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Oh, that’s alright then. Cause what we want is a business with a reputation for ripping people off. (Part 1)

It’s Robert’s 19th birthday (the last for exactly a decade) and, lo and behold, no punching, slapping or disasters in sight 😱. Robert assures Jack he’s fine with focusing on Diane more than on his birthday. Scott is still whinging about how things with Ivy and the car went sideways. Robert reminds him it’s their reputation he’s besmirching. Diane finishes her last chemo session and is ready to celebrate. Andy leaves Robert’s birthday gift with Jack and Diane.

22-Apr-2005

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What the Future Holds: A Wadlow Sibling Fic

it's senpai's b-day, which calls for a special fic! this took 3 days to write (february 19th to today, the 22nd) and was a lot of fun since it's something a little different! enjoy! ;D (shoutout to @robert-273-fan, who came up with betty and harold jr's stories!)

what will senpai be doing 5 years in the future? the sibs might have an idea...

“Happy birthday to you!” a chorus of voices sang.

The Wadlow family clapped as Robert blew out his candles.

“Congrats!” Betty said. “You’re officially eighteen now!”

“He’s been eighteen for hours.” Eugene reminded her.

“Since six-thirty in the morning.” Addie added.

Robert smiled. “I didn’t quite feel eighteen earlier, but I sure do now! The cake looks delicious.”

“I heard it’s your favorite- strawberry shortcake,” Harold said. “But we won’t know for sure until we have a piece!” he added with a wink.

Harold Jr. grinned. “Yay, cake!”

Before long, the cake was distributed. The siblings relaxed in the living room afterwards.

“This has been a great birthday,” Robert said with a smile. “I hope there will be more like it for years to come!”

Betty smiled as she said, “Look at this!”

She held up Thursday’s issue of the Alton Evening Telegraph. On the first page was a photo of Robert standing next to a tree. The siblings were on his other side.

“Hey, there’s me!” Harold Jr. exclaimed, pointing to his pouty little self.

Betty ran a hand through her bangs. “Still a good decision! Although I sort of miss being bangless.”

Helen frowned. “Even all these years later, it’s still so weird to see us in the paper.”

“It’s neat being famous,” Eugene said. “...Or, partially famous. We still have Robbie to deal with.”

“I’d rather you be famous than me,” Robert smiled. “I’m not one for the spotlight. Although I’ve gotten used to it.”

Betty noticed something else in the newspaper. “This says, ‘Five years ago today, Mr. John Wood and Miss Carol James wed. They were high school sweethearts before their marriage.’ Aww, how sweet! I can see that happening to someone…”

Robert tried not to feel her arm nudge or notice the cheeky look she was giving him. He knew exactly what she was hinting at!

Harold Jr. had to get ready for bed, leaving the other siblings to read the paper.

“I can’t imagine what I’ll be doing in five years,” Helen remarked. “What do you think you’ll be doing in that time, Robert?”

“Who knows?” Robert asked. “It’s best to take things one day at a time.”

“I know what he’ll be doing!” Betty exclaimed.

...

It was a bright summer day in 1941. Robert was at his high school reunion.

...

“Reunions start at ten years, not five.” Eugene pointed out.

“Well, in the future, they thought otherwise,” Betty said. “As I was saying…”

...

It was a bright summer day in 1941. Robert was at his high school reunion, which was the very first fifth reunion ever. It was a huge success! Everyone was dancing to the latest song, Love Is In The Air. Robert certainly thought this was true. He went up to Marilyn Stanton, who was chatting with some friends.

“Ahem.” he said with a clearing of his throat.

Marilyn turned around. “Oh! Hello, Robert, my love.”

“Hello, Marilyn, the loveliest of all my loves.”

“Get a room!” an aggravated Eugene called (from in the story or real life, no one knew!).

Robert smiled. “I know of something better than a room,” He got on one knee. “Marilyn Stanton, will you do me the honor of becoming Marilyn Wadlow and becoming my wife?”

Marilyn gasped. Tears came to her eyes as she exclaimed-

...

“No way,” Robert cut into Betty’s story. “She’s just a friend.”

“Sure, tell that to your yearbook!” Betty said with a smile. “I caught a peek at the Camera Club page. You’re standing right next to her!”

“That was just a picture.”

“I remember walking down the hall before the Yearbook Club’s last meeting before winter break. Marilyn said hello and you sounded awfully shy,” Helen told Robert, her eyes coy. “Not insinuating anything, though! Just reminiscing…”

Robert rolled his eyes. “Marilyn and I are friends and club members. That’s all there is to it.”

“Sure, you say that now, but what about in five years?” Betty asked. “Anything could happen! And that anything is…”

...

“Yes!” Marilyn exclaimed with a smile. “Yes, I will marry you, Robert!”

The crowd cheered!

Robert and Marilyn kissed, which they’d do again at their wedding a few months later. Eugene was a groomsman, Helen was a bridesmaid, Betty was a flower girl (or flower woman since she was the very mature age of seventeen) and Harold Jr. was the ringbearer.

Robert stood at the front of the aisle with the priest. When the music started, he nervously adjusted his bow tie. Then Marilyn walked into the church with her father. She wore a pretty silk dress that flowed out a little at the bottom and the longest veil! It was hard to see past the tulle fabric, but her smile was clear as day. It took forever for her to get to the front of the aisle, though. And when she did, Helen whipped out her viola and played a solo!

“Do you, Robert, take Marilyn to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the minister asked.

Robert smiled broadly. “Yes, I do.”

“And do you, Marilyn, take Robert to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.” Marilyn replied.

“You may now kiss the bride!”

Helen played the Here Comes the Bride song as Marilyn raised her veil, revealing her excited flushed face. It grew even more so when Robert raised her up! Now at eye level, they kissed.

Five years later, Robert and Marilyn went to their tenth anniversary reunion… with their kids! There was Charlotte, Tom and little baby June. Everyone thought they were so adorable! (And they thought Betty was the best aunt!)

The Wadlow couple lived in bliss and their family lived happily ever after. The end!

...

“That was sweet,” Robert said. “Not a particularly realistic one, but it’s nice to think about marrying and starting a family,” He frowned at Betty’s look. “Not with Marilyn.”

“We’d have a minister at a wedding, not a priest. That’s Catholic,” Helen corrected her sister’s story. “I approve of the surprise viola solo, though.”

Eugene scoffed.

“What’s your problem with it, hmm?” Betty asked with a cross of her arms.

“It’s too happy. There needs to be excitement, tension!” Eugene said.

Just then, a pajama-clad Harold Jr. ran into the room.

“I know an exciting story!” he said.

He scrambled to the floor to give his idea of the future.

...

It was five years from now. Harold Jr. was nearly nine years old, which is very grown up. He was now a Boy Scout just like his big brother!

“Okay, Scouts, we’re going to have a fun day today..” said Scoutmaster Big Brother.

Scoutmaster Big Brother was actually Robert! Harold Jr. thought it was so much fun to have Robert in the Scouts again. And Robert enjoyed being back.

“It’s time for the big swimming contest,” Scoutmaster Robert said. “So put on your swimsuits and meet at the lake.”

It didn’t take long for Harold Jr. to put on his swimsuit. He was the first one at the lake!

“Would you like to go first?” Robert asked.

“Yes, I would!” Harold Jr. said.

He started to put a foot in the water, but Robert stopped him.

“You need to wait for everyone else.” he reminded him.

Harold Jr. tried to wait, but the other Scouts were taking so long! Scoutmaster Robert went off to look for them. While he was gone, Harold Jr. dipped a toe in the water. It was just a toe! But then it became a foot, then an ankle, then a whole leg…

*SPLASH!*

Harold Jr. fell right into the water! He tried to swim up, but his shoe got caught on a rock. He was stuck! Through the water, he heard someone say something. It was a deep voice. He tried to reach up to the voice, but his breath was getting lost. He was getting so tired…

Just then, there was a big splash. Harold Jr. saw a huge hand grab his arm. It was Scoutmaster Robert! Harold Jr. pointed to the rock and his big brother swam down. He was strong enough to get the rock away from Harold Jr’s shoe. Then he grabbed Harold Jr. and took him up. Harold Jr. held on really tight as Robert swam through the water.

Finally, they heard a rushing sound. It was the air. They were free!

“Thank you, Scoutmaster Big Brother!” Harold Jr. said.

“You’re welcome,” Robert set his baby brother on the ground. “You need to remember to wait. See what happens when you don’t?”

“Yes, I do,” Harold Jr. felt all embarrassed because of that. “I’m sorry.”

Robert smiled. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. Are you still up for the race?”

“Yeah!”

Then Harold Jr. jumped in the water with the other Scouts. And this time, he made sure everyone else was ready! He only got fourth place, but that was okay. Harold Jr. knew his big brother’s love was enough.

...

“Aww,” Betty said. “What a sweet story!���

“Yeah, that was great, Junior.” Robert agreed.

Harold Jr. gave a proud smile.

Eugene then said, “Here’s what I think will happen…”

...

February 22nd, 1941 was a day no one would forget. Robert was celebrating his twenty-third birthday in a rather… interesting way.

“I hereby declare Wadlow’s Shoes to be officially opened!” he hereby declared (whatever that means).

Then he cut a comically sized ribbon in front of him. As it fell back, Helen played a celebratory song on her viola. Betty and Harold Jr. applauded, smiles on their faces. Mom and Dad- I mean, Addie and Harold held each other close as they wiped away touched tears. The only family member missing was Eugene.

“I wonder where Gene is.” Robert wondered.

“He’s off getting a college degree,” Helen said. “But who needs him? There are plenty of people here already!”

Before anyone could speculate, a bunch of reporters pushed Helen aside. They pelted Robert with questions.

“Why did you decide to open up a shoe store?” one of them asked. “A fall out with Peter’s?”

“Oh, no, Peter’s and I are on good terms,” Robert said. “They helped fund this store. I’m very thankful for their donations!”

He led the reporters into the store. It was stocked with all kinds of shoes, from sneakers to heels and boots to slippers and even regular old dress shoes.

“Wait,” Harold said. “Where might your shoes be, son?”

“They’re right over here, Dad,” Robert told him. “Right in the display window.”

But when he pointed to the window, he was shocked to discover that one of them was missing!

“Where did it go?” Harold Jr. asked.

“I… I have no idea. It was here this morning,” Robert said, stunned. “Why, it was stolen!”

Gasps and whispers floated through the crowd.

“Oh my!” Addie exclaimed. “Who would do such a thing?”

Betty frowned as she said, “He did!”

She glared at the reporter with a point.

“Why would I do something like that?” the reporter asked. “I’m an honest man!”

“Oh, sure. You’d do anything for a story! Anything to stir up some drama.”

“I swear I didn’t take that shoe. I’ve never even stepped inside here until today!”

Helen started walking away, her viola in hand. She headed towards its case, which was tucked in the corner of the store.

“Wait a second,” Robert said. “I know who it was…”

Just then, Eugene walked in. He saw Helen walking past. The display window was right over her shoulder. His eyes widened.

“It was Eugene!”

“Wha- me?” Eugene asked in surprise. “What did I do?”

“You stole Big Brother’s shoe!” Harold Jr. said.

“I’ve been at college all day. There’s no way I could’ve done it.”

Harold stepped up. “Didn’t I ask you to check the store first since it’s on your route?”

“Yeah, but I just took a peek in. I was nowhere near the window.”

“Wait!” Robert exclaimed. “It’s Saturday. You couldn’t have been at college.”

“It was for one of my classes-”

“That’s it!” Helen yelled. “It wasn’t Gene…” She stepped up. “It was me!”

Everyone gasped.

“You stole my shoe?” Robert asked in shock.

“We should’ve known,” Betty said. “She was always pulling that stunt back in the day.”

Helen lowered her head. “Yes, I did. But Gene suggested it!”

Eugene flushed. “I only did it to distract everyone.”

“Why?” Harold Jr. asked.

“Everyone’s talking about Robert. We wanted reporters to give some attention to the rest of the family. Besides, we need a little excitement.”

Robert chuckled. “I think there’s enough excitement with the store opening! Fess up, Helen.”

After setting her viola in its case, Helen moved it aside. She opened a secret panel… and revealed the shoe!

“We’re sorry for causing all of this.” she apologized to Robert, the shoe in her hands.

“Yeah, we didn’t mean any harm,” Eugene added. “Just buzz.”

Robert smiled. “I understand. But before you put that shoe back…”

He turned to the reporters. Helen, Eugene and Robert all smiled as the camera snapped. They didn’t just capture Robert and his shoes… They captured everyone together.

...

“What a story!” Betty exclaimed.

“Yeah, it had me on the edge of my seat.” Robert said.

“The plot twist was great,” Helen smiled at Eugene. “Nice job.”

Eugene smiled back. “Now that’s how you tell of the future.”

Just then, Harold Jr. let out a big yawn.

“Looks like it’s time to get to bed.” Robert said with a smile.

“No!” Harold Jr. exclaimed. “I wanna hear the last story.”

Everyone looked at Helen expectantly. She looked down at the paper before giving her vision of the future…

...

February 22nd, 1941 was a day no one would forget.

A sweet sound floated through the air. It came from Helen’s viola.

“Bravo!” Harold Jr. cheered.

“Brava.” Eugene corrected him.

Helen bowed. “Thank you!”

“That was lovely, Helen,” Robert said. “Just like this birthday. It sure is nice to not be in front of crowds and whatnot!”

“Look, you’re in the paper!” Betty exclaimed.

She showed him the article. All it said was, ‘Robert Wadlow Celebrates Birthday. Robert Wadlow turned 23 years old today. His only wish was to not be bothered by reporters and admirers, which will definitely be respected. He’s spending today in the peaceful presence of family.’

“It’s certainly peaceful,” Robert said. “And I’m glad that it’ll be that way for the rest of time!”

...

“That certainly sounds like an unforgettable day,” Robert remarked after Helen ended the story. “Although I doubt reporters will stop bugging me forever.”

Helen gave a shrug. “Who knows? Anything can happen.”

“That’s true,” Robert smiled at his siblings. “All of your stories were great. No matter what the future holds, I know it’ll be better with the ones I love.”

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— ABOUT THEM ;

FULL NAME →Niomi Jerez AGE | BIRTHDAY →30 years old | June 3 NEIGHBORHOOD →North BeachHOMETOWN →New Orleans, LA OCCUPATION→ Owner of Wiccan’s Brew Coffee and Occult Shop

— LAST TEXT RECEIVED ;

Diego:I will burn all of your bags. Let me come home, sh*thead.

— THEIR CURRENTS ;

CURRENTLY WATCHING →True Crime DocumentariesCURRENTLY LISTENING TO →Hunger - Ross CoppermanCURRENTLY DRINKING →Iced Coffee

— MOST CHERISHED ;

Her most cherished memory was when she was ten years old and got her first pair of professional ballet pointe shoes. She cherished those shoes and she still has them to this day.

— THEIR LIFE STORY ;

Niomi Elise (ńee Fraiser) Jerez was born on June 3, 1992, in New, Orleans to Patrick and Robert Fraiser. The middle child and only girl, making her their little princess, had her dad's wrapped around her finger from the day she was born. Her godmother, Natasha, carried and birthed her and her brothers, James and Scott. Her life was anything but normal or ordinary but she never knew any different. Her family dynamic was part of what made her feel special. She had three people who loved her, kept her safe, and always made it known she was wanted. Niomi had a perfect childhood. The girl excelled in school, sports and ballet. She never struggled for anything. During her teenage years, Niomi became a bit more rebellious, as any teenager does. Hanging out in the graveyards, smoking weed, and drinking, but through it all, she still managed to uphold her perfect behavior in school. Never letting her grades fall or being kicked off the soccer team. Her ballet career was thriving as well as it could’ve been; until the accident. That’s when everything went downhill. She got addicted to painkillers— she managed to get it under control but has relapsed from time to time. She also suffers from PTSD. Present day, Niomi is married and living her best life, even if her best life, isn’t exactly the best thing. She’s trying and she knows that’s all she can do.

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that makes four.

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PART 4

Tristan had slapped his menu shut before you could even sit down. He’d been begging you to try a new place in Encino with him, you figured it was a good excuse to get Zoey out of the house and to let Maeve and CeCe duke it out in Shelli and Irv’s backyard instead of yours.

It was all work talk at first, he offered an update on a meeting you missed to drop off Maeve at a friend’s and Zoey sucked down a glass of wine promising to pump and dump before the night ended.

But now your plates were in front of you and you twirled spaghetti around your fork when she asked: “How’s your pool boy?” You stared up at her, unimpressed.

“He’s not my pool boy, and he’s fine.”

Tristan raised his eyebrows across the table. “Would you let Harry Styles be your pool boy?”

“Can we not talk about him like this, please?”

“Oh come on,” Tristan pulled a face. “If you’re not going to sleep with him at least let us fantasize.”

You must have twitched, a quick glance in Zoey’s direction or a quiver of your lip. Zoey leaned in and her voice was serious. “What was that?”

“What? Nothing.”

“What do you mean what was that?” Tristan asked.

“She made a weird face when you said that.”

“No I didn’t,” you defended. “I just don’t like talking about him in public, especially like this.”

“Bullsh*t,” Zoey laughed, leaned back in her chair. “What are you not telling us? Did you see him shirtless again?”

You let out a breath, wiped at your mouth and wondered if telling them would be the biggest mistake of your life. You couldn’t even get the words out before Zoey leaned in.

“You had sex with him?!” her eyes nearly bugged out of her head, Tristan’s fork clanked against his plate when his jaw dropped open.

You’d made it a whole week, almost. You pushed the thoughts down and brushed them under the metaphorical work rug. The body wash prototypes were in, you were booking models to do a photoshoot, video shoot, everything was getting lined up for the rollout in another few weeks. You didn’t have time to tell them about something silly and stupid and maybe a part of you didn’t want to fill them in because you were afraid they’d burst your bubble. It’ll never work out, what happens when his house is ready, he has a tour to go on.

“Be quiet,” you looked around and worried if anyone had overheard Tristan’s not-so-subtle name drop. “It’s not a big deal, okay? It’s not like it’s gonna be a regular thing.”

Tristan pulled his head back, offended by your words. “You had sex with him and you’re not going to make that a regular thing? Have you seen him?”

“Yes,” you made a face at Tristan. “I have seen him.”

“You are going to hit and quit Harry Styles?” Zoey leaned in and said his name much more quietly now.

“Well,” you dropped their gaze for a second, reluctant to be honest with them in fear of their reaction. “It’s happened once, and then we kissed once but CeCe came down, but she didn’t see anything. I’m just too old to be hooking up with a twenty-four year old.”

“Wait, okay, slow down. When did this happen?” Zoey asked.

“After my birthday dinner,” you shrugged. “We came home, had wine, the girls were out.”

“And when did you make out with him aside from that night?”

“The next night. And we didn’t make out, it was barely even open-mouthed.”

“Ew,” Tristan grimaced.

Zoey snapped to get your attention. “So twenty-four hours after you had sex, you kissed him?”

You made a face at her, unsure where she was going with it. You hadn’t been clocking or documenting your sexual encounters. “I don’t know, probably.”

“This is straight out of a trashy romance book written for middle aged women,” Tristan leaned back in his seat and took a pull from his glass of rosé. “I mean that in, like, a nice way.”

“Okay,” Zoey leaned forward. “So, nothing has happened since a week ago, then?”

“No,” you shook your head quickly. “Just those times. And I don’t think anything should happen again.”

They both groaned at the same time, Zoey’s shoulders sunk and she rolled her eyes. “You deserve to have sex with a hot guy.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“Even if he’s younger than you.”

“I don’t want to traumatize my children.”

“Well you don’t have to have sex in front of them,” Tristan made a goofy face and you waved him off.

