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maria-scribbles · 4 years ago

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we’re just like kevin bacon!

prompt: for @bricksatanakinswindow ‘s halloween writing challenge! this was initially inspired by "mortal enemies accidentally showing up in matching costumes every fucking year" but once i started writing it kind of snowballed from there and i ended up with this lmao

ship: jj maybank x fem!reader

word count: 4.6k+ (i think this is the shortest thing i’ve ever written lol)

warnings n stuff: childhood enemies to lovers, swearing, mention of underage drinking, halloween shenanigans, makin' out, smut (not too explicit but i still think it's spicy enough to need an 18+ warning), jj and the reader being cute lil nerds and quoting movies back and forth, the author blatantly using some of her personal favorite movies/shows as inspiration for costumes, the author also making her opinions on ghostbusters clear (instead of the human trash can peter venkman, stan the adorable dork known as ray stantz for clear skin)

a/n: this was hella fun to write and i already have so many more halloween fic ideas bouncing around in my head (it's spoopy season, y'all!). title of this fic comes from guardians of the galaxy 😊

Of three things in life you were certain.

One, you loved Halloween more than any other holiday of the year; after all, you and your twin brother Mason were born just after one AM on October 31st so you could say a penchant for all things spooky was in your blood.

Two, Sarah Cameron was your best friend. Being neighbors your whole lives, the two of you were thick as thieves and spent almost every day together, much to the annoyance of both your brother and hers; as much as you loved Mason, sometimes you wished Sarah was your twin instead of him and you knew without question the blonde girl would trade Rafe for you in a heartbeat (with little to no guilt, in fact.).

And three, you absolutely hated JJ Maybank. You'd been at the top of each other's shit lists ever since you were both six years old, when he made fun of you for the stutter you'd had back then and you dumped a full milkshake over his head as payback, and even as time passed and you grew out of your stutter, your disdain for the blond pogue only grew stronger. He was infuriating, plain and simple, and the mere mention of his name made steam come out of your ears.

The boy was just good at being annoying and seemed to love pushing everyone's buttons, yours especially, and always found ways to get under your skin without fail every single time your paths crossed (which was way too often for your liking, but running in the same friend group made it hard to avoid each other). It became an unspoken thing, the great Y/L/N-Maybank feud, with both of you trying your hardest to piss the other off until one of your mutual friends or your brother broke it up and pulled you to opposite corners of the metaphorical ring to take a breather before the next round.

You'd never admit it but deep down you kind of liked it. You liked being at the center of his attention (granted, it was antagonistic in nature but it was attention all the same), his bright blue eyes following your every move whenever you were within his sights and you liked that you were in his thoughts even when you weren't around, a fact proven to you by the tiny notebook Kiara carried around in her pocket recording how many times he mentioned your name. Knowing you lived rent free in his mind brought you an embarrassingly high level of satisfaction that you'd absolutely deny feeling if anyone ever asked, just as you'd deny the fact that he lived rent free in your mind, too.

...At least for most of the year. Everyone, including JJ, knew that to you Halloween was a damn-near sacred time. He knew never to mess with you during the weeks leading up to the holiday and definitely never on the day itself, lest he want yet another milkshake dumped over his blond head. He knew that, the whole damn island knew he did and yet...somehow, some way, he managed to get your blood boiling every. single. year. And you, like a masochistic idiot, let him.

It all started when you were twelve.

You, Mason, and your friends were finally old enough to go to the annual youth party held on the sprawling lawn of the Island Club, an event you'd been looking forward to attending every Halloween since you were eight. Of course, you were excited for the dancing and games and food but the thing you couldn't wait the most for was the costume contest, a chance to show off your skills and prove to everyone on the island that Y/N Y/L/N was the undisputed queen of Halloween.

So what if your hopes were a little too high (considering you were only twelve and going up against kids ranging from your age to fifteen), you were still gonna give it your all; you spent weeks perfecting not only your costume but your brother's as well with your mom, helping her cut fabric and sew zippers, styling wigs and painting props until everything was perfect.

"Oh my God, Y/N!" Sarah, dressed as Cinderella, yelled from the passenger seat of her dad's SUV when they swung by to pick you up. "You look amazing!"

"So do you!" You said, slipping into the back seat in between a miserable-looking Rafe as Sarah Sanderson ("I lost a bet," he explained with a scowl) and Mason, holding your mini R2-D2 on your lap. Was it kind of cheesy, dressing up as the most iconic twins in movie history? Probably, but you really didn't care because Leia Organa was a total boss bitch and Mason was practically over the moon that he got to be his ultimate silver screen hero and swing around his very own lightsaber as Luke Skywalker.

"The Force is strong with you two." Ward joked, earning an eye roll from both of his children as he drove to the Island Club to drop you off. Rafe immediately disappeared into the crowd to meet up with Topper and Kelce and the three of you went off to find your own friends, skirting around the edge of the party toward the snack tables, also known as the most likely place for them to be.

You spotted Kiara first, looking like an actual princess in her Tiana costume and waved, smiling when she waved back and beckoned you over as she said something to Pope, dressed as Albert Einstein, that made him start laughing hysterically.

"What's so funny?" You asked, reaching between them to grab two handfuls of pretzels and immediately dropping one into your brother's outstretched palm, careful to keep the sleeve of your white dress away from the bright orange-iced cupcakes on the table.

The two of them exchanged a look that instantly made you realize something was Up™ but before either of them could answer, Mason asked around a mouthful of pretzels, "Where're Tweedledee and Tweedledum?"

"J, why didn't we think of that?" John B's voice came from somewhere over your shoulder and when you turned to face him, you nearly dropped both the droid cradled in the crook of your elbow and the snacks in your hand. Not because of John B and his hilarious Chewbacca costume but because of the fact that JJ Maybank, the one person you hated the most on the whole entire island, was dressed as Han freakin' Solo.

"Yikes." Someone muttered behind you -it sounded like Sarah but you weren't really sure- and Mason nearly choked on his pretzels as he tried and failed miserably to keep himself from laughing.

"You've gotta be kidding me." You huffed, rolling your eyes as JJ crossed his arms and glared in your direction, blaster hanging from the holster on his hip.

"Listen, Princess, I'm not too happy about this, either."

"Oh, shut up, you nerfherder."

"Who you calling-" Mason and John B cut in and pulled you both in opposite directions before either of you could turn it into a shouting match, your brother physically grabbing you around the waist and carrying you off while the latter caught the back of JJ's vest and dragged him away. Despite their best efforts to keep you apart, you ran into each other more times than you could count and spent a minute or two squabbling like cats and dogs each time until one of them intervened once again. It was childish, it was immature, and it was fun, even though you'd never, ever admit it. Ever.

You didn't win the costume contest that year in the way you'd imagined at all. Still, first place in the group category was a win in your book and it felt good, even if one of the members of your unintentional Star Wars posse was someone who tested every bit of patience you had. The four of you split the cash prize and you went home 25 bucks richer, stashing it away for next year's costume and pushing the thought of accidentally matching with your mortal enemy from your mind.

You had no idea this thing was only just beginning.

The next year, you let Sarah and Kiara convince you to match with them and the three of you rolled up to the party as the Pink Ladies -you as Rizzo, Sarah as Sandy, Kiara as Frenchy- only to run right into the boys, your brother included, dressed as the T-Birds. John B, perfectly in character as Danny, immediately whisked Sarah off to dance while Pope, the most adorably awkward Doody you'd ever seen, went to grab some snacks with Kiara, leaving you stuck with the bane of your existence as, of course, fucking Kenickie (Mason, as Sonny, dipped sometime before then without you noticing). The two of you spent the whole evening glaring at each other and hurling insults back and forth at breakneck speed, more in character than either of you'd ever want to acknowledge and for the second year in a row, you won first place in the group costume category.

At fourteen, you went as Princess Buttercup and JJ showed up as Westley, fake sword in hand as he followed you around all night like an annoying fly, sarcastically drawling "as you wish" every time you so much as glanced in his direction. Your brother, dressed as Inigo Montoya, nearly pissed himself laughing and you wanted to snatch both of their prop swords and shove them up their asses. You came in first again in the group costume contest and begrudgingly split the prize three ways.

