. “it’s only until the next pageant,” her mother tells her, but the pageants never end and neither does the diet.

she blinks and she’s sixteen, a petite teenager in high heels and a pink dress, short in the front and long in the back—but it’s a little too short in the front, so she keeps tugging the hem down, but it just inches up more every time. in the end, she gives up and just smiles as she’s awarded with a crown, a sash and a bouquet of flowers.

“give it up for the beauty queen, son sujin!”

it’s a title that fits her, almost. it fits her soft smile and softer features, her pink lips and doe eyes. but it’s not who she wants to be. she’d rather be at home in sweats and a t-shirt, an easel in front of her and a paintbrush in hand. she’d rather be creating beauty than being judged for her own.

she doesn’t say anything, though, because no one had ever taught her how to speak up for herself.

STEREOTYPE.

she’s trying to study for the csat. she’s in her bedroom with the door closed, a compilation of edith piaf’s best hits spinning on her record player. she doesn’t mind studying, not really—it’s relaxing to her, in a way. it’s much more simple than anything else she could be doing.

but her peace doesn’t last for long. the music is drowned out by an incoming phone call and the ringtone is a stark contrast to edith piaf’s relaxing voice, so sujin answers as soon as possible just to get the person off her back. “what is it?” she asks, her voice tired. defeated, almost, although the conversation hasn’t even started yet.

“there’s a party tonight, sujin. go with us.” it’s one of her best friends and she can hear her other friends in the background, laughing among each other. no doubt getting ready for the party. “i don’t know, i’m studying for the…” she tries to explain, but she can’t even finish her sentence before her friend is speaking over her. “c'mon, it’ll be fun. don’t be a wet blanket. can’t you meet us at hyeri’s place?”

sujin says yes, but she means no and she meets them there at seven o’ clock sharp so they can all get ready together. after all, that’s what they want.

the party is loud and crowded, filled with people that she doesn’t know and people she wishes she didn’t. there’s a distinct stench of marijuana in the air and she tries to ignore it but it’s difficult when it’s in every corner, every crevice of the house. she resorts to standing near the dance floor, an unimpressed look on her face because her friends are nowhere to be found now and she doesn’t know what else to do. she isn’t a party girl. she never has been.

there’s a boy standing near her, his gaze lingering on her. predatory. he’s tall, dressed in leather and dark denim; a complete opposite to the petite girl in white. maybe that’s what gets his attention. he approaches her with a cup in each hand, filled with some mixture of alcohol that she’d never want to taste but when he looks at her with those deep eyes and asks if she wants a drink, she says yes even though she means no.

she takes one sip, and he takes a sip of his, and he asks her if it’s good. she says yes because she knows that’s what he wants to hear, and she’s right; he smiles then, and he tells her to drink up. she does, even though she hates the taste and it takes all the willpower she has not to spit it back out.

that’s how sujin’s story goes. every chapter is a series of “yes, yes, yes” even when she so desperately wants to say “no, no, no”. it’s the tale of a marionette and the strings which keep her bound, always grasped in someone’s hands other than her own, even when the puppeteer is unaware of the power they have over her.

a color for the present.

GREEN.

every time they pass the playground, sujin looks the other way. she’s tired of seeing mothers pushing their daughters on the swings and the merry-go-round, tired of seeing children playing on the jungle gym together. the worst part is that when they fall, they don’t frown; they just keep smiling, dust the dirt off of their knees, and get back to climbing. she knows it’s petty to be angry over such a thing, but it feels like she’s the only elementary school kid on the planet who isn’t allowed to play and she can’t help but turn green with envy when she sees them having so much fun.

when she’s in middle school, the father-daughter dance rolls around. it’s all her friends talk about and she wants so badly to go, to feel like she’s part of something, but she lacks one thing; a father. of course, her mother’s man of the month offers to go with her, but there’s something not quite genuine about it and she’s not dumb. he doesn’t want to go. he only wants to earn brownie points with her mother so maybe she’ll keep him around longer than the other men that she lets into her bed. sujin knows that, so she politely declines and he doesn’t push it.