Zoey snorted out a laugh but you ignored their immaturity.

“I mean that having Harry here is already probably confusing for them, right? Their dad leaves, their grandpa dies, now we have some stranger in our house and he’s playing with them in the backyard and--”

“Being more of a dad to them than Luke ever was?”

Zoey’s words brought a sigh out from between your lips. “Exactly.”

“Having a positive male role model is good for them,” Tristan said.

“Sure,” you nodded. “But what about when Harry moves out? He’ll just be another man that will leave them. They’ll be super f*cked up.”

Tristan reached forward and took your hand in his. “Hey--it’s more about the fact that they have you and they have other people who love them. Who cares if their idea of a family isn’t the stereotypic, heterosexual norm?”

“I know,” you relented. “I just don’t want them to be poorly adjusted.”

“Okay, that sounds like something an obnoxious prep school guidance counselor would say to you,” Zoey eyed you with skepticism.

You shrugged your shoulders. “It was Maeve’s teacher.”

“Okay, f*ck that teacher!” Tristan nodded. “Your kids are adjusting, and that’s because of how good of a mom you are to them. And mommy deserves a pool boy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even if his words were worthy of an eye-roll. Zoey tried not to let wine drip from her nose after a snort escaped between sips.

“Not my pool boy!” You giggled.

“Which is good,” Tristan nodded, his tone completely serious. “That would be so cliché even Nora Roberts wouldn’t write it.”

**

Slumber parties always made you anxious. They were one of those things that made you question how on earth people trusted you to watch a group of children when sometimes, you still felt like one yourself.

Maeve’s 11th birthday party was no exception. Five other girls danced around your living room and CeCe sat at the counter while you iced cupcakes. Her little face was scrunched into a pout so intensely that it almost made you giggle.

“You alright?” You asked her, dish towel over your shoulder when she let out another sigh.

“Just wish I could play with them,” she held her palms towards the sky in exasperation, reaching for a container of sprinkles when you let out a laugh.

“You get to go for ice cream with Uncle Jeff, remember? You’re gonna go to the beach, too, I think.”

You’d been trying to bribe her all week: a new tutu, a new doll, anything she wanted just to make her give up and accept the fact that her older sister didn’t want her at her slumber party.

And you couldn’t blame either of them. Of course Maeve didn’t want her younger (and very loud, dramatic, and demanding) younger sister trailing behind all night. But, on the other hand, of course CeCe felt left out when she saw all of the older girls arrive with their sleeping bags and birthday gifts.

She sighed again, your conversation interrupted by a ringing from your cell phone on the counter beside her.

“Uncle Jeff?”

She was right, you reached for the phone and held it up with your shoulder, hoping the laughter from the living room wouldn’t travel it’s way into the speaker.

“Hi--are you here?”

“Y/N, I am so sorry to do this--”

“Oh god, Jeff, no!”

“I just got called into the office because one of my artists apparently just posted some stupid sh*t on the internet--isn’t there someone else who can hang out with CeCe? Where’s Tristan?”

“I don’t know where he is, but I doubt he’d be thrilled to play dress up or skip through a park.”

“Zoey?”

You could hear traffic through his line, his karma for backing out at the last minute was having to sit on the 405. “She has a ten-week-old infant, Jeffrey.”

“Well where’s Harry? Can’t he pitch in?”

You let out a groan, CeCe had taken to pouring sprinkles into her hand and lapping them up with her tongue.

Harry was upstairs, hiding away from the girl gang currently singing karaoke and sipping on juice boxes. He had the day off and had dipped out in the afternoon to meet a friend for lunch. You tried to mind your own business--he could come and go as he pleased and just because you had slept with him once didn’t give you the right to suddenly start asking questions about his plans.

But the universe pitied you, apparently, because right when you told Jeff you’d figure it out and hung up on him aggressively, Harry pranced down the stairs and headed for the fridge.

“How’s it going down here?” He reached for a juice box, crisp apple, and fumbled with the straw when he turned to face you.

“Everyone is alive and nothing is broken,” you scanned the counter, another batch of cupcakes still in the oven with 10 minutes to go.

With the straw now between his lips, he raised his eyebrows. “Bar’s that low, huh?”

“Well, your friend Jeffrey just bailed on watching CeCe and going for ice cream.”

She was blissfully unaware of the change of plans, still licking sprinkles out of her palm, but now swiveled around on the stool to watch the girls jump around in the other room.

“I can take her,” he shrugged nonchalantly, ran a hand through his hair when you stared at him for a second.

If traffic was Jeff’s karma, Harry must have been yours.

“Are you serious? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he smiled. “CeCe? What do you say we do ice cream and pizza?”

She turned around at the sound of her name, her eyes lit up. “Pepperoni?” She asked.

“Of course,” Harry replied to her like it was a crazy question.

“Is Uncle Jeff coming?”

“He’s not,” You informed her, arms crossed over your chest. “You’re alright to go with Harry?”

You didn’t mean to make it awkward, but mom mode kicked in and you realized CeCe had never spent time alone with Harry except maybe in the backyard.

“Yeah!” She hopped down from the stool and grinned up at him. “Can I get a milkshake?”

Harry looked over to you and when you nodded, he held out his hand. “As many as you want.”

“That’s not what I said,” you called after him, watching as he led her over to the back door. He plucked his keys off the hook on the wall and smiled at you over his shoulder. “Please don’t be out late, text me when you get where you’re going!”

CeCe shouted a bye mommy!!!! before they disappeared into the driveway. A sudden raise in your pulse had you questioning what type of mother lets their 6-year-old get in the car with a pop star who’s probably hounded by paparazzi and maybe even doing cocaine on the weekends.

You picked up your phone and it rang four times before Zoey answered. “I need you to talk me off the ledge.”

“What ledge?”

The timer beeped and you gloved up to retrieve the rest of the cupcakes. “I’m apparently a psychopath because I just let Harry take CeCe for pizza and ice cream.”

You could tell she held back a laugh. “Why does that make you a psychopath?”

“Because he’s a stranger! What if he never comes back with her? What if he gets chased by paparazzi and CeCe is the next Princess Diana?!” The thought shuttered through your bones, a shiver down your spine when Zoey cleared her throat.

“Okay, so, as a mom, I totally get that. But I also think you’re freaking out too much.”

The cupcake tin rattled onto the granite. “How?!”

“He’s not a stranger, he’s been living with you guys for like, over a month now.”

You thought about it for a second. Two weeks turned into a few more, four weeks slipped by easily. What felt like it was going to be a blip on the radar now felt like a totally normal thing: dinners with him as the fourth seat and texts to him in the middle of the day asking if there was anything he was in the mood for.

“I just can’t believe I trust him enough to do that, I guess.”

“Y/N, he’s a good guy,” she laughed. “He likes your kids and he definitely likes you.”

“We’re not going there,” you said. “I have a house full of ten-year-olds and cupcakes to frost.”

“Okay, well, you’re not a psychopath. And there’s nothing wrong with having feelings for him.”

“Zoey! You are starting to sound like the psychopath!”

“I’m alright with that,” laughter through the phone when you told her you had to go. Love you, see you later, pinch Benny’s cheeks for me.

You were swept up in the excitement of the night. Your own pizza was delivered before 8pm, a movie turned on by 9pm. They decorated cupcakes at the dining room table and proceeded to eat more than they could fit in their tummies.

Maeve was in heaven, opened presents when you snapped pictures on your phone. Harry had texted to let you know they’d stop at Shelli and Irv’s before heading home. If CeCe came home in the middle of presents, she’d probably break down right there.

So when you heard the alarm signal a new entry, you hoped CeCe was too tired to argue with you about sleeping in her own room and not in Maeve’s with the rest of them. Your legs were folded beneath you on the couch, noise in the kitchen when Harry rounded the corner with CeCe asleep on his shoulder.

You stood up, eyebrows high when he smirked in your direction. “She’s out cold,” he laughed. “Fell right asleep on the way home.”

“It’s like a ten minute drive from their house,” you said, opening your arms to take her. “Sorry, here.”

“I can bring her up...just lead the way,” he motioned with his head for you to go first up the stairs. He followed you down the hall and to CeCe’s room, pink walls and a plush carpet underneath her twin-sized bed that still seemed too big for her.

He put her down when you flipped on a nightlight, watched when you tugged the duvet over her and kissed her on the forehead. You sighed when you stood up straight beside him, voice quiet. “I’m not waking her up to brush her teeth cause she’ll freak out and want to be included in the party. Am I a bad mom?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, smirked down at you quickly before looking back to her. “You’re a great mom.”

You elbowed him in the ribs playfully. “You have to say that.”

“I do?”

“I’m your landlord,” you laughed, leading him back into the hallway.

“I thought you were my friend?”

A sigh, the darkness a cover for your confusion and your fluttering heart beat. “Yeah, that too.”

He was quiet for a second, if it weren’t for the bedroom of kids down the hall you’d pull him into you despite better judgment. He stared down at you with a dimpled smile, but you took a step back.

“Thanks for taking her, and hanging out with her. You really didn’t have to.”

“I had fun,” he reassured you. “We got a pizza and ate in a park near Westwood Hills, then got ice cream, visited with Shelli and Irv,” he listed it off like it brought him as much joy as it did her.

“Hey, not to be weird or anything, but--how’s your house coming?”

He sensed the shift in the air too, but he didn’t know that it came from a place of fear. A question you had to ask: this was temporary, this wasn’t real, this was just a convenient set up and you couldn’t lose sight of that.

“Oh, yeah--I’m going over on Sunday to see it. Apparently there are still issues with the plumbing that have to be updated. They said it might be a few more weeks.”

“Okay, I just didn’t know.”

“Yeah, is that okay? I can try to find somewhere to stay if you need me out?”

“No,” you said it quickly. “I don’t need you to leave.”

“Okay,” he said, his eyes still on yours. He reached forward to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “I like staying here with you guys.”

“...I like it too.”

“Mom?” Maeve’s head poked out of her bedroom. “Hayley spilled soda on the carpet!”

He stepped back from you quickly, like his reflexes were getting better each time. You laughed at his sudden movement, “coming!”

He smiled down at you and let out an exaggerated sigh once Maeve’s door was slammed shut and the music was back on, a magnetic pull between your chests that maybe he felt too. “Hayley, Hayley, Hayley.”

But again, a rush of uncertainty and self-doubt made you grateful for the interruption, your stomach weaving itself in knots when you stared at your ceiling fan and hoped that sleep would come.

Work picked up in the next week, Tristan was in your office most days with spreadsheets and graphs and to-do lists that made you feel like you needed a margarita at 2pm. On Wednesday Harry made dinner and CeCe had a meltdown when you forced her to take a bath.

Friday night entailed dinner at Shelli and Irv’s, the girls and Harry and Jeff too. You stood in the kitchen with a glass of wine in hand, Shelli watched as their chef sautéed something through steam. When Jeff pulled Harry away to show him a new guitar Irv had been gifted, you ignored the smile on Shelli’s face.

“How are things going?”

“Fine,” you said, casually and calm and cool. “How are you?”

“Y/N,” she smiled. “Does Jeffrey know?”

“Know what?”

“About you and Harry?”

“No,” you told her quickly. “There’s nothing to know, alright? We were drunk, it was not a big deal.”

“Alright,” she held up a hand, effectively resigning when she sipped her Pinot Grigio, a disappointed sigh before she asked: “How are the girls holding up?”

You sighed, unsure if she’d really drop it. You told her about Maeve’s birthday party and caught her up on the body wash debut. Deadlines were quickly approaching, the launch party was being scheduled and production was full steam ahead.

You almost thought you’d make it through the rest of the night without any drama--no more mention of Harry or the happenings between you. But eventually he and Jeff found their way back to the kitchen and you hoped that no one noticed how close Harry stood to you.

Jeff was in the middle of filling you and Shelli in on Harry’s album plans: they were wrapping up production and soon they’d announce the release date, his excitement cut off by a shout from the backyard.

“Mommy!” CeCe’s voice was shrill and desperate as it rang through the house. She let out a loud sob and when you looked up, you saw her clutching her elbow with a new grass stain on her shirt. She was fine, it was one of those moments where she thought the world was ending but everyone else knew getting knocked over by her sister wouldn’t kill her.

“She’s fine,” Maeve rolled her eyes, a quick look down to CeCe who’s eyes were already filled with tears.

“No I’m not!” she screamed back at her sister.

You looked to Shelli with an exasperated look, set your glass of wine down on the counter. Before you could make any movement, though, Harry’s hand hovered on the small of your back. “I’ll go, enjoy the wine. She’s fine.”

He was right, there was no question that CeCe would survive her scraped elbow and bruised ego. He moved towards the backyard and you were frozen in place when Jeff’s forehead wrinkled.

“What was that?” he asked, eyebrows strung together like tea lights once Harry was out of earshot.

“I don’t know--what do you mean?”

You looked over at Harry, now on the ground in front of CeCe who’s wails were much quieter. She wiped at her wet eyes, a little laugh escaped her lips when Harry brushed the grass off of her elbow and cracked a joke.

“Well, he seems pretty good with them,” Jeff leaned against the counter, the sliding door providing a perfect view as CeCe stood up and raced back towards Maeve.

“Yeah, I mean, he is.”

“He also touched your back in a funny way.”

Shelli raised her eyebrows and sipped at her wine again.

“And now my mom is making a weird face,” Jeff’s eyes narrowed when he looked at you. “Are you--is there, like, something going--”

“No,” you said quickly, a finger pointed at Shelli and another pointed at Jeff. “Do not say anything in front of the girls.”

Shelli stifled a laugh but managed to look incredibly innocent at the same time.

“Oh my god!” Jeff said this with a noise of shock, eyes wide when he looked between you and Shelli, then back out to the yard where Harry laughed with Irv. “Oh my god, and you knew?”

Shelli shrugged her shoulders, a don’t blame me look crossed her face when you took a swig of wine to calm the pounding of your heart.

Jeff had always been protective and caring and like a brother. Not in a weird way, not in the you can’t date my friends way. Just in the sense that he wanted to know who you were hooking up with and he’d been encouraging you relentlessly to stop picking assholes ever since you filed for divorce.

But this was different, this was a friend of his and a client of his. It was someone that his entire family knew and this was probably the worst choice of rebound.

“Please relax,” you said this with a look of warning in his direction. “I will explain to you what your lunatic mother is smirking about but you have about fifteen seconds to wipe the look of shock off your face before he comes back in here.”

“She’s fine,” Harry waved a hand once he was back in the kitchen. “And what look of shock are we wiping off of our faces?” The dimple was there again, the corner of his mouth pulled up and he scanned all three of you for any sort of information.

“Just that you are so good with the girls,” Jeff covered for you, a confident nod when he hoped Harry would believe him.

“That’s surprising to you?” Harry pulled his head back, an obvious look of mock offense. “I’m great with children. They love me.”

Maeve came in from the fading light, out of breath from running around with whatever ball they’d gotten their hands on. “Who loves you?”

“Kids,” Jeff replied for him.

“Oh,” Maeve said. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” You looked down at her, unsure if she was agreeing or just voicing that she understood.

She shrugged, plucked a chicken skewer from a dish in front of Shelli. “I mean, I like having him around.”

Harry was practically tickled pink. “Thank you, Maeve.” He turned to rub this in Jeff’s face. “See?”

“He cooks well, plays outside with us, definitely funnier than mom,” Maeve kept listing things off, pulling laughter from the rest of the crew.

“Maeve!” You whined. “I’m funny!”

“You’re like, sometimes funny.”

“Sometimes funny is better than never funny,” Harry nodded in your direction, an attempt to soften the blow.

CeCe had wandered in behind her sister, she picked at the scrape on her elbow until you called her attention. “CeCe--do you think mommy’s funny?”

“Mmmm,” the thought on it for a second, put her finger to her chin and scrunched up her nose. “Sort of.”

Jeff let out a big laugh at that, Harry tried to stifle one and you dismissed the jabs. “Okay, well, it’s not like anyone here is a comedian.”

“Harry’s funny,” CeCe said with a smile. “He reads books in silly voices.”

Jeff’s eyebrows shot up at that again, amused and surprised by the fact that Harry was in on the bedtime routine. But it was infrequent, sometimes CeCe would beg for more time outside or another thirty minutes of TV.

If the tears got aggressive or the tantrum became too much, she perked up pretty quickly if Harry offered to read with her. It was way more exciting than reading with you, Maeve had explained.

After showering Harry with compliments, the girls were excited to sit on Shelli and Irv’s patio. Pink lemonade and a delicious dinner, though neither of them would even so much as take a bit of your salad.

They ran around some more while you sipped wine, Jeff and Harry had been talked into a two versus two soccer match and Irv laughed his head off when Maeve actually scored on Jeff. Darkness came and CeCe crawled into your lap, eyelids getting heavy until you buckled her into the backseat.

You’d taken one car, CeCe’s booster seat was too clunky to move over to Harry’s so you drove and felt slightly embarrassed about the crayons and coloring books scattered on the floor of the backseat.

“Mom, can I have another sleepover this weekend?”

“With who?”

“All of the girls from last weekend.”

“Honey, no, that was a big party for your birthday.”

“I’m aware,” she shot back quickly. “But we all had so much fun and we wouldn’t be as loud as we were last time.”

“I said no, Maeve. You can do something with your friends if you want but we’re not doing another sleepover right now.”

You’d been hesitant about it in the first place. A group of ten and eleven-year-olds? With Harry in the house? It felt like a recipe for disaster and aside from a few excited stares when they were first dropped off, you all escaped relatively unscathed.

You worried at first about the whispers from other moms--she’s letting a twenty-four year-old live with her children?--but you soon realized that they were almost more excited about sneaking a glimpse of Harry than their daughters were.

“You’re so annoying,” she quipped from the back. “You never let me do anything fun.”

Harry’s lips twitched up in a tiny smirk, a sideways glance in your direction. You’d already told him how awkward it felt to discipline them with him right there, a glass of wine in the kitchen one night and he teased you about your frustrated mom voice.

“Maeve--don’t be rude. You just had a birthday party and now you want another, basically.”

“No, I want to have the same girls over. It’s not my birthday so it’s not a birthday party.”

A left turn into the driveway. “But you want me to order pizza and make cupcakes and you want to drink a bunch of soda again?”

“Yes.”

You pulled into the garage and cut the engine, turning to look at her. “Maeve, sweetie, I love you. But no.”

She let out a huff and shoved the door open, she typed in the entry code and slammed the door to the house before the rest of you could even climb out.

“The drama,” CeCe shook her head, tired steps towards the house.

“The drama is right,” you told her with a laugh. “Go wash up and I’ll come up in a few, okay?”

She scampered up the steps, you dropped your keys on the counter inside and then turned to look at him. “Do you have a second?”

He nodded, leaned on the counter. “What’s up?”

You didn't know if it was a good idea, but you'd spent enough morning drives to school lecturing about how honest is the best policy, so you figured you'd give it a shot.

“Uh, well--Jeff may or may not be suspicious about you and...me.”

Using the phrase made you nervous, like he’d laugh and think it was stupid. You and me.

“Oh,” he said, eyebrows arched. “Did you--why did that come up?”

“Well you went to handle my crying child, which is--you know--”

He laughed a little, “too boyfriendy of me?”

Your heartbeat picked up in pace, your face felt hot and it suddenly felt like he was watching you too closely.

“No--I don’t know--you touched my back and he just asked what was happening.”

He deflated at that, hung his head low for a second and then looked up. “Oh, I--uh--I’m really sorry, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You felt bad, that wasn’t the message you were trying to convey. If anything, you wanted to give him the out and the okay that he didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to step into your family like some hero for you or your daughters. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, I just--I don’t know where you are at, I guess.”

“And now Jeff is asking questions,” he laughed, a nod like he knew where you were going with it.

