#I also went to a cowboy cafe later in the night and that was so so so so fun!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rustbeltjessie · 3 years ago

Note

What are your top five memories?

I have been thinking about how to answer this for days. It's a rough question for someone like me who remembers everything. Also, what do you mean by 'top' memories? Happiest memories? Most exciting memories? Memories that have had the most impact on me/that I think about the most?

In any case, I've decided to answer with five memories which I think of quite frequently, with the caveat that if I were to respond on a different day, I might respond differently.

1. December 2002, Philadelphia. A. and I had already checked out of the hotel we’d been staying at for a couple nights, and decided to drive to South Street and get coffees and wander a bit before heading back to Maryland. Only, when we got to her car, she couldn’t find her keys. First we went back to every store and cafe we’d stopped in to see if anyone had found her keys, and no one had, and then she realized...oh shit. She’d accidentally thrown them into a public trash can when throwing out her coffee cup. We searched through some trash cans we thought they might be in, but at that point it had been hours so really we had no idea where they were. We called her mom, cuz her mom had a spare key to her car, but her mom was three hours away and had to work. So we got more coffees, wandered South Street some more, trying to figure out what the fuck we were gonna do; we didn’t have enough money for any hotels that were in walking distance and obviously we couldn’t get into the car to drive elsewhere. And it was cold, windy, slushy streets, December in Philly. Eventually, like, way later, almost night, we ran into a couple of the dudes from Violent Society. They knew A. because she was dating a member of a band they frequently shared a bill with, they bought us coffee and hung with us for a bit and managed to track down an acquaintance who gave us a place to crash for the night, and A.’s mom came to rescue us the next morning.

2. November 2004, Chicago. At the after-party for the premiere of Brushfires, a film inspired by a poem I wrote. Drinking a martini and someone walking up and saying: “Oh. So you’re the poet.”

3. It was October 2007, a couple nights before Hallowmas. I was in NYC staying with my ladyfriend. We had been stumbling drunkenly across the Lower East Side, stopping into bar after bar, searching for a bar we had been to back in February and vowed we’d find again. We didn’t find that bar, but we did come across one that was pretty alright, not too crowded, good deals on drinks, a photobooth in the back & a good jukebox. As we were waiting for our whiskies up at the bar, a fella started talking to me. It was quite obvious from the get-go that he was hitting on me, and I wasn’t interested, but he seemed harmless enough, so I didn’t outright tell him to fuck off. He was skinny, wearing a black leather jacket & black jeans; I guessed he was probably in his mid-40s to early-50s, but his face was worn from years of hard living so it was difficult to tell for sure. He was also very very drunk, drunker than me n’ my girl were, even. He was swaying, slurring his words, drinking his beer straight from the pitcher. And I noticed his boots - they were these fuckin’ fabulous pointed-toe black-leather motorcycle/cowboy boot hybrid things, with chains wrapped around ‘em. My first mistake was saying: Hey man, cool boots. The way he acted when I told him I dug his boots, you’d think I professed undying love or something. We finally managed to shake him for a bit, and I headed over to the juke. I put a couple bucks in, enough for five songs. My second mistake was that one of the songs I played was by The Gun Club. “Sex Beat.” But there’s no way I could have known. When the song came on, and the drunken fella noticed me singing along and realized I played it, he rushed over to our table and started chattering wildly: I can’t believe you played The Gun Club! I’m from L.A., I was part of the punk scene there back then, I knew Jeffrey Lee Pierce and all those guys! (At least that was the gist of it, what I could gather from his slurred, staccato speech.) I mean, I did think it was pretty neat he knew poor old Jeffrey Lee, but I still was not interested in him, and at that point he was getting kind of annoying. So I just sorta nodded and didn’t really engage with him. My girl and I went back to our own conversation, and he just kept standing there. He asked if he could sit down with us, we didn’t answer. He stood there, swaying awkwardly for a few more minutes, then, with no warning, leapt over our table and landed quite gracefully on the bench on the other side. We stared at him, mouths open, too surprised to be pissed off. He leaned back, half-sprawled across the bench, sipped his beer. I do this, he slurred, because I am like a cat.

4. New Orleans. September 2008. I was paying for my purchases at Esoterica Occult Goods, and the phone rang. The witch behind the counter picked it up, said Hello?, then slammed it down. -Three months of hangin’ up on that motherfucker, you think he’d get a clue. How come no one ever believes me when I say I don’t want a boyfriend? -No one ever believes me, either. Or they say they’re okay with it, then… -They’re not.

5. Oakland, early 2011. I was hanging out with R., whom I’d only just met, but already had a crush on and was imagining kissing her, but she interrupted my reverie when we reached the empty house with the orange tree in the front yard. –Oooh, oranges, she said, then, looking down at her feet, I’m too short to reach them. So I, suddenly very glad to be a tall girl, swiped a few oranges off the lowest-hanging branch. –Thanks, she said, smiling again.We were only a few blocks away from my apartment, at that point. We exchanged phone numbers, started discussing tentative future hangouts to make a zine together, to see a show at Gilman. We passed the street next to the one I lived on – Oh my god, Frisbie Street, she said. Before I could say anything, she grabbed my hand and started to sing: We were a mess, bloody and half undressed in the shelter of the shadows of the Frisbie Street creek. A canopy of trees and leaves, with us hidden underneath. I joined in: Time rolls over me. Time rushes over me. Why try to run so fast? It still passes you by.

Plus a bonus number six, because I was just thinking of this recently:

6. Autumn 1998. I was in Vancouver with my parents (after just having had a truly life-defining experience in Seattle, but that’s another story for another time). There was this big meal for lawyers that my dad worked with, and I was there, bored out of my skull, until this very drunk Scottish lawyer pegged me as a ‘hip young person’ and we got to talking about music, and he just went on and on about how much he loved Dire Straits. His poor wife was mortified, and kept saying, dear, please leave her alone. And I want to make it clear here that he was in no way hitting on me, he was just a very drunk Scottish man trying to talk about rocknroll, so his wife’s mortification wasn’t like “stop hitting on the jailbait,” it was purely “please stop being a drunk nerd and bothering this poor teenager.” (For the record, I found him hilarious and charming; though I did not share his extreme love for Dire Straits he was the most fun person at that dinner.)

#replies #memory #memories #of course as i was writing this #i thought of like ten other memories i could’ve put on this list #also #i realized that the memories i reflect on the most #seem to be odd encounters #with strangers or near-strangers

13 notes · View notes

getthesamovarready · 4 years ago

Text

First Sight

Owen x Michelle

@ana122892 had the idea of Owen and Michelle meeting in a bar the night before their first shift... so here it is!

also on ao3

Chapter 1: nice to meet you

He's sitting at the bar, turning his now empty glass in his hand when someone appears in the space next to him. Shifting over to allow them more room, he thinks nothing of it, and is about to signal the bartender when the person starts to speak. "Hey Chris!" She calls, and Owen's head snaps up. "Can I get a double?" He tries not to let her notice him while he tries to get a good look at the woman next to him, her turned head denying him a glimpse of her face. The bartender, Chris he guesses, lifts his hand in a wave, before confirming her order.

He can't see her face, but he knows enough to know that she's gorgeous. He knew that even before he saw her, saw her hair falling down her back, saw her fingers lacing together on the countertop. He knew it when her voice washed over him in a wave, shocking his system and sending him straightening in his stool.

He takes out his phone, pretending to scroll while he watches her wait on her drink, watches her thumb trace patterns in the back of her hand. His own need of a fresh drink is totally forgotten in his focus on the presence beside him. She starts to look around herself, and his eyes snap firmly to his phone when he sees her head turn to his side.

He can feel her eyes linger on him for a moment, and he almost opens his mouth to talk to her, when Chris sets her drink in front of her. "Ya'll back soon I hear?" Chris asks her, and Owen's interest is piqued.

"We'll be causing trouble again in no time, I'm sure." She replies with a weak, but affectionate, smile in her voice. Owen can hear it even without looking at her, and he so wants to see it.

"You make sure to bring them round, Michelle. I wanna meet em." He tells her, before turning to attend another customer. The woman, Michelle, lets out a heavy sigh, drooping onto the counter as she lifts her drink.

"So you come here often?" Owen asks, before cursing himself for not thinking of something better. The woman stiffens, turning to him slowly with a confused, concerned, and slightly amused frown. And she is... Stunning.

"What gave it away?" Blue eyes pierce him, and her lips draw into the most attractive smirk he has ever seen. "The bartender knowing me by name?" She cocks her head at him. "Or are you just a really bad flirt?" She looks him up and down, and he nearly shudders.

"I'm gonna go with both." He admits, after a moment of floundering. She nods at him, eyes narrowing. He can't seem to hold his tongue under her gaze. "I was curious." He starts, stomach tightening. "And it was a conversation starter. A bad, clichéd one, I'll admit." Her brow furrows, and it feels like a challenge. "And I would really like to try again." He flushes, before nodding at her. "Hi, I'm Owen." He holds out a hand, and she examines it for a moment.

"Michelle." She offers, still frowning. "But you already knew that." She smirks at him again. It pricks at his skin, making him want to squirm under her gaze.

He shakes it off before he speaks. "So what has you sighing into a double tequila?" He asks casually, finally summoning the bartender to order another drink.

She drops her head for a moment before answering. "I'll tell you, if you tell me why you're alone in a bar…" She looks him up and down again. "A long way from home?"

He doesn't ask how she knows that, just laughs a little before answering. "I start a new job tomorrow, I guess I'm pretty nervous." He takes his drink gratefully from Chris. "Your turn." He sips.

"Same as you I guess." She shrugs. "But I suppose it's not a new job. Same job as before. But it's different now, everything's gonna be so...different." Her eyes dim their sparkle. "So here I am." He gestures around the bar. "Pretending it's not different." In reality, it's not the kind of bar she'd normally go to on her own, but it felt like the right place to come tonight.

Owen watches as she tries to bring back the light tension from before she answered his question. "Ah, we have something in common." He offers with a smile, raising his glass to her. "To new jobs." He toasts, chest blooming with light when it earns him an actual smile. "You've got a good eye." He tells her when he's sipped his drink. "How did you know I'm a long way from home?" She actually laughs at him, a twinkling thing that dances around her before it fully reaches him, pulling him to lean towards her.

"It's just...really obvious." She smiles apologetically. "Sorry if you were trying to blend in. It's everything about you really." He just looks at her questioningly, before looking at himself, pressing her to elaborate. "Your clothes are too tight." She starts. "Not like...too tight, too tight, just like...not loose." Even in the low light she blushes, her eyes tracing his biceps. "The way you were sitting." He blushes at how tense he was when she appeared next to him. "You just look a little out of place, that's all." She brushes it off, as though she's worried she has offended him.

"I'm definitely out of place." He looks around at cowboy hats and flannel. He looks back at her. "It's not so bad now though." He quirks his eyebrows, and she shakes her head with a blush. "You though, you're right at home." He smiles at her. "Something tells me you're just the kind of friend a guy wants when he's new in town." It's forward, and he worries himself for a moment before she leans back on the counter, smiling.

"Ah, you want a tour guide." She muses. "Someone to show you around town." She clasps her hands in front of her, examining him, as though she's considering what he might actually mean.

So he clarifies. "I'm sure you know all the best places in town." He leans towards her, cocking his head to the door. And she understands, nodding.

She glances towards the door herself, before delaying. "You don't know me," she points out. She signals Chris for two more drinks. "And I don't know you." She says it with a smirk, leaning towards him now.

"What do you want to know?" He asks her, taking a swig of his fresh drink.

"Anything." She shrugs, finally settling on the stool next to her. He tells her about New York, skimming over the details of his life, and focusing instead on his places, his apartment, his street, his favourite cafes. He doesn't let her know him at all really, but he knows all she wants is to pretend she does.

She does the same. She tells him about Austin. Where she grew up, where she moved, where she drinks when she isn't here. He knows he doesn't know her, but he knows she doesn't want him to.

He doesn't ask her about her work, which she is obviously trying not to think about, and she doesn't ask him about his. Eventually, he tells her a joke and she leans forward as she laughs, steadying herself with a hand on his thigh. She doesn't move it.

So he tells her a story of his drunken 20s with her hand on his thigh, tingling as he desperately tries to focus on anything else. Preferably something that isn't her eyes. But they are difficult to ignore.

Which is how he catches the moment she decides to take his hand, lacing her fingers with his. She doesn't say anything as she picks up her bag, standing from her stool. He doesn't say anything while he follows her.

Neither of them say anything when they step outside, or while he turns her to face him, or before he takes her by the back of the neck, kissing her fiercely against the wall of the bar. He's been desperate to do it since she first started to speak, and his skin tingles when she responds to him, a slight whimper rising in her throat. "I've wanted to do that all night." He admits, breaking away from her. She nods, forehead resting on his.

"You want to start your tour of Austin?" She asks him with the tiniest of grins. He nods, releasing her to call a taxi, which she manages even with his arm sneaking around her waist.

They keep their hands, mostly, to themselves in the taxi. Her hand rests apparently innocently on his thigh, while his traces light circles on her shoulder and they try their best not to embarrass the poor driver.

Neither of them show any such restraint when they arrive on her porch and the taxi is gone, and she barely has the door unlocked before she's tugging him inside and slamming it shut behind them.

Later, she lies staring at the ceiling, brow furrowed. He can see the cogs turning in her head, and he starts to worry about everything he's done tonight. "Fuck." She whispers under her breath, the heel of her hand coming up to press on her forehead. "What the fuck did I just do?" She asks the air, and he pulls himself further away from her. She jolts and the movement, immediately reaching her hand out in apology. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that I just…" She sighs, sitting up, taking bedsheets with her in some imitation of modesty. "I don't do this. Ever. And I've been really… it doesn't matter. I'm sorry." She squeezes his bicep before pulling away from him, her hands dropping to twist together in her lap. "I keep doing stupid things." She tells them, squeezing her fingers together. "Carlos is gonna go crazy."

Carlos? Owen panics, if this woman has a partner this just went from amazing, to awkward, to horrible really fast. "He's had to arrest me fourteen times and now I've taken a total stranger into my house." She drops her head, bringing a hand up to catch it. "I'm supposed to be the smart one. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"You've been arrested fourteen times?" It mustn't be for anything serious, but he does wish he'd known this before she took him home. He assumes Carlos isn't a partner, but maybe a friend, or a relative. So he's left not with adultery, but run-of-the-mill bad decisions. So he tries to relieve the tension. "Not to pry, but how does that even happen?"

"A lot has happened." She offers, wiping at her eyes. "I'm so sorry Owen, I shouldn't have…" She's not really sure what she shouldn't have done. She probably shouldn't have taken him home, but that's not what she wanted to say. Shouldn't have reacted like this, probably. "You should go." That's not right. "I mean, you don't have to stay, and listen to me ruin the night."

"Nah." He smiles, settling back on the pillows. "I can't leave a woman's bed while she's upset, what kind of guy would that make me?" He grins at her, and she manages a weak chuckle. "Besides, I could probably help. I know a thing or two about regrets. I've been married twice." Regrets aplenty there. Especially the second time. He doesn't like to think about the second time. "This stuff that's happened? You can tell me about it if you want? No harm in telling a stranger."