then she’s in high school and she’s in her bedroom, watching some new drama on her television. it’s cute and she almost thinks it might be worth watching until it cuts to a scene of a family on vacation. there’s a mother and a father who appear to be so madly in love despite their three kids bickering in the backseat of the car. it instills a heaviness in her heart so strong that she reaches for the remote and turns the tv off.

as far back as she can remember, she’s always craved a family. maybe if she had a father, there would be someone to control her mother’s reckless spending, her mistreatment of sujin. maybe if she had siblings, she wouldn’t feel so much pressure to be the perfect daughter. maybe there would be someone that she could share her thoughts with, someone that could understand her.

and she knows that family isn’t perfect. she knows that there would be pointless arguments and misunderstandings would arise along the way, but if anything, that only makes her wish she could experience it more. after all, it has to be a step up from the lonely life she’s been given.

RED.

she’s a dreamer. it’s one thing that no one can take away from her—not because she’s fiercely determined, but because she’s quiet about her wishes. she keeps her daydreams under lock and key because she knows herself well enough to know that if someone tells her she can’t do it, she’ll give up.

but when she closes her eyes, she doesn’t see darkness. she sees paintings hung neatly on pristine white walls, floors so clean that the whole place seems to shine. she sees families, couples, kids, critics and everyone in between walking from artwork to artwork, observing. understanding. appreciating.

there’s one painting that sticks out to her, although it’s blurrier than the rest. she can’t quite see the contents and she can never seem to remember the colors, but there’s one part that’s crystal clear—her signature in the bottom right corner. it’s a new painting, freshly unveiled, and that fact doesn’t change no matter how many times she lets her mind drift away to this safe place. there are people crowded around this painting, voicing words of praise and admiration for the new artist.

for someone who doubts herself so much, this dream is one thing that she’s trying desperately to hold on to. trying to believe in. because if she lets herself have one goal for the future, then even the worst days don’t seem so bad. and almost, almost, her black and white world turns to color.

#cwk // profile #cwk // ursa

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shorthaircutsmodels · 4 years