At fifteen, you worked hard on a Dr. Ellie Sattler costume from Jurassic Park, he strolled in as a disheveled Dr. Alan Grant with mud splattered boots and tattered clothes, and you really regretted not taking the offer to be the Tai to Sarah's Cher and Kiara's Dionne. Once again, Mason laughed so hard his face turned red and you were tempted to grab the sword he was holding and beat him over the head with it, not just for laughing at you but also for the completely atrocious Jack Sparrow costume he wore. To your absolute horror, you and JJ won the contest in the duo category and you wanted to melt into the ground when they called you onto the makeshift stage to collect your reward.

When you were sixteen, you and your friends "graduated" to the party held for the older teens inside the club itself. With costume rules a little more lax than they were for the younger kids, you decided to go as (an only slightly sexy) Janine Melnitz, complete with a prop telephone you answered every so often with a loud "Ghostbusters, whaddya want?!" much to the embarrassment of Mason, who was once again dressed as Luke Skywalker, this time in the fatigues he wore while training on Dagobah in The Empire Strikes Back.

You strutted into the party in your heels and pencil skirt only to nearly fall flat on your face when you caught sight of JJ in a terrible black wig and glasses, proton pack strapped to his back and 'Spengler' printed on the front of his jumpsuit. Your brother winced when you all but screeched "Again?!" right into his ear and grabbed your elbow, dragging you over to an empty table and depositing you into an open chair.

"There's no way this is a coincidence anymore! He could've picked Venkman, with all the womanizing and lowkey being a creep and thinking he's God's gift to mankind? It would've been the perfect choice! He's not nearly adorable or dorky enough to be Stantz or sassy enough to be Winston-"

"Jesus, you have a lot of feelings about Ghostbusters," Mason muttered, rolling his eyes when you shot him a withering glare.

"Shut up! Listen to me, there's no way in hell Maybank randomly decided to be, out of alllll the 'Busters, Egon fuckin' Spengler, okay? He had to have somehow known I was coming as Janine and did it just to piss me off!"

Your brother heaved a deep, heavy sigh that made you want to smack him and fixed you with a deadpan stare. "Or, have you pulled your head out of your own ass long enough to think that maybe you're just becoming...predictable?"

You really did smack him then, hard on his exposed shoulder and he yelped, scowling as he rubbed at the red mark you left behind. "Ow! What the hell, bitch?!"

"Don't you dare call me predictable, you dickhead! I pride myself on my costumes being very unique and unexpected -you know, out of the box!"

"Hate to break it to you but they're not really out of the box if Maybank shows up in a matching one every single year." He said with an infuriating, shit-eating grin, patting your shoulder before straightening the plush Yoda strapped to his back. "I'm gonna go get some food, wanna come with?"

Still miffed at his comment, you shoved his arm away and glanced down at your lap, ignoring your brother's sassy "your loss" as he headed toward the snack tables. Not even a minute passed by before his empty seat was taken and you groaned when you looked up to see who it was, your eyes meeting a pair of bright blues behind tacky, oversized glasses.

"Hi, Janine."

"...Egon."

The two of you sat in silence after that, watching the dancing crowd under the flashing neon lights and sparkling disco ball until you saw him turn to face you out of the corner of your eye.

"Why Janine?"

"Huh?" You turned to face him, too, one eyebrow raised in a perfect arch as he gestured toward your costume.

"Why did you dress up as Janine, Y/L/N?"

"I've always liked her sassiness and 'I like to play racquetball.'" You offered a casual shrug of your shoulders and carefully stuck a finger under your wig to scratch an annoying itch above your ear. "Why'd you pick Egon, Maybank?"

"He's my favorite." He answered simply with his own shrug, shooting you a genuine, real smile that you, for who knows what reason, found yourself returning without a second thought. "Smart, hilarious -plus, 'I like to collect spores, mold, and fungus.'"

For the first time in your life, your eyes rolled out of amusement and not annoyance at something that JJ Maybank said and, to your complete surprise, it kind of felt...right. "Really? I'd have pegged you for a Venkman stan."

"Are you kidding? He's the worst!"

Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you'd sit across from your hated enemy, not only having a civil -hell, downright enjoyable- conversation but actually smiling right along with him, laughing at his jokes and doing your best to ignore the sudden flutter in your stomach each time you caught sight of his slightly crooked teeth when he grinned. You didn't even notice when your brother returned with Kiara, dressed as Moana, at his side and two heaping plates of snacks in his hands until his chair scraped gratingly across the hardwood floor.

"Kie, are you seeing this? Pigs must be flying 'cause they're actually smiling at each other." Mason said, cackling as Kiara turned to squint out the window.

"Yeah, I think I see one or two soaring around out there." She giggled and sent a mischievous wink in your direction. With your face feeling like it was on fire, you flipped them both the bird and took off, disappearing into the crowd and leaving all your traitorous, confusing thoughts about JJ behind with the boy himself; it was Rafe's last party at the Club and he owed you a dance anyway, but even as your best friend's older brother, cute as hell in his Thor costume, playfully twirled you around the floor to the Ghostbusters theme song, you felt more than your partner's blue eyes on you.

To no one's surprise, you and JJ won the duo category for the second year in a row and when you joined him onstage to collect your prize and didn't feel like you'd rather die than be up there by his side, you suddenly realized you were only certain about two things in life instead of three.

At seventeen, you were confident you and JJ wouldn't be matching for once (after last year, though, you were kind of thinking it wouldn't be that bad of a thing). You'd gone cult classic for your costume, pulling inspiration from your mom's favorite move, 1999's The Mummy, and put together a screen-accurate Evelyn Carnahan in her iconic black dress, including a handmade Book of the Dead and matching key. You blackmailed Mason with pictures of him, drunk as a skunk and dressed in your Janine costume from the previous year, and got him to go as Jonathan, complete with a pith helmet and prop bottle of The Glenlivet.

But, as always, JJ managed to surprise you. You literally ran right into his chest and if it wasn't for his arms instantly wrapping tight around your waist, you would've bit it hard.

"Whoa, careful there," He said, one hand keeping you close while the other moved to help you hold the book in your arms. "'The Book of the Dead? Are you sure you wanna be messing around with this thing?'"

Of course he'd make the perfect Rick O'Connell, you thought as you playfully raised one eyebrow and curled your fingers around the strap of the gun holster draped over his shoulder. "'It's just a book. No harm ever came from reading a book.'"

Mason was a little too in character as well as he dramatically rolled his eyes and wandered off, muttering "puh-lease" under his breath and shooting Sarah a conspiratorial wink that you didn't see. The blonde girl glanced between the two of you -arms still around each other and identical smiles on your faces- and grinned. The party flew by in a blur of movie quotes, laughs, and more dances than you could count and by the time you made it home, 50 bucks in the pocket of your dress and another group costume win under your belt, you were almost positive you never actually hated JJ Maybank in the first place.

Now at eighteen, you pulled out all the stops for your last party at the Island Club. You'd spent the last few months slaving over your costume, sewing custom pieces, hand-crafting your prop, and spending way too much money on body makeup and a wig but when you saw the final product in the mirror, you knew it was all worth it. You were ready to slay the competition this year and take home first place for the final time.

Mason, indifferent as always about the contest but willing to do anything to keep those pictures from seeing the light of day, didn't protest one bit when you forced him into the matching costume you'd made for him -in typical Mason fashion, he liked that he didn't have to wear a shirt and could show off his muscles- and spent a few hours perfecting his makeup.

You felt on top of the world when you walked into the party that night as Gamora, a replica of her Godslayer sword in hand and skin painted a perfect shade of green, followed by your brother as Drax, already flexing for anyone and everyone looking his way. The rest of your friends came to win as well: John B and Sarah as Flynn Rider and Rapunzel, Kiara as Eleven, Pope as T'Challa, and, of course, JJ as Peter Quill, Baby Groot perched on his shoulder and twin blasters at his hips.

"Lookin' good, Gamora!" He called over the music, shimmying his way over to you with some dance moves that would impress Star-Lord himself.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Quill." You replied in a sing-song voice, even as you took his outstretched hand and let him pull you into the crowd of bodies hopping up and down to some terrible EDM beat under the twirling disco ball.

"It got you out here with me, didn't it?"

You rolled your eyes and hooked the sword to your belt before stepping closer and draping your arms around his neck, twirling your painted fingers in his hair. "Just remember, 'I know who you are, Peter Quill. And I'm not some starry-eyed waif here to succumb to your pelvic sorcery.'"