She hesitates, as though she wants to take him up on his offer before she shakes her head. "Okay." He concedes. "Can I tell you my thing though? Cos I've got a thing, that I haven't told anybody about. And you seem nice." She flushes, she had certainly seemed nice half an hour ago, moaning beneath him. She pushes the thought away, and settles back next to him with a nod. "I've got cancer." She jolts beside him, concern radiating off her. "It's not serious, it should be totally fine." He waves her off. "But I haven't told my son yet." He has a son? She shifts again, now knowing too much about the man next to her. "Or my new boss. I took this new job down here because my son needed to get out of New York. And now I'm scared, because I brought him here with this secret, and now I don't know how to tell him." Even telling her, this total stranger, sends a rush of nerves through him, making his whole body tremble next to her, and she lays a soothing hand on his arm. She rubs her hand up and down his arm until he stops shaking.

Behind him, she watches the clock on the table flick over to midnight, and her chest tightens. "It's my sister's birthday." She chokes out, her eyes screwing shut to force back the tears threatening to break through them. "She's been missing." She explains, and it's his turn to be concerned, his hand reaching out to grasp hers. "For almost three years. Her boyfriend," she scoffs, her lips almost turning to a weak smile. "He has a restraining order against me. That's why I keep getting arrested." He nods understandingly, the tiniest hint of amusement pulling at his cheeks.

"I'm sorry." He offers weakly, unsure what else to say. His health seems so trivial, so easily fixed. Even withholding the truth from TK has such a simple solution. But Michelle? There's no easy way out for Michelle, if there is a way out at all.

"It's not your fault." She shrugs, biting her lip. "I'm sorry about you too." She offers, and it lingers in the air.

His chest tightens, something pulling at it, and he knows that he can't walk away from her now. A beautiful woman from a bar? Yes, he could move on from her, with a memory to smile about. But her? This woman, the first one to hear about its cancer. This woman who offers no advice, only comfort. Whose own troubles are so devastating behind her smile. This woman he couldn't walk away from. So he leans up to kiss her softly, and she stares at him dumbly when he pulls away.

"See?" He smiles at her, unable to contain the light fluttering in his chest. "The night isn't ruined." She smiles down at him, sighing before she lets herself lie down next to him. He takes her hand in his, squeezing lightly. "You doing anything for your sister's birthday?" He asks casually. As though she would be able to take the woman out for a drink.

"I don't know." She shrugs. "I'm working till late. Maybe I'll have a drink for her after, I don't know." It actually lightens her chest, the thought of celebrating for Iris. "Maybe I will." She stares at the ceiling with a tiny smile, her thumb stroking his hand. "You should tell your son." She turns to him. "You should tell him before something happens. You need someone to know."

He nods. "Thank you." He whispers, and she leans in to kiss him. It isn't the rushed, delirium from before. But she hooks a leg over him, moving to straddle his waist, and it is a slow desperation that he lets himself reciprocate.

It's early, but probably not early enough for Owen's son to not wonder where he spent the night. "I probably shouldn't have stayed till morning." He sighs, eyeing the dim sunrise. She hums from the bed, not opening her eyes. "TK will never let me live it down if he catches me sneaking in."

Her stomach rolls at the new information. It must be short for something, but even this half-identity presses her to ask more about him. "So, TK?" She starts, rolling to face him. "Tell me about him. How old is he?" She's imagining a young teen, too street-wise for his age, in need of some access to the countryside, while still having the familiarities of the city. So Owen's answer shocks her. "Twenty six? Twenty...so he's...an adult?"

"Well yeah." Owen chuckles. "Pretty sure twenty-six is an adult. But he makes me question that constantly." She doesn't dare ask how old he is, but she knows it must be considerably older than she first thought. She hopes to God that he was born when Owen was young, but either way he must be easily ten years older than she is.

"Kids always seem like kids." She laughs awkwardly. "No matter how old they get. Iris is ten years younger then I am." She laughs properly now. "She's always seemed like such a kid."

"Wow, some age gap." He tugs his shirt over his head.

"My parents were really young when they had me." She tells him, sitting up in her bed. She eyes him, his back turned to her. He drops his head back with a sigh.

"Oh, that's tough, I was twenty-two when we had TK." She lets out a tiny, relieved sigh. Not too huge an age gap, maybe Carlos won't absolutely kill her when he finds out about this. Because Carlos always finds out.

Owen drops onto the bed, shoes in hand. It occurs to her that it would be rude to make him walk himself out of her home in the early hours of the morning, so she slips out of bed, grabbing the robe hanging on the bathroom door. She doesn't settle back on the bed, but stands, leaning against the wardrobe, watching him put on his shoes.

Something in her stomach drops when she hears the taxi pull into the driveway. But she shakes it loose before he turns his head to smile at her. “I guess that’s my ride.” She nods silently, following him when he makes to leave her room.

He stops at her front door, and she waits behind him for him to turn around to her. She can’t help the smirk playing at her lips. He doesn’t want to leave yet. But he has to, so he turns back to her.

“Thank you.” He steps towards her. “For last night, for everything.” His hand brushes at her arm lightly.

She grins, blushing. “Welcome to Texas, Owen.” She chuckles, leaning to kiss him softly before she leads him to the door.

#michelle x owen #owelle #michelle blake #Owen Strand #911 lonestar

19 notes · View notes

oikawa-tuwu · 4 years ago

Text

Exit, Stage Right

🎭 Chapter 16 (oikawa x reader)

“Someone’s in a good mood today,” your new understudy, Chiyo, comments when you collapse in the chair next to her. Finally, the last scene for the day was blocked, which meant that the cast would be dismissed, which meant you could go to the cafe, which meant you could finally meet Alien Boy.

Finally.

“Am I?” You say, still grinning despite your usual post-rehearsal exhaustion.

“Yeah, you haven’t glared at me once today,” Oikawa hums somewhere in your right ear, and you glance back to see that he claimed the seat behind you, and is currently leaning much too far forward for comfort, his face, a daunting mere few inches from yours. “Care to explain what has you so happy, Juliet?”

Even the slight acceleration of your heart isn’t enough to get your mood down, so you just shove his forehead back with your hand and put his stupid pretty face and stupid pretty hair and stupid pretty grin out your mind. Oikawa wails a little, but your attention has already moved on.

Alien boy.

“Good job, everyone. You’re dismissed for the day-”

Your hand is already reaching for your bag.

“Except for Y/n, Watari, and Yahaba, I want to run the scene one more time, because something in the blocking was off and I want to make sure we have it down before we move on.”

“Damn,” Yahaba mutters, apathetically, as you reach for your script again. “That sucks for you.”

“You could at least pretend like you don’t find my pain amusing,” you bite back, but you follow him back up to the rehearsal space. “Sadist.”

Yahaba shoots you a blinding smile. “Dumbass.”

“Be nice,” Watari chides, but he’s grinning too, so the scolding falls flat.

Most of the cast still wanders around the seats, talking about weekend plans or collecting their bags and scripts, but surprisingly, the third year boys have already left. It had seemed like a new tradition for Oikawa, lingering behind to bug you about going to practice lines or walking you home, but he’s nowhere to be found. Even Iwaizumi is already gone, leaving Kyoutani and his perpetually angry expression to read from the stage manager’s script.

“Alright, we’re going to go from Juliet’s line, line number…”

Fifteen grueling minutes later, the director dismisses you.

Thankfully, you’ll still get there on time if you hurry, but it doesn’t help that your friends are walking at a snail’s pace. Even Kyoutani is walking slowly, and that boy basically runs everywhere most of the time.

“Look, a flower,” Yahaba says for the eleventh time, slowing down to peer at it, and you’re about ready to sock him.

“Fuck you, I’m leaving you behind.”

“I was joking!” Yahaba laughs and you hear the other three second years pick up their pace to catch up with you. “Wait for us!”

Your last memory of Sakura Cafe was when Oikawa’s jealous ex-girlfriend poured coffee on you and stained your favorite uniform shirt, so coming here to meet Alien Boy is a strange homecoming. God knows this store has seen enough dramatics from your life for this week.

Still, you tidy your hair a little with the help of your phone’s camera and adjust your uniform skirt before you turn the corner to the coffeeshop.

For a moment, you imagine what might lie behind the walls of Sakura Cafe. You’ve seen plenty of plays at nearby schools and met quite a few of their actors afterwards, so the possibilities were endless as to who he might be. Was it someone from Karasuno? Their drama club president was handsome and incredibly nice, or maybe their vice president, with his silver hair and playful grin. Or maybe it was someone from Shiratorizawa?

You can’t help but smile a little at the thought. Oikawa would throw a hissy fit if he found out that you were friends with Ushijima Wakatoshi. (He thinks he’s aaaall that because he was in a touring production of Les Mes when he was a kid. Ugh.)

And, once again, Oikawa invades your thoughts.

That boy was like a dagger that slowly slipped between your armor and suddenly had you clutching your heart on the floor. You’d been stabbed once and the armor was a logical next step after the wound he inflicted in your first year. You had been content for the last year to hate him, to pretend like his bad pick-up lines and long eyelashes did more to infuriate than to arouse, but the lies only went so far after that night at the park. He had apologized. He had joked. He had smiled. His true smile, not the one he painted on in the morning, but one that could knock the wind out of you.

And now the bastard had you rethinking everything.

“I can’t do this,” you breathe. “I can’t, I’m in love with that dumbass and I can’t-”

Watari and Yahaba exchange an unreadable look, and then they proceed to loop their arms around yours and essentially lift you off the ground, dragging you, kicking and screaming, towards the door.

“Stop!” You screech. “Kyoutani, help!”

Kyoutani does not help.

Your friends deposit you in front of the cafe doors, Watari helpfully tucking a stray hair back into place.

“You can do this,” Yahaba says, slapping you on the back. “Go get your man.”

“Aw, that’s the most encouraging thing you’ve ever said to me!”

Yahaba grimaces. “I know, it pains me too. Now go.”

“We’ll be right behind you,” Watari grins, and turns you to the door.

“Okay,” you say, and, ignoring the nerves that settled in your belly and slowly spread to your lethargic limbs, you push open the door.

Your first thought after walking through the door is, that’s weird. The missing third years: Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki, are sitting at a table, not-so-subtly staring at you. Hanamaki winks, and then the three turn back to their drinks.

Weird.

Your second thought after walking through the door is, I am the single dumbest person on this earth.

There’s only one other space being occupied in the coffee shop, a small two-person table in the corner. Behind your usual drink order, already paid for and still piping hot, and a bouquet of the reddest roses you’ve ever seen, sits Oikawa Tooru.

You open your mouth, but the only thing that comes out is, “What the fuck.”

“You wanted this,” Yahaba says, cheerfully, slinging an arm over your shoulders. “You’re welcome.”

“What the FUCK?” You repeat, turning towards your friends, then back to Oikawa, then to the third years, then back to Oikawa. “I… you’re alien fucker?!”

Oikawa winces as you hear the other occupants of the cafe die from laughter. “For the last time, I’m not an alien fucker, I just think that the actor who played the Squip in Be More Chill is kind of attractive!”

“O. T.,” you mutter, remembering the initials on your online friend’s profile. “Oikawa Tooru. Our shows opens the same weekend, I’m such a dumbass.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I only realized a couple days ago.”

“It doesn’t.” You turn to the rest of them. “And how long have you assholes known this?”

Hanamaki wipes a tear from his eye, pausing in his laughter long enough to get out, “A blissful week.”

Your face heats up as you realize how blatant some of your tweets had been, thinking that Alien Boy would never see them.

“Is it too late to run away?” You ask Watari.

He just grins and pushes you towards Oikawa. “Yes. Now go.”

You take a deep breath, count to three, and turn back to Alien Boy. To Oikawa.

“So,” he says with a confident grin, as soon you’ve taken a few steps in his direction. “Did I make it obvious?”

You scan the display. You noticed the drink and the roses earlier, but somehow you hadn’t seen the sign, a teal piece of cardstock propped against the wall, that read, Be the Scully to my Mulder?

“I think that is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

Oikawa smirks, taking a single step forward. “I know for a fact that you like cheesy stuff, considering how many times you’ve cried at ‘I’ll Cover You’ from Rent.”

The blush on your cheeks is answer enough for him, but you still try a weak protest. “Shut up.”

Oikawa tilts his head, looking at you the same way he looked at his script before going on stage for a scene he didn’t quite have memorized yet, frantically trying to capture the lines in the last few seconds before his cue. In that moment, you realize how close you’d gotten during the exchange, with a mere few inches between his face and yours. He grins, infuriatingly. “You know, you’ve been telling me that a lot lately, why don’t you make me shut up?”

In a single, fluid motion, you grab his uniform tie and yank him to your height, meeting his lips in a kiss.

Behind you, you hear a few scattered cheers, probably from Hanamaki and Matsukawa, but you don’t care. No, your attention is focused more on feeling of Oikawa’s lips on yours, the weight his hands on your waist, the way he teeth caught your lip a little as you pulled away.

When you finally part, you’re breathless. Oikawa grins at you, that stupid happy smile that killed you the other night in the park, and has the audacity to ask, “So is that a yes?”

Previous ... Masterlist ... Next

(A/N: And its over!! Thanks for reading, I had a lot of fun writing this one!! The rivals to lovers trope will kill me one of these days. Also I may or may not have casted Shiratorizawa in Little Shop of Horrors. Please send an ask if interested in hearing my niche and probably controversial hot takes, I have a lot of them. Anyways, thank you all for reading/supporting Exit, Stage Right and have a great day!!!)

Taglist: @fangirling-25-8 @multifandomphenomena @moonlightreetops @ensworks @it-me-720 @harajukukitsune @sempiternal-amour @semiathleticnerdykid @luvelyxp @theduvetpirate @bethbat @starwrite-er @icy-hot @cowboy-doll @hurtbycanonthoughts @shigarakiskitten @kaaidalupita @nekoma-hoe @chaseyui @whapau @cuddlesslut @n3verending16 @cactuski6 <- If I missed anyone on the taglist, PLEASE let me know and I'll fix it!! My notes app I used to keep track of it got messed up, so I'm very very sorry if I forget to tag someone 😪

#haikyuu #haikyuu smau #haikyu #haikyuu oikawa #hq #hq oikawa #oikawa smau #oikawa x y/n #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #exit stage right smau #hq!! x you #hq!! x reader #hq!! smau

75 notes · View notes

benmparks · 4 years ago

Photo

perfect places | lorde

one night from it’s complicated by @benmwords

Teddy laughed, enjoying how nice it sounded to be called a knight by this drunk stranger. He checked his phone for the time, noting that normally he’d be catching a bus back home in ten minutes, but he didn’t want to go home quite yet.

What did he want to do?

Teddy never felt more like himself than when he snuck out his bedroom window in jeans and his favorite jacket, his chest binded away from sight, and hopped the bus into the city. He used his fake ID to get into a gay bar and would spend the night basking in the energy of everyone just assuming he was a guy, no questions asked.