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Lena Dunham's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles - 15+ - https://shorthaircutsmodels.com/lena-dunhams-short-haircuts-and-hairstyles/ - Lena Dunham's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles, added that she believes being bald is beautiful before criticising. Those who promote hair growth products such. As gummies and the use of hair extensions. In the emotional post Dunham said growing her hair as a result has been a living metaphor for the past few years. Lena Dunham talks about the health problems that caused her to have her hair cut in 2020 - 2021. On Monday, the Girls creator and star posted a selfie with a full head of hair on Instagram. Lena Dunham's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles Lena Dunham's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles, I shaved my head 2 and a half years ago. Not in a fun saucy way but a ' my hair is falling better than all autoimmune disease hurry to the nearest barber shop and pay $ 7 to write it that way. There wasn't a lot of Health answers at that point and I didn't know how to express my fear to people around me. Lena Dunham's Haircuts and Hairstyles Lena Dunham's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles, so it was just that ‘Lena had another ragged haircut like every week since she was seven and she blew it with scissors, cutting her own baby. Dunham wrote that she wanted to dispel the idea that women should always have flowing locks. She also said that while her hair has grown back she could very well shave again in the future. Formal. 2020 is the year of the short haircut, and we're not just talking about lobs bobs and pixie cuts. With celebrities such as. Lena Dunham's Short Haircuts Lena Dunham's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles, it was only a matter of time before more stars followed suit. Just for fun this time. Creator and star of her film Tiny Furniture Girls Lena Dunham has been a red carpet mainstay since her debut. With a style as adventurous and bold as her personality, Dunham proved she was never afraid to express herself through her outfit. Over the years Dunham has experimented with a variety of hairstyles, from messy fairies to blunt bobs and a wide range of colours. Lena Dunham's Short Hairstyles Lena Dunham's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles, And on Sunday night at the 75th Annual Golden Globes a new single Dunham announced her latest do in long brunette waves and a tousled burst. Here's a look at Dunham's most daring moments of beauty on the red carpet. Lena Dunham has opened up about suffering from hair loss caused by the autoimmune disease Ehler Danlos syndrome. Lena Dunham's Haircuts The back and sides of this short fantasy are tapered into the head, which blends into the upper length, which is jagged cut to achieve a thin or textured surface. This hairstyle is easy to manage with regular fixes every 4 to 6 weeks and needs only a small amount of product to hold and shine. After years of health struggles that led Lena Dunham to shave her head, she now sees her hair as a living metaphor for growth. Lena Dunham's Hairstyles Alongside a selfie showing off her flowing locks, the writer and actress, 33, shared why she decided to shave her head two and a half years ago and how she has since changed. I shaved my head a year and a half ago. Not in a fun saucy way, my hair is all falling out better than autoimmune disease hurry to the nearest barber shop and pay $ 7 to do it this way, Dunham wrote on Instagram. Lena Dunham talks about the health problems that caused her to have her hair cut in 2020 2021. Lena Dunham's Short Hair On Monday, the Girls creator and star posted a selfie with a full head of hair on Instagram. The top makes this hairstyle great to compliment a long face and needs product to keep it in place. I shaved my head. Not in a fun saucy way but a my hair is falling better than all autoimmune disease hurry to the nearest barber shop and pay to write it that way. Lena Dunham's Hair The 33-year-old said she was scared when she cut her hair and knew. Her decision led people to make assumptions about her. There wasn't a lot of Health answers at that point and I didn't know how. To express my fear to people around me, so it was just. That Lena had another ragged haircut like every. Week since she was seven and she blew it with scissors, cutting her own baby. Dunham wrote that she wanted to dispel the idea that women should always have flowing locks. She also said that while her hair has grown back she could very well shave again in the future. Lena Dunham debuts short pixie cut Katy Perry is the latest star to cut hair by grazing her shoulder in dramatic fashion, joining the ranks of Kristen Stewart and Cara Delevingne's Lena Dunham. Earlier today the actress took to instagram to debut a fresh pixie cut that buzzed over the sides and spiky at the centre with the cheeky caption dubbed the therapist friend of your mother's look she leaves your dad for. Lena Dunham Haircut Short Buzz Cut Celebrity Trend But growing my hair was a living metaphor these past few years when all I did was leave it alone and something came back to be that I had lost it all. I'm going to move that information forward and then you know what happens. I'll probably shave my head again. The Girls star said she knew it looked like she was being disorderly. Lena Dunham hairstyle There wasn't a lot of Health answers at that point and I didn't know. How to express my fear to people around me. So it was just 'cause Lena had another ragged haircut. Like she has every week since she was seven and. Had to cut her own baby' burst with scissors. Lena Dunham Short Hairstyle Pictures The once-Hollywood star on Sunday shared an emotional post on Instagram in which she revealed the reason why she decided to shave her head in 2020. Two and a half years ago Dunham wrote next to a photo of her smiling and wearing her now long hair shaved off my head. Not in a fun perky way but a ' my hair is all falling out in a hurry better than my autoimmune disease at the nearest barber shop and I pay them 7 dollars to do it this way. Lena Dunham Just Cut All Her Hair Off According to NHS eds, they are a group of rare inherited conditions. That affect connective tissue with symptoms. Including increased range of joint movement and fragile. Skin that breaks easily or includes bruises. Dunham continued by explaining that she didn't have many answers about the situation at the time and was afraid of how people would react to her shaving her head. Lena Dunham Hairstyles, Hair Cuts and Colors One of our favourite advocates for body positivity has had a tattoo inspired by Girls creator and Rihanna. Enter. Lena Dunham. The editor of Lenny's letter in its true form posted a photo of her fresh cut to Instagram this afternoon and in her post she says all she leaves your father for is your mother's therapist friend. By the time we girls were introduced back in the creator. Writer actor way of 2022 hair had fluctuated between ultra. Short and medium length. Lena Dunham's Most Daring Beauty Looks Over the past year or so Dunham has literally let her hair grow until it falls under her shoulders. Actress and activist Lena Dunham has added a new date to her ample hairstyle with a new pixie cut, which debuted on Instagram (of course). With her trademark wit she captioned the picture Mother's therapist friend leaves your dad for getting 83k likes and counting. Lena kept her hairstyle short and simple for the 2022 Primetime Emmy Awards. Lena Dunham haircut Its layers were all pinched with a small crop to achieve a wispy and textured effect with the back and sides. Jagged bursts of cut are softened to frame the top of the face. Completing the entire style perfectly. The back and sides of this short. Lena Dunham new haircut Brown mane tapered to the head while the upper length. Is only slightly longer left and worn flat to the head contour for a simple look and feel. This ' do style is great for those with thin to medium hair who want a style that is easy to maintain and with regular fixes.