There was no label necessary. It wasn’t that type of thing, you knew that. “That’s what you walked in on after CeCe got hurt.”

Another nod, like the puzzle pieces were fitting into place. “Right. Got it. Was he--how did he seem? Did you tell him that we--”

“He put it together,” you cut him off, again careful of the words used around the girls even though they were upstairs and--by the sound of it--bickering in the bathroom. “But he was fine with it. I just think we need to be careful, you know. The girls...and this is temporary, and--”

“Absolutely.”

“So, you know, just--”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence. “I should go tuck them in.” You turned on your feet and headed for the stairs before he could reply, desperate to get out of the situation out of fear of having to find more words to string together in a messy jumble of emotions.

Another slammed door from Maeve when you reached the top of the stairs. You knocked twice. “Can I come in, please?”

“No!”

“Maeve,” you leaned against the doorframe. Harry came up and offered an awkward smile. “Please let me talk to you.”

“I’m not talking to you!” She shouted.

Harry came over and knocked. “Maeve? It’s Harry--can I come in?”

Silence for a second, her footsteps were audible on the wood floor. The door opened a crack, she peered out with narrowed eyes. “Fine--but not her.”

You looked over at Harry, unsure of his game plan but also fed up with the theatrics and the overreaction. He shrugged his shoulders half-apologetically, a smirk in your direction before he slipped into the room.

Did you stay and listen? Was it weird? What would he even say to her?

You decided against it, headed for your own bedroom and tugged on pajamas after you flicked on CeCe’s night light and kissed her goodnight. At least only one of them was being dramatic today.

Five minutes passed, then ten. You tried not to look at the clock and focused instead on a book Zoey had told you was a must read.

Eventually there was a knock on your door, Harry pushed it open and smiled. “Do you want some intel?”

“Duh,” you said. “Come in.”

He walked forward and sat on your bed, a sigh when he brought his eyes to yours again. “Well, she said you’re annoying again.”

“Of course.”

“She’s just grumpy. Said Hayley wanted to have a sleepover this weekend because it would be better at her house.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “Some 5th grade rivalry.”

“Classic, really.”

You laughed. “Was she okay talking to you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyebrows low on his forehead. “Opened right up.”

“Well, we do know she likes you more.”

He rolled his eyes. “She just likes that I’m not you.”

“Feels like that’s the same thing.”

Quiet for a moment when he angled towards you, scanned your face with his eyes.

“I guess I’ll go say goodnight.”

“Oh, I tucked her in.”

Your mouth tugged into a smirk. “You what?”

“She said she didn’t want you to come in.”

“So you tucked her in?”

He let out a laugh, explained the process like it should have been obvious. “Yeah--pulled up the blanket. Patted her on the head. She said she brushed her teeth.”

You leaned back against the headboard, the same buzzing feeling in your chest took flight when he asked: “why is it so shocking to everyone that I’m good with them?”

It slipped out before you could think of the possible consequences. “Because you’re young.”

“I’m not that young.”

“And Luke was just--not like that. He was pretty disinterested after CeCe was born.” You hoped this was enough of a redirection.

“You’re really caught up on my age, aren’t you?”

“No.”

He raised his eyebrows and offered a look that said: bullsh*t. When he didn’t speak, you cracked a joke.

“Or...you are not hung up enough on how old I am.”

“Why should I care how old you are?”

“Cause you’ve had sex with me and you’re living in my house.”

“Both of those things I am aware of. And feel really good about both of them.”

You let out a laugh at his nonchalance, folded your arms over your chest when he stood up. “You’re something else.”

“I’m not,” you disagreed.

“I think you are,” he nodded, leaned closer to you and offered a challenging glare. His hair was messy, he’d been running around in the backyard with them at Shelli and Irv’s, a few glasses of wine in him seemed to loosen him right up to the point that he was ready to slide tackle your six-year-old.

He watched you for a second, almost like he was waiting for you to stop him. You didn’t, though, you wanted him to kiss you just as much as it looked like he wanted to close to the distance between your chests.

Instead of telling him you shouldn’t, instead of telling him that the girls were down the hall and this was risky, you pulled him on top of you, tugged him by the t-shirt until he flopped down on your bed with a laugh against your lips.

He lifted himself up after a clumsy moment, looked down at you and smirked.

“What?” You asked playfully.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been so turned on by someone in my whole life.”

His words circled around you, pulled your body up to melt into his when his hand cupped your face. He laced his fingers through the hair along your neck, the warmth from his body made your pulse rise with each second.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this when they’re home?”

If the dimples on his cheeks weren’t enough, if the way his tattoos littered his skin wasn’t enough, if the look in his eyes right now on top of you was not enough to create a full-on mom fantasy in your head, the way he talked about your daughters was.

“Yeah,” you tugged him back against your mouth, felt the way your hips tilted against his without any thought. His hands moved to your wrists, holding them in place when he trailed his lips down your jaw, down your neck, pressing kisses in a line along your collarbone.

His hands were warm when they grazed your hips, connecting with skin beneath the fabric of your shirt. You grasped for the hem of his and tugged it over his head in a quick motion, eager to reconnect and feel his skin against yours.

He tasted like wine and smelled like summer, yanked your panties down to your ankles and used his fingers to pull quiet gasps from you like no one had ever before. He held onto your headboard and thrusted into you after you begged: please, please f*ck me.

S’probably my favorite thing to do, he said.

The lights were long off and when your heart beats settled and you wiped sweat from your forehead, he laced his fingers between yours.

“Does Jeff want to kill me?”

“No,” you giggled, turned on your side to get a better look at him. The moon through the window illuminated his nose, his eyebrows, the specks of light green in his eyes as they devoured you. “But I’m sure you’ll get a talking to.”

“Should I not talk to him about it?”

You knew what he was asking, you knew he really meant what am I supposed to tell him? What does this mean?

You didn’t have an answer. You didn’t know what he should say or how you should address any of this, because at the end of the day you were a mom and a business owner and he was eight years your junior. He had an album to finish and tour and you knew how that worked.

You watched your dad’s busy lifestyle pull his marriage apart at the seams. Late nights, dinner parties, too much co*ke in the 80s before you were born and all of those signs pointed in one direction: this would never last.

It couldn’t last, nothing about the equation made sense. Harry + you = fling, rebound, a hook up or friends with benefits type situation that would eventually fade into a memory when he went on tour or when he got the call: your house is finished!

You didn’t have to answer him, though, the pattering of feet in the hallway as a little voice shouted mommy! had you shoving Harry out of bed and onto the floor with a thud before CeCe could push the double doors open.

“Mommy! I had a bad dream!”

“Hi, honey, oh, it’s okay,” you were upright in bed and welcoming her into your arms when Harry grimaced in the dark.

He mouthed a few swear words as you held CeCe, squishing her face into your shoulder to keep her eyes from landing on Harry. You gestured at him wildly with your free hand, ordering him to duck down and remain unseen.

“It was just a dream,” you told her, “you’re okay. Do you want me to walk you back to bed?”

“No,” she cried out quickly. “Can I sleep here?”

You hesitated, then nodded and looked at Harry in the dark. “Of course, yes, you can fall asleep here and then I’ll bring you back to your room.”

“Okay,” she said, the steadiness of her voice returning when she crawled out of your lap and to the spot where Harry had just been. She tugged at the comforters, pushed the pillow in different directions before she let her head rest atop it.

She let out a sigh, her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks and soon enough Harry poked his head up to look at you with wide eyes as you rubbed CeCe’s back.

You held up a finger to your mouth, gave him a threatening glare when he bit back a laugh. You rolled your eyes--it wasn’t funny. She almost walked in on the two of you and while she’d already endured some traumatic things this year, seeing her mom hooking up with the pop star from down the hall would be sure to take the cake.

When Harry caught your gaze again, you smirked, he giggled, clamped a hand over his mouth and watched you for a second.

“Be quiet!”

“You’re the one talking,” he laughed.

“Well she’s asleep now, but we can’t bring her back yet or she’ll wake up.”

“How long do we have to sit like this?”

“A while,” you told him with certainty. “This is called parenting.”

But he did, he sat on the floor on the side of the bed, watched you watch her and eventually, he picked her up from the mattress and followed you down the hall to her room. She softened into him, head on his shoulder and arms around his neck. The sight of it made you want to replay the earlier scene in your head over and over.

She didn’t stir, a few heavy sighs when you pulled the comforter back up to her shoulders, and once the door was shut behind you both, you smirked up at him.

“I think you should go back to your room.”

“Really? After all of that?”

“After almost getting caught by my six-year-old? Yes.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes playfully, crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine, but maybe we can do that again at some point and have it end differently.”

You nodded. “I think that sounds doable.”

He leaned forward, kissed you quickly, and then turned to head for his own room. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

**

Harry came home from his house tour with good and bad news. The plumbing was fixed, which sped up their timeline, and yet the painters and interior decorator had gotten behind because of it, pushing the timeline out a few weeks.

You weren’t sure which part was good and which part was bad, because by now you were having trouble imagining what your house would feel like without him in it.

You got the news when he strolled in, athletic shorts and a baseball hat on his head when Jeff clapped him on the back. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Harry eyed him suspiciously, reached into the fridge for a juice box. “I live here…”

“Oh, I know you live here.”

“Hello, hi,” you waved at Jeff. “Please do not be weird.”

“That’s all he knows how to be,” Harry offered you a fake-apologetic look.

“That’s all he knows how to be,” Jeff mocked him. “Actually, I know how to be cool and not weird about the fact that my childhood best friend and my adult best friend-slash-artist are now, you know, involved.”

Your stomach did a somersault at his wording, a quick look in Harry’s direction, sure that he would deny the accusation or play it all down.

You found it hard to believe that Harry would be in support of labeling this as anything. Why on earth would a guy like him want to be tied to you with any sort of label or phrasing or word?

“Moving on,” Harry said with a nod. “Are we down to meet up with Tom and Sam tomorrow?”

“Yeah, and we have to do that phone call on Tuesday to go over tour dates.”

Maeve ran in then, a smile on her face when she looked up at Harry. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“I learned a new chord on the guitar. By myself.”

“You did?” He acted way more excited about it than he likely was.

Jeff smiled and then told Maeve: “If you learn enough chords maybe you can be his guitarist.”

“Really?!” She beamed.

“No,” you shook your head.

“Of course you would say that.”

“Maeve--you’re a kid, you can’t go on tour.”

“She’s right,” Harry said with a sweet smile, “You’re a bit too young for life on the road.”

“I’m eleven now, though!”

“I know! And very mature for eleven,” he complimented. “I’ll tell you what. You can for sure come visit and come back stage and maybe even bring a friend if your mother lets you.”

She looked to you quickly, excitement in her eyes when they all waited for your response. “Yeah--we can go at some point...see a show or something.”

“Hayley is going to die, oh my god!” She squealed with delight and then moved to sit at a stool beside Jeff.

He had half a sandwich on a plate, one he picked up on his way over for a boring Sunday afternoon of lounging by the pool. Maeve reached for a chip from the bag in front of him.

“By the way, mom, she invited me over Wednesday after school to work on a project, so can you bring me?”

“I have to bring CeCe to dance, sweetie.”

“Well I need you to bring me to the store to get supplies for this stupid poster-board thing we have to make! And Hayley’s mom said she had a question about Luna--something about a moisturizer or something.”

“I can take CeCe to dance,” Harry shrugged, almost like an onlooker in the room. “S’not a big a deal.”

“Are you sure?”

Jeff and Maeve crunched on chips between you, watching the exchange.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll just need to put her booster seat in my car.”

“And bring her a snack for after--she’s always cranky and hungry.”

He laughed, “I can manage that.”

“What would we do without you, Harry?” Maeve asked, a smile on her face.

Jeff put his chin in his hands, teasing. “Yeah, what would we do without you?”

“No one would get anywhere, people would seriously be missing out on my chicken tacos, and this house would be a lot less fun to live in.”

Maeve nodded in agreement, another chip stolen from Jeff. “True, true, and true.”

A few nights later it dawned on you that Maeve and Harry were as close as ever, spending evenings in your dad’s old office while Maeve tried to wrap her arms around a guitar long enough to strum a few chords.

CeCe didn’t seem to feel too left out, she was more than happy to be an audience for Maeve when she’d come running into the living room: Harry taught me a G chord!

On Tuesday night after school it was CeCe’s idea to go for pizza, she chirped about it in the backseat the entire way home, and after learning that the body wash production was behind schedule, you weren’t in the mood to cook.

You took Harry’s car--showed him how to strap the booster seat in and make sure it wouldn’t budge. He wore a hat and sunglasses which both girls found hilarious, but to you it was almost disheartening. What did it mean for him to be seen out with your family?

He sat beside CeCe and cut her pizza into tiny bites so it would cool off, Maeve sipped Mountain Dew from a straw and filled you in on the latest with Hayley. This week was going well, though Hayley said something annoying in the cafeteria.

It felt normal, not weird for him to be sitting across from you, his feet against yours beneath the table and a smirk in your direction every once in a while.

Both Tristan and Zoey had been dying to hear more details. It slipped out one day in the office that okay...maybe it wasn’t just a one time thing, and now the group chat you had with them was blowing up every day.

They were excited for you, rooting for your comeback and rebound and eager for you to just admit that there was something there. But you weren’t able to do that, especially not when everything in your heart wanted to.

By the time you’d all finished eating, he dipped out the back to pull the car around front. You pointed at Maeve and told her to watch CeCe while you went up to the counter to pay for the pizza.

The woman behind the register smiled when you approached. Long acrylic nails, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes made it obvious that she could have been your mother.

“We had one large plain and one small with pepperoni,” you told her.

“Oh, you’re all set, sweetie, your boyfriend paid on his way out.”

Your head pulled back in surprise. “Oh--he’s--we’re not,”

She let out a laugh at your hesitance. “He was just as taken back when I told him he had a beautiful family--said they're not his, though."

You forced a laugh, if only to match the humor in her voice when you turned on your heels to head back to your booth. The thoughts started spinning when Maeve and CeCe climbed into the back of Harry’s car.

He smiled at you when you slid in, patted you on the thigh before he turned around to make sure both girls were settled--Maeve clicked CeCe’s buckle into place and then he put the car into gear.

Sleeping with Harry was mostly meaningless, right? He was attractive and living in your house and clearly you both got something out of it. Convenient, easy, fun. Most of your brain had you convinced that there’d never be any more to it. There was no way that Harry would be interested in sticking around: two kids, a business to run. You didn’t exactly come with no strings attached.

And he corrected the woman too--not my kids, not my family, not my wife, not my anything. Had she settled on the next step down when she called him your boyfriend, or had he offered the label to avoid an awkward encounter?

It felt immature, your heart beating with urgency as you thought about it the whole way home, beads of sweat along your hairline and not from the warm weather. He sensed it, eyed you from behind his sunglasses when he parked in the driveway. Maeve and CeCe raced to the backyard, leaving the two of you alone.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, all good,” you offered a small smile, the same response you gave to one of the girls if they caught you on a bad day.

He followed you inside, kept his eyes trained on you when you dropped your purse on the counter. “What?”

“You seem off.”

“I’m fine,” you lied again. What were you supposed to say? The woman behind the register at the pizza place is making me question the relationship we have and what it means?

You weren’t 17. You were 32. He was 24. All of these numbers swirled in your head when he took a few steps closer to you, eyes out the window quickly to make sure neither of the girls were watching you through the sliding doors.

He pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, lips turned down when he looked over your face. “You can talk to me, you know.”

“I know,” you caught his wrist and held on for a second, like if you let go he’d disappear and take everything between the two of you with him. You closed your eyes, knew better but still said: “the woman behind the counter called you my boyfriend.”

He let out a laugh, unaware that your words were actually a confession. “She called you my wife, said the girls were cute. I told her I couldn’t take credit.”

“Yeah,” you forced another smile.

“Is that--are you, did that bother you?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” he said, eyes still on you like he wasn’t quite sure where your head was at. He pressed a confusing kiss to your forehead but then said something about calling his sister. You checked work emails and night faded into morning like it always did, no matter how uncertain life was, you always had that.

The next afternoon you brought Maeve to Hayley’s, dropped her off with glue sticks and markers and a plethora of project supplies. A yoga class after that, had her home and with dinner on the stove by 6pm.

Eventually, CeCe burst through the door with a smile on her face. Her pink tutu was around her waist, her legs clad in light pink tights and her hair in a messy ponytail on top of her head. “I had the greatest time at ballet!”

You turned around in the kitchen, eager to hear about her day. “You did?”

“I did,” she nodded confidently. Harry came in the front door behind her, sunglasses on his face and CeCe’s unicorn backpack in hand. Maeve was sat at the counter with a pencil, growing angrier with fractions by the minute.

“Why’s that?”

“We danced to a fun song, and we played a fun game, and everyone loved Harry!”

Your eyebrows rose at that, eyes caught his when he lifted the sunglasses. “They did?”

“Moms, not the six-year-olds.”

This caught Maeve’s attention--she sounded almost disgusted. “Moms?”

“I guess ballet pick-up is typically a mom thing?”

You shrugged. “I mean--I don’t see a lot of dads there, so yeah.”

CeCe shimmied out of her tutu and then climbed up to a stool beside Maeve. Harry walked to hang her backpack on a hook by the backdoor, you questioned if it was even worth asking.

“Were they, like, hitting on you?”

“I mean, not really.”

“Not really?”

He walked over to the island and leaned on it, the dimple in his left cheek let you know he liked the hint of jealousy in your voice. “Maybe a little.”

Dinner simmered on the stove, evening sun brought a glow to the kitchen that made his eyes even more green than usual. When you didn’t reply he broke your gaze, let out a sigh and said: “I’m going to shower before dinner, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you nodded quickly, embarrassed by the silliness of your question. Of course the moms were hitting on him, of course they were intrigued by his presence and of course they couldn’t help but say hi or even ask for a photo. It shouldn’t have surprised you in the slightest.

He was up the stairs and out of sight quickly, CeCe picked up an extra pencil of Maeve’s and started doodling on her agenda book. You pushed sautéed veggies around in a frying pan and pretended that all of this was normal.

“Hey mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you like Harry?”

You turned around quickly, Maeve’s eyes were inquisitive but not judgmental.

“Do I like Harry? Of course--he’s nice.”

“No, I mean do you like like Harry?”

CeCe didn’t seem too interested in your answer, she hummed to herself and kicked her feet back and forth. Maeve, though, waited patiently while you tried to piece together words that wouldn’t make the roof blow off of your house.

“Harry and I are friends, sweetie.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

You let out a forced laugh. “What is making you ask this?”

“You seemed jealous about the other moms.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you defended. Were you really about to get into it with your eleven-year-old? Would you really defend yourself and make this the hill on which you'd die?

She watched you for a second, looked back down at the worksheet in front of her. “You seemed jealous.”

You were thankful for the fact that she wasn’t making any eye contact now. You let out a sigh and decided that not responding was your best option. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, had it been that obvious? Was she old enough to pick up on the undertones of your relationship?

You turned back to the stove, watched the vegetables sizzle in the pan as your mind started to cave in on itself. All of this was getting out of control, right? First the woman yesterday and the dizziness that overtook you when she said the word boyfriend. Now Maeve sitting at the counter with a curiosity in her that you couldn’t really blame her for.

The doorbell rang, CeCe’s head popped up in excitement. “Who is that?!”

“I don’t know,” you said. She hopped off her stool and took off the door as you followed behind her. You hadn’t planned on a visit from Jeff, maybe Tristan needed last minute approval on a product.

But when CeCe yanked the door open with both hands and an excited smile on her face, you didn’t expect to see Luke, hands in his pockets and eyebrows raised high.

“Daddy!”