That’s where he met the stranger. He was clearly too young to be there as well, and was smashed drunk. Teddy was surprised the bartender would let him get so drunk, and not kick him out. But, Teddy thought he was kind of cute and he had this dumb cowboy hat on so when he drunkenly bumped into him, Teddy didn’t protest. Instead he led him outside for some fresh air.

“Who are you, stranger?” he slurred.

“Just someone who’s saving your butt,” Teddy said, “any second longer you’d probably be kicked out.”

The guy laughed, “yeah, right. Business is business, isn’t it?”

Teddy shook his head and laughed incredulously, “aren’t you a bit young for this kind of thing?”

“Who, me? What about you,” he said. He was now fully leaning on Teddy as they sat on the curb. He smelled so strongly of alcohol and musk, but it didn’t smell bad. Can you get drunk off of alcohol fumes, because Teddy was starting to question his own sobriety

“I’m not drinking,” he said.

The guy shook his head in an exaggerated nod that said he didn’t really believe Teddy, or that he was so drunk that he thought he was nodding normally. They were silent for a moment until he finally said, “so what’s the plan for the rest of the night, my knight in shining armor.”

What did he want to do?

“Why don’t we go get some coffee and sober you up?” Teddy said, starting to stand up. The guy held onto him heavily, causing him to stumble a bit as he helped the guy up.

“And why would we go and do that?” he laughed, but he didn’t argue when Teddy started to lead them down the street. Teddy didn’t really know much of this part of town, which was one of the reasons he chose to go there, but he figured he’d run into somewhere that served coffee eventually.

The guy talked the whole way there, just a bunch of nothing. He would point out shopfronts and tell of a time he went there, or who he knew there, or tell some joke that he found very funny. Teddy was barely listening, just enjoying the sound of a stranger who had no idea who he was.

When they finally passed an open diner, he dragged them in despite the stranger’s protests. They sat down and a tired looking waitress took their order, two coffees and a burger for the stranger. When she stepped away, Teddy was forced to finally face the situation he had found himself in. Sitting across from a stranger, an hour away from his house, waiting for coffee to sober up the said stranger who was now apparently sleeping?

“Hey,” Teddy said, reaching over and tugging on the guy’s hair.

“Woah!” the guy started, looking around confused for a second before settling on Teddy with a lazy grin that was ridiculously cute.

“Oh, hey there, stranger,” he said, “you come here often?”

He leaned on the table flirtatiously as he spoke. Teddy shook his head, letting a laugh escape. Just another factor making the whole situation even more comical.

“Shut up,” Teddy said just as the waitress came back with their coffees. The stranger looked at the coffee with slight disdain but took a sip of his anyway. He grimaced.

“Tastes like dirt,” he said.

Teddy laughed and took a sip of his. It did taste like dirt. He normally preferred tea, and the strong taste of coffee felt harsh in his mouth but he pretended not to mind it.

“So, you wanna tell me your name or would that ruin the magic?” the stranger said, appearing to gain some of his mind back after the sip of coffee he took.

“I don’t know, would it?” Teddy asked, trying his hand at flirting.

The stranger grinned, “maybe we’ll save it for later. What’s someone like you doing at a club all alone, anyway?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know. What about you?”

“Oh, trust me, it’s not odd for me to be out here alone,” he said, “there’s not many people out there that wanna spend time with a guy like me.”

“Why’s that?” Teddy asked.

“Hm… maybe I’ll save that for later as well, darling,” he said, “But let’s just say… Not the greatest company.”

Now Teddy was curious. He watched the guy closely as he drank more of his coffee, downing the rest of it with one go. The waitress came back with the burger and a refill of coffee. The stranger thanked her with overdone kindness.

“I guess we both got some secrets then, huh?” he said finally.

Teddy laughed, “Maybe so.”

“You know, if I eat this thing it’ll be back out in a minute,” the guy said, pushing the plate away in disgust.

“Good idea,” Teddy said.

The stranger leaned back in the booth and stared at him curiously, “you seem too good to be out here like this. You single?”

Teddy laughed, “very forward of you.”

“Just curious, is all,” he said, “so, are you?”

“None of your business,” Teddy said.

“Very unforward of you,” he said, “not that it matters anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Teddy asked.

“I don’t know you, but I have a feeling that you’ll be waking up tomorrow in another world and already forgetting all about tonight,” he said.

Teddy was silent, looking down at his coffee, barely two sips taken out of it. He didn’t want that to be true, he had never felt more himself than he did sitting there in that diner across from this stranger in a cowboy hat. He didn’t want to forget anything about this moment.

“Let’s go somewhere,” He said.

The stranger laughed, “where do you wanna go, knight?”

“Anywhere,” Teddy said.

He grinned with a twinkle in his eye, “you’re kind of crazy. I like it.”

The stranger drank the rest of his coffee and, after Teddy paid the bill, they left the cafe out onto the dark streets. Faced with the open and empty night ahead of them, Teddy started to think maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he should just catch the first bus back and do what the stranger had said earlier, forget about the whole thing. Because, that’s what would have to happen in the end anyway.

Tomorrow he’d wake up to his regular life, to being the daughter of the most valuable family in the country. Back to his personal hell, basically.

So why not milk everything he could get out of tonight. So, he started walking and the stranger followed and they talked about nothing really. About food, music, coffee, anything of no real value. They found their way to a park with a playground and the stranger climbed onto the monkey bars and dared him to follow. It wasn’t really much of a dare, Teddy climbed up with no hesitation. It wasn’t difficult.

They sat up there for what felt like not long enough, just talking. Neither of them giving much away on their personal life, but enough to get to know each other. The conversation felt comfortable, like being home. Teddy had never felt so comfortable with anyone, not even his own family.

“Damn,” the stranger said suddenly, breaking the flow of their conversation.

“What?” Teddy asked.

“I’m starting to really like you, stranger,” he said wistfully, swinging his legs back and forth and watching them, not him.

Teddy was silent because, despite how stupid the whole thing was, he was too.

“It’s stupid,” the stranger said, “I don’t even know your name.”

“Teddy,” he said.

The stranger looked at him, a slow smile breaking out, “Jesse.”

Jesse.

“You know, this doesn’t have to be it,” Teddy said, despite not really believing it himself, “we could meet up again.”

“Nah,” Jesse said, “I gotta go. Being moved.”

Jesse was silent for a moment, biting his lip. “I’m a foster kid, I guess. Only a few more months before I’m alone, I guess. Doesn’t matter, they’re still moving me. Guess I’m too much of a hassle, even for just a few months.”

“Where are you going?” Teddy asked.

“Five hours from here, practically out of state,” he said, “doesn’t matter.”

“That’s stupid,” Teddy said.

“Right?” He said. “So stupid.”

They were silent. Teddy was thinking about how obvious this whole situation was.

Of course this wasn’t going to be something.

Of course the perfect stranger was leaving.

Of course. Of course. Of course.

“Stupid,” Jesse said again.

Teddy bit the bullet and did something stupid, something ridiculously cheesy, and reached out to grab Jesse’s hand.

“I know it means nothing but… I’m not going to forget about tonight,” he said. “Probably never.”

“That’s stupid,” Jesse said, but his eyes that were holding Teddy’s said differently.

Teddy nodded and they sat there, holding hands, silently, for what felt like an eternity.

“Now this is sad,” Jesse said, “which is also stupid.”

They were silent for another good moment until Jesse started to laugh, just a small chuckle. It was absurd, to be honest, the sight of him up on those monkey bars laughing at nothing but the ridiculousness of the night. So much so that Teddy started to laugh along and they sat there laughing their heads off like a couple of idiots.

Finally, they caught their breaths and sat there, smiling at each other.

Like a couple of smitten idiots.

“It feels like we’ve been out here for a week now,” Teddy said.

Jesse nodded, not taking his eyes off of Teddy’s. “I know I don’t know you, really, and maybe, uh, this is a bit much but I really wanna kiss you right now.”

“Okay,” Teddy said.

“So?” Jesse asked.

“Nothing,” he said, waiting for Jesse to make the jump and close the space between them. They were whispering now, their breaths intermingling.

“Can I?” Jesse asked finally.

“I’ve been waiting,” Teddy said with a smirk.

He wouldn’t describe how he felt when they finally kissed as fireworks, more like slipping into a hot tub after a long day at work. It felt like someone had lit a fire under the two of them and, at the moment of the kiss, it flared up and encapsulated them in it’s heat.

And then the bright, ugly light of a flashlight being pointed right at them interrupted the delicious moment.

Security guards.

Apparently there was a curfew at the park, and they had to leave. Jesse apologized profusely and they climbed off the monkey bars and the security guard escorted them from the park. When they were alone again, on the street outside of the park, they stood there awkwardly. Teddy tried to ignore the sunlight peaking on the horizon, the signal telling him he should probably get back home. Who even knew when the next bus would be. He probably wouldn’t make it home in time to not be missed.

“I guess you gotta be getting back, huh?” Jesse asked, looking at the sun.

“Probably, they’ll probably notice I’m missing soon,” he said, but he didn’t make a move to leave. “Well, I’ll miss you, Teddy,” Jesse said, still looking at the horizon.

It seemed odd to make polite goodbyes after everything that night, it didn’t feel right. It felt like something tragic and exciting should happen to tear them apart, not just Teddy stepping on a bus with nothing but polite farewells.

But here they were.

“Me too,” Teddy said.

He never really did forget that night either. Not when he got home that morning to stern words from his family, and not the next night when he snuck out again with secret hopes of seeing the stranger again.

He would still remember it years later when he saw a familiar face in his local grocery store, a familiar face who had clearly remembered it as well.

#writing #writeblr #short story #lorde #perfect places #fiction #am writing #story #flash fiction

3 notes · View notes

lazyxlazer · 4 years ago

Text

Shit Church Experiences Pt. 1

As the pandemic continues, I’ve been thinking more and more about shit that I never had time to think about before. It weighs on my mind as I try to sleep every night, and since I process by writing things out, I decided this would probably be a good first step at getting it the fuck out of my head. Nothing has affected me quite as much as my church experience. None of my current friends went regularly as a child, so I’ve become the go to for Bible related questions. Unfortunately for them, I’ve blocked a lot out from my memory as far as Bible memorization goes. A lot of the other shit persists.

I had never heard of church until I was probably 8 or 9. My aunt, uncle, and cousins lived in an apartment complex in my hometown, so I was over there frequently being watched by my aunt and uncle. I remember one day being asked if I would like to go on the “church bus” and go to Sunday School with my cousin. She was probably around 5 and my aunt was putting her on this “church bus” alone to go to some unknown church. Mind you, this wasn’t a traditional bus but a large 14-seater van. Don’t worry, it had windows! I’m not sure if I was supposed to keep my cousin company or if my cousin was just encouraged to bring me along.

The church was about five or so miles away from the apartment complex and sat on a mostly empty highway. It was surrounded by lots of trees and the road with the entrance to the church was kind of treacherous. Since there was not much else around, people driving on the highway weren’t very good at paying attention to cars slowing down to turn into the church. When I first started going, it was large but pretty modest inside. It had red brick walls and a tall white steeple. The inside had a cafe and an area for kids. Sunday school rooms were upstairs. The sanctuary was covered in thick maroon carpet. I should have taken it as a subdued warning; everything in that place was a shade of red. A few years later they would build a brand new, extremely massive sanctuary and a school onto the side of the old church building. The adults had church in the new sanctuary and the kids used the old building.

I don’t remember what that first time was like, but after that, I was in love with going to church. We sang songs and danced around, they gave us SNACKS, we played fun games, and the best part was that I was being told how good of a child I was for going to church.

The church bus started coming to pick me up at my own home every Sunday. I took my mom with me one time. Then the next time my dad came. After that, we went to church every Sunday without fail. This comes back to haunt me to this day. If I hadn’t gotten on that stupid bus, I never would have gone through all of the pain and suffering that it caused later down the line.

Even though my parents were church regulars, I still rode the church bus. I got to hang out with kids, sing songs, and goof around without my friends. Also, if we brought friends, then we were rewarded. Whoever brought the most friends on the church bus at the end of the month got to go out to lunch with the bus driver, Jake. What a reward, huh? He took us to Wendy’s for burgers, fries, and a frosty. I won that prize SEVERAL times.

The thing about me is that I’m very motivated by praise from authority figures. I’m also very motivated by food. Naturally, church was a dangerous environment for a person like me. There’s always food, and there are plenty of people that have authority and use it to the fullest extent. It wasn’t even hard to look up to them because everyone was always so kind, or pretended to be.

In Sunday school and in kid’s church, which they called “Adventure Land,” I was very subservient. I memorized all of my Bible verses, I did my daily devotional, I prayed. I wanted to be the best, and I wanted God to love me the most. I thought that if I showed them and God how good I was then I wouldn’t end up in the scary, fiery place called Hell. I had to prove I was good enough to be in heaven. I also wanted to prove to everyone else that I had worth and was meant to be there.

I was quickly pulled into the church “family” and my parents were too now that I spent every Sunday and Wednesday at the church. My dad joined the church choir and band. He played the saxophone, and he loves nothing more than to sing his heart out. My mom cleaned the church every Tuesday. I would usually go with her then, too, to help clean. When I got a little older, I got roped into doing puppet shows and teaching kids how to do the dance moves for the songs. The adults trusted me to help teach others what to do, so I felt the worth I wanted so badly. I knew all of the words and motions to all of the songs! I raised my hands and swayed to the music. I closed my eyes and pretended to feel the Lord’s presence. I knew how to do this stuff. Therefore, I was perfect for indoctrinating younger children!

I don’t recall a lot of the time I spent “witnessing” to other children, but I have a strong memory of something I did for Vacation Bible School (VBS). In the summer, there was a weeklong camp that parents sent their kids to so we could learn all about Jesus and be entertained so parents could have a break from their kids. I went up on stage with two adults in front of the entire congregation and sang a song and danced as a preview for that year’s VBS called Amazon Outfitters. I still remember the song. Now, I see how racist and fucked up it is. It went:

Amazon Outfitters,

We’re on a mission for the one true God.

We cannot be quitters,

We’re on a mission and we will not stop.

Amazon Outfitters,

We’re giving everything that we’ve got

To help others discover

The wonders of the one true God.

And at the end of that verse you made a guttural ��HUH!” noise like Edwin Starr in his song “War” because that’s exactly what that song needed. The song is poorly written, but at least it has the imperialistic undertones! Colonization, anyone?

So yeah, a person who is now painfully introverted went up on stage to advertise to parents and their children how they could be cool, just like me, if they went to VBS. Where was my shame? I desperately needed it then, but I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was important.

I was also a perfect candidate for indoctrinating others because of how “inspiring” my story was to others, at least according to the adults. I came to church for the first time WITHOUT MY PARENTS and CHOSE to keep coming back. Heck, I BROUGHT THEM WITH ME!! I was the pride and joy of several Sunday School teachers and youth pastors. I was also “saved” before my parents were, so it was because of me that they got saved too.