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wsmith215 · 4 years

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Texas begins to reopen after Covid-19 quarantine – but political controversy and health risks await

Photograph: Callaghan O’Hare/Reuters

Tim Handren, the chief executive of Santikos Entertainment, a small cinema chain in San Antonio, admits his business is not essential. But while the giants of the industry keep their screens closed, he has taken a different approach.

Related: Trump charges Obama with ‘biggest political crime in American history’

Since last weekend, three of nine Santikos cinemas have reopened to the public, among the first in America to do so during the coronavirus pandemic.

“Take your mask off and relax,” Handren said in a recorded message to customers. “Breathe in some great buttery popcorn smells, watch a great movie, and just enjoy some time with your family.”

The reopening is among the starker examples in Texas, where one of the quickest and most expansive efforts to reignite the economy has drawn significant controversy.

On the one hand, some civil liberty advocates have argued that their right to drink at bars, have their hair cut and dine at restaurants has been curtailed. On the other, many public health experts warn thousands will become infected as the state reopens.

Handren, who is also the mayor of the small town of Boerne, said that although his cinemas would keep patrons 6ft apart and offer a reduced menu there remained debate in the community about whether the shutdown had been necessary at all.

“Unfortunately, I still interact with people that believe Covid-19 is a hoax concocted by the media after all this time. That’s the extreme on that side of the equation … ‘We should have never shut down’. Even the lieutenant governor said that. And then there are others who want to hunker down and hibernate for the next six months. I’ve had to, as a mayor, balance health and economics.”

Abbott, a Republican, last week ended a stay-at-home order and allowed businesses including barber shops and retail outlets to open. The move followed decisions in other southern states including Florida and Georgia, and earned praise from Donald Trump.

Story continues

The president told reporters: “Texas is opening up and a lot of places are opening up. And we want to do it, and I’m not sure that we even have a choice. I think we have to do it. You know, this country can’t stay closed and locked down for years.”

In private, Abbott has acknowledged that his decision to reopen is likely to cause an increase in coronavirus cases. Leaked audio obtained by the Daily Beast captured comments during a private call with state lawmakers.

Abbott, who has sought to downplay the increased risk to the public, said: “The more that you have people out there, the greater the possibility is for transmission. The goal never has been to get transmission down to zero.”

Infectious disease experts predict the average daily Covid-19 positive test rate in Texas could rise from 1,053 at the beginning of May to up to 1,800 by June.

As of this weekend, Texas had an estimated 16,670 active cases and 1,049 deaths. With the occasional dip, the number of cases continues to rise even while testing lags behind other states.

Greg Abbott with Trump at the White House on Thursday. Photograph: Doug Mills/EPA

Harris county, which includes Houston, has 157 coronavirus cases per 100,000 people – 31% higher than the state average. Last month, officials said African Americans accounted for two-thirds of Covid-19 deaths in the city despite making up only 22.5% of the population.

Harris county judge Lina Hidalgo, a Democrat, has attempted to enforce a mandatory mask order. Abbott has publicly criticized her.

Dr Andrew Miller, a pediatric ophthalmologist in Harris county, reopened his clinic last week with social distancing in place. He told the Guardian that even after his decision to reopen, because of the pressing needs of patients, he was experiencing significant anger from those who refuse to wear masks.

He said: “We’ve had some pushback from families because we won’t let them in without a mask. They’ve been ugly to the staff. While I respect their civil liberties, I am entitled to not see them.”

Last week, Abbott took power away from officials who arrest Texans for certain Covid-19 violations. The move was prompted by a conservative backlash against the arrest of a salon owner in Dallas – another hotspot – who opened up against local rules. In an act that exacerbated the divisions on the case, Texas senator Ted Cruz appeared at the salon to receive a haircut from the recently released owner.

