throws-coffee-mug

Issues

The song is  Issues by Julia Michaels

———-

I’m jealous, I’m overzealous
When I’m down, I get real down
When I’m high, I don’t come down
I get angry, baby, believe me
I could love you just like that
And I could leave you just this fast

“Why didn’t you tell me!?!” You shout, throwing down Jason’s domino mask

“I couldn’t trust you! I was going to tell you soon, I promise!”

You snarl, “So you didn’t trust me!? You made me fall in love with you, only to dump this on me?!” Letting out a sob you sink into the couch, “What if you die out there, Jay? What am I gonna do then?”

“I’ll just have to make extra sure that I don’t die then, won’t I?”

But you don’t judge me
‘Cause if you did, baby, I would judge you too
No, you don’t judge me
'Cause if you did, baby, I would judge you too

“Don’t judge me, asshole, just help me down”

Jason chuckles and reaches up, “How did this happen?”

You huff, letting him take some of the dishes that had tried to cascade down on you, “I just wanted some Tupperware, and when I tried to grab it, everything fell on me!! It’s like your apartment is boobytrapped!”

“It’s not boobytrapped, you were just too lazy to move everything on top” Jason grabbed your waist, and gently lifted you off of the counter.

“I said that you couldn’t judge me, if you start judging me about this, I’m going to start judging you for getting stuck in the dryer”

Jason huffed, “You said you wouldn’t bring that up!”

“Well, when you get stuck trying to hide in the dryer, just because Dick can, I don’t really think you have any room to judge my Tupperware avalanche, do you?”

“No” Jason grumbled.

'Cause I got issues
But you got 'em too
So give 'em all to me
And I’ll give mine to you
Bask in the glory
Of all our problems
'Cause we got the kind of love
It takes to solve 'em

“I died, Y/N, I died and he did nothing, he let my killer get away. I just can’t face him, I don’t think I can, not yet” Jason whispered. He tucked you tightly into his side and pulled the blankets over your heads, “Is it so bad to never want to get out of bed?”

You sigh, gently running your fingers through his hair, “He still loves you, they all do, Jaybird. You might not be ready to forgive him, but just know that he loves you”

“I know, I know he does, it’s just … every time I see him that old anger comes up, I don’t know how to get over that”

“Have you tried talking about it?”

He snorted, “I’m talking about it with you”

You press a kiss to the side of his chest, “But I’m not the one who you’re angry at”

“You’re right”

“And even though you’re mad at Bruce, you can’t take it out on your brothers, that includes Tim. He looks up to you, you know”

“He does?”

“Yeah, he does. Maybe you should have a guy’s night. Mom asked me to come visit this weekend, so it would be the perfect time”

Jason hummed, “Maybe that’s a god idea”

You smile and snuggle closer to your boyfriend. Sometimes he just needed a little push in the right direction.

Yeah, I got issues
And one of them is how bad I need you

You do shit on purpose
You get mad and you break things
Feel bad, try to fix things
But you’re perfect
Poorly wired circuit
And got hands like an ocean
Push you out, pull you back in

“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE IT ALONE?!?!” Jason shouts, throwing his mug of coffee against the wall.

“YOU KILLED AGAIN!!! YOU PROMISED YOU WOULND’T!!!!!!” You yell

“He was raping and selling women!! I couldn’t let his continue to do that!”

“You could have sent him to jail! You didn’t have to shoot him!”

Jason rakes his fingers through his hair, “What if it had been you!?! What if he had touched you!?”

“What?” you whisper

“A few days ago I was watching you walk home from work, and I saw him. He was watching you, stalking you. What if he had attacked, would you still hate me for killing him?”

“Oh baby” Jason steps forward and pulls you into his arms, tucking your face into his neck.