It’s an absolutely riveting story, let me tell you. One of the church members was an actual cowboy. He had a farm, he owned horses, he had a cowboy hat, he had a handlebar mustache, the dude had it all. On a very special day of church, he brought one of his horses with him to show all of the children. While he talked to us about Jesus, I was enraptured by that horse. I’m not really into horses, although maybe I could have been in another life, but at that moment, nothing was more important to me than touching that horse. He had rich brown hair and a diamond shaped white spot on his nose. Luckily, if we decided that we wanted to ask God to forgive our sins and to follow him no matter what on that very day, we were allowed to come and TOUCH THE HORSE!!!! Like fuck was I passing up that opportunity! I was the first kid to stomp my happy ass up to that horse. I touched it and asked God to forgive me of my sins without a second thought.

I was informed soon after that I would have to get baptized, you know, because we have to wash away our sins in a chlorinated pool before it’s official. I did that without question. It was on a day in April in the old church building. It was still cold outside, enough to wear a jacket. I’m pretty sure I wore a dress that was white and lacy. You wouldn’t catch my gay ass in something like that now-a-days, which is why I bring it up. Upon arrival at the church, we were told that the heater in the baptismal wasn’t working, but it would be okay to go ahead with the baptisms.

It was not okay.

That water was so cold, that everyone that got baptised that day was a shivering mess for the rest of the service. My legs turned purple. I will NEVER forget how cold I was and how foreign my legs looked on my body. I also recall keeping my eyes open when the pastor dunked me into that water.The pastor laughed at me and told me I was weird. Then, later in the day, my parents threw a little party for me where everyone brought me gifts for being baptized. It made me feel proud and WORTHY.

I give myself a lot of shit for following so blindly, for not questioning, for believing every adult I encountered had good intentions, but there was absolutely no hope for me then. I’m a people-pleaser, I’ll admit it. I know how to listen, pay attention, be quiet, obey. I was taught to always respect adults no matter what. I never questioned them or talked back. I once asked my parents what I was like when I was younger, beyond my memory. My dad said to me, “You were always such a good little girl. You were so...meek. If another kid was throwing a fit because you had a toy they wanted, you would just give it to them and do something else.”

He’s not wrong. That behavior persists to this day. I find it interesting that my parents weren’t more concerned about it. I was such an anxious child. I identified with cartoon characters like Piglet from Winnie the Pooh and Chuckie from Rugrats. Miss Frizzle from The Magic School Bus, too, but that’s just because I’m a weirdo nerd. Maybe they found it endearing and sweet. Maybe they liked how cautious I was because they never had to worry about me doing something dangerous. Honestly, I don’t blame them. I’m sure I was an easy child to handle. However, at a time when I needed more than ever to have ideas and opinions, I was indoctrinated into an extremely toxic church environment. Something that was supposed to give me meaning, purpose, and worth actually left me with nothing when I no longer followed without question.

I still have plenty floating around in my head and MANY STORIES that I believe need to be told. Later I’ll be talking about:

The Youth Barn - are you ready teens?! AYE AYE, JESUS!

The Baptist Church Break-up

The Truth About Bob (spoiler: it’s not good)

The Pizza Church

Noah and The Wonderful World of Technology

Ken Ham and Creationism

Youth Group

Church Band

“Dude, your pastor is a little creepy…”

HOW I ESCAPED

#church #bad experience #quarantine thoughts #childhood #indoctrination #war huh #what is this good for?#absolutely nothing

3 notes · View notes

miserylovescompanyfanfic · 5 years ago

Text

MLC Ch: 3

The Cream of Friendship

Cream usually took it upon herself to drive Emilia and her to work in the evenings, but the first job that Emilia had wasn’t Cream’s. No, Emilia had gotten the job at the cute cafe a couple blocks from her current apartment when she first moved to town and lived on campus with Cream; while Cream found a job at another venue that paid a little better but had late nights, and had convinced Emilia to join her.

This little slice of calm before the storm always prepared Emilia for the nights to come, especially since the later afternoons were easy and closing was a cinch. Emilia worked herself up to be the closing manager while Wave, the morning manager, had been a part of the company for many years and hadn’t advanced any farther than that.

She was only slightly bitter, though Emilia had tried being nice to her every chance they got. Don’t get her wrong, Wave the purple swallow wasn’t mean, she was just… intimidating. She was a tall woman with ice blue eyes that was striking against her dark purple feathers. Though, what seemed to be the most intimidating for Emilia was the flame tattoos that traveled up her arms and disappeared into the sleeves of her shirt.

She rubbed her own arms gently every time she saw the tattoos. They were really cool, don’t get her wrong, but apparently Wave got them while she was in prison for moving some drugs during the Egg Wars , which is what the last long term conflict with Eggman had been dubbed for history. Wave served a couple years before the war ended, but Emilia didn’t want to disclose that she had been a part of the group who had founded the Babylon Rogues operation and arrested them.

Granted, she was a part of the Freedom fighter then, a lot smaller, with brighter pink fur, and quills that stuck up in all directions-- but, it would be awkward, ya know?

Anyways, they didn’t get along super well, and Wave was a decent person trying to find a new way in life and was fortunate enough to get the job she has. Point is: she’s intimidating and Emilia still doesn’t know how to talk to her, even after nearly 3 ½ years at the job.

Cream had joked before that maybe Emilia was bisexual because of how nervous and awkward she got around Wave, and to curb more suspicion Emilia agreed that maybe she was. And hell, maybe she was, she hadn’t experimented yet and have you seen girl’s they’re so pretty.

Emilia shook her head, frowning at her strange train of thought and picked up a box of packaged coffee beans ready to be ground. It had been resealed after she finished stocking the shelves in the back along with the rows in the front of the store, still though the box was rather full.

Emilia picked it up with ease, and Sonia the Hedgehog whistled from behind her.

“It still amazes me how you’re so strong.” Sonia mentioned casually, Emilia hid her blush like she usually had to when Sonia was around. Yeah, Sonia the hedgehog-- Sonic’s older sister, and the only one in Empire City (aside from Manic but Emilia never saw him so he doesn’t count) who knew her identity. It was purely happenstance that they worked together, in fact it was Sonia who interviewed Emilia when she first arrived.

Sonia had been more than willing to keep the secret, even helped Emilia get the job.

“Well, ya know.” Emilia shrugged, Sonia knew but the others who worked regularly with Emilia knew of her second job.

“I bet, you’re the backbone of that place, Emi.” Jian, the white tiger said moving past the two pink hedgehogs. Jian was the tallest member of their establishment, but she was rather quiet and mostly lingered some days as she was the store manager.

Jian was very excited when she found out Emilia was a stripper, much to Emilia's own embarrassment.

“Jian, the other dancers are very good, too.” Emilia chastised, stamping down the blush rising in her cheeks.

Jian laughed easily then, taking the box out of Emilia’s hands. “C’mon, Emi, you’re the only one I’ve seen do flips in the air and land like a fairy in those platforms.”

“And stilettos.” She smiled shyly, but seeing the idea behind Jian’s praises.

“Exactly! Emilia, I can’t even begin to describe to you how difficult shit like that is.”

Sonia snickered at Emilia’s shocked face, before the younger pink hedgehog gave an irritated eye to Sonia.

“Oh, right.” Jian’s jade green eyes moved down to Wave, who was in the front wiping down the counter. “Wave, you were supposed to be out of here at 5.”

Wave stalled, giving a slight shrug. “Well, you guys were busy and there was plenty for me to do up here-”

“Get your ass out of here.”

Sonia snickered again and Jian’s eyes moved to hers. Arms still tense from holding the heavy box. “You too, Hedgehog.” Sonia opened her mouth but closed it immediately, smiling at Emilia.

“Good luck tonight, Rose.” she winked. Emilia’s face blushed scarlet at the use of her name, surname and stage name.

Yeah, she wasn’t very creative…

Cream was in front of the cafe at 7:30 sharp, her little red car playing music a little too loud as she sat texting on her phone.

Jian gave Amy a well meaning smile as the two locked up the cafe and parted ways.

“Heads up, Fiona has requested that we have a theme for tonight. Some of the other girls are thinking wild wild west. ” Cream warned Emilia as she slipped into the car, Emilia placed her bag in the back of Cream’s car, having had a chance to stop by her apartment earlier to grab her clothes and drop off homework.

“Gross.” Emilia commented. “Why not outer space?”

“Oooo, that’s good. Dress all sexy with glittery outfits--” Emilia cut Cream off.

“I was thinking more like aliens.” Cream gave the other girl a deadpanned look.

“Of course you were.” Cream pulled out of the parking spot and sped through downtown. “Why not dress like one of the galaxies while you’re at it.”

“You could dress up like the sun.” Emilia commented, Cream scoffed.

“The only light I am is in your life , Rose.”

Emilia’s shoulders tensed at the name. She should’ve came up with a better stage name, honestly.

“I’m thinking of changing my stage name.” Emilia watched the city lights go by as the sky was already dark.

“Whyyyyy would you do that? Rose is so cute!”

Emilia placed her chin in her hand; “yeah, I guess it is.”

---------------------------

“This is not a cohesive theme girls.” Fiona Fox, the wife of the owner and one of the dancers of the club pinched the bridge of her nose as the girls in the changing room had ideas all over the place (thanks to Emilia but that’s not important).

Fiona and Carrotia had committed to the wild wild west ; Carrotia the Rabbit (not related to Cream) was Fiona’s shadow, always following her around, always doing the dirty work or her bidding, basically she was Fiona #2. Fiona wasn’t dancing tonight, but she was dressed like one of the show girls with her corset tightened where it looked painful to breathe, adorned with a little feather in her hair.

Carrotia on the other hand went for the “sexy cowboy” look with assless chaps and a loose fitting cowboy hat.

Blair, a purple cat with a red jewel in the center of her forehead, had an Arabian dancer theme for the evening with a red bra that had gold accents and a similar thong.

Mira, the yellow mongoose that had a red haired wig as a part of her costume, had a similar outfit that Blair had but with blue and silver accents instead of the ruby reds of Blair’s.

Cream went with a red riding hood look; complete with the short dress that wasn’t even considered a dress, and a tear away front of white frills. The red cape was tied daintily around her throat.

Emilia was, as she had suggested before: an alien, though Cream was currently helping put the washable fur dye into her fur as Emilia focused on her makeup. Fiona and Carrotia shot a glare at the pair, seeing as Emilia was usually the one causing mischief among the dancers with Cream to help.

Blair and Mira were usually paired together, which made sense as they were hired at the same time. Emilia and Cream got along with them really well (probably because Cream had great hiding places but that’s besides the point).

“Are you two even done yet?” Carrotia snapped at the two of them. “If you’re not gonna coordinate with us the least you could do is be ready on time.”

Cream looked at the analog clock on the wall above the mirrors and makeup counters. She then gave Carrotia a frown and pointed at the clock.

“We’ve still got 15 minutes chill the heck out.” Cream rolled her eyes and went back to putting the red temporary fur dye in Emilia’s fur. Emilia on the other hand was busy putting silver eye shadow on her eyelids and green lipstick on, when Cream was done with the quills Emilia donned a cute little headband with red antenna on them.

Carrotia, during that time though, was staring at the analog clock. Hard. Trying to read it.

“Fine, fine!” Cream groaned out, throwing down the now empty bottle of dye. Thankfully, Emilia was mostly covered-- Cream didn’t have to worry about certain parts of Emilia. Emilia, instead of being a pink hedgehog, was now a red furred alien hedgehog with a cute silver rip away dress.

Cream shoved her heels on, glittery red things that were 7 inches tall-- taller than Carrotia’s at least, which Cream was more than happy to look down on the other rabbit with most days.

“You curse all the time why do you say ‘heck’ ?” Emilia asked Cream while also putting her own silver boots on, the heel wasn’t as intimidating as Cream's, but they were tall boots that ended above her knee.

Cream smiled at her friend. Giving a small laugh as she said: “Be-because,” she took a breath to steady herself. “Because I don’t fucking like the word Hell. ”

Cream started laughing, and even Mira giggled a bit. Carrotia rolled her eyes, checking her phone for the time as Fiona had gone out to the audience already to introduce the dancers for the evening.

Cream and Emilia stood up nearly at the same time, taking each others hands as Blair and Mira took theirs as well.

“Show time?” Cream asked them.

“Show time!” the purple cat and yellow mongoose cheered.

Emilia nodded, eyes focused on the door way out onto the stage, her heart thrummed like it did every time before she started dancing.

“Show time.”

#misery loves company #misery loves company fanfic #Shadamy #sonic the hedgehog #sonic au #sonic the hedgehog au #Amy Rose #shadow the hedgehog #Cream the Rabbit

1 note · View note

salmonthestoryteller · 6 years ago

Text

Don’t You Forget About Me

I was hit by a random thought based on the UFO Emporium Gala scene, where Maria isn’t wearing her necklace, and her mentioning her mother taking it off her own neck to putting it on Maria’s when she turned 18. Which means all her issues started after she stopped wearing the necklace. Maria isn’t wearing the necklace in 1x11 and part of 1x13.

Contains Miluca/Marichael, but I have their romance end in a really sad way. The evil plotbunny demanded it! (No character deaths involved.) Also contains Liz and Maria being besties, and way more Rosa than originally intended.

Don’t You Forget About Me A Roswell New Mexico Fanfic

The first time it happened was at the UFO Emporium Gala. There’s drink involved, and a drugged drink as she later learned, so Liz didn’t think anything of it.

“You fit right under his chin like a perfect little zupple piece – pu.. Puzzle piece.”

“Whoa. Puzzle Piece.”

“Puzzle piece.”

They both laughed.

—–

“..and Thompson broke three tables.” Maria was seated in one of the chairs around Michael’s fire while he worked on a customer’s car. She’d been sharing the story of the latest drunken brawl at the Wild Pony he’d missed.

“Three tables? He repeated. He’d broken furniture at the Wild Pony before but the tables were pretty sturdy and he had a hard time imagining anyone breaking three.

"Chairs. Did I say tables?”

“You did say tables.”

“Chairs. He broke three chairs.”

“That makes more sense. If anyone breaks three tables, I want to be there to see it.”

“If anyone breaks three tables, Guerin, it will probably be you.”

“Ouch. I feel attacked.” He glanced over at Maria, enjoying her amused smile, and the slip up was easily forgotten.

—–

The second time it happened, it gave Liz a pause. It was a text asking if she wanted ice cream when they met up that night. She sent back asking if she wanted to meet up again, and if everything was alright. Maria didn’t text back right away, but when she did it was to say she meant next week, because they’d just met up last night. The way she phrased it was odd and she asked again if everything was okay. Maria assured her it was just a crazy month and she kept forgetting what day of the week it was. It sounded odd, and she decided to talk to her about it the next time they saw each other.

—–

The first time it happened, Michael didn’t think anything of it. Maria was getting dressed for the day, and she hadn’t thrown him out of her bed yet - which was a vast improvement on previous partners over the years. “Do you have to get up so early?”

“My liquor shipment is due today.” Maria told him. “Someone has to take it.”

“I thought your shipment came yesterday.” He told her, confused.