“Hi sweetie,” he knelt down on one knee, wrapped his arms around her when Maeve made a noise of excitement before rushing over. She crashed into him, pushing her way into their hug.

“What are you doing here?” she asked excitedly.

“I wanted to visit, I was in the neighborhood,” he said with a shrug, eyes glancing up to you.

It was bullsh*t, he’d always been good at talking his way out of things or coming up with an explanation, smile sweet and words even sweeter. He backed away from them when they let go, stood back up and smiled at you, a quick nod in greeting.

“How’ve you been?”

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PR stunt relationships - ɟ

🎶🎶 Guess who’s back, back, back? Back again, gain, gain 🎶🎶

Heeello, my babies! 🥰 How are you? I hope you’re all fine and that you’re staying strong since, as we knew and expected, they’re literally attacking us every day with these PRs. And today’s topic is precisely about this. PR-stunt relationships.

What do I know about- What do I know about love? Nothing. And that’s why it’s everything. Sorry, I had to 😅🤣. Shout-out to ‘What Do I Know About Love?’ by CC. No but, seriously tho. What do I know about a PR stunt relationship? Again, I’m not an expert on the subject. I know as much as you do, plus, maybe a little bit more due to my research over the years.

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

PR stunt relationship, also known as PRomance, showmance, fauxmance (👈🏽 cover for celebrities who are both queer), and also as 🤫😂 ‘extremely camera-ready relationship’. I can personally define a PR as a work of persuasion. Picture PR people as shapers, as narrators, as storytellers, because that’s what they do. Whether it’s for protection, or to build or rebuild an image, or simply for promotion, they analyze the situation in order to create the best publicity/narrative/farce that benefits their client. They each have their own vision. Each of them has a plan that they sometimes tend to repeat with other clients because it works. Take as an example our friend Scooby Doo Sc**ter (Br**n), who is making it increasingly normal and common for his clients to use engagement rings as narratives.

A PR stunt relationship is nothing more than a PUBLICITY STUNT, as the word itself implies, aimed to get people and media attention. Publicists and celebrity management managers set up a fake public relationship to make fans and the general public believe it’s true. To give the couple more credibility, also friends, family, and artists friends of the couple get involved many times. To give you a practical example, let’s take PRen Tyren. They were at least 80% involved in each other’s lives.

Think about their birthdays and all the friends and families involved. Think about when Tymber even went to Graciela’s birthday, L’s great grandmother. Think about Tyres and brother Jauregui (who even made a song out of it with him). Think about L and Angel Gold (his sister). Think about L and Jailynn (his daughter). Think about The Four Horsem*n of the Apocalypse, aka Tyren and, I think they were called Galsey? (Halsey and G-Eazy). Think even about Dinah who was part of the PR. I mean, you got it, right?

This type of business, whether involves the music industry, the film industry, the sports industry, etc., works this way for EVERYONE. They get at the same goal but with different tactics for each individual person, and they give a damn if in the meantime the person, their client, is bullied, or hated, or if they receive death threats, or if they start having anxiety problems, panic attacks, mental or physical health problems, etc. They don’t give a sh*t about their well-being in general. It’s just business to them. They’re just money with two legs. Can you picture a rolled-up dollar with two legs, can’t you? Good, because that’s what they are. Products. Products to sell.

There’s a very strict contract that both parties have to mutually agree on, and this contract is called a relationship contract. A relationship contract is a legally binding document for the duration of at least one year. It’s very VERY own custom-made because they write down what do they want to happen, then the duration (which can be extended) and the termination, and all the other things that each of them wants to include. The duration of a contract obviously varies from person to person and can depend on many things. But the main thing is that, it depends on the type of goal they want to achieve thanks to it.

For example, if the purpose is purely publicizing, such as the promotion of an album, or a movie, or whatever else, the relationship will last only for the necessary time that it takes to increase the interest of the public and indeed, to publicize the project. Another example could be when they want to hide the sexuality of one of the two people in the couple or both. Here, the duration of the contract could reach up to years, and could even lead to fake marriages.

We have examples of people who have done this to promote movies/sagas/franchises: Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart, Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens. We have examples of people who have done this to promote TV series: Blake Lively and Penn Badgley, Lili Reinhart and Cole Sprouse, Chad Michael Murray and Sophia Bush. We have examples of people who have done this to hide their true sexuality: Ricky Martin & Rebecca De Alba (for 17 motherf*cking years), TS and.. and-and-and EVERYONE. We have examples of people who have done this to increase their notoriety, but then fell in love for real despite being super toxic for each other: Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez. We even have examples of real couples who have been asked to go public to boost ratings and publicize their show more than it already was per se: Lea Michele and Cory Monteith. [Yes, my friends, even real couples do PR stuff for publicity purposes]

Celebs fake relationships for profits. Profits such as more fame, more fans, more acquaintances, whether they were made together or thanks to or of the ‘partner’ themselves based also on the industry fields to which they are part, more freedom in other aspects of their life, both work and private, etc., and of course, money. The money profit received varies. It varies according to the duration (especially if they’re many years), to what they’re supposed to do, such as how many times they’re forced to kiss (yes, guys, that also counts), to the amount of time they have to spend together, aka being seen together, etc. It also and above all vary, based on how famous they are, or if one of them is not famous at all, or if one of them is more famous than the other. It’s obvious that the more famous the person is, the more money they receive. Both parties benefit from it, but the person who ACCEPTED to do the PR is obviously paid more also based on the notoriety they have as I told you. Here we start with a minimum of $5,000 received per month. The figure can also reach disproportionate numbers with five/six zeros per year.

It’s enough to think that 75/80% of all famous couples are fake. They gain more attention and ultimately, more money, and at the same time, fans and GP can witness an exciting ‘love story’ filled with drama, gossip, rumors, mysteries, and if they decide to end their story on a negative note, even with the possible and eventual shade-throwing which in turn leads to more attention, more gossip, etc., etc. Exactly how the teams on both sides wanted. You have to keep in mind that teams have the power in this case. It’s the PR teams who hold the power over the media to control the narrative, and not the other way around.

There are also many factors involved to keep in mind. People involved. We have friends, parents, paparazzi, and all those other people the celeb team involves to make the story look as believable as possible. For example, you know when the media say it was a source who gave them the news? Well, that’s the truth. Think about it. Those sources and those insiders are really insiders because they’re part of the team. They are those people who work for them and who release information, whether true or fake, to follow the narrative decided for the plan. Speaking instead of another topic that I’ve noticed in many asks. Paparazzi.

I don’t know if you know how paparazzi usually work, but especially the old-fashioned stalker type ones, are not known to hold back, in fact, on the contrary, they go way too far beyond the limits. Some of them know where the celebrities might be based on how popular the location is (clubs, restaurants, etc., where celebs often go), or other times, they’re called by waiters, valets, drivers, etc., etc. It’s a pretty aggressive and competitive industry, and paparazzi do everything they can to get images of famous people to sell to a newspaper or a magazine or on Instagram. There are differences between those in the US, those in Europe, etc. Many are also easy to control since eight times out of ten, it’s an organized thing.

As we well know, most of the time, the paparazzi are told where to be and when, probably by the celebrity’s PR agency itself. It’s ALL for publicity. Publicity of any kind. To promote a movie if it’s an actor, to promote an album if it’s a singer, to be noticed if that person’s project was a flop, for fake relationships or to ‘cover’ the real ones if one of the two is in a relationship that is not seen in a good light and therefore doesn’t suit the public eye, or if one of the two or both of them are queer. Seriously, for everything. And so they have paparazzi following them around so it looks like they’re more popular than they actually are, and the celebrities who make me laugh the most are those who, after calling them, act like the paparazzi were following them everywhere, some even getting angry and taking it out on them.

But it must also be said that celebrities who really don’t want the paparazzi’s attention, make sure that this doesn’t happen. Unlike the ones who want them and even have them called. There are many celebrities who want their pictures taken because, as we also know, any publicity is good publicity. These celebrities know how it works and not only accept that the paparazzi are part of the business, but use them as a tool for their publicity. It’s just business for them and a new opportunity to look good in magazines. They want to be in control of their image and in this way, they have it.

Also, some brands pay celebs to wear their clothing or accessories while out and about, and those staged shots that look like candid of a celebrity leaving a restaurant or a store, actually have multiple purposes, namely: celebrity endorsem*nt of the product, big check for the celebrity for wearing the item, collaboration between the celebrity and paparazzi to get nice shots that look natural and random from which the celebrity then selects the ones they prefers, and image sales for the paparazzi agency. Everyone gets paid and everyone is happy.

Another thing to take into consideration? Depending on the celebrity’s profession, even their own contracts. In the sense that most of their contracts involve fake relationships. It also depends on the image that the celeb has and whether they’re trying to hide their sexuality. From this, their contracts can include a minimum of two PRs, or five, or eight, or even one that lasts for many years. They can also state that the same person with whom the celebrity has already had a PR in the past, may be again in the future. I’ll give you a practical example.

Imagine yourselves and a friend as a celebrity, okay? You guys are singers and your friend is an actor. You’ve just signed a 3-album deal lasting 5 years (meaning you have 5 years to complete and release 3 albums), and your friend an 8-year movie saga contract (let’s imagine 3 movies). Now let’s imagine that there are clauses in both your contracts that also include fake relationships. Your contract has two, and your friend’s contract has five, including one with one of their co-stars. Both of you must, ABSOLUTELY, have the number of PRs chosen for you over the course of those years, otherwise, you’re gonna be forced not only to fight a lawsuit that you will lose because you haven’t respected the contract, but also to pay a penalty that can reach up to six figures.

Doesn’t this ring a bell? Now do you also understand why Ca*ren, and most of the other celebrities, are forced to have PR stunt relationships? Because they have to! Because it’s part of their contracts if they want to keep doing what they do. Many of them have a say. They can decide whether or not to accept the person chosen for them, they can choose a person themselves, they can negotiate something in return if they accept a person they didn’t want, etc., etc. But many have no say in it.

And speaking of our Camr*n, more specifically, our L, and Kris. Guys… All the comments I’ve read around… *help* 🤦🏻🤦🏻🤦🏻

L didn’t invite Kris there because he’s her boyfriend. And it certainly wasn’t her the one who asked her dad to delete the post because she didn’t want her fans to start attacking her new boyfriend or because she wanted to protect her relationship. IT WAS ALL DONE ON PURPOSE. Mi*e posted the picture and then deleted it ON PURPOSE! Why? Because (L and Kris’ teams) wanted the fans to see the picture to speculate! They wanted the fans to start attacking him! They want people to talk about it!! Is that really that hard to understand or to believe? Welcome to Tyren 2.0, my friends. That’s how it started with Taco Delivery Symbol, or did you forget that too? Go read the timelines if you really don’t remember.

I’ve lost count of how many times they’ve put off releasing L’s album over the years. They’d finally decided, and then it was postponed AGAIN, but because of COVID. EVERYONE had to postpone their programs actually, but L’s album was supposed to be released 100% this year (in September, in my opinion). Her PR should have started earlier. This is the only reason we have only had hints of Crispy McBacon (I’ve already found so many nicknames for his transphobic ass, sorry but I just can’t help myself) over time. Because they have postponed several times! *And also because, in my opinion, they were still looking for an alternative. The choice had to be between a guy (him) and a girl.*

But hey, at least they have an excuse to make this PR more real, you know? I’m already picturing what she’ll say because we all know the script by now: “Kris and I’ve been dating for a while now. I’m a private person. My personal life is my personal life and I want to protect my sh*t, you know? I don’t like it when people judge my life choices and that’s why I’ve never talked about it before. And I’d like it to stay that way”. Picture me shouting a “SURE, JAN!” when that happens, also because we will then slowly have more and more of their content. Aww, I’m already picturing them playing fake lovebirds and talking to each other in Spanish IN FRONT of a camera, in a live or an Insta-story maybe? 🤮🤮🤮

And speaking of postponed programs…

This is my version of how things could’ve turned out for our oh so beloved IwanttobeknownMila. Keep these dates in mind. Shon Mentos: The Tour, started on March 7, 2019, and ended on December 21, 2019. The Romance Tour, was supposed to start on May 26, 2020, and end on September 26, 2020.

They could’ve released Shirt’s documentary around the beginning of the Romance Tour. They could’ve made them break up almost at the end of the Romance Tour. He would’ve completed the album now, to then releasing it in January or February almost simultaneously with Cinderella’s release.

Why all this? Simple, cross-publicity or cross-promotion or whatever you want to call it. Choke recently said that they’d initially finished filming at the end of his tour and that they had to cut out a lot of parts. And what does all this mean? That the original documentary was another one.

In my opinion, the original was supposed to about his life on tour and only a small part, sneak peeks about the creation of Wonder. Instead, thanks to COVID, they changed direction and made it all about his album. The reason why they had to cut a lot of parts, was to make room for the last few months and therefore to the completion of the album. Which is why I think they finished filming in September/October (if anyone of u knows more, please feel free to let me know).

Without COVID they could’ve released his original documentary more or less around the beginning of the Romance Tour. News, tabloids, and people would’ve talked about them, both for the documentary and for the tour of our Mila= cross-promotion. They could’ve made them break up almost at the end of the Romance Tour. The distance, the misunderstandings, and why not, even the pathetic excuse that Toilet Brush used now when ‘they were in crisis/on a break’, that is, that he hadn’t been opened and vulnerable with her. People would’ve talked about them, sh*tmila fans would’ve rebelled and cry their eyes out, news and tabloids would’ve gone crazy for who would tell the story better= cross-promotion. He would’ve completed the album now, with half of the songs he already had (from 3 years) and that he’s using on this album, and a half with songs that would’ve been about his broken heart, to then releasing it in January or February almost simultaneously with Cinderella’s release. Do I need to say this? You can imagine what would’ve happened, right? And what would that have led to? Oh yeah. Cross-promotion!

But anyway, guys, it didn’t happen. Just as we didn’t get L’s album as we hoped. But try to remember one thing, okay? Tyren’s contract started because L needed a new male PR and then they flipped the cards around and continued for him AS AGREED initially. Shakerstoremila’s one, on the other hand, is only and exclusively for HIM. It’s centered on him and will continue to be on him until the end. There’s no point in asking yourselves why Paruparo does this and why Paruparo does that, okay? She HAS TO do it. It’s in her contract and she cannot legally break it if she doesn’t want to face the consequences HER HERSELF has accepted. The sooner you understand this, the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can wait for the end more calmly. It sucks, I know. But that’s the way it is.

I’ve never liked Shon that much in the past. I discovered his existence only and exclusively thanks to Paruparo (IKWYDLS). I’ve always seen him as too fake and with a huge ego. I first became aware of his giant ego during the interview they did in 2015 at The Late Late Show with James Corden. Indeed, I’ve always wondered how someone like Mila could be friends with such an egocentric person. But you know how it is, I just brushed it off because I simply didn’t care about him, and also because at the time (2016 when I officially entered the fandom) the IKWYDLS era was already over for a while. BUT, my first impression of him became very true years later when they started this ridiculous charade.

Not only is he self-centered and with a huge ego, he’s also one of the most fake people I’ve ever seen. Why am I saying this? Because although I don’t know him and consequently, I don’t know if he was already like that before he became famous, Shon is the typical empty celebrity without a personality that has become the role he was set to be in the beginning. The perfect product. They wanted to sell the good guy. The sensitive and different from the others (and that’s where the bullsh*t of being a ‘singer-songwriter’ came from). And since this idea in itself only partially worked, they made him work on his body so they could sell that too. To sell the unreachable good guy. Superman, as he defines himself 😂. The problem of Shawn and his team, is with people who have not stopped to just look at the fake goody to shoes image that they wanted and want to continue selling.

The way I see him, Shoe’s just a selfish kid. Everything always revolves around him. Everything is and must be about him. He lives to be loved. He lives for the attention. He lives for the approval of others. Everyone must necessarily like him. There’s no one else besides him. Do you know what he reminds me of? He reminds me of a child who asks his mom for attention. ‘Mommy, how did I do? You liked it, didn’t you? Was I good? I can do better if you want, I know I can do better’. I don’t even think he realizes he’s like that because he’s so full of himself and so clouded by himself. Oh and, you know what I’ve been realizing lately? Many of his fans really believe he grew his hair out because Paruparo asked him to (I’d never have believed this bullsh*t even under torture), but now more than ever I’m convinced that he did it to copy one of his obsessions for years, that is, Matthew McConaughey. My personal problem with this look of his is the fact that he’s now starting to look more and more like Jon Snow (any Game of Thrones fans like me here?), aka one of the characters I can’t stand the most of that amazing TV series. And this, is making me dislike him even more.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I hate him and that I consider him the devil. In fact, I think there’s a lot but A LOT worse than him out there. I really, REALLY, dislike him, but I don’t hate him. Do I follow him on social media? Yes, but only on IG. Did I listen to his music? Yes, but illegally, and I liked some of his songs because as usual, I distinguish the art from the artist. I’ve never bought his music, I’ve never streamed it, I’ve never gone to one of his concerts, and the only views I’ve ever given him are only for music videos (not even all of them) on YouTube and only because other channels can’t violate copyrights by taking and posting them on their own. Indeed, you know how I’m gonna listen to his album? Thanks to the YouTube channels of his fans who will post his songs.

But anyway. I’ve dwelt too much on #pleasenoticeme #pleaseloveme, I’d say that’s enough. I’m gonna conclude with my final thoughts on the main topic of my post, that is, the fake PR relationships. I wanna explain to u guys why a fake relationship like Shazam’s and our Mila’s is so obvious as PR.

A PR relationship MUST create doubt in people’s heads and MUST NOT look perfect at all. Why? Because otherwise people WOULD NOT TALK ABOUT IT. If it looked like a basic relationship, a common relationship, people wouldn’t talk about it because they wouldn’t find anything strange about it. They wouldn’t speculate, they wouldn’t look for clues, they wouldn’t watch every move. They wouldn’t be thirsty. They’d just get bored. Yes, there would be the initial boom of the ‘new couple’, but then everything would end and people would move on to look for something else to entertain them. The main point of a PR relationship is to make people speculate, and if people don’t constantly talk about it, then it would be all pointless because it would make no sense to create a fake relationship in the first place.

Way to stop this act or any other act? Stop giving them f*cking attention! You want to talk about it, speculate, look for evidence, and make theories amongst you friends? Do it! That’s great actually. I do it myself. But f*cking tagging them?? 🤨😒🙄

If all the fans who know the real TRUTH stop talking about it by tagging them, tweeting them, etc. their ‘story’ would end. Sure, their teams would try to create something to attract attention again, like a kiss or a scoop, but if ignored even then, everything would end immediately. Why? Precisely because they were unable to complete their task. And in that case, the two celebs would ‘break up’ with a big scandal that would still bring attention back to them, although in this case, the attention would FINALLY be on both celebrities in a singular way and no longer as a couple. The next goal would be for fans and media to find out ‘what happened’ and ‘why’, while for managers it would be to create a scoop on those questions that keep them talking about them, and if all goes well, maybe even get them ‘back together’, and so on, until they have a better idea. But, if they fail even then, even though they’ve not reached the datescheduled in the contract, they would ‘break up’ without any more surprises.

And that’s all for now, my fellows CS. Remember to hold on and to not lose hope. Be patient. And above all, try not to freak out and get very angry as soon as you listen to the album. We already know it’s all bullsh*t.

I’m sending you a virtual hug🤗🤗 Always with love, F ❤️

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ricky bowen x reader series! part three

— starstruck au!

series masterlist, part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten

IN WHICH you return to your house but are not yet rid of ricky bowen, and you learn that sources saw you and ricky together last night.

WARNINGS swearing

NOTES look how sweet he looks in this gif omg my heart anyways this chapter is a little bit shorter but i like it!! hope u enjoy!! also i’d love it if someone left a comment w how they’re enjoying it currently? that would make my day!