You should've known you spoke too soon the second you saw the spark in JJ's eyes that all but screamed 'wanna bet?'

And that's how you found yourself in the middle of the single hottest make out session you'd ever had the pleasure of participating in an hour later: back pressed against the locked door of someone's deserted office, legs wrapped tight around his waist and his hands hooked under your ass, both your sword and his blasters abandoned on the floor at his feet, and he was either a sinfully good kisser or trying really, really hard to blow your mind.

"I'm not gonna end up green after this, am I?" He mumbled against your mouth before trailing his lips along your jaw and you breathed a laugh, tightening your grip on his hair.

"This is professional makeup, dumbass. It's gonna take more than some kissing to smudge it."

"I'm down for some smudging if you are."

You pulled him back for another kiss in response and gasped into his mouth when he walked across the room, one strong arm reaching out to sweep whatever was on the desk to the floor before setting you down on it.

"Confident, are we?"

JJ smirked at your breathless question and the way you hooked your ankles around the backs of his thighs to pull him closer. "So is that a yes to the smudging?"

"Just shut up and kiss me."

He did -very well, you might add- and you kissed him back, untangling your hands from his hair to slide them under his jacket instead; you helped him push it off his shoulders and it had barely hit the ground along with poor Baby Groot before your fingers were tugging his shirt from the waistband of his pants.

"Someone's impatient." He teased, leaning back just far enough to let you pull it over his head and toss it somewhere behind you.

"Someone doesn't know how to stop talking." You whispered your reply low in his ear and then trailed your lips down his neck, smiling in satisfaction at the tremble in his voice when you kissed the purple mark you'd left behind earlier.

"N-never was very good at that."

"'You should've learned.'"

"'I don't learn, it's one of my issues.'"

One of his hands gripped your wig, pulling your head back a little roughly -you'd have so been into that if it had been your real hair he pulled- and you winced at the way the bobby pins holding it it place tugged painfully at your roots. "Ow, not so hard!"

"Wait, what the fuck? I thought you were wearing a wig!"

"I am but it's still pinned to my actual hair!"

"Sorry, but how the hell was I supposed to know that?"

The sight of JJ's face slowly turning red made the butterflies in your stomach go haywire and so you just shook your head, mumbling "don't worry about it," before pressing your lips to his once again. He was gentler this time with the pulling and you dug your nails into his bare shoulders at the thrill of his mouth against the exposed column of your throat, leaning back further and further until you laid flat on the desk.

His fingers had just unbuttoned your pants when your phone started to ring from your pocket, blaring the Star Wars theme you had set as your twin's ringtone.

"Mason's timing is impeccable," JJ said sarcastically, chuckling as you clamped a palm over his mouth and answered the call.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Jesus, no need to be pissy!" Mason loudly replied over the applause crackling through the phone's speaker. "I just thought you'd like to know that we just won best group costume with Maybank. Again."

The blond winked at the mention of his last name and pulled your hand away from his mouth, pinning it to the desk beside you with one of his while the other started tugging your pants down over your hips.

"Oh, that's cool, Mase-" You inhaled sharply when his lips touched the edge of your underwear, so close to where you wanted him most but at the same time so far away, and your fingers held your phone in a white-knuckled grip. "But I-I'm kind of in the middle of doing someone -something!- right now."

"Smooth," JJ said, not even trying to be quiet as he released your pinned hand to finish pulling your boots off, along with your tight leather pants that he casually tossed aside. "And I knew you weren't green under these!"

Your laugh quickly turned into a gasp when his fingers hooked under your panties and pulled those off, too, and the touch of his tongue against the skin of your inner thigh sent white-hot lightning racing through your veins; the phone slipped from your grip, falling with a clunk onto the desk as your fingers tangled in his hair and he lifted one of your knees over his shoulder.

"Okay, I'm hanging up now! I already know you're getting laid but I don't need to hear it." Mason's loud grumble drifted up through the speaker and if you weren't so preoccupied with the boy between your thighs doing some downright wicked things to you with his mouth, you might've noticed that your brother didn't actually sound that grumpy before he ended the call and your phone's screen went dark, right as you lost control of your voice.

"Fuck me."

"Funny, I thought that's what I was doing?" You felt more than heard his response against you and a shiver ran down your spine when his bright blue eyes flicked up to met yours in the dim light of the office.

"You know what I meant, Maybank."

"Trust me, Y/L/N, I know. Question is: where do you want me?"

You tugged on his hair, grinning wolfishly at the way his eyes fluttered closed and a low moan rose from his throat. "Everywhere in this damn room, starting right here."

"I was hoping you’d say that.”

- Back at the party, Mason looked up and met Sarah's gaze, both of her eyebrows raised expectantly as she asked, "Well?"

He took his time slipping his phone back into his pocket before giving her a quick nod, grinning triumphantly when she immediately burst into gleeful giggles.

"Yes! I just knew they had a thing for each other! Mortal enemies, my ass."

"I think that was the very first time in my sister's life that she didn't give a shit about the contest." Mason said and reached over to snag a cookie from her plate, chuckling when she pushed his hand away from the chocolate chip ones and toward the peanut butter. "We couldn't have pulled this off without you. I mean, making sure they showed up in matching costumes every year? Genius, Sarah. Absolutely genius."

The blonde girl grabbed her own cookie with a wink. "Think they'll ever figure it out?"

Your brother just threw his head back and laughed. "I hope not! I wanna save that story for my best man speech at their wedding."

taglist: @sinkbeneathwaves @cordeliascrown @maysbanks @jjpogueprincess @jiaraendgame @alexa-playafricabytoto @sexualparkour @agirlwholovescoffee

#brickswritingchallenge #outer banks #jj maybank #obx fic #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #obx x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fic #obx fanfic

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kcsplace · 5 years ago

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wellthisisjustridiculous replied to your photoset: yoko787878: i-deduce-skeletons: erienne1983: ...

It’s a shame really, I was never a McRoll shipper (OG McDanno Stan since 2010 here) but I didn’t hate Steve and Catherine as a casual easy breezy thing at all, until the show started contorting them into Star-Struck Lovers Who Were Fated to Be Together.

as fuck buddies, they were okay. with Cath as an ocassional side character, she was fine. but when they tried to push the ‘they’ve actually been deeply in love for years but can’t say it’ angle and the suddenly she’s basically living with him but he can’t even call her his girlfriend but actually he loves her so much he’s going to randomly propose despite the fact she literally didn’t come back for him but for Kono’s wedding, a woman she actually doesn’t even know that well, because half of Cath’s time on the team was Kono being away...and then Cath’s cruelty to tell Steve, apropos of nothing, that she’d have said yes which is such a lie (she was already CIA, she KNEW was leaving before he was going to propose, and she was already lying to him so she was going to what, lie their whole marriage?? leave the CIA?? haahahaha)

nah.

I never felt love from them, not once. Steve never truly trusted her, for good reason, and for all MB witters on about how desperately in love they still are, I never felt she loved him either. she was always complaining about how he behaved, never accepted him for the way he was, never just found romance in how Steve was, wanting him to be different. they were never star-crossed lovers, they were just two different people, wanting different things in a relationship that would have never worked and didn’t. ffs they barely had a date that didn’t have Danny in it! and don’t even get me started on Danny protecting his boy after Cath lied to both of them

I love how salty Alex is over it and that gives me hope it won’t happen. it would be SO forced and such a waste of the last two hours. the show has never been about romance, more about Ohana. Steve has that now. pleas don’t let them fuck it up.

#wellthisisjustridiculous

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paigenotblank · 6 years ago

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Withnail and fifth doctor

Nonny, I am not sure that there is any parallel universe capable of containing the raw power that is emitted by this crack ship. You have no idea how long I stared at this when I opened the ask. I have never been so reluctant to put down my phone and get ready for work (I honestly considered calling out sick to work on this).

who hogs the duvet - Withnail. He parties hard and lives life loud, so when he crashes...he crashes and those blankets he has clutched in his fisted hands are not going anywhere but into his embrace.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going - Neither Five or Withnail are very good about remembering they own a phone let alone where they last left it. However, when Five stumbles across his that he used to prop open a door three months ago and then promptly forgot about when he left the room, he uses the sonic to charge it and check in with Withnail. (Withnail in his hangover state rips the chord from the wall to make that incessant ringing stop.)