“No, it comes on Mondays.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Very funny. You’re not getting me back in bed, Cowboy.”

“No, I’m serious, it’s Tuesday.” Michael repeated.

Maria picked up her phone from the nightstand, then stared at the screen a moment. “It’s Tuesday.”

“Did I blow your mind last night?” MIchael teased with a grin.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Maria tossed her pillow at him.

“So, you can come back to bed.” Michael caught the pillow with ease.

“Or you could get dressed and we could get breakfast together. Because unlike me, your working hours are daytime.”

“Nobody ever comes to Sander’s Auto on Tuesday mornings. This is Roswell.” Michael complained.

Maria leaned in to kiss him, but pulled back when he tried to tug her closer. “Get up. Let’s get breakfast.”

He flopped back with a groan of complaint, her slip up of days forgotten.

—–

“So what’s been going on with you?” Liz asked her when she joined her for drinks at the Wild Pony.

“What do you mean?” Maria asked her, doing her best to look like she didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Maria…”

“I don’t know, it’s just been such a crazy month. Crazy set of months. Things have been slipping my mind. I’ll wake up convinced it’s Monday, and it’s Tuesday. I’ll think I didn’t pay a bill and go to pay it and it’s paid. Just little ghings… little things.” She corrected herself.

Liz frowned, straightening. "You did that before at the UFO Emporium Gala. Said Zupple instead of puzzle. Maria-“

"I’m fine. Just overworked and tired, Liz.”

“Okay. Well, I’m here. If you need anything.”

“I just need a night off.”

“So let’s do it. I’ll get Ros-Romina.” She corrected the name last minute. It was hard to call her sister by a new name but there was no way she could have come back to town as Rosa. Romina Ortecho - a younger cousin of Liz who resembled her dead sister - that was passable. In some ways Rosa seemed to enjoy getting a chance to live life as someone new, but it was also hard on them both as well. “And we’ll party.”

“I don’t know, it’s a busy night. I could get good tips.”

“Workaholic is a disease. C'mon.”

“Mmmnnn… okay ”

—–

“Y’know, you’re not wearing your necklace.” Liz pointed out. She, Rosa, and Maria were on the Crashdown Cafe. She and Maria were drinking, but Rosa had told them she would watch over their dumb asses. Despite being eight years younger than her now, Rosa still felt she was the big sister. Liz would be lying if she said she didn’t like it.

“It’s funny, I never used to forget to put it on, but some days lately I have been.” Maria admitted.

“I always loved that necklace.” Rosa mentioned.

“I said that too!” Liz raised her hand with a small cheer.

“We should be doing something besides lying around up here.” Maria had opted to lie on her back for a better look at the stars. The Ortecho sisters were sitting besides the sign. “Singing. Dancing.”

“We should go downstairs and make fries and milkshakes.” Rosa suggested.

“Yes!” Liz seconded.

“Let’s do it!” Maria pushed herself up, and went over to tug the other two woman to their feet.

—–

“I think something’s wrong with Maria.” Michael’s voice was laced with concern, and Liz leaned closer on the counter to keep the conversation private.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s just… she keeps messing up the days.”

“Well, people do occasionally do that, Michael.”

“No, I mean. Not like saying it’s Thursday when it’s Wednesday. I mean, she won’t remember things that happened a previous day. Taking a supply order at The Wild Pony, that we got coffee together the previous day. Or anything we talked about.”

“Maybe she’s just overworked.” LIz suggested.

“I… I don’t know, maybe. Has she ever… messed up words around you?”

Liz felt her heart stop. “Like what?”

“Like said one word when she means another, or mix up letters?”

“…Yes.”

“So it’s just something she does sometimes?” Michael looked relieved, even hopeful.

Liz felt the opposite. “Only since the UFO Emporium. Only since…”

“Noah?” MIchael filled in. The weight of that name brought them both down. “Do you… do you think he did something to her? Wasn’t careful with her mind?”

“Look, I’ll talk to her, okay?”

—–

“Hey.” Rosa entered The Wild Pony with a bag from the Crashdown Cafe. “You should really get a better lock on your doors cuz just about anyone could…” She trailed off.

Maria was seated on a stool of the bar crying. She looked up. “Ros-Romina. People need to stop kipping my locks… picking my…” She broke off into a sob.

Rosa was there in an instant, tossing the bag on the bar top and pulling her into her arms. She muttered soothing words in spanish, petting Maria’s hair. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s happening to me.”

“What’s happening to you, huh?”

“The same thing that happened to my Mom. It’s happening to me. I… I can’t remember what happened yesterday. At all. And then, there’s more. There’s words. Words aren’t making sense sometimes. It’s like someone is speaking a foreign language, even though I know they aren’t.”

“Shh… shh… we’ll figure it out.”

“But they haven’t. They don’t know what’s wrong with my mom. If the same thing is happening to me - Romina, what do I do?”

“Just trust me, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, and you’re going to be okay.”

Maria clung to her, and let the tears fall.

—–

“We can’t heal damage to a mind.” Michael reminded Liz.

“Has anyone ever tried?”

“You know we haven’t tried a lot with our powers. Doesn’t mean we should go trying something like that. I mean, if this is Noah’s fault, we could make things worse. He understood our powers better.”

“We need answers.” Liz paced. “About what all your species can do.”

Michael shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “We don’t have answers to that.”

“Maybe Kyle and Alex do.” Liz reminded him.

For the most part Michael had avoided the files to Project Sheppard since they’d gotten Max back. They contained all the worse nightmares Max, Isobel, and he had dreamed up over the years, and some they’d never imagined. Ten years ago, Project Sheppard had still been sanctioned. Ten years ago, if they had been caught during the murders, they would have ended up at Caulfield, too. There were nights that the guilt of covering the murders made Michael wonder if they wouldn’t have deserved it. Every time he looked at information from the prison, though, he was selfish enough to admit he’d do it again to avoid that fate.

—–

“I’m sorry, what month is it?” Maria asked as Michael clasped her necklace on her. “Nn.” She pressed the heel of her hand to her head.

“The headache again?”

“Yah, don’t worry - it passes.” Maria assured him, toying with her mother’s pendant.

“I’ll get you some aspirin anyway.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Maria gave him a pained smile. “The month?” She asked again.

Michael looked at her, troubled. “Beginning of February.”

“Right…” Maria’s expression was troubled.

—–

“Don’t touch those.” Liz reminded Michael as he glanced warily at the flowers she now had growing in a greenhouse on the Crashdown Cafe rooftop.

“I feel kinda ill just looking at them.” He backed away.

“Figuratively or Literally?” Liz asked him.

“Just figurative. I handled the pollen before. But knowing what it can do? I hate that we’re literally growing something that can kill us.”

“And cure Maria.”

“That’s why I’m not uprooting them and tossing them in the nearest garbage.”

“It’s also possible this may help, but not cure.” Liz reminded him.

“I know.”

—–

“Liz says you worked with her to help make this.” Maria had a cup of the tea in front of her on the bar counter.

“Yah.” Michael admitted. “Though I’m under strict orders not to touch it. And definitely not drink it.”

The tea that was fixing the damage that was done to her mind was deadly to the three of them. Maria had insisted on trying the tea first, but since it was working she’d begun making it for Mimi, too. Whether or not either would regain the memories lost had yet to be seen. It seemed they were both able to retain memories again, though. And the confusion had faded.

The flowers in the necklace had prevented damage to Mimi until she’d removed it at Maria’s graduation. And, likewise, Maria had been fine until she had spent time not wearing it. It truly had protected them from danger. Maria had promised her mother to never take the necklace off again, and Rosa was working on making a different one for Mimi from the flowers they now grew.

“So be sure not to accept drinks from strangers.” Maria lectured him.

“Why do you not want me to have any fun?” Michael teased back. When she gave him a warning look, he sobered. “So you don’t remember anything after the Gala?”

Maria shook her head. “It’s all just blank. Months of memories just gone.”

Michael nodded, looking away and taking a deep breath. “Well, maybe they’ll return. Y’know. Once you drink enough.”

“I hope so. I really want my mom to get her memories back, y’know?”

Michael nodded, and stood up. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

“No doubt causing bar fights in my bar.” Maria accused.

“Yah, I… um, don’t really do that anymore.” Michael confessed.

“Oh? Wow, what did I miss?”

“… a lot.” Michael admitted. “But, um, mostly I just had some help getting my act together.”

“Well, that’s good, right?”

“Yah… yah, it’s good.”

“Hey!” Rosa bounded in, carrying Crashdown Cafe Bags and a drink carrier. “Who wants Milkshakes and fries?

“Yummy!” Maria held out her hands.

“I should go.” Michael turned to leave.

“Nope.” Liz, who had followed Rosa in, linked her arm through his. “You’re staying. Everyone is coming over for a party.”

“Is that so? Did I volunteer to host this?” Maria challenged her.

“Absolutely.” Rosa told her.

“She’s lying.” Michael assured her.

“Well, I never say no to a party.” Maria grinned.

“That’s the spirit!” Rosa cheered. “I’m playing first!” She wandered over to grab up the guitar from the stage.

Liz glanced at Michael, who shook his head. She offered a half hug, before tugging on Maria’s hand where she had started on the fries. “Let’s dance!”

“You bring fries and now you want to dance?” Despite her words, Maria was already up.

“C’mon, you too.” Liz tugged on Michael’s arm.

“Didn’t you learn about my lack of dancing skills in Texas?” He reminded her.

“Oh, yah, they’re worse than Max’s, but it still gets you out of nothing.”

“Yep, this is what happens when you have friends. You get out of nothing.” Maria pulled his other arm and together they got him in front of the stage as Rosa began to strum the guitar.

Fini

#roswell nm fanfic #fanfic #maria deluca #miluca #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #marichael #michael guerin #liz ortecho #rosa ortecho #plotbunnies are evil #i apparently found my lost angst muse

19 notes · View notes

shirlleycoyle · 4 years ago

Text

The Hard Science of Reincarnation

The nightmares began when Ryan Hammons was 4 years old. He would wake up clutching his chest, telling his mother Cyndi that he couldn’t breathe and that his heart had exploded in Hollywood. But they didn’t live in Los Angeles; Hammons’s family resided in Oklahoma.

A few months prior, in early 2009, Ryan had started talking about going home to Hollywood and pleaded with Cyndi to take him to see his other family. He would yell, “Action!” and pretend to direct films when he played with friends; he knew scenes from a cowboy movie he had never watched; and said a cafe reminded him of Paris, where he had never been. He talked about his child, worldly travels, and his job at an agency where people changed their names. Cyndi didn’t think much of it until the nightmares set in and Ryan started describing death.

Hoping to figure out what he was talking about, Cyndi went to the public library and checked out a few books about Hollywood. She was flipping through one of them when Ryan got excited at a photo from the 1932 movie Night After Night. “Hey Mama, that’s George. We did a picture together,” he told her. “And Mama, that guy’s me. I found me.” George, Cyndi discovered, was George Raft, an actor and dancer who specialized in gangster films in the 1930s and 1940s. She couldn’t track down the name of the man Ryan had identified as himself.

Cyndi had never encountered anything like this before. She was a county clerk deputy who’d been raised in the Baptist church. Her husband, Kevin, was a Muskagee police officer and the son of a Church of Christ minister. She considered them to be fairly ordinary people, but she was starting to wonder if Ryan wasn’t so ordinary. Cyndi contemplated the possibility that this could be a case of reincarnation.

Cyndi contemplated the possibility that this could be a case of reincarnation.

Though she could have looked to one of the religions that hold a belief in reincarnation, such as Hinduism or Buddhism, instead, Cyndi turned to science. In February 2010, she wrote a letter to the Division of Perceptual Studies in the psychiatry and neurobehavioral department at the University of Virginia School of Medicine. Within weeks, they wrote back; Ryan was far from alone in having memories of a past life.

The roots of the Division of Perceptual Studies stretch back to the 1920s, when Dr. Ian Stevenson was growing up in Canada. A sickly child, he contracted bronchitis numerous times and spent hours in bed, devouring his mother’s extensive collection of books on Eastern religions. It was in those pages that he was first exposed to reports of paranormal phenomena. He claimed to possess an unusually good memory and earned his medical degree at McGill University in 1943, before moving to Arizona. He briefly studied biochemistry before moving to psychosomatic medicine, in search of “something closer to the whole human being” than what he had found in biochemistry. From there, he trained in psychiatry and psychoanalysis.

His academic career flourished in the U.S. and he was named chairman of the department of psychiatry at the University of Virginia (UVA) in 1957, while still in his 30s. Around that time, he revived his childhood interest in the paranormal. He dipped his toes into the waters of parapsychology—the study of mental abilities that seem to go against or be outside of the known laws of nature and science—by writing book reviews and articles for non-academic publications like Harper’s magazine.

The most convincing cases, he realized, all involved young children, generally between the ages of 2 and 5, who spoke in great detail of places they had never visited and people they had never met.

In 1958, he won the American Society for Psychical Research’s contest for the best essay on paranormal mental phenomena and their relationship to life after death. His essay, “The Evidence for Survival from Claimed Memories of Incarnations,” looked at 44 cases of individuals around the world who had memories of past lives. The most convincing cases, he realized, all involved young children, generally between the ages of 2 and 5, who spoke in great detail of places they had never visited and people they had never met, or who had birthmarks corresponding to injuries incurred by other people when they faced violent, untimely deaths. Most of those cases were in Asian countries where belief in reincarnation was already high.

Chester Carlson, a wealthy physicist who invented the photocopying process that led to the Xerox Corporation’s founding, read Stevenson’s winning essay. Having become interested in parapsychology through his wife Dorris, Carlson contacted Stevenson with an offer of funding; Stevenson declined. But Stevenson fell deeper into his new research, taking his first fieldwork trip to interview children with past-life memories in India and Sri Lanka in 1961 and publishing his first book on the topic, Twenty Cases Suggestive of Reincarnation, in 1966. He reconsidered Carlson’s offer; the following year, the funding allowed him to step down as chair of the psychiatry department to focus full-time on his reincarnation research—a move that pleased the dean of UVA’s medical school, who was not thrilled with the direction that Stevenson’s work was taking. But when Stevenson stepped down, the dean agreed to let him form a small research division in which to do his curious new research within UVA that still exists today.

Carlson died unexpectedly the next year and left UVA $1 million to support Stevenson’s research. Over the following decades, Stevenson traversed the globe tracking down instances of children with past-life memories, logging an average of 55,000 miles a year and identifying over 2,000 cases. Along the way, he authored more than 300 publications, including fourteen books.

The new research division at UVA was called the Division of Parapsychology—a name forced onto Stevenson, according to Dr. Jim. B. Tucker, the division’s current director. Stevenson changed the name to the Division of Personality Studies, concerned that parapsychology was isolating itself from the rest of academia. The vagueness of “personality studies” suited Stevenson, as he continued working to gain the respect of mainstream science. That mission permeated his studies: He ceaselessly quantified his data—coding 200 variables in his database of cases, calculating the probabilities of one or two birthmarks corresponding to one or two wounds on another person’s body, and painstakingly examining every possible normal, as opposed to paranormal, explanation—in a bid to be taken seriously. Now, the research unit is called the Division of Perceptual Studies, or DOPS, and remains up and running despite Stevenson’s death in 2007. There, Cyndi Hammons’s letter about Ryan’s Hollywood memories found Tucker.