(y/n) - your name

(y/f/c) - your favorite color

text dividers from @writeyourmindaway !!

lowercase intended.

you closed the door to your grandmas house slowly and flipped on the light. you assumed everyone else was asleep (since it was close to two in the morning), but were quickly proven wrong as ashlyn crept into the kitchen, looking to see if it was you she heard. when she saw it was, a look of relief washed over her face and she walked over to hug you.

“took you long enough,” she pulled back and examined the stitches on your head. “you okay?”

you nodded and moved away to grab a glass out of the cabinet. “i’m fine. it was weird, though. ricky bowen hits me with a door, takes me to the hospital then takes me to his house. casually.”

“hm. yeah. i guess it’s not exactly... normal. although i’ve spent time with him now since i’m dating red—”

you cut her off. “you’re dating?!”

she blushed and nodded. “he asked me earlier. i was going to wait to tell you, make sure you were okay first.”

before you got a chance to respond, there was a light knocking on the window. ashlyn gave you a confused look and you shrugged. she moved to the window and pulled the curtain open to peek through, then opened it all the way. she opened the window.

“ricky? what the hell?”

your head shot up when she said that and you walked over to the window quickly. sure enough, ricky was standing outside in the cold, looking around nervously.

“hey, ashlyn, (y/n),” he paused. “i need your help.”

“ricky, what’s going on? i thought you left a while ago,” you said.

“i tried. there’s big vans right outside your house, big cameras. they’re waiting for me to leave. i can’t go home right now.”

“um... okay. you can stay here, we just have to figure out a way where our family won’t see,” ashlyn said, looking up in thought.

“he could stay in the garage. sleep in his car, be gone in the morning?” you suggested. ricky nodded eagerly.

“yes, that’s fine! that’s perfect! i’ll be gone as soon as possible and i won’t make a sound. promise!”

“okay, ricky chill,” ashlyn laughed. “we don’t mind, seriously.”

“i mind a little bit,” you joked. “c’mon. i’ll help you get situated. ashlyn, i’ll be right back.”

you went out of the front door and met ricky outside. he smiled sheepishly at you.

“fancy meeting you again.”

“oh yeah. this is every girls dream, right?” you said, raising your eyebrows. he laughed and rolled his eyes.

“i’ll open the garage door, go ahead and pull your car in. just be careful,” you said. you walked over to the keypad in the side of the garage. he started his car and pulled in as soon as you opened the door. you followed his car into the garage and grabbed a box from the back wall. he got out of his car.

“here’s a sleeping bag,” you said, tossing one down to him. he caught it, barely. you laughed and he scoffed.

“do you have anything i could leave in this morning to help disguise me? so they can’t see it’s me?” he asked. you shrugged and pointed to a box labeled ‘hats and scarves.’

“check that one.”

he dug through the box and pulled out an old fishing hat. he studied it for a moment before putting it on his head. “how’s this one?”

you glanced over and smiled. “perfect. that was my grandpas hat, actually. wore it when we would go fishing. cool to give it use again.”

he watched you as you spoke, a gentle expression on his face. “i’ll take care of it.”

“you better,” you laughed and dug out another blanket for him to use. “do you need anything else? i can grab you anything from inside, if you need it.”

“i should be okay,” ricky smiled. “thank you, though. i seriously appreciate it. i’ll be gone before you know it.”

“no problem. thanks for driving me around today. sleep well,” you smiled at him and paused, before nodding and leaving the garage.

“got him settled in okay?” ashlyn asked as you came back into the house.

“mhm. he’ll be fine,” you resumed filling up the glass you had pulled out earlier. ashlyn watched, her eyebrows raised.

“you guys friends?”

“i just met him today. we get along fine but i don’t think you’d call us ‘friends’.”

“hm. alright,” she glanced at her phone. “i’m gonna head to bed. you should too, it’s late. and we’re going to the beach tomorrow!”

you hummed. “yup, i’m excited to meet big red for real this time!”

“he’s excited to meet you! although he will probably ask you a bunch of questions about tonight. be warned.”

“oh, i can’t wait,” you laughed sarcastically.

the next morning, you woke up with no one else in the bedroom. you stretched, got out of bed, threw on a sweater and left your bedroom. you found everyone except your grandma sitting at the kitchen table.

“morning (y/n),” your aunt debbie greeted you. “sleep okay?”

“yeah, thank you,” you said, sitting down in between ashlyn and your grandma’s boyfriend kevin.

“how’s your head?” your mom asked.

“my head?”

your mom knit her eyebrows at you. “your stitches?”

your hand moved to the stitches on your forehead. “oh! yeah, i’m okay.”

“what even happened? you were waiting in the car and next thing i know ashlyn’s telling me you’re on your way to the hospital,” camilla complained. you sighed.

“i was looking for you and someone hit me with a door. we realized he was friends with ashlyn and he took me to the hospital. nothing else.”

“what do you mean she was waiting in the car? you were supposed to be doing stuff together,” your dad said. camilla turned red.

“i had to... stop for the bathroom,” camilla lied. your dad gave her a stern look, but she got out easy because your grandma came into the room, carrying a stack of pancakes.

“breakfast is served!” she exclaimed and you all gushed about how good it smelt as everyone served themselves.

“kim, do you have any more syrup?” your uncle asked your grandma. she nodded.

“should be some in the garage.”

“i’ll grab it,” camilla volunteered, standing up from her seat. you didn’t think much of it, until you remembered the encounter from last night and realized that ricky was sleeping in the garage, and his biggest fan was about to go find him. you shot up from your seat.

“no, i’ll go!” you ran out behind camilla and tried to grab the garage remote from her.

“(y/n), what the hell are you doing?” she asked, annoyed.

“i’ll get the syrup. it’s fine. you go back inside,” you said, reaching for the remote as she moved it away from you.

“i’m already out here. it’s fine. just leave me alone, i’m pissed at you,” she said, pressing the button to open the garage. you yank the remote and press it again to close it.

“why are you pissed at me?” you asked. she rolled her eyes, clicking the button again. you clicked it again.

“i was so close to meeting ricky last night, and you just had to ruin it for me,” camilla complained.

you paused. “cam, i didn’t mean to, you know that. i just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“whatever.”

camilla opened the garage door and before you could try to close it again, she rushed forward and into the garage. you tried to yell for her to stop, but it was too late. you looked in the garage and it was empty, no sign of ricky ever being there. you sighed in relief and followed camilla back inside.

“girls, they’re talking about that ricky boy on the tv,” your grandma said as you and camilla came back inside. camilla ran to the living room to see ashlyn standing there, watching. you followed her nervously.

“last night, nini salazar-roberts showed up to her birthday party accompanied by two people, but neither of them her man, ricky bowen. although, sources do confirm that ricky showed up to her party and performed, but other sources have said that they saw ricky leaving the party with a different girl. almost an hour later, he showed up to his house, with the same girl he left his girlfriends party with. has ricky found himself a new girl? is this girl stealing the heart of the boy we all know and love?”

you watched the tv with wide eyes. you and ashlyn made eye contact, both of you with the same worried expression. camilla, however, stared at the tv in disgust.

“i hope that girl knows how lucky she is,” she complained. “what’s a girl gotta do to get the attention of a guy she’s been a fan of for five years?”

neither you or ashlyn replied. camilla sighed and trudged her way back to the kitchen table. ashlyn checked her phone.

“oh, i should go get ready. red’s picking me up in half hour so we can go to the beach,” she looked at you. “are you riding with us?”

“i want to go to the beach!” camilla exclaimed, suddenly upbeat.

“camilla, you can take my car if you drive your sister,” your grandma said. camilla groaned.

“fine. be ready in half hour,” she said to you, then walked to your shared bedroom and slammed the door. you turned to ashlyn.

“looks like we’ll meet you there.”

camilla stuck her head out of the bedroom door. “(y/n), can i borrow your blue bikini?”

“only if i can borrow your (y/f/c) one,” you grinned. she thought for a minute.

“deal.”

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updated intro / jack 101

Is that JACK KELLY? Wow, they do look a lot like VAN MCCANN. I hear HE is an NINETEEN year old FRESHMEN who are studying AEROSPACE ENGINEERING at Luxor University. Word is they are an ARISTOCRAT student. You should watch out because they can be PHILOPHOBIC and INSINCERE, but on the bright side they can also be WITTY and IMAGINATIVE. Ultimately, you’ll get to see it all for yourself. [YUNI, 21, GMT, SHE/HER]

the other two got updated intros n rat man felt left out

basics

full name: jackson noel kelly

nicknames: jack (does not answer to jackson)

date of birth: december 25, 2001

zodiac: capricorn sun, leo ascendant, sagittarius moon

nationality: dual uk and us citizenship

sexual orientation: straight but will try anything once

course: aerospace engineering

appearance

faceclaim: van mccann

voiceclaim: van mccann

ethnicity: white (english, irish)

height: 5′8 / 173cm

weight: 58kg / 127lbs

eye colour: blue

hair colour: brown

distinctive features: freckles (many), left ear pierced, scars on his wrists usually covered by long sleeves, northern english accent

clothing preferences: jack prefers to only wear black, or at a push grey, although he’s slowly improving and will Occasionally mix it up with ... navy. his style is pretty basic, usually just a sweater, jeans, and beat up black converse or doc martens depending on how emo he’s feeling. the sheffield united hoodie makes an appearance every time someone forgets precisely which uk city jack is from.

personality

overview

positive traits: witty, imaginative, perseverant, passionate

negative traits:philophobic, disloyal, insincere, callous

mbti: entp

religious beliefs:atheist

description

the first side most people see of jack is the side he wants you to see. a total asshole. it’s not an exaggeration - he’s pretty much infamous for flirting with everyone, dating anyone and as a serial cheater. he’ll actively try to worm his way into your life, and then just when you start to care, he does something to hurt you. he’s strangely persistent, probably helping him to push people even further, until they snap. there is nothing which satisfies him more than managing to wind people up to the extreme, get them to the point where they give up. adopted parents, friends, nobody is immune to this side - he even tries it on the people he genuinely cares about, as if just to see if he’ll still be able to push them away.

the second side, which most people don’t see, is that at heart jack is a kid. he’s the type of person to ask if owls have ears at 3am, or get some childlike joy out of dumb jokes. of course, this is the side nobody but a very small number of people see. and even if you do see it, it never lasts long. he keeps his true personality under wraps even amongst those he does like, and it only slips out if he’s extremely comfortable with you. otherwise, he’ll go straight back to being a sarcastic, flirty piece of sh*t.

biography

jackson noel kelly was born in hell on ironically christmas day to his father satan......

jk

jack and his older half brother finn were born in sheffield, united kingdom, to a single mother. a drug addict, she was notorious among social workers for neglecting her children and as a result jack shuffled between foster homes and his mother’s home during his first ten years of life, with finn, less than four years older than him, being his primary carer even when he was back with his birth family. this cycle finally ended when jack was ten and he was permanently removed from his mother’s care, and placed in the first of a series of foster homes which didn’t last particularly long.

the thing was, jack’s remarkably good at pushing people away when he wants to, and as he got older his talents only increased. running away, wreaking havoc, insulting anyone who tried to get close and anything else he could possibly think of meant that for three years he lasted no longer than eight months in any one place. in fact, he frequently took himself back to live with his birth family until social services came to drag him out again. this lifestyle continued until he was fostered by his now adopted parents, claire and george, at thirteen.

much to jack’s dismay, no matter of hell raising would push these newest set of parents away. in fact, they seemed absolutely set on raising him as Their Son, even as his attempts to get them off his back got more and more extravagant. they removed him from his previous school, transferred him to a fancy private school, put him in therapy and tried their best to help him get through all of the issues developed through his slightly f*cked up childhood.

the thing was, jack loves his mother. he still refuses to see her as being in the wrong, no matter what people tell him or what he himself recalls, in his mind he has one mother and that’s his birth mother. so he did not take kindly to attempts by his foster parents to become his“new” family, because in jack’s mind? he already had a family. and even though they were actively encouraging him to continue contact with his brother, he couldn’t help but see them as trying to replace his birth family.

jack’s fifteenth year pretty much became the year when all of these issues finally came to a head. he was adopted legally by his foster parents, who had now been fostering him for two years - which should have been a happy occasion, but for jack represented the final loss, the final betrayal to his birth mother and brother. then shortly after his fifteenth birthday his brother went to prison at eighteen for grievous bodily harm, having glassed another boy after an argument.

of course, it would later be revealed that in actuality the assault had been committed by jack. and that finn was simply covering for him. (they looked alike enough that questions were not raised, it had happened so fast.) but in the eyes of jack’s adopted parents, finn was now a dangerous offender and jack had to be protected from him. so he was then isolated from his brother, his mother had relapsed and his continuous guilt over being adopted played on his mind, culminating in a suicide attempt in march 2017.

of course, he wasn’t successful, but this was the final straw in the minds of his adopted parents. they felt jack needed a fresh start, away from the people who had defined his life prior to that point. so by his sixteenth birthday, jack had been moved to the united states to be near the family of his adopted mother, and subsequently enrolled in luxor academy.

where he continued to be a menace :))

although it did appear, for some time, that jack was showing signs of improvement. sure, he was still wreaking havoc at luxor. but at home, he had calmed, even showing signs of affection to his adopted family. until his mother overdosed suddenly and died when jack was eighteen and things started to immediately go straight downhill again.

he can’t help but blame himself, for allowing himself to be moved. for the move being his fault, if he’s being honest. and if the honesty continues, jack’s got a whole lot of other stuff to blame on himself. (see: ruining his brother’s life.)so now he’s just taking sh*t out on everyone to try and make them a fraction as miserable as him.

npc connections

birth fam

finn kelly / fc: jake bugg / b. may 10 1998 / taurus sun, gemini ascendant, pisces moon

finley, who also refuses to use his full name, is jack’s older brother - same mother, different father. jack thinks he’s boring because he doesn’t raise hell with every opportunity. finn calls this“being a sane person.” went to prison for jack and regrets it. pastimes include crying over murakami books and trying to look shocked when jack tells him about the newest crisis he’s having.

lauren kelly / fc: elena tonra / b. february 20 1983 - d. april 1 2020 / pisces sun, aries ascendant, leo moon

jack’s birth mother, who was still a teenager when he and finn were born. she was an on again, off again drug addict and had jack removed from her care when he was ten due to continued neglect. instilled in him a love for oasis and a hefty number of mental health issues. looked pretty much exactly like jack.

jordan taylor / fc: alex turner / b. october 12 1984 / libra sun, leo ascendant, virgo moon

jack’s birth father, who he knows little about. not for lack of trying on his father’s part, who was prevented from seeing jack as a child by his birth mother and blocked from trying to make contact by jack’s refusal to interact. he keeps trying to message jack and jack is running out of daddy issues memes to respond with. finn thinks jack should give him a chance to redeem himself. jack thinks finn should f*ck off.

adopted fam

claire fielding / fc: julia roberts / b. may 12 1964 / taurus sun, cancer ascendant, leo moon

jack’s adopted mother. loves him very much and is convinced he is a sweet boy who just needs love and help. has written a memoir about adopting jack. jack is mad at her constantly. when he is not mad at her, he is embarrassed by her existence. honestly deserves better.

george fielding / fc: timothy olyphant / b. november 6, 1963 / scorpio sun, capricorn ascendant, virgo moon

is proud of jack, but very deep down underneath a strong layer of calling jack out on his bullsh*t. has some loud ass shouting matches with jack. also really wishes jack would sort his hair out and maybe not look like a cheap liam gallagher. jack honestly just winds him up constantly and he knows jack is doing it but goddamnit it’s so hard to not be mad at the little rat.

other

maisie adeyemi / fc: yewande biala / b. january 6, 1997 / capricorn sun, sagittarius ascendant, aries moon

finn’s fiancee. her goal in life is to try to get jack to ruin finn’s life at least 70% less often. she has yet to achieve this goal. her love language is setting finn’s phone to silent when he goes to bed to stop jack from phoning in with some sort of random crisis at four in the morning because the little sh*t forgot timezones exist. finn will never find out. maisie is grateful that men have no brains.

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“You never know when you're gonna meet someone,And your whole wide world in a moment comes undone --You're just walking around and suddenlyEverything that you thought that you knew about love is gone...You find out it's all been wrong...

And all my scars don't seem to matter anymore'Cause they led me here to you...”

~“Start of Something Good” by Daughtry

x~x~x~x

Atticus Grimsley Lestrange @cursebreakerfarrier hadn’t gone to Hogsmeade village very much. The Ravenclaw Prefect had always been hyper-aware of how much his family legacy was placed squarely on his shoulders -- as the only son of the family not currently in Azkaban for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, Atticus was the one who could bring his family the esteem his father so thought they were entitled to. Atticus being Sorted into Ravenclaw alone had broken a precedent, so Wulfric Lestrange was all the more strict in his expectations for his only child.

This time, however, Atticus told himself, there wasn’t much choice in the matter. He had to have the oral report ready for Binns, and his partner had set their meeting place as the Three Broomsticks. That didn’t mean Atticus would ever tell his father any details about the assignment -- he could just imagine how very displeased Wulfric would be, knowing his son had to engage with a Muggle-born like Robert Bellamy.

Atticus brought an entire heavy stack of books from the library with him, all of which were recommendations from Madame Pince. To his surprise, the school librarian actually seemed oddly pleased that Atticus was working with Robert.

“He seems to be a very bright boy, and yet he seems determined to not show it,” she said, sounding almost petulant. “Filius has said Mr. Bellamy likes reading -- that his marks are quite high, even despite his obsession with Quidditch and his penchant for trouble. And yet the faculty’s said he frequently holds back during class demonstrations, and in the last five years, I have never seen him study in the library. I see his friends in here plenty, but Mr. Bellamy? He’ll practically sneak in, pick up his books, and then leave as quickly as possible. I almost wonder if he’s actively trying to avoid being seen here...”

She smiled indulgently at Atticus. “Perhaps you might be able to get that boy to actually take pride in something other than chucking Quaffles around.”

Atticus wasn’t entirely sure how in the world he’d ever do that, even if he wanted to. After all, Robert was Barty Gilbert’s best friend -- Atticus didn’t want anything to do with Barty, and Robert was deathly loyal to him. But even with this, he had to admit, something about Robert intrigued him. Madame Pince thought that Robert was determined not to show he was smart, and yet when Atticus challenged him, he launched into a whole history lecture on the Witch Trials that could’ve put Binns himself to shame. Robert had even taken out a bunch of Muggle books on the subject over the summer and read them before coming to school, so that he’d understand the material in depth. Still, Pince’s assessment made Atticus feel a bit better for having seen Robert as a dumb jock -- he never really had stood out much to Atticus before, except as Barty Gilbert’s sidekick. Yet Atticus couldn’t help but wonder...why would someone who was Sorted into Ravenclaw, and therefore valued wisdom, knowledge, and learning, actively try to downplay how talented he was? Perhaps it was the thought of a mystery Atticus could unravel, but he wanted to know why.

When Atticus arrived at the Three Broomsticks, the stack of books under his arms, he found Robert sitting at a table, two butterbeers placed in front of him and the seat across from him. Standing beside the table were his best friends, pretty, ginger-haired Cecelia and tall, auburn-haired Barty -- Cecelia was pulling lightly at Robert’s arm despite him sitting down, chatting animatedly to him, and Robert was grinning broadly.

“...now, Ceci!” he said. “I doubt Atticus Lestrange would be much the sort to want to talk homework while trying on robes at Gladrag’s. You and Barty go on ahead -- you lot’ll have more money to buy something cool anyhow..”