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts - They both seem a bit scatty when it comes to remembering the need to procure a gift and it is default for Withnail to grab an item in his close proximity and hand it over. The Doctor in much the same way, shoves his hands in his pockets and the first thing he come across (unless it is a part he might one day need for TARDIS repair) and presents it as if it were the Crown Jewels. Five’s “gifts” are usually more alien so I am calling him the winner for creativity.

who gets up first in the morning - Well the Doctor hardly ever sleeps, so he is often up early. Withnail though is also up early, as he doesn’t go to sleep well into the afternoon. I think I am going to have to say the Doctor is the first up simply for the fact that he only needs a few hours of sleep a week.

who suggests new things in bed - Honestly, with the crowd that Withnail hangs with, he often hears about the most scandalous and kinky sex acts. He takes great delight in making Five blush with his discoveries. Not wanting to be left out, Five will sometimes come across positions that are only possible if you have 7 legs or 5 hands or 32 tentacles and excitedly mentions them to Withnail as if it were anatomically possible for the two of them. Withnail simply drinks a little more and gives it the old college try.

who cries at movies - Withnail only cries at the movies when he runs out of booze. The Doctor cries at star crossed lover stories.

who gives unprompted massages - Uncle Monty when he comes for a visit.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick - The Doctor hates seeing Withnail after a morning of hard partying. He makes sure he has something to eat and a nice cup of tea and if he’s really suffering with give him a hangover pill that isn’t available until the 2730’s.

who gets jealous easiest - Withnail often mistakes alien social customs for others trying to pull his Time Lord. The number of times they’ve had to make a run for it during a fete being held in their honor…well, it’s a lot. The only time Five was jealous was when he finally met the infamous Marwood. Damn pretty bastard with a voice like velvet. Hmm, velvet.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music - Five. He has a collection of music files from the era when people had apparently evolved into clouds of gas. Withnail thought it just sounded like tramps banging rubbish bin covers together.

who collects something unusual - You do not want to see what the Doctor keeps in his coat pocket.

who takes the longest to get ready - They both wear the same outfit everyday so that is no help. However, Withnail frequently gets lost inside the TARDIS (she doesn’t approve of his drinking sends him wandering until he sobers up) and it takes him longer to get to the control room.

who is the most tidy and organised - The Doctor by default because Withnail is a slob. But don’t think that the Doctor himself is either tidy or organized. Really it’s a miracle that either of them manage to get out the door some days.

who gets most excited about the holidays - The Doctor when he remembers it is a holiday. Withnail hardly ever knows what day it is.

who is the big spoon/little spoon - Withnail often aggressively cuddles the Doctor, but when he’s not feeling well, many mornings he’ll wake up the little spoon. The Doctor always knows.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports - Withnail: board games; The Doctor: cricket

who starts the most arguments - Withnail often drunkenly misunderstands what the Doctor is trying to say and gets angry.

who suggests that they buy a pet - The Doctor suggested a cat and Withnail suggested Marwood. No one mentions pets again.

what couple traditions they have - Tea and toast in the library every...well not morning, but first thing after Withnail wakes. Then adventures through time and space.

what tv shows they watch together - The Doctor is very fond of By the Light of the Astroid; Withnail likes Newsroom. Not to watch, but just to be running in the background.

what other couple they hang out with - You will often find Danny and Presuming Ed hanging about.

how they spend time together as a couple - They both have very varied interests, but one thing they both love is a boisterous marketplace. You’ll often find them shopping and squabbling over what to buy.

who made the first move - The Doctor found Withnail in an alley in London. He was very concerned for the man passed out in the gutter and bend down to check on him. Withnail mistook him for a wealthy mark, planted a kiss on him, and invited himself along for the ride. It turned out well for them both.

who brings flowers home - The Doctor brings home celery, does that count?

who is the best cook - There was an incident last year with a flask of lighter fluid and a pan of fried eggs. Withnail is no longer allowed in the galley.

Send me a ship and I’ll tell you who…

#withnail x fifth doctor #withnail and i #doctor who #crossover ship #crack ship #ship ask game #Anonymous

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ucflibrary · 6 years ago

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The national celebration of African American History was started by Carter G. Woodson, a Harvard-trained historian and the founder of the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History, and first celebrated as a weeklong event in February of 1926. After a half century of overwhelming popularity, the event was expanded to a full month in 1976 by President Gerald Ford.

Here at UCF Libraries we believe that knowledge is key to living a good life and that sharing information benefits everyone. This is why our featured bookshelf suggestions range from celebrating outstanding African Americans to having difficult conversations about racism and American History. We are proud to present our top 24 favorite books by, and/or about, African Americans.

Click on the link below to see the full list, descriptions, and catalog links for the Black History Month titles suggested by UCF Library employees. These 24 books plus many, many more are also on display on the 2nd (main) floor of the John C. Hitt Library next to the bank of two elevators. Blu-rays and DVDs for documentaries and popular films are also included in the display.

A Rap on Race by Margaret Mead and James Baldwin A black writer's emotional response to American racism is juxtaposed with the logical analyses of a social scientist. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

Backlash: what happens when we talk honestly about racism in America by George Yancy When George Yancy penned a New York Times op-ed entitled “Dear White America” asking white Americans to confront the ways that they benefit from racism, he knew his article would be controversial. But he was unprepared for the flood of vitriol in response. The resulting blowback played out in the national media, with critics attacking Yancy in every form possible—including death threats—and supporters rallying to his side. Despite the rhetoric of a “post-race” America, Yancy quickly discovered that racism is still alive, crude, and vicious in its expression. In Backlash, Yancy expands upon the original article and chronicles the ensuing controversy as he seeks to understand what it was about the op-ed that created so much rage among so many white readers. He challenges white Americans to rise above the vitriol and to develop a new empathy for the African American experience. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

Buffalo soldiers directed by Charles Haid Danny Glover stars in this historical epic of former slaves turned United States Army recruits--the Buffalo Soldiers. Freed by the Emancipation Proclamation of 1862, many ex-slaves head west in search of a new life far from Southern oppression. In 1866, a year after the end of the Civil War, the U.S. Army enlists black men to fight Native Americans on the Western frontier. Nicknamed "Buffalo Soldiers" by the Plains Indians, these African-American troops also string miles of telegraph wire, escort settlers, cattle and railroad crews through the hostile West and patrol the wild United States-Mexican border in this moving drama that chronicles an untold, exciting part of United States history. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

Crossing Division Street: an oral history of the African-American community in Orlando by Benjamin Brotemarkle This book includes an overview of the people, institutions, and events that shaped the establishment, growth and history of the African-American community in Orlando. We examine the creation of the neighborhood's educational centers, places of worship, and businesses, and the irony of how desegregation inadvertently led to the decline of the community. Significant instances of racial unrest in Orlando that are often overlooked are detailed in this manuscript. Suggested by Rich Gause, Research & Information Services

Devil in the Grove: Thurgood Marshall, the Groveland Boys, and the dawn of a new America by Gilbert King In 1949, Florida's orange industry was booming, and citrus barons got rich on the backs of cheap Jim Crow labor. To maintain order and profits, they turned to Willis V. McCall, a violent sheriff who ruled Lake County with murderous resolve. When a white seventeen-year-old Groveland girl cried rape, McCall was fast on the trail of four young blacks who dared to envision a future for themselves beyond the citrus groves. By day's end, the Ku Klux Klan had rolled into town, burning the homes of blacks to the ground and chasing hundreds into the swamps, hell-bent on lynching the young men who came to be known as "the Groveland Boys." Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

Dread Nation by Justina Ireland At once provocative, terrifying, and darkly subversive, Dread Nation is Justina Ireland's stunning vision of an America both foreign and familiar—a country on the brink, at the explosive crossroads where race, humanity, and survival meet. Suggested by Emma Gisclair, Curriculum Materials Center