“I can’t lose you, Y/N, I can’t let you get hurt, and if you hate me for protecting you, then you’ll just have to keep hating me”

“I could never hate you, Jaybird. I love you”

“I love you too”

'Cause you don’t judge me
'Cause if you did, baby, I would judge you too
No, you don’t judge me
'Cause you see it from same point of view

“Why did we come here?” you whisper, watching in horror as Bruce flounces around in his Brucie persona.

“You agreed” Jason hissed, “I told you that we shouldn’t go, but you wanted to play dress up”

“This was a terrible idea”

Jason chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll get us some drinks?”

“I’m gonna need a drink if I have to watch Bruce any longer”

Almost as soon as Jason walks away, you’re approached by some drunk idiot, “’bout time you sent him away, baby”

“Excuse me? You need to back off”

“Chill out, baby. I just want to have some fun” He leaned forward, boxing you into the wall

Suddenly a large hand gripped the back of his jacket, “You might want to back off, buddy, before something really bad happens”

The guy glances over his shoulder at Jason and smirks, “No need to get mad, dude. I don’t mind sharing”

Jason snarled and threw the guy off of you, “Get the fuck off my girlfriend, pig” when Jason pulls you into a hug you smirk at the guy on the floor, “Let’s let out of here, baby”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

'Cause I got issues
But you got 'em too
So give 'em all to me
And I’ll give mine to you
Bask in the glory
Of all our problems
'Cause we got the kind of love
It takes to solve 'em

“You know, we’re pretty fucked up”

Jason chuckles, “I’d have to agree with you, baby”

Yeah, I got issues
And one of them is how bad I need you

And one of them is how bad I need you
(I got issues, you got 'em too)

“If you leave me, I’ll kill you”

“I’d never leave you, baby”

You sniffle, “Even though I’m sick? You still love me?”

He leans forward and kisses your cheek, “Yes I still love you, even though you’re sick, now take youre medicine”

Whining you try to squirm out of Jason’s grasp, “I don’t wanna take it, it tastes gross”

“I know it tastes gross, but you have to take it to get better”

After taking your medicine and drinking a glass of orange juice you curl back up on the couch, “You know, it’s scary how much I need you”

“I know exactly what you mean”

'Cause I got issues
(I got)
But you got 'em too
So give 'em all to me
(You got 'em too)
And I’ll give mine to you
Bask in the glory
(I got issues)
Of all our problems
'Cause we got the kind of love
(You got 'em too)
It takes to solve 'em

“What if it’s positive? What are we gonna do, Jay?”

“We’ll have to tell my brothers that they’ll be uncles”

You snort, “God, could you imagine how that conversation would go?!”

“Yeah, they would probably beat the shit out of me, and then go out and buy baby stuff with you”

Reaching out for Jason’s hand you give it a squeeze, “Are you alright with this?”

“Honestly? I’m kinda excited”

“Really?!” You yelp, not expecting that answer

“I mean, I’ve always wanted kids, especially with you, so yeah, I’m excited”

This timer goes off in the next room, “Well, let’s see if we have anything to be excited about”

Yeah, I got issues (I got)
And one of them is how bad I need you (You got 'em too)
Yeah, I got issues (I got issues)
And one of them is how bad I need you (You got 'em too)
Yeah, I got issues (I got)
And one of them is how bad I need you

Some Symptoms Of OCD You May Not Have Heard Of

The general representation of OCD in the media is of those who have rituals with cleanliness. Whilst plenty of people with OCD have these symptoms, there are numerous different types of OCD, and here are a few of the less recognized symptoms.

Intrusive Thoughts: Unwanted thoughts that pop up in your head, and make you feel disgusting. Think of them like a little imp riding on your shoulder that knows everything you’re afraid of being, and because it knows this, it will try to convince you with intrusive thoughts that you’re what you most fear.

Intrusive thoughts can be sexual; violent; blasphemous–basically bad things.

Sometimes intrusive thoughts are calmer, such as a suggestion to throw your mug of coffee across the room, or to eat that flower.

But most of mine are very harsh, and very aggressive.