At the sound of his own name, Atticus couldn’t help but hang back. Not only did he feel awkward about interrupting, but part of him really preferred the thought of not interacting with Barty more than he had to. He didn’t like the weird, irrational ball of dislike that would well up in his throat whenever he looked Barty in the eye.

Barty was blushing slightly, but the mention of his friend being low on money made him frown.

“If you want something, I could buy it for you,” he said in a very quiet, but earnest voice. “It could be an early birthday present...”

But Robert waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, mate, I don’t need anything. Now go on -- I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

Cecelia was frowning too. She exchanged a look with Barty, looking faintly hesitant, but finally released Robert’s arm.

“All right,” she sighed airily. “Be sure to invite Atticus along too after you’re done, all right?”

This startled Atticus. Robert looked uncomfortable.

“Invite him to Gladrag’s?” he sad, trying to play it off with humor. “Not exactly a party spot, Ceci.”

“Invite him to hang out with us,” Cecelia corrected him.

Robert frowned deeply. “What? Ceci...I get that you’re trying to be polite...but every time Lestrange gets within ten feet of Barty, he looks at him like he ran over his cat.”

Barty sighed and then gave a reluctant nod of agreement. “You know he doesn’t like me, Cecelia. I don’t even really know why, aside from his dad not liking my parents...”

Atticus felt like his stomach was being squeezed uncomfortably. Part of him wanted to just leave the pub all together -- but what Cecelia said next made him give pause.

“Barty, you’ve always said you feel like he must be lonely, sometimes. And Robert, you said the same thing, right after you first collided with Atticus, remember? ‘He should be smiling,’ you said. ‘His face doesn’t look right, somehow.’”

Atticus straightened up slightly. He understood that feeling. It was the same feeling he had when he first met Barty -- that his eyes weren’t right, that his smile and voice weren’t right. And yet the sentiment here...also came across as oddly sweet too, in a weird way.

“I was eleven years old, Ceci -- eleven-year-olds say dumb things,” said Robert in a voice that attempted to sound off-hand, but instead came out rather evasive.

“I don’t think it was dumb at all,” said Cecelia very firmly. “You felt sorry for him, and you didn’t even know him that well.”

“It was rather cool of you, Rob,” said Barty, smiling proudly at his best friend.

Robert, however, sidestepped the praise.

“It was a stated fact, not me trying to be nice,” he said in a very grounded, modest tone of voice. “I don’t get why a guy who’s as smart as he is can’t loosen up a little and have some fun once in a while. He can’t be happy, being so...”

He trailed off, his dark eyes drifting down to his mug of butterbeer.

‘Strange?’ Atticus finished in his own head dully, thinking of how everyone else in school tended to nastily play off of his name.

As soon as he thought it, though, another word echoed over his mind.

“You really are too grim for your own good…”

Atticus felt that weird, sad kind of deja vu ripple over him for a second time.

Cecelia sighed tiredly. “As always, you’re determined to play off the best parts of yourself.”

She turned to Barty. “...I guess we should go. Play nice with Atticus, Rob.”

“Yes, Mum,” Robert shot back with a playful smirk.

Barty grinned over his shoulder at Robert before leaving with Cecelia, his cheeks touched with a blush as he looped his arm around hers.

Atticus watched them leave -- then, swallowing back the lump in his throat, he finally approached the table where Robert was still sitting.

“...Hello,” he said stiffly.

Robert looked up, only mildly startled.

“Afternoon,” he greeted.

Noticing the books in Atticus’s arms, he held out his hands. “Here -- let me take those.”

He immediately took the stack, lifting it with significantly more ease than Atticus had and putting it down on the table.

Atticus glanced at the mug of butterbeer placed at the spot left aside for him. Noticing the glance, Robert frowned.

“Do you not like butterbeer?” he asked. “You struck me as the type of person who would...”

“I do,” said Atticus very quickly. “...It’s one of my favorites.”

He slowly lowered himself down into his seat, still feeling oddly hesitant. It had been so weird hearing Robert talk about him with his friends. Most of it wasn’t surprising -- after all, Atticus and Robert had rarely talked largely because of Robert being Barty’s best friend -- but the thought that Robert had actually expressed concern about him despite that...was kind of surreal.

“...You thought I’d be the type to like butterbeer?” he asked.

Robert shrugged as he took a sip, his dark eyes drifting up toward the ceiling. “Don’t most people like it?”

“I suppose they do,” granted Atticus.

He picked up his mug and took a long sip himself. It warmed him up from head to toe, and he couldn’t help but relax slightly.

Robert looked Atticus up and down briefly, co*cking his eyebrows.

“You’re awfully overdressed,” he said lightly.

Atticus raised his eyebrows rather coolly in return. “I’m sorry -- I suppose I could’ve ripped the knees out of my trousers, before coming.”

Robert blinked. Then, to Atticus’s complete surprise, he actually burst out laughing.

“So you can joke!” he said. “Merlin...and here I wondered if I’d have to be serious the entire time...”

Atticus raised an eyebrow. “Is that something you can do? Be completely serious?”

Robert smirked slightly. “Of course. I just don’t fancy doing it that much.”

“Not like me, you mean.”

“Definitely not like you.” Realizing what he said could be considered offensive, Robert then added, “...You’re a smart guy, Lestrange, don’t get me wrong. I guess I just don’t get why someone as smart as you would be willing to settle.”

Atticus looked down at the books on the table and then back up at Robert, his eyebrows knitting over his blue eyes.

“And I don’t quite understand why someone as smart as you tries to hide it,” he said straightforwardly. “I mean, someone who can do lectures like the one you came up with on the fly the other day could easily become a professor someday...yet you don’t tutor, or participate in class...you don’t participate in any of our classes, by choice. And when you do...I reckon you’re holding back.”

Robert snorted. “I don’t hold back on the Dueling Field -- I don’t love getting my arse handed to me that much.”

Atticus couldn’t completely bite back a laugh. Robert was actually pretty funny, too.

Robert took another sip of butterbeer, his expression slowly becoming a bit more serious.

“I just don’t see the point in broadcasting my marks or how much I know, that’s all,” he said simply. “I learn so that I can be of use -- not to show off. Knowledge is power. With it, you can fix people’s problems and make the world better. I don’t need to win awards or accolades for my academics -- I just want to know as much as I can and use that knowledge for good.”

Atticus’s expression softened somewhat. “That’s...actually really admirable.”

Robert shrugged. “It’s how I feel is all. Just because I play Quidditch doesn’t mean I’m obsessed with getting attention.”

“You don’t seem uncomfortable about the attention,” said Atticus.

“Well, it’s not just me, is it? Even when I get attention, it’s attention for the team, not me. And any attention I do get, I get for helping out my mates. It feels good to be what they need, that’s all it is.”

Atticus’s blue eyes narrowed slightly as he brought his mug of butterbeer up to his lips again.

“...You really are determined to play off the best parts of yourself.”

Robert straightened up noticeably. Atticus couldn’t help but grin, seeing how effectively he’d startled him.

“Will you be all right with presenting what you’ve already researched?” he asked. “I reckon the class would probably find a lecture about both the wizarding and Muggle perspectives of the Witch Trials really interesting...and it would almost surely earn us an O.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to teach the rest of our class with you?”

“Well, since you’re so critical of Professor Binns’s teaching style, perhaps it’s right you show everyone how it should be done,” said Atticus smugly.

Robert’s lips curled into a broad smirk. “Is that a dare, Lestrange?”

Atticus’s own mouth also spread into a wry smile. “You could always refuse to accept it.”

“You know full well I won’t,” said Robert, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “All right, old boy -- we’ll be Professors Lestrange and Bellamy for a class, then. And if we don’t get an O, I’ll dress like you for an entire month.”

Atticus couldn’t hold back his own laughter. “Careful -- I might be tempted to get an E just to see that!”

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Hot Mess

Summary: Hot Space is a hot mess and John does not want to not talk to Roger anymore. Things get more emotional than any of them bargained for.

Pairing: JohnxRoger (platonic), RogerxDominique (mentioned), JohnxVeronica (mentioned)

Comment: Hey, look, I’m still alive! I started this a while ago and then I spontaneously finished it yesterday and THEN I thought about posting it immediately and then I DIDN’T and now it’s John’s birthday it just fits quite nicely. Happy Birthday, John! Have fun with this, y’all.

John has to forcibly hold himself back from slamming the coffee pot back into its place. No coffee would only worsen the already disastrous day. Week. Month, almost. For the first time, Munich doesn’t seem to be their lucky place.

But maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s because John finally lets himself push for things he wants, that he likes and doesn’t let himself give in just because Brian is pushing for his way.

Brian. The mere thought of the guitarist turns John’s stomach into knots and pushes up his blood pressure. How can a single person be so f*cking obnoxious, bull-headed, old-fashioned-

Okay, stop.

John takes a deep breath of stale basem*nt air and decides he needs to breathe real, fresh, cold air without a huge grey, looming building pressing down on him.

Arriving on ground level, he takes one of the back doors leading to a narrow alleyway to escape. The air here smells a bit sweetly of the rotting food in trash cans, but it’s cold and sharp and already saturated with bluish smoke of cigarettes.

Roger is crouching beside John’s feet, leaning against the grey stone, with a pack of Marlboro Reds at his feet. It’s half empty and it’s not even noon.

“It’s not really the right weather for being outside without a jacket, is it?”

It isn’t. November in Munich doesn’t provide conditions to do anything outside. Where Montreux may have gotten the last golden sunrays of the year or the winter’s first snow, Munich is just grey, dreary and dark.

“I don’t see you wearing one”, Roger squints upwards at John having forgotten his sunglasses downstairs.

“Fair enough.”

Neither of them talks when John lights his cigarette.

Normally, that would be unusual. There has hardly ever been a time where John and Roger didn’t talk to each other, may it be because of an argument or because they didn’t have anything to talk about.

But not-talking is the safer choice of interaction nowadays. Not-talking doesn’t pose such a high risk for arguments.

But they’re friends and John wants to talk to Roger, he wants to explain his ideas and visions just like he’s always done it, but he’s not sure Roger would listen. And he just doesn’t understand why, doesn’t get why Roger and Brian are so afraid of some change, when that’s what’s Queen been about all along, a band not succumbing to trends and expectations, a band that always knew to surprise.

“John, I don’t wanna fight anymore.”

John nearly drops his cigarette when Roger’s voice rips him out of his thoughts.

He’s looking at him, and John is suddenly hit by how young Roger appears with his tousled blonde hair and wide blue eyes, that, admittedly, are blood-shot, but that doesn’t take the child-like innocence out of them.

Despite that, John scoffs.

“It’s hardly me who’s at fault here.”

Roger visibly flinches at that, recoils and turns his eyes back to the dirty pavement in front of him.

John’s worked hard to build up the defenses he’s calling his own now, so thick and impenetrable that not even Brian with his jabs and sniping remarks can get through them.

But now Roger’s ripped through them, just like that.

“Rog…”

“No, no, it’s fine, you’ve made your point”, his voice is a little husky, only barely betraying his hurt, “I’m going back inside, see you there.”

And it’s actually this eerie calm, which is so unlike Roger, that John wakes from the stupor he’s worked himself into and makes him realize they really should stop fighting and get to talking instead.

Roger’s quiet for the remainder of day, too. And John’s not the only one who notices, Freddie asks if Rog is alright and earns himself a grumbled “Just want to get out of this sh*thole”; Brian only grants him an irritated look when Roger doesn’t jump to his defense. Mack, Crystal and the other roadies opt for not saying anything at all, they know better but to get into arguments that cannot be stopped anyway.

It’s when Roger practically flees from the studio after they collectively decide they won’t get much more done and doesn’t stay back to joke around with the others that John decides he has to do something immediately.

He gets some beer, the German stuff isn’t really his taste, but Roger seems to have taken a liking to it, grabs two pizzas from the Italian place Mack did recommend and walks over to Roger’s apartment.

It takes the drummer some time to answer his door, two rounds of insistent knocking and a raised hand to start a third one, only then there’s some shuffling, the clicking of locks and Roger opens the door a fraction.

“Why’re you here?”, his blond hair is sticking up in every direction and he’s wearing a dark fluffy bathrobe. There is a flush to Roger’s cheeks that tells John he either pulled his friend from a bath or was just lucky to catch him coming out of the shower.

“To talk. Not to fight”, John holds up the pizza boxes with the beer stacked on top, “Please, Rog.”

Roger stares at him for a moment and for once John absolutely can’t read the usually so emotional face. Then he heaves out a sigh and opens the door to let John in.

The place is cluttered in a typical Roger-fashion. An overflowing ashtray, papers with what could be lyrics or shopping lists, a part of a drumstick for some reason and a colorful array of take out packaging. John winces, maybe he should’ve brought stuff to cook a fresh meal instead of gifting Roger yet another pre-made supper.

“How’s Dom?”

“She’s good. Took Felix and went to visit her parents, escaping the rain and stuff. You know how she hates it”, he does his best to declutter the couch table, mindlessly stacking pieces of paper on top of each other without looking at them or at John, for that matter.

“How are Ronnie and the kids?”

“They’re good, Ron wants to come down next week, but we’ll have to see if it works with Robert and the school. I miss them.”

Now Roger looks at him, but it’s not the look of disdain and almost disgust he wore when John presented them the lyrics of ‘You’re My Best Friend’ and he threw a fit over ‘I’m happy at home’. This one is one of understanding and compassion.

“Yeah, me too. Let’s have a taste of that beer you brought, yeah?”

They mostly eat in silence, only interrupted by the quiet murmuring of the TV and one of them occasionally commenting on the food or the beer. When John’s done with his food Roger is intently watching the 10 pm news. He’s not sure the drummer understands much of it, but John is willing to indulge him a while longer. It’s not like he’s looking forward to this heart-to-heart, but he knows it’s necessary and they’ll feel better once they’re done. John only wishes he could fast forward everything in between now and then.

“We need to talk about this”, John starts eventually when the pretty blonde woman on the TV is done with telling them that the next days will be just as dreary as today.

“And what exactly does ‘this’ entail?”

Roger is already in full on confrontation mood, and John has to force himself to stay calm. It’s Roger, he tells himself, no matter that it was actually him who put up the white flag this morning, he still doesn’t like to be cornered.

“Us not working like we used to. The constant fighting and discussions and nothing coming out of it. You constantly siding with Brian without listening to a word I say!”

Oh sh*t, he really could’ve worded that better.

“Me not listening? I AM listening, other than Brian and you! I’m listening to both your opinions and then I decide!”

“And it’s always in favor of Brian!”

“Well, if we share an opinion, then yes!”

“But why? Why are you so intent on keeping everything as it is?”, they’ve gotten louder and John really, really doesn’t want this to evolve into another shouting match, but he might not be strong enough to reign himself in.

But, much to John’s surprise, Roger sighs and slumps back against the couch rubbing his eyes.

“Because it works! We’re doing this how long now? 10 years? People know us, they expect our product to meet a certain standard, an expectation.”

“Our- our product? A certain standard? Roger, what are you talking about? Isn’t our music about how we feel? What we think? It’s not supposed to be some commercial bullsh*t”, John is seriously flabbergasted. Not in a million years he would have thought Roger would start to view their work as a ‘job’ only consisting of deadlines and expectations and goal fulfilment.

He scoots over to the other end of the couch where Roger is sitting and bumps their knees together.

“What brought this on, Rog? What’s going on?”

“It’s just…”, the drummer shrugs, rubs his eyes again and then starts to knead the shoulder muscles that John knows are always a bit tense, always a bit sore.

“We’ve been doing this 10 years, John, ten years! How many bands have made it farther than that? Who says it won’t just all fall apart next month? We can’t just start making different music now!”

“We’ve been always aware of that possibility. There was always the chance we wouldn’t make it, but now we’ve got number one hits in America! We’re an established name!”

It feels a bit weird to take on the motivational part, the part of convincing the others that they have actually made it. Usually, it’s Roger who does that.

“Yeah, but…”, Roger blows out a breath, “Don’t you feel like- like you were 27 just yesterday, snorting all the co*ke in New Orleans without a care in the world and now, now there’s a child and- and a-“

“A woman you might as well just marry”, John tightly presses his lips together to not let the laughter escape. So, that’s what all this is about, Roger just realized he’s actually a grown-up now and he doesn’t feel too comfortable about it.

“It’s not that!”, Roger argues, “What difference does a bloody certificate make?! I have a family now; I have to provide!”

John sucks in his cheeks to keep himself from grinning. He gets it, he does, Roger’s worries are understandable, and he doesn’t want to ridicule his friend, but from John’s position his worries are a bit ridiculous, when they’re in far better position now than when John first became a father.

“Dom has a job, too, you know?”, John teases, fully intending to lighten up the mood. Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect.

“That’s- Stop making fun of me!”, Roger jumps up from the sofa and hovers over John, fists clenching at his side as if he has to keep them from either punching something or someone or from thrashing his apartment.

“You know, sometimes I feel like that’s the only thing I’m good for! The dumb blonde, that crazy drummer guy, let’s make fun of him, he deserves it! He’s no good for anything anyway, can’t manage to write a good song, and we don’t even need him for drumming anymore!”

Oh. Oh.

So that’s where all this moodiness is coming from.

Roger rarely shares his feeling so honestly, usually none of them does if there are not copious amounts of alcohol and or other substances involved, but Roger especially likes to keep everything bottled up, until it implodes. And that leaves either a destroyed room or drumkit, or Roger in front of a toilet puking his guts out and avoiding just about everyone for a few days after until he’s okay with himself again.

So, to say the least, this emotional outbreak with feelings actually being articulated is uncharted territory for John. And for Roger too, who’s staring at John like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Rog-“

“Forget it!”

He stalks away, fluffy bathrobe and naked feet, and slams his bedroom door shut.

John sighs and settles back into the sofa. He came to talk and he’ll get his talk, even if he has to stay the night. With Roger, that might just be the case.

Well. At least the apartment has a second bathroom.

John wakes a couple of hours later, around 3 am. It’s a weird feeling, usually they’d still be out and drinking, but it’s probably not the worst thing to get a whole 8 hours of sleep at what is actually night.

A sharp gust of icy cold air wafts through the room and John finds that it was that what woke him in the first place with the flimsy throw he used as a blanket not providing adequate cover.

The apartment is mostly dark save for the lights of the city streaming in through the window and John can see through the door gap into the hall and that Roger’s bedroom door is open again.

He finds him in the kitchen, standing in front of the open window smoking.

“You’re still here”, he notes when John steps up beside him.

“I wanted a talk, an honest conversation. I won’t leave until I get one.”

“Took a note out of Freddie’s book then, huh?”

“Freddie?”, John scoffs, “Try your own.”

Roger turns to him, mouth open and already gesturing with the softly glowing cigarette. “I’m not-“

“Ridge Farm?”

That takes his drive. He turns back to the view, deeply inhaling the burning smoke. John takes one out of Roger’s packet. He doesn’t really like the brand, but it’s better than nothing.

“You taped my drums, John”, Roger eventually says.

“Are you still mad about this? I’m sorry and I promise not to touch the kit again without you knowing.”

“It’s not that- well, that too, but-“, Roger takes a deep breath, steeling himself, “You tape my drums and there’s nothing I can do that a drum machine isn’t able to. Hell, I’m not even the best drummer without them taped, my technique is weird, if you can even call it that, there are guys who are a lot better than me and understand this disco thing you’re prattling on about.”

“It’s not like Brian-“

“He’s trying, okay? He’s trying to get into that kind of music, he’s not sprinkling guitar solos all over the songs like you’d do it with co*ke on a hooker because he wants to annoy you! Well, not primarily anyway, but he’s trying to make his contribution to what you’re doing! He wants to have part in this and I, I just don’t see it, I’m sorry.”

Roger flips the butt of his smoke out of the window and rubs his eyes.