Tucker traveled to Oklahoma to meet the Hammons family in April 2010. With help from a TV crew that was following Ryan’s case, they identified the man in the photo from Night After Night as Marty Martyn, who died in 1964. Tucker showed Ryan photos of people Martyn had known in sets of four, asking if anyone looked familiar. He later realized this wording was too vague, especially for a 6 year old, but Ryan did pick out Martyn’s wife, saying that she looked familiar, but that he wasn’t sure how he knew her. Together, they flew to Los Angeles and met Martyn’s daughter, who’d been 8 years old when her father had died. Ryan was confused to find she had grown.

Tucker fact-checked some of Ryan’s memories with Martyn’s daughter. A lot of the details proved accurate; a lot of them did not. Some couldn’t be verified. Martyn had acted as an extra in movies before becoming a talent agent. He and his wife had traveled the globe. Ryan had talked about dancing on Broadway, which Tucker thought unlikely for someone who’d been an extra with no lines, but Martyn’s daughter verified those memories. He had mentioned two sisters and a mother with curly brown hair—also true. He recalled his address having Rock or Mount in its name, and Martyn’s last address was 825 N. Roxbury.

Ryan Hammons recognized the actor George Raft in old Hollywood photographs when he was a child. (John Springer Collection/CORBIS/Corbis via Getty Images)

But his heart had not exploded. Martyn had leukemia and died of a cerebral hemorrhage in 1964. Ryan had also said that his father had raised corn and died when he was still a child, which didn’t prove accurate. Still, the case presented “strong evidence for reincarnation,” Tucker wrote in his 2013 book, Return to Life, in which he documented this story, but it was certainly not definitive.

“What this offered was an opportunity to look at the big picture, this question of there being more of us than just the physical.”

When Tucker first heard about Stevenson’s research on reincarnation, he was a child psychiatrist in private practice in Charlottesville, Virginia, where UVA is located. He didn’t believe in reincarnation, but his wife was open to ideas about reincarnation and psychics, so he gradually opened up to those concepts too. And his wife wasn’t alone: A 2018 Pew Research Center poll found that 33 percent of adults in the United States believe in reincarnation. After reading one of Stevenson’s books, he heard that DOPS was doing a project on near-death experiences—another field of research within parapsychology—and reached out. He began working there part-time in 1999.

“What this offered was an opportunity to look at the big picture, this question of there being more of us than just the physical. That was really quite appealing—and not just the question but also the approach to the question, that these were rational, serious-minded people that were doing this work,” he told VICE News.

Ten years prior to meeting the Hammons family, Tucker gave up his private practice to join DOPS full-time. For nine years, he also served as medical director of UVA’s Child and Family Psychiatry Clinic alongside pursuing his parapsychological research through DOPS. Most of Stevenson’s work focused on reincarnation in Asia, but as Tucker plunged into researching past-life memories, he realized that if he were to get Americans to consider his work seriously, he needed to search for cases among those in the U.S. that didn’t believe in reincarnation.

Tucker has now published two books documenting cases of children with past-life memories—a term he prefers over the flashier “reincarnation.” He writes in a decidedly more approachable voice than Stevenson did, aiming for a mainstream audience instead of an academic one. “Ian's primary goal was to get the scientific world, the scientific establishment, to seriously consider this possibility [of reincarnation]. And that's a pretty tough audience,” he said. “But beyond that, if you just write for that audience for decades, at some point you have to decide that the rest of the world needs to hear about it too.”

Even in Europe, where parapsychological research is more common in universities like the University of Edinburgh and the University of Northampton, the broader psychology community remains skeptical of this work.

In spite of Stevenson’s attempts to turn reincarnation studies into a hard science, parapsychology is still a stigmatized niche within academia, where it is not viewed as a very respectable field. It’s one of the reasons that Tucker, as well as many other parapsychologists, keeps one foot in mainstream psychiatry or psychology while pursuing their parapsychological research. Even in Europe, where parapsychological research is more common in universities like the University of Edinburgh and the University of Northampton, the broader psychology community remains skeptical of this work.

Tucker and his colleagues at DOPS are not the only academics in this field in the U.S, either. “I think there's an assumption oftentimes that if you're studying parapsychology, that means that you absolutely believe everything you're studying, and I try and work hard to say that you don't have to believe in everything you study. It's an academic interest and these are experiences that human beings have reported across different times and across cultures, and we really need to try and understand all aspects of human experience,” said Christine Simmonds-Moore, a parapsychologist and associate professor of psychology at the University of West Georgia.

Simmonds-Moore gravitated towards the paranormal as a child in the UK, but it wasn’t until she was far into her psychology degree that she realized she could actually study paranormal phenomena seriously. After getting her PhD in England, she moved to the US to research at the Rhine Center, an independent parapsychology research center in North Carolina that was once affiliated with Duke University. It was while working there that she first encountered the researchers at UVA.

She never met Stevenson, but she distinctly remembers her first visit to DOPS. “It does send shivers down your spine when you go into the room and you see all the filing cabinets containing all of the cases of the past lives that were investigated by Stevenson,” she told me. “You see all of his work and you see all of the things that he collected from his travels whilst he was doing the investigations. So there are lots of artifacts on the walls there. It's quite a beautiful experience just to see the room with these filing cabinets.”

Not everyone is so moved by Stevenson and Tucker’s work. Christopher French, a professor of psychology at Goldsmiths, University of London, considers himself a skeptic when it comes to paranormal phenomena, despite conducting some of his own research on past-life memories. He began his career studying mainstream neuroscience before embracing anomalistic psychology, the study of human behavior associated with the paranormal but based on the assumption that nothing paranormal is involved. French’s new direction was, he described, “tolerated” by his department, and he had to keep up his more mainstream psychological research in parallel with the anomalistic work that interested him far more.

“I think they are false memories that have arisen as a result of a kind of interesting social psychological interaction between the child and those around them.”

He thinks the most plausible explanation for the majority of cases is that the children are experiencing false memories, though he maintains respect for Stevenson’s meticulous research. “I think they are false memories that have arisen as a result of a kind of interesting social psychological interaction between the child and those around them,” he argued. “You do wonder to what end the researchers are kind of just finding the things that match what's gone on.” He thinks that young children will often say things that don’t make sense to their parents when they first start to speak and the parents will then inadvertently feed them information as they begin to wonder whose life the child could be describing—perhaps showing them photographs and asking if they remember the people in the picture and “having this interaction that ultimately will produce a situation where they've unintentionally implanted false memories,” as French put it.

Stevenson’s work informed French’s own forays into investigating children with past-life memories. Many years ago, the two men met when seated next to each other at a conference dinner. “He came across as a very intelligent, reasonable person,” French recalled. “I think his work is very good as far as it goes, but I don't think it's the whole story.”

He doesn't, however, question the necessity of the research itself. “There could only be two possibilities. One is that there is something genuinely paranormal happening, and if that is true, that would be amazing,” he told me. “Or, alternatively—which is more the line that I do favor—it tells us something very interesting about human psychology. So either way, it's worth taking seriously.”

Dr. Anita H. Clayton, chair of UVA’s psychiatry and neurobehavioral department, which houses DOPS, echoed that sentiment: “My question is, Where should DOPS be if it's not in the department of psychiatry? And where should it be if it's not in academics? Because I think what scientists do is dispassionately investigate phenomena that we don't yet understand.”

And yet, mainstream science still largely relegates parapsychology to its own community, with researchers struggling to get their work published in major journals. Instead, they often publish in parapsychology journals, which, all the parapsychologists I spoke with agreed, is a bit ineffective—they are preaching to the choir when they would rather be reaching the skeptics.

On April 30, 2011, the TV show that had followed Ryan Hammon’s case, The UneXplained: A Life in the Movies, aired on the Biography Channel. As a young child, Ryan had always been shy about sharing his Hollywood memories out of fear that people would think he was crazy; his parents, too, had been nervous about what people in their small town would think of them. But just over a year after Cyndi sent that first letter to DOPS, her family’s story appeared on national television. In the end, the family thought the producers did a great job. Soon after the episode aired, Ryan stopped talking about Marty Martyn. Within six months, Ryan had taken down his Martyn-themed bedroom decorations—an iron Eiffel Tower, pictures of New York—and told his mom it was time to be a regular kid.

After more than two decades of researching children with past-life memories, Tucker is still getting letters about children like Ryan and he is still seeking out new cases. At his last count, there were about 2,200 cases coded in his database. He describes himself as “spiritual but not religious,” and his goal remains unique from Stevenson’s, who was open about his unfulfilled quest for mainstream science to value his life’s work.

“A lot of it, to be perfectly honest, is trying to figure out the answers for myself,” Tucker told me. “Hopefully my work or my writings have had a positive impact on some people, but they're still trying to answer the question of, What is the level of evidence that, in fact, there is this part of us that survives after the body dies?”

The Hard Science of Reincarnation syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

0 notes

desmondbeaumont-blog · 7 years ago

Text

So, my timeline isn’t nearly as detailed as the others, so please let me know if I missed anything.

tw: sexual assault and panic attacks

Before Durham

Before the “incident,” Des was a bit of a troublemaker in school. He ditched classes, went out to clubs until late at night, and did everything he could to rebel against his parents “perfect family image.” One night, he decided to throw a graduation party at the footie field, where he was drugged and sexually assaulted. His old childhood friend, Sam, found him afterwards and took him home to take care of him. Up until recently, he didn’t remember the night due to blacking out. The trauma tamed Des, hence numerous mentions of the “old Des.” He has early connections with Sam and Imogen. Sam is his childhood on and off again best friend, and he knows Imogen from both school and family connections.

The Night on the Sands (March 2017)

Des was doing his coursework when he felt compelled to go to the beach. He dully noticed the other eleven there as well, but Sam especially caught his eye. After that night, his flashback nightmares started.

The Beach Bonfire (June 2017)

Des drank beer on the beach with Jude before the bonfire started and talked about their powers. They decided they should test them out more. Des found Sam showing people their childhood photos and got mad, which made Sam sad in the process. Later in the night and many drinks later, he ran into a very drunk Imogen. When she touched him, he got freaked out and pushed her.

Durham University (June 2017)

Jude and Des experimented with magic. Jude healed Des in his sleep.

Holiday in Brighton (July 2017)

Des and Imogen decided it would be a good idea to go on a holiday with the twelve to try and get them to bond. He offered up his uncle’s home in Brighton. Des failed miserably. He and Sam got into multiple arguments. Des discovered Imogen’s powers. Jude and Des bonded over ice cream. Faye and Des had a chat with a bird.

Durham University (August 2017)

Jude gave Des the locket, which allowed him to see light waves and manipulate colors. He also celebrated his birthday. Faye took him out to lunch and Jude took him out for drinks. Sam gave him a pendant, leading Des to be hopeful that they could repair their friendship. Sam temporarily moves in to Des’ flat. Des’ nightmares get more vivid. Imogen tried to convince Des to audition for Grease, but he refused because of his stage freight. He considered auditioning after hurting her at the festival, but forgot about it after his explosion.

The Autumn Festival (September 2017)

DES HAS THE WORST WEEK EVER. He accidentally injured Imogen during lasertag, while using his light to cheat. Sam discovers Des’ powers and realizes his visions are coming true. He was forced into the kissing competition, due to being on the footie team, and lost--the kissing making him extremely uncomfortable. Sam intervened and ripped off Des’ sign. Jude and Des went into a haunted house. The clown room caused him to have a flashback and then panic attack. The only good parts were petting puppies with Cleo and getting drunk with Faye and witnessing her wow everyone during karaoke. The last night, Sam woke up from a nightmare and went to talk to Des. The two finally opened up to each other.

Durham University (October)

The power up caused Des to finally remember what happened to him through a nightmare. Due to being so upset, he generated absolute light and “burned out"--losing his power. He stopped going classes and talking to the others. Jude came to check on Des and he broke down. Des met Cleo in a cafe the morning after she went into his nightmare and he told her he lost his power. After not seeing Sam for days, he caught Sam in the registration office and found out he was dropping out of school. He told Sam his vision came true and he wasn’t there to help, but still begged him to stay.

Durham University (November)

Sam was sent to the hospital after injuring himself during a vision. Des found out and went to visit him. Sam finally broke down and told Des everything.

The Astronomy Tower (November)

Des felt nothing when it came to meeting the authors. He wasn’t excited or scared. He felt like he wasn’t included in the process anymore, since he lost his powers. After learning about the magic and their potential deaths, he still couldn’t bring himself to have the energy to change things. He already lost his light and didn’t see how he could help. After the tower, Sam and Des built a fort and talked about their friendship and apologized to each other. Sam tried to encourage Des to do some magic, but he resisted. Des visited Faye to talk about his hesitancy towards Hensley and Glass. He also checked in on Jude to see how he was doing and found about Faye and his past with abuse. Imogen came to Des’ flat to confront him about his lack of initiative.

London (December)

Des went home for spring break and instantly isolated himself to his room. His parents invited Alfie over to try and talk to him, and Des ended up telling him everything about Finn. He felt better afterwards and decided to start seeing a therapist. The night before returning to campus, he was able to produce a weak glow.

Housewarming Party (January)

Des went to Imogen’s house warming party and briefly talked to Sam outside about their worries about the party. He showed Sam that he had his light back. At the party, Des got too drunk and said too much during the game, plus got jealous of Faye and Sam together. Sam confronted him after the game about Des never being in love, and Des got defensive. After Jude’s announcement, he broke down and Des helped him through his flashback. At the end of the night, the two went to Jude’s room and watched Cowboy Bebop.

Durham Uni (February)

Jude and Des spend a lot of time together and help each other with their self-esteem’s. Des is lead to analyze his strange relationship with sex, and his feelings towards Sam. Imogen and Des performed a ritual in Des’ room to help strengthen his powers after losing them, and talked about his burnout. Faye and Des stole a car (still being written). Sam invited Des to help him with a ritual for his visions (still being written).

#timeline #my impatience is showing in this lol #about

3 notes · View notes

bri-abroad · 7 years ago

Text

Edinburgh

I went on my first trip this past weekend! My housemates and I made plans to all travel together after knowing one another for a mere week. We sat down and very randomly Edinburgh became our destination. We bought plane tickets before we could change our minds, and despite all odds that it wouldn’t work out, we had a very successful weekend trip in Scotland.

Friday night (February 2nd) we arrived and the sun was setting. Copenhagen had been grey overcast for the past week, so seeing color was OVERWHELMING. My friend Laura and I seriously almost had tears looking out on the beautiful Scottish countryside in the golden hour of sunset. We stumbled out of the plane and we joked that the rays of the sun were burning our eyes and skin. We hopped into a cab, which we were able to ask for in English (so nice), and we made it to the Airbnb.