If you believe you are experiencing intrusive thoughts frequently, and are frightened of them, I want you to remind yourself that they stem from your anxieties, and not some deep subconscious desire to do something bad.

They are what you don’t want; just remember that.

Scrupulosity: Scrupulosity is an obsession with doing what is the most ethical and moral choice. In OCD, it can be absolutely paralyzing; I know from experience. You’re terrified that you’re not doing what’s right, or offending God, (an obsession with religion can also be found in OCD) or just generally being a bad person. And you end up over analyzing everything you do, wanting to ensure that you’re being ethical, until you’re afraid to do anything. It can tear you up so much inside, and sadly it’s one of the least recognized symptoms of OCD.

Mental Rituals: Physical rituals, such as repeatedly turning a light switch on and off until the person doing so reaches their “good number”, are a very big part of OCD, and many people with it have this symptom. (Myself included) 

But mental rituals are also a symptom, and they’re rarely ever mentioned.

Mental rituals can involve repeatedly counting to the “good number”, excessive praying, mentally exposing oneself to different situations to determine their reaction. (This often comes in the form of the person imagining themselves committing an immoral act, such as murder or pedophilia, and trying to conclude whether or not they are disturbed by it. Often the desired reaction is not found, which only leads to more anxiety.)

rosepelt11  asked:

*kicks down the door and faces runner* Don't TALK B A C K TO M E *throws a coffee mug at a wall breaking it into pieces* I AM FROM THE FCKING F B I *screeches and jumps out the window, hits the ground and destroys a building as I run though it's walls*

Runner: *watches* well damn. The FBI broke my mug.

“Clark?”

“Hmm?” Clark yawned, stretched out his toes but remained mostly sleeping.

“Do you maybe want to get back down here?” Lois sounded slightly annoyed. That didn’t seem good. He cracked an eye open.

Oh. Okay. He was floating three feet above the bed. He could see how that might be a problem. Particularly when he’d taken the quilt with him. He yawned again.

“Heeey,” he said, waving down at her. She grabbed his pillow and threw it at him. He frowned as he caught it, and tucked it under his head with one arm, still floating. “I’m working on it.”

“Am I going to have to start bringing another blanket?” she asked, curling up on his sheets to stay warm.

“Nooo, you’re fine, it’s fine.” He yawned again as he drifted downward, holding the covers out so they’d land on her. “This is… no.”

“Is this going to be like that thing where Wendy had to tie the Lost Boys to their beds so they wouldn’t float off at night?”

It was a highly specific accusation. He tucked the blankets around her as he settled in next to her on the mattress.

“No, I don’t usually – I don’t think I usually…” He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. “Flying dream.”

Flying dream?” She was either incredulous or amused. She rolled conveniently onto her side, so he pulled her close against him, an arm around her waist and his knees tucked behind hers.

“Don’t say it like it’s weird,” he huffed, nuzzling against her hair. “People who can’t fly have flying dreams, too. This is facts.”

Lois chuckled, and he pressed his forehead against her back, listened to her heartbeat. It sounded like anyone else’s, but it wasn’t. It was hers. He wished he could pinpoint exactly what it was that made it hers. He’d like to be able to identify her just by the sound of her heart beating. He wasn’t convinced that was physically possible, but he’d like to. “You don’t hear people talk about walking dreams,” she pointed out.

“’s different.”

“How?”

“It’s flying.” The light filtering through the bedroom window was artificial, billboards and streetlights. Moonlight mixed in there, somewhere, lost in neon. It landed yellow on the wall, tinted by the stained glass sunflowers he had hanging above his headboard, flower-shaped shadows.

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Who Are You?...Part 3

(Part 1  Part 2  Part 4)


The vacation was nostalgic.