Houston lies in a sprawling industrial region with more than 500 petrochemical facilities, a busy shipping channel, large highways and commercial railroads, and one of the highest densities of polluting industries in the country, if not the world.

Air quality, specifically particulate matter, which increases the risk of multiple lung and heart conditions also associated with Covid-19 complications, has been worse in some parts of the city despite the lockdown, leading environmentalists to criticise the decision to reopen so quickly.

“It’s a blind, uninformed decision based on optimism that everything will be better, even though the evidence points to the contrary,” said Elena Craft, senior director at the Environmental Defence Fund (EDF), which coordinates a local project tracking air quality.

The meatpacking industry is also linked to several emerging hotspots in the Texas panhandle, a semi-rural region of 26 northern counties where Trump won 79.9% of the vote in 2016 and the Republican party dominates every level of government.

Moore county has the highest infection rate in Texas. Its death rate is 28 per 100,000 people, almost 10 times higher than Harris county and the state average.

Moore, where around 55% of residents identify as Latino or Hispanic, is home to the massive Brazilian-owned JSB meatpacking plant, which employs mostly Hispanic and migrant workers, many bussed in on company shuttles from towns including Amarillo. Nationwide, industrial meat plants have emerged as incubators for coronavirus spread.

Amarillo, the region’s largest city, situated across Potter and Randall counties, had 1,304 cases as of last Wednesday, including at least 18 deaths. The infection rate is rapidly rising. Potter county has the second worst rate in Texas, with infections doubling every seven or eight days.

Related: Boris Johnson’s lockdown release leaves UK divided

Just to the south, in the city of Odessa, a group of armed militia men were arrested last week as they protested alongside bar owner Gabrielle Ellison, who attempted to reopen in violation of an executive order which mandates bars should remain closed.

The six men were members of a militia named Open Texas, which according to reports has operated across the state, offering armed support to business owners.

Ellison, who was also arrested, told local news from jail: “I think some rights were taken away from us, which one of them was like a right to survive. We have to survive and I think those rights were stripped from us.”

• This story was amended on 11 May to more fully reflect the quotation from Tim Handren, the mayor of Boerne.

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#Coronavirus News

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swedna · 4 years

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Faced with the Covid-19 pandemic, state governments are launching their own efforts to fight it in tandem with the Centre’s initiatives. Many states are opting for a partial or near-lockdown, restricting inter-state movement and shutting down commercial establishments. And they are coming out with a raft of measures to mitigate the economic fallout of such steps.

Coronavirus: Delhi border to be sealed, no public transport, says Kejriwal

Delhi will be locked down in view of the growing coronavirus threat, from 6 am on March 23, Chief Minister Arvind Kejriwal announced at a joint press conference with Lt Governor Anil Baijal on Sunday. The lockdown will continue till 12 midnight on March 31, Kejriwal said. During the lockdown, no public transport will operate and Delhi's borders will be sealed but the essential services related to health, food, water and power supply will continue, he said. Read More…

Coronavirus: Maharashtra working on plan to tackle economic challenges

Maharashtra, which on Sunday extended the lockdown to all urban centres, is putting a plan in place to tackle the economic challenges thrown up by the pandemic. “We are working to find a solution to the financial challenges caused by the Covid-19 crisis and a working group has been formed to look into it,” said Chief Minister Uddhav Thackeray. Covid-19 has so far infected 74 persons in the state. Read More…

Gujarat announces 1,200-bed hospital to treat coronavirus patients

Apart from imposing Section 144 of Criminal Procedure Code (CrPC) across major cities, the Gujarat Government has announced that a 1,200-bed hospital in Ahmedabad will be exclusively devoted to treating coronavirus patients. The number of positive Covid-19 cases in Gujarat jumped to 13 in three days with no casualties so far. Read More…

Karnataka govt announces Rs 200-cr plan to curb Covid-19, forms 100 teams

The government of Karnataka has pledged a Rs 200-crore fund towards immediate expenses to contain the spread of coronavirus. With the number of Covid-19 cases in the state rising, the government has formed 100 teams, each consisting of one doctor, one staff nurse and one medico social worker for contact tracing. Read More… Adityanath govt unveils Rs 353-cr financial plan, to give cash to 3.53 mn