Our running joke has been that we are “guy’s girls” (yes it is supposed to be sarcastic), and the building had “Boys” above the door, so we felt right at home. Not only was the place aptly named, but it was also right around the corner from my friend Will from highschool who was studying abroad there and also from our dinner-- Holyrood 9A (according to the GoogleDoc I made prior like the type-A person that I am). We met Will there, and I enjoyed the best chicken sandwich I have ever had as well as fries and a beer. What a guy’s girl.

Peep Rachel eating in the background

Peep Emily in a pre-food coma

Saturday morning we had plans to do Arthur’s seat at sunrise. Let’s just say that after a night out in Edinburgh, that did not happen, and we decided to nourish ourselves with a nice brunch instead. We went to a place called Spoon and stayed way too long laughing and talking. After peaking out the window and seeing the streets of Edinburgh, I realized we had a lot of exploring to do. We decided to wander the streets and stray from the GoogleDoc a little.

We walked on the Royal Mile and I bought some silver rings from a little shop (@Abby if you’re reading this, I got you one ;)). The streets are SO quaint, and I was falling in love. Copenhagen is beautiful, but Edinburgh had a very different feel to it. When you walk in Copenhagen you know you’re in Europe and you know it’s old and has history, but it’s definitely a modern city. Walking in Edinburgh was like walking in the 16th century.

That's when we ran into Duke Ellington: a cowboy interrupting my daydreaming of people in kilts playing bagpipes. He was a street performer and 5th generation whip maker wearing assless chaps. He ended up calling Emily to the center to hold his jacket as he whipped random targets (of course). Fast forward 5 minutes. He’s wearing a blindfold, about to whip a 2 inch target another person was holding between their hands, and Morgan was called up to give him a kiss. There we were in the streets of Scotland, and Morgan was kissing a cowboy in assless chaps.

After the show was over and we had no money to give poor Duke for his performance, we made our way up to the Edinburgh castle. The outside of the castle was worth it. Paying 17 pounds was not worth it. I was expecting something like from Princess Diaries where Anne Hathaway shows us her closet and Julie Andrews is wearing a crown on a thrown. It was rainy and we didn’t get to really go inside anywhere. After standing in line for 40 minutes to see a crown and the “stone of destiny”, I was met with a dark room, a guard, and a slab of rock that looked like concrete on the side of an American highway. I actually was crying laughing and the guard was looking at me like he understood exactly why I thought the experience was underwhelming; the poor guy had to stand there all day. The crown was dull. Ok I sound rude and I’m being a bit harsh, but it was a hilarious experience. I won’t forget it, but not for the reasons I believed as I bought my ticket to enter. Pro tip: see the castle, but don’t pay to “go inside”.

Afterwards we continued to wander until we ended up in the Grassmarket. Rachel was determined to have a “high tea” experience, but everyone was losing energy from our nourishing brunch. The hangover was setting in. We took a quick hiatus in the Scottish library, and after settled for a cafe and enjoyed scones with jelly and hot tea.

Back at the Airbnb I took a freezing cold shower because I had no idea how to work the water. That woke me up. Will was watching the Arsenal game at a nearby bar so I convinced everyone to go and chill before going out later again that night. I have grown to like IPAs in Abroadland, so I got a volcano IPA, watched Arsenal win, bothered Will because it was nice to see him, split a veggie burger with Rachel, and then us girls decided to check out Devil’s Advocate because Yelp said it was worth the money. It was down a cobblestone alleyway and as soon as I walked in I felt way too young and inexperienced. The 6 of us tried to appear like we knew what the drinks were on the drink menu, and I chose one with Scottish whisky because #WhileInScotland I guess? It was a great start to the night.

Sunday morning we actually made it to Arthur’s seat. It worked out well because it was sunny and beautiful versus yesterday’s rain. The slope was a little slippery from that rain, and I’m glad Emily didn’t wear her thigh high going out boots (sigh), but the view at the top was incredibly worth it. We did a little photo op, Will and I made it to the bottom and waited for the rest to make it (a theme of the hike haha), and we grabbed burritos before saying goodbye and heading to the airport.

I have to say I was very sad leaving behind Edinburgh. I’m still not sure if I love it just because it was my first trip or if it will end up being my favorite at the end, but Scotland is magical!!! I promise you there’s just something really special about it. Very underrated. Scottish accents don’t even sound English and I’ve decided they’re way better than UK accents. Plus the people are so so nice. Danes are very reserved (the stereotype is NOT a myth), but in Scotland the streets were loud with music and laughter. The people made you feel like they were neighbors in a sense, and I will forever remember that and the feeling I had walking the streets.

#travel #edinburgh

4 notes · View notes

flannelfiction · 7 years ago

Text

Have Faith In Me

Chapter One : Adjustment

Yawning, Jesse looks across the table to the young boy who could seriously pass for his son. Dark tanned skin from being out in the sun all day with splashes of freckles, and they both even had the same color eyes. Both have longer brown hair that’s pushed under a cowboy hat, Jesse’s being a legitimate one and the boy’s being a neon atrocity that he loves. An untamed desire to live rages in both of their hearts too and resonates into the ways they hold themselves; stand up straight, chin up, shoulders relaxed, eyes resolved, and feet firmly on the ground. They both have the same toothy grin that melts hearts and breaks them all the same. Neither of them seem to ever take much seriously, preferring to laugh off anything that might possibly happen. Even at such a young age, the boy seems to have been through a lot that’s made him very mature.

“Hey… uh Jesse,” the boy holds Jesse’s gaze with ease, but he won’t even meet anyone else’s eyes yet. Jesse’s heart broke when he realized it at first. He became aware of the boy’s disposition when they met up with Jack and Gabriel. Held himself all the same but refused to make any eye contact or even look in their directions until Jesse convinced him they were well and fine. Afterwards, he began to meet their eyes more often, but Jesse fears what hides behind the walls he hasn’t breached yet. “Is it okay if I go outside after dinner? I wanna play with Han.” Han was an imaginary friend that the boy had made up after reading a book about samurai at the local library. It was far from annoying to Jesse, he found it adorable and remembered back fondly to playing with his imaginary friends.

“Go on, you’re done eating, ain’t you?” Jesse waves off the kid with a grin. “Be safe, Warren. Sun starts going down, you start getting back. I don’t care what Han says if he wants to keep playing, you listen to me, boy.” Warren rolls his eyes at his recently acquired surrogate father, assuring him he’d be back well before then. If Jesse had been looking at the door as Warren rushed passed him instead of at his plate, he’d have seen the door open before Warren got to it. His reaction would’ve definitely been different if he had seen that. Less dopey smile at how cute he thought Warren was since he figured Warren pretended his friend opened the door, and much more horrified. It’s a good thing Han was smart and made sure not to do anything if Jesse’s eyes were on him.

Continuing to munch at his meal, Jesse mulled over what had to be done at the ranch in the coming days. Now that it was finally warm enough to ship out chicks, he had a very large order coming out. Jesse found out Warren loved chickens and birds as much as he did, so he bought a large variety of chickens to raise. Warren showed interest in learning how to care for them and sell them, and Jesse was all for teaching the boy anything he may want to learn. Though Warren insisted that Han had been teaching him about the chickens, but it was dismissed in Jesse’s mind as Warren being over imaginative and doing research on his own. Jesse also bought a handful of new cows off a farmer who couldn’t handle them along with some goats and the farmer’s flock of sheep. He had the pasture already set while he was in the military, so all he needed was the sheep. Jack and Gabriel had already gotten him cows and horses as a welcome gift.

With ideas brewing in his head, Jesse pushes himself backwards in the chair. It screeches against the floor as it begrudgingly complies to his demands, grating on his ears. The chair creaks slightly as he stands, thankful to be freed of any weight upon the seat. Eyeing his mechanical arm in slight distaste, Jesse uses his flesh hand to pull out his phone and slowly type out a quick message to Jack asking if he didn’t mind loaning him the farm truck for the day tomorrow. Usually there was no issue, but Jesse always preferred to have all his marks spotted before he made a move on anything. Hesitation and lack of planning are the downfalls of all great ideas.

The farm truck wasn’t fancy, but it did have a huge bed in the back with a cover. Something that Jesse’s truck did not have. His truck was a modest size without a cover, and he rarely ever needed more than that. Mostly he leaves the property to grab feed or take Warren out and about. Jesse loved his truck, often cooing at her when she attempts to bog down mid drive. Thankfully, Baby, the truck, hasn’t been doing that as often since he put in new sparks and fixed a leaking head gasket. Some time this week he needs to pop in the new radiator, and he really needed to figure out the slight exhaust leak that’s leaking into the cab. People keep telling him to get rid of Baby, but he’s attached. Jesse’s had her before the war and now that he’s out, he wants to fix her up even more since she sat for so many years.

Instead of just standing around and waiting for Jack to reply, Jesse decides to wash up the dishes in the sink and watch Warren play with his imaginary friend. Warren is dashing about and attempting to do a combat roll as though someone were watching or critiquing his poor form. A comfortable warmth begins to boil in Jesse’s chest as he watches the boy continue on his adventurous escapades through the open grass. He imagines this must be what his mother told him about, that she could watch her children play for hours and never be bored. It makes a lot more sense as to him now, watching Warren play was one of his recent favorite things to do. Popping back up, Warren assumes a mock archer position and pretends to draw back a string and release a mighty arrow into the air. Jesse makes a mental note to pick up some books on archery and maybe a bow for Warren to learn on.

Perhaps Warren is playing with things he’s actually interested in learning about. Jesse muses that Han is probably a figment of what he’d like to learn to do. Warren seemed particularly interested in the swords and bow that were in the book. Maybe Jesse would pick up a wooden katana from the local weirdo shop next time he went into town without Warren. He knew Warren would treasure anything that Jesse bought for him, the kid practically begged to be allowed to shadow Jesse around the farm. Funny that he’s interested in samurai stuff too now. A cow boy samurai would be pretty amusing to see running around the ranch.

Buzzing alerts Jesse to the fact that he’s neglected his phone and let someone go to voice mail. He quickly wipes off his hands and looks away just in time to miss seeing Warren’s clothes move as someone unseen adjusts his posture so it’s correct. Phone in hand, he taps in his password to see who he missed so he can call them back. “Hey Gabe, what’s up?”

“You need the truck tomorrow?” It was Jack speaking over the phone is his gruff voice that in the right situation could do wonders in making Jesse’s pants not fit quite right. He can imagine Jack scratching the slight shadow that seemed to permanently attempt to grow in on his strong jaw and chiseled neck. Jack is probably thinking over if he has anything he needs to do tomorrow or not, and, if he does, he’ll probably tell Jesse they can just go together to conserve gas. “I wanted to grab some supplies… do you mind if we just ride together? We can go out to lunch, too. We haven’t been on a date in a while.”

Smirking slightly to himself, Jesse beams back into the phone, “Sounds like a plan, Jackie.” His metal hand adjusts the grip on the phone and his flesh hand adjusts his hat, smoothing the rim. “Want to hit up that little cafe on the south wing a’ town ‘fore we head over to the post to grab the li’l ones?”

“Sounds like a’ plan,” Jack mocks Jesse’s southern twang that came out more because he was excited. “Thank we should hit up an ol’ saloon while we’re at it?”

“Shut yer Yankee mouth, Jack,” Jesse sneers into the phone before Jack busts out into laughter. Gabriel must’ve caught the last part of their conversation because he busted out laughing in the background, too. Jack’s hearing is lacking, so he always has the phone on the loudest setting before speaker phone turns on. It might as well be on speaker, though, since every word of the conversation can be heard easily by anyone in a five foot radius.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack blows off Jesse’s statement smoothly and then laughs a bit. “So we’ll head out in the morning then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jesse nods even though Jack can’t see him whatsoever as he paces a new tread into the floor boards. His bare feet making soft padding noises against the old wooden floors as he slows in pace. “See you then, I’mma go get all the animals in before bed after dishes and a smoke.”

“Sounds good, Jesse.” Jack has warmth in his tone and it make Jesse’s heart skip a bit momentarily. “Good night.”

“Night, Jack,” Jesse smiles warmly, back relaxing as he tries to click the end call button with his metal hand. Of course, it doesn’t register with the touch screen on the phone, and Jack winds up ending the phone call instead. Distaste once again tints the way he looks at the metal limb that doesn’t even register as a hand to machines or feel warm. Self hate swirls about Jesse’s gut and begins to brew a not-so-healthy case of heart burn for later on in the night that Jesse will wake up with nasty burps from. Grumbling, he goes back to finish his dishes with hope that Warren is still playing with Han in front of the window. Thankfully he is, and, somehow, Jesse notes that his archer stance has improved significantly. Interesting, too, was how there seemed to be a shimmery space next to Warren… like how cars look in the summer when they’re running or just above a grill that’s heated up. Jesse figures it’s just the sun plays tricks in the almost-sunset but still blue sky, and he doesn’t think too much farther than that.

Sometime while Jesse’s washing dishes, the shimmering fades away and Warren quits practicing his mock archery. Instead he opts for looking at the cows, running further into the distance until he’s just a speck on the fence around the pasture. As his source of entertainment leaves, his brewing self hatred returns to remind him that he’s not the man he once was. His metal hand grips a cheap plastic cup a little too hard and goes right through it. He begins to audibly curse himself out as he crush the cup in his metal hand and chucks it so hard to the (also plastic) garbage can that it too become dented. Angered yelling begins to rage from Jesse’s lungs so he decides to grab a cigarette from his coat that’s slung over a chair. Grumbling more angrily, he walks outside and lights it up eagerly. He needs a smoke. He needs to calm down.

Stomping his way over to one of the rockers, he sits down and looks out over the river. Flowing freely and not pausing for anything that may fall in, the water gushes by and sweeps along tiny branches and various fish. The recent rains have really surged up the water; it’s about ten feet up onto the shore. Gabriel said that’s about as far as it’ll go, so Jesse is glad he’s seen the approximate highest point for his own reference. Any sort of planning he may need to do in the future will be dependent on how high the river may get. No use putting in a building that’ll flood out every year, or putting in a root cellar that will always be below to the water line. The roaring waters of the river would just wash it all out and down the banks piece by piece. Gabriel and Jesse made sure Warren knew never to go near the river without an adult around for that reason.

Inhaling deeply, Jesse feels a faint tingling beginning to set into his finger tips as he relaxes into his chair. The feeling bubbles up into his forearms and slowly washes over his shoulders. Numbing his anger as the sensation begins to rush over his scalp, Jesse sighs contently and takes another long drag. He knows his metal limb can’t feel, but he swears he feels both his hands get the tingling the sensation, it’s quite unsettling. Deciding to ignore it for now, Jesse looks out across the grass to the river and the forest beyond. The sky is an infinite expanse dotted with clouds that hide portions of the cerulean blue canopy. Tall green peaks lumber above the mostly moss earth at their bases, and briars act as walls against the border between the woods and grassy river bank. The slightly grey-green moss an interesting contrast to the vibrant green briars and deep pines and bright maples of the wood. Greens a beautiful harmony with the sky, and the birds flying about elaborate splashes of color on a canvas of earth tones. Bliss.