Every sunset that was seen was seen through the eyes of a drastically different woman than had been standing two weeks ago.  Every dinner that was partaken in was eaten under the premise that you were chewing up and swallowing your past, waiting to go home and rewrite your future.  Every drink that was drunk was swallowed for the purpose of allowing your walls to crumble so the emotions you needed to expel would flood forth in leaps and bounds, attempting to rewrite the sonatas of your soul and the haiku’s of your heart.

And when you arrived back at your home, the door opening as the cool air wafts in, wrapping you in its comforting arms and welcoming you home, you realized something.

It was the first time it didn’t smell like Spencer.

When someone lives with you for a few weeks, their smells begin to leach into every crevice of your home.

And when they leave, their smells are expelled by those crevices, desperately attempting to replace what has been lost in an effort to resume some sort of normalcy.

Spencer had altered the pattern of your life so majestically and so fully that even your house had difficulties.

But it seemed the vacation did it a bit of good as well.

But even as you began to unpack your things, placing the dirty clothes in your hamper and the clean ones in their drawers, you couldn’t help but wonder if Spencer was adjusting to his new life.  How Spencer was coping with Maeve’s death.

How the team was helping him rebuild what you should be helping him with.

But as you shake your head, forcing those types of thoughts down into the pit of your stomach, you furrow your brow as you hear a desperate knock resound from your front door.

An incessant, constant, vibrating pound that shook the walls of your home.

“Y/N!!” you hear as your heart stops.

“Y/N!!  Please!!”

And as you sit down on the edge of your bed, your eyes widened as the ricocheting knocks begin to rattle the door on its hinges, you feel the tears pour down your face as you bring your hand to your mouth, your sobs wracking your body as your face begins to grimace.

“It’s Spencer!!” he roars from your porch.  “I remember!  I remember everything!!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something felt wrong.

Spencer couldn’t put his finger on it, but something felt wrong.

He would go into work, and his body would walk through routines he couldn’t remember.  He took cases, and his mind was able to regurgitate facts that he didn’t realize he knew.

He furrowed his brow at his degrees…foreign pieces of paper telling the story of a man he didn’t know.

But something was wrong…something deep and…and empty.

Something absent.

He continued to shake it off, finding his mind wandering back to Maeve.

He asked his friend Derek about what had happened.

A gunshot to the head, he had said.  A stalker with a jealous streak, he had recanted.

Derek talked of the exchange, and the kiss, and the blood…

So much blood…

And yet, something was still wrong.

Still off.

Still missing…

He visited Maeve’s grave.  Tears shedding for a woman he couldn’t ever recall meeting, but had somehow etched her existence onto his brain, permeating his life and existence before, and after, his accident.

He brought her small cups of coffee, setting them by her headstone as he talked about his days, recounting how the routines seemed out-of-body and how the facts just spewed forth like nontoxic venom, coating everyone around him even as he attempted to cut them off.

Like a hose without a faucet.

He cried at her grave, his eyes reddened whenever he made it into work.  He cried alone at night in his hotel rooms, his arm mindlessly reaching out for someone who wasn’t there.  He even cried in his apartment, the smells he had come home to dwindling even though he lived there.

He couldn’t figure out why the smells were changing.

He found his mind drifting back to you…the woman who had brought him home.

He realized how unnecessarily harsh he had been with you.

He was scared, and he took that out on you.

You had seemed so hurt…

“Why can’t I remember!?” he roars, throwing his coffee mug across his apartment as he collides with the opposite wall, a picture shattering and falling from its shelf as he lands, face first, onto the ground.

Scurrying to find his broom, he drags it behind him as he begins to clean up his mess, tears of frustration pouring down his face as his fingers dance over the back of the frame, being careful to pick it up as the picture flutters to the ground.

And on the back of it, a quote:

“One’s first love is always perfect until one meets one’s second love.
~ Elizabeth Aston”

With trembling hands and quaking knees, he turns the picture over to find his face mushed up against yours, his lips pressing deep into your cheek as you scrunch your nose, your eyes squinting as the corners of your mouth grace upwards on your rosy red cheeks as the sun gleams bright in the background.

