#maaron

[ladydeathorsadyounglady]

I love them, such little paws, I can't >< 💕

[daisyymay]

I may be thinking too much into this but i can't stop thinking in the relation between "the rubies that I gave up" and the Dorothy's ruby shoes. I don't think it's necessary like that but it's kinda a nice metaphor in the context of the song

[dailyandrewandaaron]

Aaron and Matt

There once was a bittersweet man and we called him “Lemon Boy" He was growing in my garden and I pulled him out by his hair like a weed But like weeds do he only came and grew back again So I figured this time I might as well let him be Lemon Boy and me started to get along together I'd help him plant his seeds and we mowed the lawn in bad weather It's actually pretty easy being nice to a bitter boy like him So I got myself a citrus friend Soon his bittersweet started to rub off on me You'd think smelling like lemon zest would be pretty neat But I found out that my friends are more of the savoury type And they weren't too keen on compromising with a nice lemon pie So Lemon Boy and me we just gotta get along together I'll help him plant his seeds and we'll mow the lawn in bad weather It's actually pretty easy being nice to a bitter boy like him                                 I got myself a citrus friend

[crackshipus]

Requested by viscaacsiv: Aaron Paul & Michelle Dockery

[geordieshoregifs-blog]

[precioustoys]

[rainingteadropss]

Very strawberry macarons (by R. Tran) on flickr

[hangsters]

28 maaron

28 “How drunk was I?”

    When Martha woke up, she wasn’t sure where she was. These sheets weren’t hers, and the comforter definitely wasn’t hers. The one at her house was blue and paisley (John called them sperm flowers, which wasn’t the most charming thing, but Eliza had given it to them) while this one was a creamy yellow, so bright it hurt her already-aching eyes. She shut them again quickly, scrunching her face up.

    There was an alarm clock going off somewhere, one of the automatic iPhone ones that made her hate that the damn things were ever even invented.

    “John,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse. “Turn it off, we don’t work today.”

    There was a shifting beside her, a low grunt that definitely didn’t belong to John, and the alarm stopped. Martha’s eyes flashed open, and she was less surprised than she expected when she rolled over to see Aaron Burr in the bed next to her, the comforter rucked down to his hips, his dark skin looking warm in the morning sunlight.

    “Shit,” she groaned. “I was hoping I dreamt that.”

    Aaron gave a shaky sounding laugh, rolling to face her. He looked as bad as Martha imagined she did, eyes bleary, his face in a grimace against the sun. “No such luck.”

    Martha sighed, sitting up gingerly, rubbing a hand over her face. “Hell…how drunk was I?”

    Aaron wrinkled his nose, looking around. “Couldn’t have been drunker than me…”

    “Great,” Martha muttered. “Okay, that’s great. I need to get dressed, I have to get home.”

    Aaron looked surprised, and at first Martha thought he was just realizing they were both naked, but then he said “You’re going?”

    Martha blinked. “Well…yeah? Look, if I gave you the wrong idea last night, I’m sorry, but I do have to go.”

    Aaron sat up slowly, reaching for her hand. “I…some things you said last night…”

    She winced. “If I said anything about John…”

    “Not just that,” Aaron said quickly. “Well…mostly that.”

    Martha couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she got up as fast as she could, finding her underwear on the floor, though her dress was crumpled halfway down the hall and she found one of the buttons from it on the stairs, how the hell had that happened?

    By the time she’d gotten dressed and stepped into the bathroom to make herself look halfway decent, Aaron had put on new clothes, dark jeans and a sweatshirt that said Princeton, rolling his eyes when Martha pulled a face at him.

    “Come on,” he offered. “I can give you a ride home.”

    Martha hesitated. How was she supposed to explain that to John, why she had gotten sick of watching the sulk on his face and told him she’d see him in the morning, only for her to turn up with Aaron Burr?

    “What time is it?” With any luck, he’d be asleep and she wouldn’t have to explain anything.

    Aaron checked his phone. “Ten-thirty. So, the ride?”

    She sighed. “Fine. Why not?”

    She found her purse and her coat in the living room and they left, riding in silence back to Martha’s place, it wasn’t far. Aaron didn’t speak until he’d pulled up next to the sidewalk, putting his hand on hers before she could open the car door and escape. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

    “I, uh…I know that you’re married,” he said. “So if you don’t want to see me again, I totally understand, it’s no big deal.”

    Martha bit her lip. “I…I was really drunk last night. And you’re right, I’m married, it would be a bad idea to get involved with someone else. A really bad idea.”

    Aaron clearly tried and failed to hide his disappointment. “Oh. Okay, yeah, that’s fine. We can just forget any of that ever happened, no problem.”

    “Thanks for the ride.” Martha started to open her door, but paused. What if John had brought someone home? It wouldn’t have been the first time, she knew that much.

    “Aaron?”

    He glanced up at her. “Yeah?”

    She hesitated, but she’d already made her decision, really. “I just meant…it would be a bad idea to do it like that again, drunk and at 2 a.m. and stuff. But…I get off at four on Thursday?”

    His eyes widened and Martha was afraid she’d scared him off, but then he smiled. “Then I’ll pick you up at four-fifteen?”

    Martha risked a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

    She got out of the car and headed up to the door, waiting until Aaron and his car had disappeared before she stepped inside. John was sitting on the couch, holding a mug of coffee to his lips.

    “There you are,” he sighed, looking relieved. “I tried to call you, where were you?”

    Martha tried to look casual. “Yeah…my phone was dead. I got a little drunk, Angelica let me stay at her place.”

    “Oh.” John nodded. “Well…there’s coffee, and whiskey if you want it. Hair of the dog that bit you and all that.”   

    “You know that’s not true,” Martha sighed, trying to shake off her guilt as easily as she shook off her coat, heading for the kitchen.