The Yogi Adityanath government on Saturday announced a financial package of more than Rs 353 crore to give cash handouts to an estimated 3.53 million daily wage earners and labourers, who are likely to be hit due to the coronavirus outbreak. Read More…

Coronavirus: Bengal CM announces Kolkata lockdown, free ration for 6 months

The state, which announced a complete lockdown of Kolkata and other major towns on Sunday, has adopted several measures to combat the economic fallout of the coronavirus pandemic. Read More… Coronavirus: Kerala govt declares Rs 20,000-cr package to revive economy

On March 19, the Kerala Government declared a Rs 20,000 crore special package to tackle the impact of the Covid-19 outbreak. This includes Rs 14,000 crore to clear all arrears pending in various sectors and a Rs 500 crore health package. Read More… Coronavirus outbreak: Tamil Nadu closes borders, constitutes task force

The Tamil Nadu government has closed its borders with Andhra Pradesh, Kerala and Karnataka. The state has also constituted a task force to closely monitor the preventive measures against the virus outbreak. Read More… Northeast steps up measures to tackle coronavirus, no positive cases yet

Although no positive cases of Covid-19 infection have been reported from the Northeast as yet, the Seven Sisters are not letting their guard down. Assam has ordered schools to remain shut till March 31 and asked barber shops, beauty parlours, coaching centres, museum, libraries and so on to down their shutters till March 31. Read More… (with inputs from Archis Mohan, Aneesh Phadnis, Samreen Ahmad, Avishek Rakshit, T E Narasimhan, Gireesh Babu, Vinay Umarji, Virendra Singh Rawat, B Dasarath Reddy)

#Covid-19

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chut-je-dors · 7 years

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First drawn on iPad, then at the halfway of the colouring process I moved to work on the computer. I’m a sucker for mermaid!aus, so of course I needed one for McLennon. I only used watercolour brushes + a crayon brush, and topped it with a watercolour texture in the background. Read more for the 2300 word story that I wrote to accompany this!

Paulos, the youngest son of King Triton, is forbidden from going on land. Ever since the kingdom of Atlantis lost its queen, Mary, to a mysterious disease, King Triton has strictly refused from letting anyone ashore. There is nothing else that Paulos wants, though, his curiosity too strong.

After a vicious fight with his father, once again about this same subject, Paulos runs into a merwitch. She suggests that he goes on land, without telling anyone.

“What your father does not know, will not hurt him, my boy.”

Paulos follows the tug in his heart and rises from the sea, scrambles on a shore in the middle of a night. Mermagic, something that other merpeople possess more strongly than others, allows his tail to transform into legs. He stumbles his way over to the nearest city, fascinated and curious about the new world.

Three days later he returns to the sea; and there he is met by the seawitch, who tells him that the kingdom thinks Paulos ran away, and that King Triton has died from grief -something not entirely unusual for merpeople.

“You cannot return to the sea,” she tells him. “Do not even set a foot in the water.”

Paulos, shocked and mortified, turns and does not look back.

Paulos meets someone after having spent a week on the streets, mourning, his life crumbled down. The boy throws him a sandwich with a smile on his face, and takes Paulos to his place. Paulos cannot speak English, but little by little, he learns. He learns about the boy, John, as well. He wants to learn more.

“What is your name, then?” John asks, curiosity embedded into his expression. Paulos thinks, not able to pronounce his real name with the letters of humans.

He searches for the right word.

“Pa-Paol-” he grimaces, and John laughs.

“Paul?” he asks, and Paulos stops trying, and smiles, nods. It’s good enough, and John looks so happy when he says it, finally able to call him by his name.

Paulos becomes Paul.

They have a large circle of friends -John, mainly, and he pulls Paul in. Two years have passed, and Paul feels at home with John. He is afraid, as well.

The soul of merpeople is set to break in two before they are born. The two pieces of one soul are meant to be together again, and thus, a merman only loves once, and only wants for one. That is how Lord Poseidon, Paul’s grandfather, decided when the first merman, King Triton, was born. A merman, or a mermaid, can wait for their other half for centuries. Some are born at the same time, more often one has to wait. King Triton waited for Queen Mary for thousands of years.

Paul knows that John is his other half.