“But we can’t just stop! We can’t just stop at The Game and that’s it! We need something new, start fresh like we’ve done it with each album.”

John finishes his cigarette as well but makes a show of putting it out in the ashtray.

“I know that, Deaks, I do! I really don’t want to become the guy that needs to be dragged off stage because the people got tired of him playing the same things over and over and over again! But I just can’t do this disco thing.”

John understands this. You can’t force yourself to produce music you just don’t feel. This is like Fred and his love for opera and musical theater, something John will never get the hang of, no matter how often he’ll take Ronnie to the ballet. And while Roger does like a more electric style of music, he’s not really known for setting the dancefloor on fire. Maybe the women on it but not the dancefloor itself.

“I know you and Freddie don’t need me to realize your vision, this album but I- I can’t lose Queen, John, I can’t. It’s everything.”

Roger’s almost too quiet for John to understand resting against the kitchen counter in the dark, half of his face illuminated by Munich’s night life in a loose shirt and a pair of boxers.

And John thinks, this is it. This is what all this is about.

Because John started to play with those guys he now calls his brothers as a hobby, as a distraction and creative outlet opposite his studies. He had never envisioned to become a famous musician; this never had been a goal for him. So he had sat back and let Freddie, Brian and Roger work on the music, on the band, had let them work on their dream.

And then he had turned 30 and for the first time John had thought that this might be what he’d do the rest of his life. And he decided to give it his everything all, to make a monument for himself, to really give his very best.

And for Roger it had always been like that. There never had been a second option, a plan B, go big or go home. John’s pretty sure even if they hadn’t made it, Roger still would still be a musician. If not in Genesis then in some local band or a studio musician, but he never, ever would have gone to work in some lab or, even worse, in a dentist’s office.

“What are you talking about? You won’t lose Queen! Never! We’d lose all our female fans if we kicked you out!”

“Great to hear that that’d be the greatest loss”, Roger grumbles and turns away but John catches his wrist.

“You won’t lose us. We need you. Who’d be there to back up Fred when his voice is shot? Who’d argue with Brian just to draw him out of his funks? And heaven knows, not Brian nor me can keep up with Freddie.”

“Like I can these days.”

And there’s the other worry hanging in the air around them, Freddie leaving them behind more often than not, being more elusive than he’s ever been. But that’s a worry for another night, right now this is about the two of them, the Sonic f*cking Volcano.

“Come on”, John tugs on Roger’s wrist, “Get over here.”

“Deaks, no, I don’t-“

John tugs a little harder and then Roger’s body is pressed flush against his.

“Like you ever say no to a good hug.”

“I hate you”, the drummer mumbles against John’s shoulder and heaves out a mighty sigh relaxing into the embrace.

“I’m sure you do.”

They rest like that for a few minutes, which is not really a thing they’d normally do, but they’re both tired and miss their partners. It’s okay.

“Y’know”, Roger says as he detangles himself, “I’m not sure Queen would lose all its lady fans if I left. Not with you looking like some kind of… Greek God.”

He wrinkles his nose and pokes John into his right pec.

“It’s called exercise, Rog, you could try it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t exercise daily on those bloody drums. Also, Dom likes it. She calls me soft and cuddly.”

He sticks out his chest.

“Wow, look at that, Roger Taylor is proud of being called soft, what a turn of events!”

“Well, at least I don’t look like handlebar with an exploded mop on top.”

“Handlebar? I seem to recall you calling me a Greek god not 30 seconds ago!”

“Yeah, and I regret it already. Just wait until I throw you out of the band!”

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Tiffany Aching: The Perfect Introduction to Witchery

Once, every so often, but not so very often that it stops being exciting, a reader comes across a book that says exactly what they need to hear in that very moment.

It’s a feeling of surprised recognition; of being seen. Someone out there, either the writer or the characters they have created, know what it is like to be you, right down to the fabric of your soul. Sometimes that feeling can be disquieting – the only character I’ve ever read with exactly the feelings of vague existential dread I know all too well did not get a happy ending, which felt like a rather alarming prophesy - and sometimes it can be a blissful relief. That someone, somewhere, gets it.

In my 19 years or so of being an avid bookworm this has only happened to me a handful of times, but every time has been special. The Thirteenth Tale and I Capture The Castle came along in my early teens when I was wondering if anyone else felt slightly lonely a lot of the time and like books were easier companions than people. Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit popped up in my life when I was despairing about coming to terms with my sexuality and my religious background. (In fact, I secretly read it in church during a particularly boring sermon with a feeling of rather illicit thrill.) Shiver appeared as if on cue when I was a sixteen -year- old despairing of ever finding a book series with a sensible protagonist. Just when I was wondering if there were any women writing in folkloric academia I stumbled across Georgina Boyes’ brilliant Imagined Village on a library shelf, and when I was trying to cope with stress and my mental health at university Nora Robert’s Dallas series was a huge comfort as I imagined the protagonist Eve forging forward with an unstoppable confidence and power.

But before any of these books, before any of these discoveries, there was a nine-year-old who wandered around the countrysideimagining she could control the weather and who was convinced that there were fairies in the hills. And there was a nine-year-old called Tiffany Aching.

I don’t remember an awful lot about being nine, but I do remember an overwhelming feeling of impatience and mild irritation that people were insisting on treating me like I was, well, eight. Life as a home-educated only child in a sleepy country village suited me very well, and by the time I had reached nine I was being taught about life by a variety of tutors of varying levels of eccentricity. (The art lessons taught by a retired teacher in her front room were perfectly safe; the lessons in experimenting with home plumbing using a rusty saw from a retired photographer were possibly not.) I enjoyed conversing with all these ad-hoc tutors about lots of different topics, and if I came across a word I didn’t know I only had to look it up in the giant, battered red dictionary that was shelved next to the fish tank. (I only regretted this once, when after an over-dinner remark about me from a teasing friend of the family I looked up the word ‘precocious’ and then swore that family friend was now my enemy for life.) Other children my own age tended to find me a bit odd and I tended to find them a bit loud. I liked reading, and writing, and standing in the sea pretending I was a selkie.

…It’s not exactly surprising, then, that when the audiobook of Tiffany Aching’s first adventure, The Wee Free Men, made its way into our car CD player it was love at first listen. Here, finally, was a nine-year-old like me! A nine-year-old that spoke in intelligent sentences – I immediately made sure to memorise the word susurration – didn’t rely on grown-ups and saved the day and the stupid boy at the end of the book. The CD was practically worn out within the year and I still hear the voice of Tony Robinson narrating it whenever I read a passage from the book in a way that is just a little bit unnerving. I re-read it today for the first time in about twelve years for this homework and was struck by how much I wanted to dismiss the possibility of such a young girl being such a capable hero as impossible. My younger self hadn’t thought it was impossible; I’d thought it was practically the only book that showed how smart children under the age of ten could actually be.

Self-identification through the protagonist aside, The Wee Free Men also was my first experience with the concept of witchcraft. As I’ve explored Paganism the last few years it’s been a surprise to discover that the witchery I thought of as ‘Tiffany Aching’s witchcraft’, presuming that it largely came from Pratchett’s imagination, was in fact just plain old witchcraft, very little fiction about it. As ever, the brilliance of Pratchett’s writing came from his real-life inspiration, and the believability of the rituals and supernatural ideas found in the Tiffany Aching series is down to their deep roots in traditions hundreds of years old. I have to say I’m thoroughly impressed with how Terry Pratchett managed to wind his plot round the crucial basics of witchcraft as it’s practised by those in the modern world, most notably the most important rule of all: And It Harm None, a theme that regularly comes up throughout the series. Growing up, thanks to Tiffany Aching, I didn’t think of witches as evil despots who cackled, boiled children in cauldrons and owned flying monkeys. I thought that they were clever, thoughtful women who knew that thinking first and talking second is always a good idea and that it’s never helpful to lose your temper or your courage, and it has to be said that as I increasingly meet witches in real life that seems to be quite a fair representation. (Even if they don’t tend to wear pointy hats, not even mostly invisible ones.)

The Tiffany Aching books gave me a sense of confidence and a sense of identity when I needed it. If I ever have a daughter, I think my present for her ninth birthday is already decided.

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A pirates life for me

Part seventeen

Pairing: BtsXfemale readersummary: They just wanted ransom money for a princess, you just wanted to be free of palace walls. You are not what he wanted and he was nothing like you anticipated. Word count: 2.1kWarnings: Back stories, talk of death, sweary words

‘Have you seen this girl?’ He asks, for what feels like the hundredth time. It may well be that much though. The drawing he held in his hand, crumpled and creased at this point. He wondered if it had distorted your face, if the small line running through the paper looked like a scar on your cheek. It did make you look more intimidating, not like the innocent little girl he kept a protective eye on.

‘Never seen her, sorry sir!’ The man spoke, trying desperately to bring business in around him. He knew the man before him was lying though, saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes.

‘Please, she may be in trouble, we are trying to help her.’ It’s not as if this man hated you, but you did steal from him, or at least helped the others rob him. He looked at the advisor for a long second sighing as he relented, inviting them into the small store.

‘She came in yesterday, crying, saying someone was chasing her. I helped her stand, since she tumbled through the door. Her dress was ripped, hair a mess. She truly looked like someone had been chasing her for miles. Turns out, it was a distraction, a hoax. She was fine, while I tended to her, the others she was with robbed me.’ He gritted his teeth, thinking about how he now had to make up the loss he was now faced with. The advisor sighed, more of relief than disappointment. You were safe, you had been seen recently, you were close.

‘Did you see what direction they headed in?’

‘North. If you find them, bring me back my f*cking gold.’ He spat, standing up to go into the back room. The advisor looked over his shoulder at the tall man in the Navy uniform behind him, he felt bad for pulling them into this, but he needed a ship and he needed you back.

‘Let’s get going.’ He spoke, walking out with him and the couple others that followed.

Back on the ship, the men instantly began setting off to the north, chasing you closely. He stood at the helm, next to the sailor, deep in thought.

‘Sir?’ The sailor spoke, trying to gain the Advisors attention. He spun his head round, eyebrows raised.

‘Yes son?’ He spoke. Robert was a cheery man, not one to quickly snap or flip out at someone. He wasn’t made for being in charge, the position he had right now was hard enough. He didn’t like responsibility or shouting at people.

‘Some of the men are drinking down below tonight. You look like you need a drink, why don’t you join them?’ He suggested, putting a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder smiling warmly at him. Robert sighed, nodding, the boy was right, if anything he needed a break, or a moment to breathe. You were close, it was time to relax, even for a night. He headed down to where the men were gathered around a table, cups full of rum between them.

‘Mind if I join you boys?’ He asked, letting the men pass him a cup, smiling sadly at him. They weren’t sure why they were on this task for this man, not sure exactly what they were looking for. They just knew it was important for this man to find someone, and that was motivation enough. A couple of drinks in, one of the boys plucked up the courage to ask who you were to Robert. He sighed, smiling to himself.

‘She’s my daughter, I never told her this whole time, let her live out her life as she pleased, but I think it’s time I confirm her suspicions.’ He nodded, looking to the bottom of his empty glass longingly. The men looked between each other, confused slightly.

‘What about you. Who are you Robert, when you’re not the king’s main man that is…’?

Birds chirped that morning like any other, the usual vendors screaming for some kind of business. Robert loved it, it was comfortable to him, it felt like home. He stood by his mother and fathers’ side as they bought the bright coloured food, bantering with the man running the stall. His eyes landed on a shiny green apple, putting his hand out for it. His mouth practically watered at the sight. When was the last time he had an apple?

‘Mother, can I have this?’ He questioned, pointing instead of touching it. She looked at his father, almost asking herself. Robert’s family wasn’t poor, but they weren’t wealthy either, things like fruit seemed like luxuries at this point.

‘Sure, pick the biggest one you can find!’ She smiled, his eyes lit up, grabbing the shiny one he had been staring at before. If he had known that would be the last treat he would have, he would have asked for something better, or better yet; wouldn’t have asked at all. That night, their town was slaughtered, only a few who hid surviving. Robert had hidden, by the request of his mother. She screamed, told him to hide and not come out until he was sure it was safe. He heard screams for what seemed like hours. His mothers, his fathers, the neighbour, the friends he used to play with. The screams bounced off walls and into his ears. He had closed his eyes tightly, maybe even fallen asleep at some point, tears falling down his cheeks. Burning the skin as he stretched his facial muscles. He came out the doors, crawling low and quiet across the floor.

The apple he had taken a few bites of now lay rotten on the floor, it was no longer green and shiny, it was rotten, covered in red splatter, crushed on the ground. He cried for hours, sitting by his parent’s bodies, hands linked together, like they had crawled to be with each other, even in the last minutes. He so badly wanted a relationship like that in life, but for now, he had to figure out what to do, how to live alone at the age of 10 with no parents.

The king had heard of the incident, calling for anyone who survived to appear at the castle. He wanted to recruit them, to give them a home and some hope. Give the young ones an education and teach them how to defend themselves. Essentially, they became staff, working in the palace. Robert became good friends with the prince who was to become king, spilling all his secrets and fears to him. Of course, when he became king, Robert became the Advisor, both of them standing side by side since the age of ten.

All the men in the palace attended the same brothel, said the whor*s there were clean and did whatever you asked, the rates were decent too. Robert went once, for his birthday, he never planned to attend again, but the woman he got, he couldn’t stop thinking about. He requested her again and again, not caring how much pricier she was compared to the others, he was sure he loved her. Then she disappeared, refused to see him, in fact she wasn’t seeing anyone. Robert got bitter, angry, wanted to put his dick in someone, someone that would hurt her. In the end, it didn’t hurt anyone, he just felt bad for his best friend. How could he be f*cking his wife? The queen, who was supposed to bare the king’s children, bared his instead. He felt terrible, but the queen didn’t, she couldn’t care less. She had the nerve to threaten him, because he could lose more if it came out than she could. It was true, but it didn’t hurt any less. The king made no heirs, the princess to take the throne was a fake, a false blood line.

Then you showed up, years after he found out about you. Found out the brothel had a child in it’s walls. You showed up, crying, cold and frail. He knew who you were, and treasured you. Yet he still couldn’t treat you like his child, still couldn’t hold you like you were his. How did he come to be a father of two, and not be able to look after either like he wanted to? The day you were taken by pirates was the hardest day he had faced, wondering if it was the next generation of the ones who slaughtered his family. He couldn’t help but be relieved, knowing you were safe that day Lucas came in, he knew you were being taken care of, but he wanted his daughter back. Wanted to be a real father for at least one of his daughters.

The men around him sat silently, watching Robert pour out another glass, shaking his head. A firm had rested on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. The other men straightened up, the Captain waving his hand for them to relax.

‘We lost one of our own to pirates too. At least, that’s what we suspected all those years back.’ He sighed pulling up a chair. ‘He was a bright happy little kid, always talking about his parents and whatever. A sweet kid.’

‘Are you coming Tae-Tae?’ He spoke, turning back to the young man, watching him slip his jacket over his shoulders. The young boy shook his head, smiling wide.

‘No, I have to go write to my parents!’ He replied, making all the men smile fondly. They tell him not to get into too much trouble, knowing the young man didn’t even drink. He was a good lad, always had his nose in a book or asking questions to help himself improve. They knew the only trouble this boy was getting into was maybe stopping a fight.

‘Tae is such a sweet kid. Bet my parents wish I missed them that much.’ One of the men complained, taking a swig of the drink in front of him. The others agreed scoffing and sighing, thinking about their parents. Most of them were forced to be here, punishments for bad behaviour or being disrespectful. None of them knew how Taehyung had ended up here, but he seemed to have a choice, seemed to be okay with the job he had been given, the hand he was dealt.

‘Okay, we should get back, it’s been a good couple of hours…’ The captain groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. He hated shutting down the fun, but they had jobs to do. The other men groaned in unison, getting up off the stools to follow behind their captain.

The streets were quiet, save for a couple drunks stumbling their way home. They passed the brothel, a whor* leaving with a man. If they had paid more attention at that moment, they would have seen the uniform jacket wrapped around her waist. They didn’t, averting their eyes the second they saw her. Reaching their ship, they caught sight of a pirate ship sailing off. That was strange, thinking about it realistically, night was when pirates rested most, preferring to do their dirty work during the day. Why would they be sailing away now? Regardless, they climbed onto their ship, getting ready to set off.

‘Wait!’ A voice spoke, stopping them from leaving the docks. ‘Taehyung isn’t here…’ He breathed, looking at them with worry. Tae knew what time they needed to leave, when to come back. It didn’t take that long for him usually, so what was delaying him this time? That was the first stage of worry, fairly calm but frustrated. They decided to wait for a while, maybe he was running late, or got caught up in something.

By the time dawn broke, they had to face the fact he wasn’t coming back. They thought back to the pirate ship heading out that night, wondering if something had happened, it was the only logical explanation for their youngest disappearing, the only thing they could think to console themselves.

‘We had a memorial for him that day, we don’t know if he died. To this day we still know nothing, but he deserved the best.’ The captain spoke, bidding everyone a good night, heading back up to his quarters.

‘Hongseok and Taehyung were close before. Hongseok became captain shortly after he disappeared, he still looks for him everywhere we go…’ One of the other men clarified, sighing pushing his cup back.

‘Anyway, we better go change positions and let the kid steering sleep. Sir, you should probably get some rest while you can. We will catch up; they can’t be too far now.’ One of the boys spoke, smiling happily at him. He supposed he should take their advice.

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Amazon First Reads September 2020

It’s that time yet again! For me and other Amazon Prime Members to take our pick of this months Amazon First Reads. So if your an Amazon Prime member don’t forget to get your free First Reads Book.

This months choices are:

Thriller

Every Missing Thing by Martyn Ford, Pages: 367, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: One family. Two missing children. A lifetime of secrets.

Ten-year-old Ethan Clarke’s disappearance gripped the nation. Just as his parents are starting to piece together a life ‘after Ethan’, their world is ripped apart once more when their daughter, Robin, disappears in almost identical circ*mstances. They’ve lost two children within a decade … and now doubts about their innocence are setting in.

Detective Sam Maguire’s obsession with the first case cost him his own family, but he has unfinished business with the Clarkes. He is convinced that discovering what happened to Ethan holds the key to finding Robin. But what if the Clarkes know more than they’re letting on?

With the world watching eagerly, the clock is ticking for Sam as he embarks on an investigation that forces him to confront his own demons. To uncover the truth, he must follow a trail of devastating deception—but the truth always comes at a cost …

Book Club Fiction

Millicent Glenn’s Last Wish by Tori Whitaker, Pages: 340, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: Three generations of women—and the love, loss, sacrifice, and secrets that can bind them forever or tear them apart.

Millicent Glenn is self-sufficient and contentedly alone in the Cincinnati suburbs. As she nears her ninety-first birthday, her daughter Jane, with whom she’s weathered a shaky relationship, suddenly moves back home. Then Millie’s granddaughter shares the thrilling surprise that she’s pregnant. But for Millie, the news stirs heart-breaking memories of a past she’s kept hidden for too long. Maybe it’s time she shared something, too. Millie’s last wish? For Jane to forgive her.

Sixty years ago Millie was living a dream. She had a husband she adored, a job of her own, a precious baby girl, and another child on the way. They were the perfect family. All it took was one irreversible moment to shatter everything, reshaping Millie’s life and the lives of generations to come.

As Millie’s old wounds are exposed, so are the secrets she’s kept for so long. Finally revealing them to her daughter might be the greatest risk a mother could take in the name of love.

Police Procedural

The Unspoken by Ian K Smith, Pages: 295, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: In this new series from #1 New York Times bestselling author Ian K. Smith, an ex-cop turned private investigator seeks justice on the vibrant, dangerous streets of Chicago.