Everything’s Trash but it’s OK by Phoebe Robinson Written in her trademark unfiltered and witty style, Robinson's latest collection is a call to arms. Outfitted with on-point pop culture references, these essays tackle a wide range of topics: giving feminism a tough-love talk on intersectionality, telling society's beauty standards to kick rocks, and calling foul on our culture's obsession with work. Robinson also gets personal, exploring money problems she's hidden from her parents, how dating is mainly a warmed-over bowl of hot mess, and definitely most important, meeting Bono not once, but twice. She's struggled with being a woman with a political mind and a woman with an ever-changing jeans size. She knows about trash because she sees it every day--and because she's seen roughly one hundred thousand hours of reality TV and zero hours of Schindler's List. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Frederick Douglass: America's prophet by D.H. Dilbeck From his enslavement to freedom, Frederick Douglass was one of America's most extraordinary champions of liberty and equality. Throughout his long life, Douglass was also a man of profound religious conviction. In this concise and original biography, D. H. Dilbeck offers a provocative interpretation of Douglass's life through the lens of his faith. In an era when the role of religion in public life is as contentious as ever, Dilbeck provides essential new perspective on Douglass's place in American history. Suggested by Christina Wray, Teaching & Engagement

Frederick Douglass: prophet of freedom by David W. Blight The definitive, dramatic biography of the most important African American of the nineteenth century: Frederick Douglass, the escaped slave who became the greatest orator of his day and one of the leading abolitionists and writers of the era. Suggested by Christina Wray, Teaching & Engagement

Heavy: an American memoir by Kiese Laymon In this powerful and provocative memoir, genre-bending essayist and novelist Kiese Laymon explores what the weight of a lifetime of secrets, lies, and deception does to a black body, a black family, and a nation teetering on the brink of moral collapse. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Hidden in Plain View: the secret story of quilts and the underground railroad by Jacqueline L. Tobin and Raymond G. Dobard The fascinating story of a friendship, a lost tradition, and an incredible discovery, revealing how enslaved men and women made encoded quilts and then used them to navigate their escape on the Underground Railroad. In Hidden in Plain View, historian Jacqueline Tobin and scholar Raymond Dobard offer the first proof that certain quilt patterns, including a prominent one called the Charleston Code, were, in fact, essential tools for escape along the Underground Railroad. In 1993, historian Jacqueline Tobin met African American quilter Ozella Williams amid piles of beautiful handmade quilts in the Old Market Building of Charleston, South Carolina. With the admonition to "write this down," Williams began to describe how slaves made coded quilts and used them to navigate their escape on the Underground Railroad. But just as quickly as she started, Williams stopped, informing Tobin that she would learn the rest when she was "ready." During the three years it took for Williams's narrative to unfold—and as the friendship and trust between the two women grew—Tobin enlisted Raymond Dobard, Ph.D., an art history professor and well-known African American quilter, to help unravel the mystery. Suggested by Jacqueline Johnson, Cataloging

Hokum: an anthology of African-American humor edited by Paul Beatty This book is less a comprehensive collection than it is a mix-tape narrative dubbed by a trusted friend―a sampler of underground classics, rare grooves, and timeless summer jams, poetry and prose juxtaposed with the blues, hip-hop, political speeches, and the world's funniest radio sermon. Groundbreaking, fierce, and hilarious, this is a necessary anthology for any fan or student of American writing, with a huge range and a smart, political grasp of the uses of humor. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin Told through the eyes of Tish, a nineteen-year-old girl, in love with Fonny, a young sculptor who is the father of her child, Baldwin’s story mixes the sweet and the sad. Tish and Fonny have pledged to get married, but Fonny is falsely accused of a terrible crime and imprisoned. Their families set out to clear his name, and as they face an uncertain future, the young lovers experience a kaleidoscope of emotions–affection, despair, and hope. In a love story that evokes the blues, where passion and sadness are inevitably intertwined, Baldwin has created two characters so alive and profoundly realized that they are unforgettably ingrained in the American psyche. Suggested by Rachel Mulvihill, Teaching & Engagement

Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl by Harriet A. Jacobs Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl is an autobiography by a young mother and fugitive slave published in 1861 by L. Maria Child, who edited the book for its author, Harriet Ann Jacobs. Jacobs used the pseudonym Linda Brent Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison A first novel by an unknown writer, it remained on the bestseller list for sixteen weeks, won the National Book Award for fiction, and established Ralph Ellison as one of the key writers of the century. The nameless narrator of the novel describes growing up in a black community in the South, attending a Negro college from which he is expelled, moving to New York and becoming the chief spokesman of the Harlem branch of "the Brotherhood", and retreating amid violence and confusion to the basement lair of the Invisible Man he imagines himself to be. Suggested by Athena Hoeppner, Acquisitions & Collections

March. Book One. by John Lewis This graphic novel is Congressman John Lewis' first-hand account of his lifelong struggle for civil and human rights, meditating in the modern age on the distance traveled since the days of Jim Crow and segregation. Rooted in Lewis' personal story, it also reflects on the highs and lows of the broader civil rights movement. Book One spans Lewis' youth in rural Alabama, his life-changing meeting with Martin Luther King, Jr., the birth of the Nashville Student Movement, and their battle to tear down segregation through nonviolent lunch counter sit-ins, building to a climax on the steps of City Hall. His commitment to justice and nonviolence has taken him from an Alabama sharecropper's farm to the halls of Congress, from a segregated schoolroom to the 1963 March on Washington D.C., and from receiving beatings from state troopers, to receiving the Medal of Freedom awarded to him by Barack Obama, the first African-American president. (Book Two and Book Three are also available at the UCF Curriculum Materials Center in the Education complex) Suggested by Emma Gisclair, Curriculum Materials Center

Middle Passage by Charles Johnson It is 1830. Rutherford Calhoun, a newly treed slave and irrepressible rogue, is desperate to escape unscrupulous bill collectors and an impending marriage to a priggish schoolteacher. He jumps aboard the first boat leaving New Orleans, the Republic, a slave ship en route to collect members of a legendary African tribe, the Allmuseri. Thus begins a daring voyage of horror and self-discovery. Suggested by Brian Calhoun, Research & Information Services

Obama: An Intimate Portrait by Pete Souza Obama: An Intimate Portrait reproduces more than 300 of Souza's most iconic photographs with fine-art print quality in an oversize collectible format. Together they document the most consequential hours of the Presidency--including the historic image of President Obama and his advisors in the Situation Room during the bin Laden mission--alongside unguarded moments with the President's family, his encounters with children, interactions with world leaders and cultural figures, and more. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

Piecing Me Together by Renee Watson Jade believes she must get out of her poor neighborhood if she's ever going to succeed. Her mother tells her to take advantage of every opportunity that comes her way. And Jade has: every day she rides the bus away from her friends and to the private school where she feels like an outsider, but where she has plenty of opportunities. But some opportunities she doesn't really welcome, like an invitation to join Women to Women, a mentorship program for "at-risk" girls. Just because her mentor is black and graduated from the same high school doesn't mean she understands where Jade is coming from. She's tired of being singled out as someone who needs help, someone people want to fix. Jade wants to speak, to create, to express her joys and sorrows, her pain and her hope. Maybe there are some things she could show other women about understanding the world and finding ways to be real, to make a difference. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand by Samuel R. Delany Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand is a science fiction masterpiece, an essay on the inexplicability of sexual attractiveness, and an examination of interstellar politics among far-flung worlds. First published in 1984, the novel's central issues—technology, globalization, gender, sexuality, and multiculturalism—have only become more pressing with the passage of time. Suggested by Brian Calhoun, Research & Information Services

The Color Purple by Alice Walker Published to unprecedented acclaim, The Color Purple established Alice Walker as a major voice in modern fiction. This is the story of two sisters—one a missionary in Africa and the other a child wife living in the South—who sustain their loyalty to and trust in each other across time, distance, and silence. Suggested by Jacqueline Johnson, Cataloging

The Fire this Time: a new generation speaks about race edited by Jesmyn Ward National Book Award-winner Jesmyn Ward takes James Baldwin's 1963 examination of race in America, The Fire Next Time, as a jumping off point for this groundbreaking collection of essays and poems about race from the most important voices of her generation and our time. The Fire This Time is divided into three parts that shine a light on the darkest corners of our history, wrestle with our current predicament, and envision a better future. Of the eighteen pieces, ten were written specifically for this volume. In the fifty-odd years since Baldwin's essay was published, entire generations have dared everything and made significant progress. But the idea that we are living in the post-Civil Rights era, that we are a "post-racial" society is an inaccurate and harmful reflection of a truth the country must confront. Baldwin's "fire next time" is now upon us, and it needs to be talked about. Contributors include Carol Anderson, Jericho Brown, Garnette Cadogan, Edwidge Danticat, Rachel Kaadzi Ghansah, Mitchell S. Jackson, Honoree Jeffers, Kima Jones, Kiese. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

The Hellfighters of Harlem: African-American soldiers who fought for the right to fight for their country by Bill Harris The author paints a lively portrait of the Hellfighters of Harlem--the Army's most celebrated all-black unit during World War I--chronicling their fierce struggle to be allowed to serve, their exploits in Europe, their influence on American culture, and their continuing contributions in World War II and in Iraq during the Gulf War. Suggested by Rich Gause, Research & Information Services

The Sellout by Paul Beatty A biting satire about a young man's isolated upbringing and the race trial that sends him to the Supreme Court, Paul Beatty's The Sellout showcases a comic genius at the top of his game. It challenges the sacred tenets of the United States Constitution, urban life, the civil rights movement, the father-son relationship, and the holy grail of racial equality: the black Chinese restaurant. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

#ucf library #black history month #book suggestions #booklr #reading

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danandthereader · 6 years ago

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Hi! I firstly wanted to say that I absolutely love your fics! Second, I have a request... what if the reader was playing video games with Dan and he kept trying to distract them by calling them cute names and acting all lovey-dovey? Bonus points if they're recording for the grumps channel!