He is afraid, because it is not right for his Chosen one to be human. But he loves John, and wants John.

But John is human, and humans do not have Chosen ones.

Paul’s friends decide to play a prank on him. Paul does not swim, because his legs become a tail once he is under water. He always stays ashore, listening to music and reading a book, when the others swim.

His friends grab him, and despite him screaming, terror entering his voice, they carry him into water.

“He’s afraid of water, you idiots!” John is shouting, further away from everyone else. Paul is thrown into the water, and he sinks.

“C’mon, it’s barely three feet deep there,” someone says.

“How isn’t he up already?” another wonders.

Paul comes up, gasping, splashing, and his silvery tail is visible to everyone when he tries to get away from the water in panic. Shocked sounds are heard everywhere, but Paul does not care. Because-

The water rises and King Triton is hovering above them, water holding him up. The air crackles around him, the trident in his hand glowing blue light.

“You have betrayed your people,” King Triton says, and Paul is shaking, trying to get back to the shore. Everyone else is running away, except John, who dashes forward, towards Paul. He shouts Paul’s name, and water slides tightly around Paul, lifts him up, choking him.

“You have betrayed me,” King Triton thunders, and Paul tries to get away from the water’s magic grip in vain. He cannot understand what has happened- how did everything come to pass. His father is still alive.

John’s feet touch the water, and he starts to wade through it to where Paul is hanging in the air. He calls Paul’s name, panic etched into his voice, shock and fear in his expression.

Paul shouts at him, to stay away, to run. Paul cannot lose him, not like he can himself. John is important; not like Paul who has managed to destroy everything he held dear in this world. King Triton thinks he abandoned merpeople- but instead of dying from grief, he has lost his sensible mind. Paul prays to Lord Poseidon that his father could find himself again.

King Triton looks at John with storm and lightning in his eyes, points the trident at him, and John comes to a full stop.

“You will feel the pain that I have from you abandoning merpeople. It is all the fault of humans, in the end.”

Water pours out of John’s mouth, and he chokes, coughs, more water coming out. He cannot breathe, and he brings hands to his chest. He is drowning, standing knee-high in the sea, and Paul loses himself.

He screams, and writhes, and his body jerks when a sob comes through. He sobs out John’s name, and tears run down his cheeks when he looks at John fighting, water filling the man’s lungs from inside.

Paul drops to the sea, and without thinking, he dashes towards John, grabs him, and pulls them to the shore. John waves on his feet, falls down and then vomits, water pouring out.

Paul sobs, and holds him, his tail turning into legs again, and looks up at his father.

The King looks at him with a strange expression, the swirl of water that holds him up becomes less powerful, lowering him slightly.

“He is your Chosen one,” he says, and Paul nods, cries, holds John tighter when the other’s body jerks with his coughs. There is no water anymore inside of him -it disappeared, just like Paul’s restraints as well.

King Triton’s expression is, for one second, defeated. Then it hardens and he looks at Paul, the storm back in his clear blue eyes.

“If you, or he, ever touch the sea, you will be locked under Atlantis for the rest of all time, and he will drown.”

And he leaves, and Paul sobs against John, and John puts a hand on his back and coughs one last time, sounding exhausted.

“You have a lot to explain,” he says, and Paul cries even harder.

Merpeople do not cry. Sadness, for them, becomes physical pain, but they do not cry.

Paul does not know what he is, anymore.

He wipes out the memory of almost everyone at the shore. He is skilled enough in mermagic, and possesses an indescribable amount of power. He is a direct descendant of Lord Poseidon, a god, and one day the trident might have been his.

Not anymore.

They leave the shore, he, John, and a couple of friends that deserve to know. Otherwise all this could happen again. Paul tells them everything -except for John being his Chosen one.

They take it fairly well. After three hours John is able to crack a joke or few about Paul being technically a fish. Paul is in a silent shock, and he doubts it will leave in a moment.

A year passes, and John suggests they move to London. He has got a job offer from a record shop. Paul goes wherever John does, and so they leave Liverpool. John’s aunt Mimi hates them for doing that, and vows to never talk to John again for abandoning her. Paul wonders how different their families can be, and at the same time so similar.