“The carnival,” he snickers, smiling brightly as his eyes begin to widen.

“Wait…the carnival…” he says.

“Oh, my god.  The-…the carnival!!”

Leaping to his feet as his mind begins to clear, the fog of many weeks lifting slowly as his eyes begin to dart around the room, he finally puts the pieces together.

Why he feels so alone.

Why he cries at night.

Why his arms reach out for someone not there.

Why his apartment smells different.

And then?  The argument dawns on him.

The argument from the night he came home.

“Oh, no…” he murmurs, searching frantically for his shoes as he throws his robe around his shoulders, grasping for his car keys and shoving the picture into his robe pocket.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he whispers, slamming his apartment door shut as he takes the stairs, two-by-two, rounding the banisters with all of his speed as his body shoots out the front door and barrels across the street.

And that’s how he found himself at your door, his fist banging on it for dear life before he throws his heel up against it, the door rattling on its hinges as he calls out your name.

If he could just get you to open the door…

“Y/N!!  Please!!” he yells, throwing his shoulder into the door, “I remember!  I remember everything!”

anonymous asked:

would godot be there in the hp au ? like hanging out with mia's ghost, judging people and drinking coffee? or owning a coffee shop in hogsmeade and throwing coffee mugs at phoenix whenever he's in sight? oh, and just imagine max galactica being the gilderoy lockhart of the au!

YES I was thinking aboot godot like he could be a potions master once, before he got poisoned by one of his students (lmao) and nearly died, and after that he quit teaching and oohhhh opened a shop 8′^)

I LOST IT AT MAX GALACTICA PART OMFG yes, yes oh gooooaaaaughd, yes

Breakfast With Tiffany - Angst Ending

I should specify that SM provided no credits to a producer in the description for the official “Heartbreak Hotel” music video. This is a work of fiction so any connection Gray might have with the song is conjecture. Be sure to read the beginning of this story here and check out the fluff ending here.

Originally posted by grayground

It was one of the worst fights that you and Gray had ever had. You didn’t even realize that you were yelling until Gray walked away from you without a word. He shut down like he always did which only made you more furious. The last thing you heard from him was the front door slamming on his way out.

That had been months ago and you’d since stopped hoping that he would come back. Roughly two weeks after the fight you came home from work to find all of his stuff gone. The landlord left a voicemail informing you that Gray had paid for his remaining share of the rent but that the lease was not to be renewed.

It was like learning how to walk on your own all over again. You had to take things one day at a time. And you tried to concentrate on the small victories. Like those mornings when you woke up and weren’t immediately crippled by his absence. Or how you were starting to recognize your reflection in the mirror again though it still made you cringe at how empty your eyes looked.

At first, all of the guys would text you with updates or to ask how you were doing but their conversations became more infrequent until it was only Jay that reached out. He told you that Gray was taking things harder than he let on. That he had scrapped and rewritten the song he had been working on with Tiffany but when the time came to release it, Gray wanted no recognition. The song carried the bitter taste of memory and Gray was happy to cut his losses and be done with it.

You stood in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew. The mornings were getting colder so you wrapped yourself in a hug to keep warm and inhaled the cologne that still lingered on your pajama shirt. It was one of the shirts that Gray had left behind. A plain black t-shirt that could have been mistaken for anyone’s apart from the smell. You couldn’t bring yourself to wash it just yet.

You felt a lump form in your throat, a precursor to another crying spell, and you shook your head to clear your mind. Instead you pulled out your phone to scroll through the last texts you’d received from Jay.

He shouldn’t do that to himself.

I know but he’s not right right now. - Jay

Tell me he’s going to be okay.

He will be but he needs time. I shouldn’t even be talking to you anymore. - Jay

I understand.

I love you, girl - Jay

Love you too.

And Jay?

Yeah? - Jay

Take care of him.