A/N: His there, lovely ! Thank you so much for the compliment; I’m glad that you like the fics. Can I just say that this is a totally cute prompt and I am so happy to finally be able to fill it ? ♡ I love getting to write Dan as Not So Grump, if that makes sense, especially when he’s being ultra lovey-dovey. Thank you so much for sending it in, and an even bigger thanks for your patience on me filling it. I hope you love it as much as I loved getting to fill it; heart you !

GAME OVER

To say that the Grumps recording room was comfortable was giving it just a bit too much credit. Honestly, the placed with sort of packed, one wall entirely covered in shelves that housed their extensive videogame collection and the rest of the room dedicated to recording equipment and various systems to play them. Yet in this room, with its worn couch and shoddy A/C and shoulder-to-shoulder atmosphere, you couldn’t help but feel welcome. It was just you in the room - Dan and Arin were both taking five just outside - but you stayed to take in the silence, only broken up by the laptops humming.It wasn’t often that you got to really take in the fact that you were part of this now - not like the boys were, of course, but you always got to help out with something, from editing to queuing up and posting videos - mostly because your days always flew by in a blur. Now, though, just for a moment, you could really appreciate it.

Just then, the door opened, revealing the two stars of the show, looking ready to go, followed suit by Ryan. “So, we’ve got a couple different ways to spend the rest of the afternoon,” the editor began. “We can bag a few episodes of Zelda, Monopoly for Versus, let’s see…” He was listing things off the top of his head. “Oh! There’s also Sonic…” You let out a tiny huff of amusement, that current series having particularly entertained you each time you’ve watched it. It seemed to remind everyone that you were there, and Dan turned to you. “What do you think?” Sweet of him to include you in the conversation; you smiled a bit. “Sonic’s always a big hit,” you replied easily. “Or… Hm…” You were lost in thought as well. “Can you guys afford to start something new?” That caught all of their attention. “Like?” prompted Arin, curious at the prospect. You thought for another moment. “Do you have a Spongebob game?” That made him laugh out loud.“What about Snipperclips?” Dan asked, perking up just a bit. “Yeah! I loved getting to see you two play that,” you agreed, beaming. Looking to Arin, the smile that was on his face was more smug than anything. “Oh, he doesn’t wanna play with me,” he added, giving his best friend major side-eye. It was then that the two looked to you, and you got it. “Wh- Me?” You’d never been on Grumps before, and even if you had been dating Danny for the past three or so months, you hadn’t expected things to cross over quite like this. “I’ll set up the mics.” All three of them were moving then, going to rig things up, leaving you all together confused of what just transpired.All at once it hit you - You were going to be on an episode of Game Grumps. This was definitely not how you thought the day was going to go, but when working in a place like this, was anything ever set in stone?

Following suit, you took a seat on the couch next to Dan, bringing your legs up and crossing them over one another. As Arin finished adjusting the mics and levels, and Ryan dug out the Switch controllers and game, you felt a gentle bump against your shoulder. Knowing who it was, you smiled a bit and bumped right back. “How ya feelin’?” the curly-haired one asked, voice kept low to stay between the two of you. “Thoroughly confused,” you replied, equally soft and smiling more. “Why am I doing this with you again?” He chuckled. “Because you’re great. ” That seemed enough of a reason for him; you playfully rolled your eyes. “If at any point you don’t feel comfortable, just tell me, and we’ll pause, and we’ll tag you out, all right?” Your eyebrows furrowed; that had never happened in any Grumps episode. “The audience won’t mind, I promise.”Getting a thumbs-up, the capture was started, the timer began, and Dan introduced the two of you.“Been a while since we’ve played this. Hey everyone!” His on-screen voice wasn’t all that different than his off-screen one, all chipper tones and musical cadence. “We have a very special, new guest me playing this very adorable game…” You smiled a bit as you leaned in. “Hey there,” you greeted simply, hoping you came off confident. “You ready to play some Snipperclips, lovely?” The nickname made you blink, but reply, “Let’s get to it!”Breezing through the first few stages, you two came to a point where you couldn’t quite pass. “What are we supposed to be doing here?” Dan wondered aloud, running back and forth across the screen with his little yellow character. “I think we’re supposed to get the little orbs into their pockets?” Dumb answer; you cringed. “Well, yeah, of course that,” he replied, chuckling. “But how?” As you mimicked him - taking your little pink character and running them back and forth across the stage - you studied the layout. “Well, maybe if we do this, and th- Hey!” He had hit the button that clipped you, cutting a piece from your character with the little thing going oh!. You now had a very pointed half and a rounded-out, untouched half. “Rude!” He was laughing. “But you look so cute now! Like a pink punk rocker,” he insisted as you chased him around the screen. “Not quite as cute as you look in real-life right now, though.” You turned pink at the sudden compliment, stopping the chase and hitting the button to reset your character. “Don’t think this is over,” you muttered, mostly into the mic for the audience to hear.

Eventually you did get past the level, working your way to an underwater mission that required you to cut each other into certain shapes. “Okay, this’ll be easy!” Your voice radiated enthusiasm, comfort having settled in at this point, Dan’s reassuring words from earlier keeping your butterflies down. “Okay, Danny, c’mere.” You used a humorous voice for the next bit, channeling Arin. “I gotta cut ’cha!” His little character came to yours. “All right, baby. Cut me up.” His voice took on a tone, too, his much more sultry than yours. “Do want you want to me. I’m yours.” You couldn’t help but laugh, the pink darkening. “Okay, lover boy, calm down…” Trailing off, you began snipping away, the silence broken up by his over-the-top, overtly sexual noises. He was playing it way up for humor, but you were sort of afraid it might not be usable. “Look, I’ll fuck you when we get home, okay?” you finally blurted, voice raised with exasperation and amusement. “Ooo, that a promise?”With a huff, you finished slipping the last bit of him. “All right, your turn. Do me.” Both of you paused and looked at each other, him finally catching the flush in your cheeks and grinning from ear-to-ear. “Okay, wait-!” He cracked up. “That’s not what I meant!” He did begin snipping at you in-game as well, through the laughter, keeping the game going. “You know I’ll do you right, baby girl.” Jesus. You let go of the controller and moment and put your face in your hand. “Oh no, I’ve broken you!” He hadn’t stopped the game though. “I’ve actually broken her. I’m so sorry.” His laughter had diminished to chuckles. “Hold on, let’s at least finish this level, and we’ll call it, yeah?” You looked up from your hands, noting that he had finished. “Sounds good,” you breathed, gentle laughter punctuating your sentence.Picking up the controller, you rotated your character, hopped on top of him, and the level cleared with the usual confetti and cheering. “We did it!” he accounted happily. “We’re such a good team.” He leaned over, setting his head on your shoulder and looking up at you with bright hazel eyes. “God, I hate you,” you muttered, knowing the mic had picked it up and knowing you hadn’t meant it at all. “Aw, no you don’t,” he replied, letting your mic pick him up as well. “You looove me.” The teasing tone made you sigh. “Much to my opposition,” you amended, laughing gently. “How about a ‘Next time on Game Grumps’ for the outro?” You turned to the mic. “Next time on Game Grumps... Something else!” The two of you laughed together. “Perfect. See you later, lovelies!” Lifting himself from your shoulder, he stopped the recording, then the capture, and turned to you.“We did it!” You shoved him lightly, grinning and shaking your head, no malice in the movement but getting him to widen his eyes. “What?” He was playing dumb, which made you shove him again. He took it, but rebounded quick, leaning in and kissing you lovingly.