Former Chicago detective Ashe Cayne is desperate for redemption. After refusing to participate in a police department cover-up involving the death of a young black man, Cayne is pushed out of the force. But he won’t sit quietly on the sidelines: he’s compelled to fight for justice as a private investigator…even if it means putting himself in jeopardy.

When a young woman, Tinsley Gerrigan, goes missing, her wealthy parents from the North Shore hire Cayne to find her. As Cayne looks into her life and past, he uncovers secrets Tinsley’s been hiding from her family. Cayne fears he may never find Tinsley alive.

His worries spike when Tinsley’s boyfriend is found dead—another black man murdered on the tough Chicago streets. Cayne must navigate his complicated relationships within the Chicago PD, leveraging his contacts and police skills to find the missing young woman, see justice done, and earn his redemption.

Contemporary Romance

Roommaids by Sariah Wilson, Pages: 301, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: From bestselling author Sariah Wilson comes a charming romance about living your life one dream at a time.

Madison Huntington is determined to live her dreams. That means getting out from under her family’s wealth and influence by saying no to the family business, her allowance, and her home. But on a teacher’s salary, the real world comes as a rude awakening—especially when she wakes up every morning on a colleague’s couch. To get a place of her own (without co*ckroaches, mould, or crime scene tape), Madison accepts a position as a roommaid. In exchange for free room and board, all she needs to do is keep her busy roommate’s penthouse clean and his dog company. So what if she’s never washed a dish in her life. She can figure this out, right?

Madison is pretty confident she can fake it well enough that Tyler Roth will never know the difference. The finance whiz is rich and privileged and navigates the same social circles as her parents—but to him she’s just a teacher in need of an apartment. He’s everything Madison has run from, but his kind hearted nature, stomach-fluttering smile, and unexpected insecurities only make her want to get closer. And Tyler is warming to the move.

Rewarding job. Perfect guy. Great future. With everything so right, what could go wrong? Madison is about to find out.

Literary Fiction

A Single Swallow by Zhang Ling, Pages: 299, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: The eagerly awaited English translation of award-winning author Zhang Ling’s epic and intimate novel about the devastation of war, forgiveness, redemption, and the enduring power of love.

On the day of the historic 1945 Jewel Voice Broadcast—in which Emperor Hirohito announced Japan’s surrender to the Allied forces, bringing an end to World War II—three men, flush with jubilation, made a pact. After their deaths, each year on the anniversary of the broadcast, their souls would return to the Chinese village of their younger days. It’s where they had fought—and survived—a war that shook the world and changed their own lives in unimaginable ways. Now, seventy years later, the pledge is being fulfilled by American missionary Pastor Billy, brash gunner’s mate Ian Ferguson, and local soldier Liu Zhaohu.

All that’s missing is Ah Yan—also known as Swallow—the girl each man loved, each in his own profound way.

As they unravel their personal stories of the war, and of the woman who touched them so deeply during that unforgiving time, the story of Ah Yan’s life begins to take shape, woven into view by their memories. A woman who had suffered unspeakable atrocities, and yet found the grace and dignity to survive, she’d been the one to bring them together. And it is her spark of humanity, still burning brightly, that gives these ghosts of the past the courage to look back on everything they endured and remember the woman they lost.

Supernatural Thriller

The Haunting of H G Wells by Robert Masello, Pages: 393, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: A plot against England that even the genius of H. G. Wells could not have imagined.

It’s 1914. The Great War grips the world—and from the Western Front a strange story emerges…a story of St. George and a brigade of angels descending from heaven to fight beside the beleaguered British troops. But can there be any truth to it?

H. G. Wells, the most celebrated writer of his day—author of The Time Machine, The War of the Worlds, The Invisible Man—is dispatched to find out. There, he finds an eerie wasteland inhabited by the living, the dead, and those forever stranded somewhere in between…a no-man’s-land whose unhappy souls trail him home to London, where a deadly plot, one that could turn the tide of war, is rapidly unfolding.

In league with his young love, the reporter and suffragette Rebecca West, Wells must do battle with diabolical forces—secret agents and depraved occultists—to save his sanity, his country, and ultimately the world.

Nonfiction

Welcome to The United States of Anxiety by Jen Lancaster, Pages: 288, Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: New York Times bestselling author Jen Lancaster is here to help you chill the hell out.

When did USA become shorthand for the United States of Anxiety? From the moment Americans wake up, we’re bombarded with all-new terrifying news about crime, the environment, politics, and stroke-inducing foods we’ve been enjoying for years. We’re judged by social media’s faceless masses, pressured into maintaining a Pinterest-perfect home, and expected to base our self-worth on retweets, faves, likes, and followers. Our collective FOMO, and the disparity between the ideal and reality, is leading us to spend more and feel worse. No wonder we’re getting twitchy. Save for an Independence Day–style alien invasion, how do we begin to escape from the stressors that make up our days?

Jen Lancaster is here to take a hard look at our elevating anxieties, and with self-deprecating wit and level-headed wisdom, she charts a path out of the quagmire that keeps us frightened of the future and ashamed of our imperfectly perfect human lives. Take a deep breath, and her advice, and you just might get through a holiday dinner without wanting to disown your uncle.

Children’s Picture Book

The Monster on the Block by Sue Ganz-Schmitt, Illustrator: Luke Flowers, Pages: 32 Publication Date: 1 October 2020

Synopsis: Monster is excited to see what kind of creature will move into Vampire’s old house on the block. He even starts practicing his welcome growl for the new neighbour. But when the moving truck pulls up, it’s not a greedy goblin, an ogre, or a dastardly dragon that steps out. Instead, it’s something even more terrifying than Monster could have imagined! Monster quickly rallies the other neighbours to unite against the new guy on the block. But what if the new neighbour isn’t exactly as bad as Monster thinks? Join Monster as he confronts his fears in this charming and light-hearted look at what it means to accept others who are different from us.

*** Which book will you choose? I have no idea which book I’ll choose as there a couple of books that interest me this month. ***

#AmazonFirstReads, #Amazonkindle, #AmazonPrimeMembers, #BookClubFiction, #Books, #ChildrensPictureBook, #ContemporaryFiction, #Kindle, #KindleBooks, #LiteraryFiction, #NonFiction, #PoliceProcedural, #SupernatuarlThriller, #Thriller

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{ robert sheehan, 32, male, he/him } Have you seen REMY LEBEAU from MARVEL walking around town? I guess they’re living up to their reputation of being CHARMING AND GOOD HUMORED and DECEPTIVE AND SELF-SERVING, and they are a STREET MAGICIAN. Don’t tell anyone I told you, but I’ve heard a rumor that THEY ARE A GREEDY THIEF. { marzi , 28, pst , she/her }

PROFILE:

FULL NAME: remy etienne lebeau

AGE: thirty-two

BIRTHDAY: june 16th

NATIONALITY:cajun

SEX: male

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: he/him

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual

OCCUPATION: street magician

EYE COLOR: green (red)

HAIR COLOR: brunette

HEIGHT: 6′ 1″

WEIGHT: 177 lbs

BODY BUILD: lean

NOTABLE TRAITS: Wild curly locks, a worn trench coat, and leather finger-less gloves.

BEFORE HUDSON LAKE:

Abandoned at birth due to his burning red eyes, the mutant child who would one day become Gambit was kidnapped from his hospital ward by members of the New Orleans Thieves Guild in New Orleans, Louisiana.

when he was around ten years old, Remy attempted to pick the pocket of Jean-Luc LeBeau, then-patriarch of the Thieves' Guild. Jean-Luc took the boy off the streets and adopted him as his own son.

As part of a peace pact between the Thieves’ Guild and their rivals, the Assassin’s Guild, a marriage was arranged between Remy and Bella Donna Boudreaux.

Bella Donna's brother Julien objected to the marriage and challenged Gambit to a duel. Remy killed Julien in self-defense, but was excommunicated and banished from New Orleans in an attempt to maintain the non-aggression pact between the two guilds.

At one point Remy had approached the master geneticist Mr. Sinister for help in controlling his powers. Sinister removed some of Remy's brain tissue to reduce his power to manageable levels.

As a result, Remy was now in the geneticist's debt, and Sinister subsequently charged the thief with assembling the team of mercenaries called the Marauders. With the team assembled, Sinister charged Remy with leading them down into the Morlock tunnels.

Remy was unaware that Sinister's true intentions were to massacre the Morlocks. When this came to light, Remy attempted to stop them, but a Marauder named Sabretooth grievously injured him and left him for dead.

All Remy could do was to save one young Morlock girl who would one day grow up to become the X-Man named Marrow.

Currently:

Remy had assumed that he woke up in an unfamiliar home as a result of a one night stand. He soon came to realize that he was in his own‘home’ after finding his three cats and a pile of unopened mail addressed to him on the kitchen counter.

Remy is a bit reluctant to accept his new life here in Hudson Lake, but he is rolling with the punches. After all, he doesn’t exactly have much of a life to get back to.

Currently he performs a little bit of street magic for a buck here and there, but he can’t support himself off of chump change. He resorts to a few robberies here and there, but tends to target things people wouldn’t notice are missing as to keep a low profile. How long can he last before getting a little too greedy though?

Behaviors:

↳ BOLD WHAT APPLIES!

╳ FLAWS

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny

controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | lies

impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry

greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive

spiteful | stubborn | sad*stic | petty | unlucky

♔ STRENGTHS

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave

patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky

intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous

merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming

cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm

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The Pact - 1

Prompt: Hi Bandit! I know your requests are closed but I thought I’d send this idea your way for the future in case inspiration strikes. So I’m thinking billy Russo x my best friends wedding... Reader is Julia Roberts. Maybe with a twist here and there? Xxx Prompter: Anonymous

Thank you so much for requesting! I did get inspired to do a short little thing, so this is eight parts long I think! I’ll admit to not having seen the movie in a long, long time so this is definitely not following the story.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

*****The alcohol burning through you made you a little dizzy but you didn't care. You'd been dumped and you just wanted to drink until you forgot about what's-his-name. And your best friend was more than happy to help."You shouldn't have been datin' that bum anyways," Frank said as he leaned back against the cab of the truck. You were lying opposite of him, your feet propped up on his lap with your head pillowed on his jacket near the tailgate. "You liked Greg," you shot back as you reached out for the bottle once more. "You said he was okay.""You were head over heels for him. What was I supposed to do, burst your bubble of young love?" You dug your bare toes into his stomach and he laughed, batting at your hand. "sh*t Y/N, it's not my fault your taste sucks."Wasn't that the truth? You groaned and leaned up on your elbows to peer blearily at Frank. His head had been shaved recently and you were still getting used to the look of him."We should get married," you said with a nod."Jeez Y/N, at least take me on a date," he responded with a laugh. When you didn't laugh, he blinked at you a few times. "sh*t, you serious? We're twenty years old. We're too young for that sh*t.""Not like tomorrow, dipsh*t," you said as you sat up fully, pulling your legs out of his lap. "I mean in the future. If we're not married by like, thirty? We just get married. Both of us have horrible taste so at least this way we know we won't die alone."Frank raised an eyebrow and then looked down at the half empty bottle of tequila the two of you had been passing back and forth. He pulled it away from you with a shake of his head."And we're cutting you off now.""I'm serious. Asshole." You waved your hand around while you tried to form your words. "We'll make a pact that if we're still single in ten years, we marry each other. Deal?"He pushed your hand away from him."You wanna get married at thirty? Nah, come on, we'd still be young at thirty."You threw your hands in the air, hiccuping a bit as you did."So what, you wanna make it forty? That long enough for us both to be terminally single?"You could tell there was something to your words. Frank nodded slowly as if he was thinking about it. Honestly thinking about it and not just humoring you."I think forty would be too long. I mean, if we want a family, we'd kinda be rushed." He was apparently putting a lot of thought into it and he had a good point. You hadn't even thought about kids. He shrugged and sat up a bit. "Thirty-five?"You thought about it and frowned."I don't want to raise a five year old at forty," you said as you bobbed your head back a bit. "Thirty-three?"He laughed and raised an eyebrow at you."You wanna raise a seven year old at forty?"You punched his arm and then laughed when he actually rubbed it."C'mon, best of both worlds. Thirty-three. If we're still single, we get married. Deal?"He hesitated a moment before he stuck his hand out to shake yours. Once that was out of the way, you launched yourself at him and gave him a hug.With a sigh you sat up and started to move to the end of truck bed. "Should head home," you said as you jerked your thumb to your house which was right next to his. "Thanks for keeping me company tonight Frank."He propped his arm up on the side of the truck and gave you a grin."You know if we plan on having kids, we'll have to have sex. You wanna do a practice run?" He waggled his eyebrows as he asked and you rolled your eyes."Ask me again in thirteen years."You started to stumble home, his laughter making you shake your head.------The invitation was simple and to the point. You read it over three times in case you had somehow forgotten how to read in the last five minutes.Frank was getting married. Not just that, he was getting married right before your birthday. And not just any birthday. Your thirty-third birthday.He'd turned thirty-three six months before and he'd sent you a text message with a ring emoji in it. The fact that Frank used emojis was somehow more startling than the fact that he remembered the pact the two of you had made all those years ago.Frank was getting married. You weren't sure why you couldn't stop saying it to yourself. And who was this Karen chick? You'd never even heard him talk about her before.Or, well, that was a lie. He talked about her but you didn't listen. It wasn't serious, you told yourself every time he mentioned her name. It never was.Just like you'd never had a serious relationship over the years. It wasn't that you were self-sabotaging it, but you never felt that connection with another person. You wanted someone that you could laugh with, that you could cry with. You wanted someone that you could feel at peace with, someone that could see you at your worst and still want you. You wanted breakfast in bed and a hand to hold.You swallowed as you looked at a picture of you and Frank from about a year before. He was grinning at you and you were laughing, head thrown back without a care. Oh god. Did you love Frank? You loved Frank and he was getting married.Well. That just wouldn't do.------"Open the door," you said as you banged on the door of the penthouse apartment. After a moment you raised your voice a bit. "Come on Billy, get off the Playmate of the month and open the damn door."The door opened to reveal Billy in a pair of sweatpants that he probably pulled on for your benefit and a wonderful case of bedhead. Honestly, you'd grab your phone to take a picture if you didn't know he could have you incapacitated before you even unlocked the damn thing."I was sleeping, actually. I just got in from London." He walked into his kitchen where he went straight to his expensive coffee maker. "My trip was fine, by the way. Anvil acquired an international contact and I'm the hero once more.""Yeah, yeah, congrats," you said as you stomped over to the counter and slapped the invitation down. "Did you know about this?"He looked down at the invitation and then at you, raising an eyebrow as he did so."Yes, because I, unlike some people, actually check my mail more than once a month. I got mine like two weeks ago."You ignored the dig and instead stabbed your finger into the name of the future Mrs Castle. "And this Karen Page person? Have you even met her? Because I haven't."Billy rolled his eyes and turned to his coffee maker."You're a cutthroat head hunter so you're busy a lot. I, however, just own a huge, globally accredited security firm. So yes, I've had lots of time to do meet and greets with the girlfriends of my old service buddies." He looked at you and rolled his eyes again. "I haven't had the pleasure."You sighed in exasperation and pushed away from the counter to pace in his spacious kitchen."Exactly! We haven't even met this woman and yet he's going to marry her? Does that sound like Frank to you?" He was sipping his coffee as he watched you pace. He shrugged his shoulder as he grabbed the invitation and looked it over."I mean, the Frank I know always said you gotta grab life by the horns. Guess when you know, you know, right?"You spun around and pointed at the offensive object in his hand."How do we know she's not some kind of gold-digger or con artist?"That made Billy laugh but he immediately stopped when he realized you weren't laughing with him."Oh sh*t, you're serious? Frankie's doing okay, but I highly doubt he's doing enough to have a grifter after his military pension." When that didn't make you stop pacing, Billy put the mug down and crossed over to intercept your next lap. "What's going on? Seriously. You're more twitchy than usual."You pulled your arm from his grasp and turned away from him for a moment. You'd just come to terms with your plan on the way over here and you weren't one hundred percent certain that Billy would go for it."You don't know this about us, but Frank and I had a pact," you began, biting your lip as you turned to face a bored looking Billy."To get married at thirty-three if you were both single, yeah." At your stunned look, he shrugged a shoulder. "You told me when you were drunk. And Frank's mentioned it a few times."That made you take a step closer to Billy."Well the thing is that my birthday is coming up. My thirty-third birthday," you added pointedly. "Yeah, but the pact was if you were both single and obviously Frankie isn't." You snapped your mouth closed with a click and Billy stood up a little straighter as he glared at you. "I don't like that look. That makes me nervous. What have you done?""Nothing. Yet."Billy moved over to his couch and sat down, looking over at you curiously. "Do I even want to know? Or should I just be watching the news for the next few days for anything suspicious?"You sighed and moved over to sit on the chair across from him. This wasn't going the way you'd thought it would, but you weren't about to give in just yet."I just think that Frank should give it more thought before he gets married. I can't just come out and tell him that though; you know how stubborn he is. So I'm going to go out there and I'm going to show him that this Karen isn't the right person for him."He laughed as he leaned back on the couch."And who is, you?" When you averted your gaze, he actually let out a short laugh. "Really? You want to be with Frank? Can't say I saw that coming."You leaned forward to stare at Billy, your gaze not wavering when he simply smirked back at you."I'm going to do this, okay. I guess I wanted your support but if I don't have that, can I at least have your word that you won't tell Frank?"His smirk started to grow and you caught a glimpse of his tongue swiping across his bottom lip."Don't tell Frankie that you want to ruin his wedding because you're apparently the right person for him?" At your timid nod, Billy shrugged his shoulders. "Sounds like it's going to be an interesting two weeks."

X

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anniversaire schwarzenegger (1)

Bon anniversaire! Eiffel Tower is 130 ›YAGALOO music & amp; entertainment title> Comment: For exactly 13 years you can become "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" millionaire in Germany. So far there have been two D-marks and eight millionaires, with the last three celebrities. I have the impression that they are always helped a little more. Today 440 years ago Heinrich von Navarra married the Catholic Margarete von Valois in Paris. The celebrations end on Bartholomew's Night six days later. There were considerations to make the rich financially more responsible and to prevent further impoverishment with lower wages. Jimmy Connors turns 60 today.

Düsseldorf: Car lands in Kö-Graben - Here the inmates are saved h2> Today, September 9th, is the birthday of Tradusic / tradu-. I liked the robber Hotzenplotz, the little witch, the little ghost, the little aquarius, etc., even if some of them are considered old-fashioned. And I hope that his texts will not be changed "politiquement correct" in the near future. Two years ago, the former managing director of Flick-Ag and after Der Flick affair for tax evasion and assistance for tax evasion, Eberhard von Brauchitsch was sentenced to a two-year suspended sentence because he committed suicide with his wife. And here, in South America, Biró had the idea not to use ink as a writing medium, but a viscous paste that could not leak. Biró started to experiment again until he found a pen with the right consistency and a Swedish company was able to deliver balls with the necessary precision. On September 12, 1949, Theodor Heuss became the first president of the young Federal Republic of you could try this out Germany. He leaves ten years later, also on a 12th By using our site you accept the use of cookies. You can find more information about cookies and how you can object to the use of cookies in our privacy policy. For the first time, a rotating ball was used to transfer a special ink through small channels in the ball bearing onto the writing paper. It was precisely these little breaks that annoyed the prolific writer and journalist Biró every day. He wanted to build something better. Legend has it that he got the idea when his daughter's classmates put their hair in an inkwell. The first time there are lashes, the second time there is a risk of execution. 40 years ago, the Northern Irish voted to remain in the UK through a referendum. Have a glass of red wine on yourself or two and one on me. Unfortunately, at the age of 89, Robert Mugabe is still able to continue as a dictator.

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