I always do. - Jay 

That was all you were going to get out of him. It hurt but you knew he had already been too generous. You put the phone face down on the counter so you could rummage for some breakfast. The bagels were getting close to stale but you judged that you could still salvage them by toasting them twice so you popped one in the toaster.

It had been a long time since you didn’t turn the television on as soon as you woke up. You hated how silent the apartment had become so you almost always had noise. This morning, however, you wanted to try having silence again just to see how it felt and it didn’t take you long to realize that you didn’t like it. So you turned on the neglected radio before you filled your coffee cup only to freeze when you heard the DJ’s voice.

“And now we have your number one song of the hour: Heartbreak Hotel by Tiffany!”

You screamed at yourself to turn it off, that you weren’t ready to hear it just yet, but the melody drew you in before you could react.

“Your eyes that see the end

Shakes me endlessly

Tangles me up

Has time come that I can’t make up?

This painful feeling, stop I can’t hide it”

You were shaking after the first stanza but you made yourself listen to every line that she sang because you knew they were Gray’s words. It was like he was speaking to you for the first time since the fight and it was paralyzing. You didn’t know whether to cry or throw your coffee mug at the wall. In truth, you didn’t have anything left in you. You were spent. The only thing you knew was that there was no going back now.

So you got ready to face another day at work and as you locked the front door you wondered when this would all start feeling like a dream. You didn’t want the chaos that came with dating a celebrity or to be surrounded by a group so devoted to their work that it always made you feel out of your depth. You needed more control of your life than that. You wanted to stand strong on your own two feet without the fear of falling. You wanted to just be normal.

8

Monday 7.27 am

Sonia has been on the balcony talking to the Garden Gnome for over ten minutes. He is talking very fast and has to stop a few times to blow his nose. Sonia makes lots of shocked noises, then concerned noises, and finally soothing noises. She comes back inside and gives a little gasp to see Roy standing next to the French windows.

Sonia: God, Roy! You almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing?

Roy: What does it look like? I was trying to eavesdrop, obviously. What’s the Garden Gnome got his knickers in a knot about?

Sonia stares at him for several seconds. He drains his coffee and arches an eyebrow.

Sonia: Cyril was just telling me that Gemma was arrested yesterday afternoon. For possession of drugs. And intent to distribute.

Roy: Gosh, really? Whoever would have thought? Such a sweet, innocent young girl… 

Sonia: You were at her place yesterday afternoon, returning her cat. Weren’t you?

Roy: See, I told you that was a stupid idea. Who’s going to look after her cat when she’s in the slammer, huh? Tsk. The poor thing’s probably going to starve now-

Sonia: Roy, Cyril said the family’s devastated. She might get fifteen years!

Roy snorts.

Roy: As if. She’ll probably get 5 and be out in 18 months. 

Sonia: I’m scared you know something about this, Roy. Very scared.

Red starts leaking into the corner of Roy’s vision. 

Roy: And you weren’t scared at the prospect of childrens’ lives being ruined when your sexual adventures were smeared across the gossip pages? You weren’t scared of the reaction from your parents, all your fake bookclub friends? You weren’t scared your mother’s heart would be broken? Or Daddy would disown you? You weren’t scared my clients would all desert me and you’d lose your nice house and all the trimmings? 

Sonia: Oh my God, Roy, be quiet! Angus and Apollo are only in the kitchen-

Roy throws his empty coffee mug at the floor. It just bounces on the carpet and rolls under the couch. He should have hurled it through the window instead.

Roy:
You weren’t scared you’d lose me?

Sonia: ROY! Stop acting like I’m the only one in this marriage who’s had affairs. You’re just as guilty as I am-

Roy: You have no proof, Sonia. No proof. That’s total bullshit.

Sonia: Just because I don’t have proof doesn’t mean I don’t know.