#danny sexbang #dan avidan #dan x reader #dan avidan x reader #reader insert #anonymous #answered #req fill

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artificialzeezee · 8 years ago

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Sorry to my unknown lover.

Summary: Based on Halsey’s song ‘Sorry’. Roy reflecting on what he won’t let himself have. Roy reflecting on his insecurities and his mistakes, and the love he let slip away before it ever began. A drabble about Roy and Shane, and what never was.

“All you are is a bastard! You could never be someone’s boyfriend because your tongue is already so far up your own asshole!”

“Real classy, Shane. Keep ‘em coming, you think I haven’t heard this song and dance before?”

“Of course you have, I just never thought we’d play it! I never thought you’d be like this to me!”

Roy didn’t enjoy arguing. No sane minded individual did, unless they had some sort of God complex- and contrary to popular belief, Roy didn’t have one of those. Roy didn’t take pleasure watching people he loved in pain, he didn’t get a kick out of tears and screaming, and he wouldn’t choose to repeat any of the dark nights where his voice went hoarse shouting, while his partner curls up in ball of self pity on the floor. For Roy, arguments had become a regular visiter, but not a friend he greeted warmly. Just an acquaintance he begrudgingly accepted. All his previous relationships ended not with a whistle, but with a bang.

How did he end up here? A Friday night, laying on the grass of his garden, staring up at the stars and letting the summer breeze whistle past his anxieties. The over grown grass blades tickling the exposed parts of his skin, the midnight blanket attempting to coo him into a blissful state of relaxation, and the hammering of his heart drumming louder and louder every second he represses the aching of his chest. He should be out on the town, breaking hearts and living the extravagant life of an L.A bachelor.

This was a normal thing he did however in times of great difficulty. He use to retreat to a field a few blocks down from where he lived as a kid when he got stressed. When his mother flipped out after finding the red dress under his bed, when his father told him about his grandfathers heart attack, and when he’d gotten into a huge fight at school after a jock called him a faggot one too many times. He coped with fresh air, and silence, letting his conflicting emotions battle it out civilly. Roy would briskly trudge up the hill, counting every breath he took on his trek, and then lay under the twinkling night sky above him. Thoughts would begin to untangle from the web like a lucky fly, and the spider that spun the dread and anger from corner to corner of his mind would eventually rest. Then he was left fragile, but tranquil. He could breath again without the pang of rage boiling at the centre of his soul. Roy watched the silver balls of fire sit still and calm in the void, and he’d imagine himself to be them.

Against all odds, the stars weren’t sucked up by the mind numbing darkness. They carried on triumphant and bright, beautiful no matter what surrounded them, and he took inspiration from them.

He came out to his family. He started performing on bigger and better stages. He got a job as a costume designer.

He won Drag Race.

Somehow he always ended up the same way, as if he was still the twig-like, trifling kid from way back yonder. Laying on grass, trying to relax his rigid, uneven breathing, and over thinking to a point he may explode like a volcano. Why did it all have to be so familiar? Why couldn’t he move on, and stop relating to the 11 year old that would scream angrily through the burning tears streaming down his cheeks, crying into the empty space of an uninhabited park.

Roy rested his hands against his chest, focusing on the way they lifted and fell in time to his breathing. He began untangling the irksome knots of his worries, but he finds himself stuck on the most infuriating, intangible thought that he wanted to avoid at all costs. How foolish was he to pretend it would simply go away with some air and concentration.

Shane. The one and only reason he was currently laying in his garden at 12:42AM, with goosebumps and a sour expression on his face.

They’d gotten into a huge fight, and it had felt like an eternity of shouting until eventually Roy stormed off, driving into the night with Shane screaming bloody murder after him. His voice became nothing but a ghostly echo, and Roy was left with an eerie silence he didn’t feel any better about. Now he was all alone, he missed Shane, even at the worst. To miss the sound of someone’s screeching, even the sound of their heart ripping apart...did that make Roy satanic, or just human?

A few weeks after he was crowned on Drag Race, he was in a club with Shane; as regular as any other night on the tear with his friend. Arms slung over one another as they merrily sang along to whatever the DJ was playing, cheeks pressed together and words tossed around with little concern for the shattering effect they may have in the light of a sober morning.

Maybe it was the smell of apples in Shane’s hair, or the sparkling in Roy’s eyes, or maybe it was the bass pounding their blood through their bodies, but something was different that night. Shane laid his eyes on Roy in a way no one ever had, and as fast as the thought even crossed his mind, Roy threw himself at Shane for a sloppy yet passionate embrace.

Blurred delights and burning loins, Shane led Roy back to his hotel. Hands nervously tugging at damn material blocking their desires, hair caught in the tight fist of a lovers rushed need; the two barely had a second to take a breath before they were under the sheets, hot and sweaty. That was their first time.

It went on for months. Shane and Roy would meet, exchange pleasantries, have a couple bottles of wine, and find themselves in a mess of the others limbs, under a shameful blanket or duvet.

Eventually, they stopped drinking wine.

Eventually, they would sleepover after having sex.

Eventually, it was a dream come true...

So eventually, Roy felt claustrophobic.

He wasn’t good at relationships. He was good at casual sex, and he was good at being a shoulder to cry on, but the idea of someone depending on him, or his darkest, most vile secrets being shared with another person, scared him. Whole heartedly petrified him - spine tingling, hair standing up on his arms, sweat dripping down his forehead terrifying. Then there was the worst point of all, that this wasn’t just some yank he’d picked up at a bar, but it was one of his best friends.

And deep down, Roy knew he was falling in love with Shane, despite all the guards and walls he built up around him.

It was the most disgusting, despicable sensation to realise he was falling in love with Shane. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in love, but it was by far the worst, because the repercussions this time would mean tearing himself open, wounded and vulnerable. He knew so much about Shane - facts engrained onto the flesh of his brain, like his birthday or his best memory growing up, or even his mothers favourite song. So much about Shane had become who Roy was, and he despised the codependency they had fallen into.

Watching his “boyfriend” in one of his work shirts as a nighty, cooking breakfast, shinning in the toils of the sun’s rays that leaked through the window. Listening to the angelic, carefree notes of Shane singing in the shower. Watching him beam with pride when he made Roy laugh. Shane had, unfortunately, become Roy’s favourite pass time, but he wasn’t overjoyed by the soft glow of new love.

Commitment-phobe. That’s what Danny had jokingly tossed at Roy when he told him about his hatred for relationships. Who was Danny to talk anywho? The boy who wrote songs about fake falling in love with a stranger on holiday, and ending every relationship he had before they got too intense. Danny was a commitment-phobe just as much as Roy probably was.

But, he was young. Roy couldn’t afford to keep jumping out of bed every time things got serious.

He didn’t want to be alone, not in a long shot! It was just, love was never a sure thing. Love wasn’t an unbreakable bond, and relationships could crumble and end in tragedy when placed upon the wrong person. Roy felt that he was the wrong person, and Shane was not. Shane was kind, and bright. Shane was warm, and loving, and had a whole world to offer a person. How could grumpy, workaholic, narcissistic, pessimistic Roy even think about taking that world away from someone who truly deserved Shane?

So he started missing phone calls. He stopped sleeping over the now infrequent times they hooked up for sex. He stopped putting in the effort in an attempt to distance himself and save the friendship he cherished.

*Tap, tap, tap.*

Roy sat bolt upright as the sound abruptly shook him from his thoughts, looking toward the source. There sat his precious dog Dede, whimpering as she gave him wide, pleading puppy eyes, scratching at the glass every couple of seconds. He snickered, hiking himself off the ground to let her out.

She pounced at his legs, letting out soft yippie barks of excitement as he fussed over her, and then they were both sat back in the middle of the garden, quiet and calm. Dede snuggled up in his lap as he stroked her, recalling where his thoughts last were.

Lost. He was now thinking about how much Shane use to pamper his dogs, spoil them like they were his own, and how the two adored Shane as much as they did Roy. He recalls the time they spent all morning in bed together, the two small dogs snoring at the foot of the bed. Shane resting on Roy’s chest, their fingers linked and held against his chest. Roy can still feel the gentle pitter patter of his love struck heart against his palm, trying to break it’s way out of Shane’s rib cage.