Paul gets a job from the London Zoo. His ability to work with sea animals is astounding, and he is happy there. The fish call him Prince Paulos, because every sea creature can see who he is. He has said that he is not a prince anymore, but the fish feel more comfortable in their captivity when he allows them to call him like that.

John cooks chocolate cake every Sunday, and gets better and better with it. Paul loves those cakes, and loves human food, since merpeople mostly eat seaweeds and other plants. Those have always tasted bland, especially now that Paul has got to know the joy called spicy food.

Life is good, since they do not dwell in the past, and do not think of the future. Sometimes John looks at Paul with such a fond gaze that Paul wonders whether John could love him back. It is illegal in the human world, though, two men together. So Paul does nothing, and enjoys life as well as he can.

John gets a letter from America. It is from his father, who left him and his mother when he was not even born yet. Alfred writes that he is dying, and wants to see John once before he goes.

Paul makes the decision for John, and reserves two tickets on a ship.

“But what if your father-” John tries when Paul is packing, doing John’s work for him as well.

“Don’t be daft,” Paul says cheerfully, although he feels slightly weak in the stomach. “Technically we’re not in the water.”

John just looks worried, his fingers curling into fists.

Paul loves being on the sea. He stands on the deck with the wind hitting his scandalously long hair. It is a regular haircut for a merman, but amongst humans it was met with wide eyes and scowls. John quickly took it from him, though, and it became a running joke between them. The fish hair, John would say at the barber, and then laugh at his confused expression.

The first half of the journey goes well. Paul gets more and more nervous as they approach Atlantis. He knows that his father cannot find him as long as he does not touch the water, and then as well he has a chance of cheating a bit. He knows mermagic, which will be used to capture him, and he knows how to defend himself. He used to be His Royal Highness, Prince Paulos of Atlantis and the Seven Seas; he knows how to stand for himself, and for others as well.

One evening Paul is in the cabin he and John share, reading a book. The ship tilts, completely out of nowhere, and Paul almost falls off the bed. He manages to keep himself in, and looks up, alarmed.

Then the bells start ringing, and he knows that things are going bad.

He remembers John mentioning of going for a smoke. He lets out a small, terrified sound, and rushes to his feet, scrambling to get out of the suddenly strongly waving room. He runs up on the deck as fast as he can, avoiding other people, and pushes out through a doorway.

The storm is bigger than what he’s ever seen before. The waves are huge, raising up so high that they could even reach the deck. The ship is making its way through them steadily, but people are trying to get inside as quickly as they can, yelling at each other.

Paul spots John, coming towards the stairs with his hand on the rail, and then a wave comes.

Paul watches how John’s eyes widen before water falls upon him. Paul shouts, dashes forward, people are screaming. The wave withdraws lazily, and Paul’s heart falls down into the pit of his stomach.

The deck is empty; John is not there.

Paul turns to look at the sea and does not hesitate for a second.

He runs forward, ignores somebody shouting ‘stop him!’ and jumps over the rail.

He meets the water with a deep inhale, feels his legs pull together and his clothes disappear with the mermagic taking over, and he opens his eyes.

John is going down. He is unconscious, and the water is pulling him towards the darkness that is not dark to Paul. The current is strange, and certainly not one that should be here at this time of the year, but Paul ignores it in the favour of concentrating on John. He needs to get his love on the surface before it is too late; if John dies, Paul has nothing left, and he will go as well.

He swims after John, heart thudding against his chest. They are way too deep -Paul knows he cannot get up in time. His fingers close around John’s wrist and he pulls, looking up. The surface is too far away.

“Come on,” he calls out to John, just for the comfort. He takes John into his arms and starts swimming up, against the current, John lifeless in his hands.

Paul knows he cannot make it. John has been under water too long already.

He looks at John’s face, at his beautiful features, and his stomach turns into knots.

He cannot lose John.

The words come from deep within, a spell that he did not even know existed pours out. He holds John against him, and something golden lights up. Paul feels the familiar pull of mermagic in his heart and he shouts the last words breathlessly, and there is a silver flash of light that blinds Paul momentarily, and then he looks up.

John is floating above him, still unconscious, his body curling backwards. Paul looks at him, and- looks again.

John’s tail is the most beautiful he’s ever seen.

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