Roy: Alright, so I go to strip clubs every now and again. Big deal. What the hell am I supposed to do? You can’t even give me a hug without acting like you’re completely repulsed by me. But I’ve never had an affair, Sonia. I’ve never done anything to jeopardize our family, unlike you. So you can just go f-

Sonia: So what happened when you went on your mancation to the Islands the other week? I know something went on there, Roy. Don’t lie. Look me in the eye and tell me nothing happened-

Roy: Nothing happened. You’re crazy. You’re just projecting all this crap onto me because you can’t bear to admit that you’re the one who’s at fault. YOU FUCKED UP, SONIA. And you can’t even own it. You can’t even say sorry for what you did. And then you have the hide to try and turn it around onto me and act like I’m the one who’s in the wrong! You’re a despicable piece of work, you know that? 

Sonia finally has the grace to look ashamed. Her hand goes to her neck, like it always does when she’s under stress. He can see her swallowing.

Sonia: I’m sorry! Of course I’m sorry. Roy, please. Don’t yell. Calm down and go and have some breakfast. Apollo made Eggs Benedict. Don’t go to work. Call in sick or something. After Angus has gone to school we can have a sensible, civilized discussion about everything that’s wrong and-

Roy: I think it’s a bit too late for that, don’t you? And I’m going to be working late today. Really late. Tell the kids- I dunno. You’ll think of some excuse. You’re good at that.

Sabriel AU based off of this post

Here on AO3

Gabriel was very drunk. Very very drunk. He had tried calling Chuck to see if he could crash on his couch, but it was 3 AM and Chuck was probably as asleep as Gabe was drunk. But that didn’t mean Gabriel wasn’t going to sleep on his couch, it just meant he wasn’t going to get permission before doing so.

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5

Today’s the day I’m launching my new Society6 shop, featuring an illustration project I’ve been working on secretly: a trio of colorful, nightmarish baby animals! Available for print on throw pillows, coffee mugs, clothing and tote bags as well as a variety of gallery quality art prints. Get them as an all-in-one design, create a set from them individually, or just pick your favorite standalone! Also until April 12th 2015 if you click the special promo link below you’ll get FREE WORLDWIDE SHIPPING! Come check it out:
http://society6.com/peterahern?promo=RBVTDTFDH77M

Give Me Love (Like Her): Ch 9


Summary: How can Killian Jones ask his aggressively aloof neighbor on a date without making her uncomfortable? And how can he ensure that he doesn’t default to having a one-night stand with her? His unusual solution: announce his affections anonymously and hope for the best. Companion piece to With Affection from Killian’s point-of-view.
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Notes: Here it is, folks! This is the companion piece! I really, really hope it lives up to everyone’s expectations. This is not a sequel, but there are several scenes that will not make much sense, or be nearly as meaningful/entertaining, if you have not read With Affection, which can be found here and here (or through my fic page).
Banner by @bashful-killian, beta-read by @optomisticgirl

AO3: First and latest
FFnet: First and latest
Tumblr: First

Chapter Nine:

A week and a half later, Killian was reading Swan’s morning letter when his cell phone rang. He frowned and pulled out his phone, but the number wasn’t one he recognized. He knew for sure it was a personal call—clients, or potential clients, would not have access to the number—and given how Spencer felt about personal calls in the office, he felt justified in letting it go to voicemail.

He quickly swiped to silence the ringer and went back to the letter, which was also not a Spencer-approved way to spend his lunch break, but it was certainly worth breaking a rule or two. Swan was having a grand time describing how her friends were hoping that he might give them another brunch trip (BIL is suggesting it would make a good Christmas present, he’s so desperate for another meal there!); he went to check the restaurant’s website and see if they were perhaps open the day after Christmas.

As he opened his browser, his office phone rang.

“Killian Jones,” he answered.

“Killian? It’s Wendy.”

For a moment, he wondered Wendy who? and began to think of some of his past clients and one-night stands. But then it hit him like a clichéd ton of bricks: Wendy Darling.

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