I should never have kissed him. The most frequent thought that crosses Roy’s mind these days. Especially since the argument.

Shane had come round fuming, not even allowing Roy the chance to shut the door in his face since he had shoved his way through to the living room. His face was fresh with makeup, beautiful and soft, but nothing else he wore indicated drag. Obviously he’d rushed from a gig to get changed before bursting onto the scene.

It started with an unnerving quiet, just the intensity of Shane’s burning glare. Roy felt his blood boil just having the usually calm boy’s eyes glued to him. Then came the shouting - the horrible sound of distress coming from the most important person to Roy. He never had the strength to stop it however. Rather, a demonic part of him deep, deep down wants Shane to keep shouting; till his lungs burst; till all the days end and there’s no longer a life to fight against. It’s the flight part of his fight, that would rather Shane tier himself out of this “relationship” as apposed to Roy putting in the effort to be with someone he fits with imperfectly.

It’s a good thing, not to be perfect. Roy’s a little crooked and Shane’s a little bent out of shape and they fall together like two different puzzle pieces, miraculously working, despite the picture.

“What did I do to you, Roy? We were so good for so long, and then you stopped-”

“We? What are you even talking about, Shane! We were never a thing, and you know it!”

“How can you stand there and lie to me? Lie to yourself?!”

“You were nothing but a good fuck, okay? Why do you have to kid yourself and pretend this was more than it was? We’re two adult, single, men, who were lonely, and wanted sex. That’s it! That’s all this ever was, Shane.”

He’s lying. They both know it, like the markings on the back of their hands. Shane can see the desperate attempt at escape that Roy leaves exposed within the twinkle in the iris of his eyes.

“Stop playing the gobby, no feelings cunt you put on for everyone else. I know you, Roy. I know the real you, deep down-”

“Ah, what a load of bullshit. What you see with me is what you get. Sorry to disappoint you, Shane.”

“No, I’m not just a pretty face. I’m smart and I see exactly what is going on here. I’m not some sex toy you can discard when you’re done with me, especially with you, of all people! My best fucking friend, that’s who you are. So don’t you dare tell me I don’t know you, and don’t you dare pretend what we had was nothing!”

It went on for more than an hour. Roy threw his fist at the wall, Shane pounded his palm onto the coffee table, both ended up exhausted and no where nearer to an ending. Shane knew all their late night conversations meant more to Roy than he was letting on, but he also knew how unbearable the pain of unrequited love felt, and how at his age it just wasn’t worth fighting for. If it was anyone else, Shane would have given up. If it wasn’t his best friend - his rock to confine in - he would be home asleep, a little broken, but relieved.

Roy remembers cocking his jaw, slick with a sleazy smirk that would infuriate anyone who saw it. He remembers laughing mockingly, in time to the music of Shane’s shattering affections. He remembers when things got violent and both began hurtling insults back and forth, for no particular reason other than to hurt the opponent.

When would it end? It didn’t seem like either was going to get their way. Shane wasn’t going to walk away in a relationship and Roy wasn’t going to leave with a best friend. They would both end up angry and alone.

“All you are is a bastard! You could never be someone’s boyfriend because your tongue is already so far up your own asshole!”

“Real classy, Shane. Keep ‘em coming, you think I haven’t heard this song and dance before?”

“Of course you have, I just never thought we’d play it! I never thought you’d be like this to me!” Shane screamed, the foundation of his makeup unable to cover the burning red of his cheeks. “Why are you incapable of real human compassion? Huh?! You couldn’t just let us develop like we were, you had to be a prick! God, do you even realise how mean you can be? I mean for God sake, you kissed me all those months ago, not the other way round! You’re the one who started this...” Shane stopped, his chest struggling to keep up with his breath as he tried to settle the racing of his heart. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

I should never have kissed him. Roy cursed under his breath, a hand pushing through the tufts of his hair. “I know.” he whispered, to himself and to Shane. “I know. I never should have-”

“No, don’t take that moment away from me. I’m glad you kissed me.”

They’re on opposite ends of the living room, staring at each other, with less rage and more pity. Roy was broken. Shane was broken. Everything about them and between them was breaking. Roy wants nothing more than to hold Shane, rest a hand on his cheek and apologise till he’s used up all the words within him, and he’s contently mute. He wants to be able to love Shane without the fear burning away inside him, but the anxiety is too much. He’s convinced Shane could do so much better, and he’s convinced it’s written that he must spend his days alone. Shane believes in love, Roy believes in realism.

Roy grabbed Shane by the wrist. He dragged him out of the house, locked the door and got in his car, alone. Shane shouted for him to stop, pounding on the car window, begging him to resolve whatever it was he was missing. Roy just looked at Shane through the glass and sighed.

“Someone will love you,” he said, too quiet for Shane to actually hear against his persistent shouting, “But that someone isn’t me.”

He drove away, from his own home and from his dying love. He drove toward the unknown and the lonesome future.

Dede began to stir in her slumber, and before Roy could pick her up she jumped off his lap, scuttling back to the house. He watched her, smiling warmly despite the agonising twisting off his stomach. So many self destructive thoughts to match self destructive actions.

The stars glimmered high above, singing against the silent audience of darkness. Roy fell on his back again and just stared at them, in awe, hoping they would tell him what to do next. Such grace and beauty, dancing above for all the see but never to touch. He’d burn up the very second he lay the tip of his finger on them, and right now when he felt so conflicted and nauseous, it was exactly what he wanted. To become the shimmering star dust within the cosmos, with no problems and no feelings. Just a stunning chain of lights, free and admired.

It had been a day since the argument. It felt like a battle that had extended for years, the way his throat was tightening; reflecting on Shane’s depressed pleads and his distressed screams, pulling Roy down under and filling his lungs till he drowned in the same feelings. Why couldn’t he just accept love? Why did he have to run for the hills?

He could spend all his life analysing and still never come up with a clear answer. Childhood trauma, fear of abandonment, some other bullshit answer- Roy didn’t want to find answers as to why he wouldn’t, he just wanted to know how to unapologetically love Shane. To love him without the compulsion to back peddle, and to give him the undying, obsessive, proud love Shane truly deserved.

“I’m making it harder than it fucking has to be.” He spoke quietly to himself. “This is...fuck, why can’t I believe that anybody ever really starts to fall in love with me?! Why am I...” He grunts, slamming his head down against the grass and squeezing his eyes shut as he settles the rising anger. “fuck.”

The longer he lay watching the stars, the longer he’s depriving himself of a blissful future in the arms of his very real love. The longer he lets his hot headed nature be the dominant feeling, the longer he is without carefree, tender intimacy.

“What was I to you then, Roy? Tell me- tell me right now, because I know I wasn’t just sex and you won’t convince me otherwise.”

“Then what the fuck is the point in me saying anything, you’ve already decided on the answer!”

“Are you telling me all the mornings we spent talking about our lives, stark naked, unable to take our hands of each other, was nothing? Because it didn’t feel like nothing. It felt like everything!”

“You can’t just enjoy the bullshit. You have to ruin a good thing by putting thought into it-”

“Me ruin it?! You’re the one who started screening my calls, ignoring my texts! You’re the one who tried me on like a piece of cheap jewellery and threw me away! If you thought I’d just shrug and move on without a second glance back, you’re not as intelligent as I figured you were.”

“You’re use to being an over sized flesh light anyway, why are you-”

Shane threw himself at Roy, slamming him against the wall and screamed every crude insult he could think off. Roy shouted back, practically spitting, clenching his fists at his side.

It was ugly.

It was heart wrenching.

Why? Why did Roy ruin such a good thing, why did he destroy the one person who meant more to him than anything ever had?

When he was a kid, watching the stars use to do him a world of wonder and clear up the web of worries cluttering his thoughts. Now, in his 40s, it did nothing but leave him cold and star struck.

Should he call Shane? Or, was it simply too little too late? It seemed their fait was sealed; his ignorance had broken Shane’s heart, and he failed to see it at the beginning till he tore Shane up at the end.

#bitney #rpdr fanfiction #fic #(A drabble that ended up being almost 8 pages...)#first of my one shots done (i feel nervous to post...not sure why........)

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