“You guys settled in yet?” Jack asks with a sideways glance as he drives down the road. The truck jostles over the potholes roughly and a few clacks are heard from the back from tie downs slacking over to the side. Jack’s thinning, short hair flitted in the wind from the open window slightly. His skin is pale and still vibrant and youthful looking even though there’s a scar through his lip and in-between his eyebrows on a diagonal toward his right eye. Many other scars litter his body and betray that he’s a bit more aged than his smile and actions lead on.

“Working on it,” Jesse laughs a bit as he tucks his hair up into his hat better to prevent it from whipping his face further. His fingers are calloused and large, so it’s a bit tedious for him to have to focus on getting it to fit in his hat without having to move his hat in a way that lets more hair fall out. A quiet, deep throated chuckle lets out and Jesse figures it came from Jack so he doesn’t comment on it. Meanwhile, Jack figured it came from Jesse, and neither of them notice the weird shimmery area in the shape of hands holding up some hair in Jesse’s hat so it doesn’t fall. “Warren is playing with Han a lot more, he’s playing archery a lot lately. I think I’mma buy ‘im a bow to practice with. Probably buy him a couple books on archery and its history or something, too. Kid likes that sorta thing, a lot more into reading than I’ve ever been.”

“It’s a good thing he’s different from you in that way,” Jack has a scolding tone to his voice from the get go. Jesse is already rolling his eyes before Jack continues on with his small speech. “If you could’ve just gone back to college and gotten an associates degree, you could’ve advanced so much quicker!”

Waving him off with his metal hand, Jesse shrugs. He knows that Jack is low-key telling him that if he had gone to college like Gabriel and Jack urged him to, he would’ve been in a commanding station farther back the day of the explosion. What Jack didn’t know was that it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. There was the infamous hat that would get started, and if your picture was on the hat and the money inside the hat was high enough… you’d die at some point. If you didn’t, the money would get sent to you once you got home safely. Jesse was curious how much he’d receive here soon, and, when it came, Jack and Gabriel would find out what happened wasn’t an attack from the other side at all.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jesse fake grumbles, actually enjoying having the man he’s always looked up to worrying after him. It was a nice feeling that helped him through some tough times. Jack and Gabriel were openly doting and always made sure that Jesse knew he had a place to rest his head. They had taken him in when he was a brat without direction making stupid decisions and running with the wrong folks. When Jesse ran too far into the desert because his family got killed in a car crash, they found him and drug his sorry ass back home to heal. Jesse would do anything he needed to make sure that they didn’t have to find out about the hat until the money came. He wanted to make sure they couldn’t do anything until it was too late to find out who did it and when. All three them have put money in a hat for someone else. Jesse and Gabriel had even received the money out of the hat for being the one who ended the person. Albeit the hats they chose to participate on were usually suspected spies or leaks, but they had still participated actively. It’s only natural to accept that it is what it is, no matter how shitty.

“What type of chicks you get this time around?” Jack give Jesse a sideways glance, eyeing his reaction. Jesse wasn’t aware but he was significantly paler and sweat was beading around his temples. Memories of the explosion were replaying in Jesse’s mind, the car that went up into the sky in pieces and out to the sides in a variety of sharp pieces. Though even the dull pieces cut through flesh like razors or embedded themselves in. “Jesse,” Jack calls out carefully but receives no response again. “Soldier!” Jack’s voice barks and Jesse’s head snaps over to Jack immediately. His eyes are glazed over but come back to reality as he looks at Jack. “So what type of chicks you get this time around?”

Giving a nice smirk, acting as though he hadn’t just had a minor flashback, Jesse begins to list off a generalized answer. “I got some olive eggers, blue eggers, Easter Eggers, dual purpose birds, white egg layers, brown egg layers, some bantams, standard sized feather footers, and some birds that I’mma cross for some delicious meat birds. Warren’s interested in learning about chickens and raising them and marketing them,” Jesse’s completion begins to even out as he talks, and he knows what Jack is doing for him. Having him talk about anything but what’s going on right now in his mind so he can relax. “I figured getting a whole bunch that we start a breeding stock off of would be a good treat for the kid, a good hobby for me, and maybe a good way to make money seeing how there’s too few ranches around here. You’d think there’d be more cows and shit, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Jack laughs a bit. “Most folks travel to the city or have meat brought in around here. You’ll make a killing once you get everything going. You getting any other birds?” Jack’s grip on the steering wheel begins to calm and his knuckles he didn’t realize had been in a white knuckle grip feel a bit of ache. His jaw is tight and he’s doing his best to keep up his calm appearance, but something in his gut is beginning to rage with worry and something else he’s not sure of. Something is telling him to push Jesse for more information, but he has a feeling it’s a bad idea.

“Pheasants, quail, duck, and goose. Got an assortment coming in to play with,” Jesse grins and grabs a cigarette out of his breast pocket and a lighter. “It’s gunna be a fun year for raising up some little ones.” Inhaling deeply, Jesse holds the flame to the end of his cigarette for a moment. When he’s done he exhales a fast puff of smoke out the window. Jack smirks a bit at the light enthusiasm radiating from Jesse.

“Yeah? Making use of all the barns you had built up finally?” Jack shoots a teasing grinning Jesse’s way. For the past ten years, Jesse has been building up all the buildings he would need for his animals at Jack and Gabriel’s property. Jack and Gabriel didn’t mind in the slightest, they were looking forward to having Jesse move in with them. The more buildings he built, the more assured they felt that he was definitely planning on moving in with them for a longer set of time. When Jesse nods, Jack chuckles a bit, “About damn time.”

“Yeah,” Jesse nods and they fall into silence as the truck rumbles down the old country road. The gravel winds through woods and between fields, a pasty white-grey streak on the fertile earth. Mighty oaks watch over the truck as it passes under large, outstretched limbs with hand sized green leafs. Farmers wave at the white truck from atop seed planting tractors, and Jesse and Jack wave back from the cab of their modest in comparison truck. Birds swoop nearby the car and occasionally in front of the car with impressive dives and speed. Gravel continues to crunch all the way into town.

#mchanzo #Hanzo #hanzo shimada #jesse mccree #jesse #cowboy #demon #oni!hanzo #jack morrison #gabriel reyes #fanfiction #probably going to be putting smut here that wont go up on ao3 #farm #have faith in me #overwatch

9 notes · View notes

rustbeltjessie · 4 years ago

Text

Diary of an Emotional Masochist, Chapter One: Dignity and Shame

I am an emotional masochist. I’m the kind of person, who, when I’m already going through a bout of nostalgic melancholy, will decide to read old journal entries or look through old photographs. The kind of person who, when it’s three a.m. and I can’t sleep because I’m thinking about what loves have come and gone (to borrow a phrase from Edna St. Vincent Millay), will get up and Google search those loves. I am the kind of woman who, when I’m already sad, will listen to an album that devastates me. I have a long list of albums that it’s almost too painful to listen to, albums that remind me of such specific times in my life that listening to them takes me right back to where I was then. A different person would purge their record collection and iTunes library of such albums, but, like I said – I am an emotional masochist. On lonesome evenings, after a couple glasses of whiskey, nothing sounds better to me than spinning one of those records (or queueing up one of those playlists). This is one of those lonesome-whiskey evenings, so won’t you join me in indulging? We’re listening to Crooked Fingers’ Dignity and Shame.

From the first sparse, haunting notes of “Islero,” I am transported back in time to the summer of 2005. God, that summer. That terrible, wonderful summer. I’d fucked up my life the year before, and I thought that would be the summer I’d fix it, except all I did was fuck it up even more. God, that summer. That March, I moved away from Chicago after living there for five years. I planned on moving to Milwaukee come autumn, to start fresh in a fresh town. In the meantime, I moved back in with my parents. I wasn’t home, much. Nights, after work, I went to one of the two bars in Kenosha where all my sad drunk hoodlum friends hung out. On days off, I walked in the woods – the heat was relentless, and the canopy of trees offered cool green comfort. Or I drove to Chicago to see shows and drink with my friends and try to remember why I’d left; drove to Milwaukee to scope out neighborhoods, sit for hours at the Hi-Fi Cafe, go record and dress shopping. On one of my record shopping expeditions, I bought Dignity and Shame. It was on the Staff Recommendations shelf, and I liked the cover art, so I took it home with me – and it was serendipity, it was exactly the album I needed at the time.

As soon as I got home, I set it spinning on my turntable, and the first track – “Islero” – gave me goosebumps. The second track – “Weary Arms” – made me cry. It had sad cellos and a lonesome cowboy guitar, and Eric Bachmann’s voice was a raspy baritone: Beware of strangers knocking at your door. Old lovers, too. Don’t think for one second they’ve forgotten you. Oh, oh, oh. By the time the final, hidden track played, I’d melted into a puddle of tears and goosebumps on my bedroom floor. The album destroyed me, and it spooked me because so many of the stories sounded like things right out of my life, both from that year and six or so years before it. It was like Eric Bachmann had read my diary and set it to music. I wanted to write him a letter and say: “Get out of my head, god damn it! Get out of my aching heart.” It’s impossible for me to write about Dignity and Shame, or about the summer of 2005, without descending into hyperbole, sentimental poetry, and melodrama. My God, that summer was hyperbole, sentimental poetry, and melodrama. I was still young enough that it was acceptable to feel things that intensely, acceptable to talk about a sunrise over Lake Michigan by saying things like: “When the light shot through the horizon in streaks of peach and gold, it was the most god damn beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” Dear diary, listen to me.

My “Weary Arms” wrapped tight around so many lovers, that summer – four of them, plus a handful of brief flings. Later that year, I lamented that I hadn’t had as many wild love affairs as I’d had in years past, which, yes, says something unflattering about me. And Eric Bachmann sang: You have many enemies, for reasons no one’s certain of.

One night, while I sat at one of the bars and waited for my friends to arrive, a girl approached me. I didn’t know her, but she knew me. She sat down across from me and lambasted me for sleeping with a guy she’d been dating at the time…two years before. She called me a slut, and some worse things. I wanted to buy her a drink, to appease her. I couldn’t understand why she hated me so much. When I slept with that guy, I had no idea he had a girlfriend. So many enemies, so many lovers, but could a jaded girl like me heed an uptempo “Call To Love?” In that song, Eric took the role of a particular one of my lovers, and said: Won’t you hear my heart? I’m transmitting a call to love. On a night when the moon was orange-red and luminous, that lover said: “The moon is the color of your hair.” Another night: “You were born in the wrong era, Jess.” And, though I was a sucker for sentimental poetry, my guard was up. Lara Meyerratken answered for me: Don’t need my heart kicked ‘round the block no more. You may be smooth-talking, daddy, but I’ve heard it all before. I traded gossip with the “Twilight Creeps.” In this sweet-sad song with the bright piano and the shimmering backup vocals, I was both the singer and the sung about. I could have sung it to one of my lovers, should have said to her: Flower, don’t dig so deep so you don’t go anywhere. But the words were also about me: You say someday you’re gonna float away. Take yourself some kind of holiday. I often told my sad drunk hoodlum friends, the twilight creeps, that I needed to get the hell out of town. “If I could just get gone for more than a few days, go somewhere more than a few hours away…there ain’t no use in trying to make me stay.”

My lovers all wanted to make me stay. The flower-girl, I’ll call her Valerie. The one who spoke poetic words to me, I’ll call him Jack. And there was Lon, and Carmine. In different ways, for different reasons, they each wanted me to choose them over all the rest. Even a few of the week-long flings and one-night stands, older punk guys or younger hippie girls, said things to me like: “How did I get so lucky as to meet a girl like you?” Or: “So, are you my girlfriend now?” And when I said no, they called me a heartbreaker. A “Destroyer.” It’s a woebegone cowboy of a tune. Doleful drums, piano that tinkles like ice cubes in a bar glass, and a lap steel guitar – which, as far as I’m concerned, is the aural equivalent of an anti-hero walking off into the sunset. The song is all about how the singer is going to make someone his, and then he’s going to leave them behind. When they called me heartbreaker, I wanted to sing it: Lay down, just let it come, and resign your heart, today, to get blown away. “Valerie,” well, that’s why I’m referring to that lover as Valerie. Much like me, she was a punk rock girl turned heroine of a Tom Waits song (heroine of a Crooked Fingers song). She had thriftstore dresses and jailhouse tattoos and self-inflicted scars. “Valerie,” the song, has a sanguine strut, is a besotted love song, and I thought of Valerie, the girl: Red roses, silk, you in your sleek summer dress. You were light, revelation, oh, I love you the best. But she and I kept our love unspoken. We both had other romantic complications, and only touched each other on long hot nights after too many bottles of wine and too many pills. “Sleep All Summer” was my song for Jack, the young ex-goth whose mouth was pink and pouty like he’d been sucking on a strawberry popsicle. Our love was either all the good songs and kissing ’til our lips were raw, or it was screaming matches and hangover headaches. What bliss is this, and then he’d get attention-starved and whiny, and I’d burn hot and cold and say nasty things, and we’d say: “This is it, we’re through.” But – There ain’t no way we’re gonna find another, the way we sleep all summer. Why won’t you fall back in love with me? And we’d run into each other at the bar, and faster than our friends could say I told you so we’d be tangled up in the backseat of his car or rolling around by the lake, and the whole thing would start all over again. He’d play the martyr, and I’d say: I would change for you, but babe, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be a better man.

And “Coldways” kill cool lovers. Lon was a folk singer from the north woods. He’d been one of my best friends for years already, and when we started dating I was so tired of complicated, fiery relationships that I mistook comfort for True Love. My heart still hurts when I think of how I hurt him. He wanted me to marry him and I just wanted to be drunk and in love, to listen to “Coldways”’s thrumming, swelling sound. To sing along: Come out, come on, tonight the city’s alive. “Wrecking Ball” has a jaunty, punchdrunk piano, and the piano had been drinking, but so had I. God, I drank so much that summer. On the rare night I spent at home, I holed up in my room, wrote long, sad, tales of people in the legend of my life, and drank blackberry brandy mixed with Sprite. Something like that would taste over-sweet to me now, make me shudder, but maybe the same part of me that craved sentimental poetry also thirsted for sugary drinks. And most nights, I wasn’t at home. Most nights, I changed clothes in my car after work. I swapped my reeking-of-pizza button down shirt and black slacks for one of my vintage dresses. A mint green confection, or a pink and white sundress. Something from the ‘50s, blue with red and white polka dots, or a slinky black number that a ‘30s jazz singer would have worn. And I sat at one of two bars, drank whiskey and Coke, or brandy old-fashioneds, or gin and tonics all night long. I waited for my friends to arrive, and I drank and smoked and entertained myself with one of the items I always had in my bag – a book of poetry by Dorothy Parker or Edna St. Vincent Millay, a deck of Alice In Wonderland tarot cards. And sometimes, someone would find me intriguing. I swear, I wasn’t a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, but… I was a redhead in a retro dress (usually with a strand of fake pearls, too) sitting in a dive bar, smoking pastel-colored cigarettes, reading sonnets and tarot cards. Christ. Often, someone found me intriguing, chatted me up, and I wound up with yet another lover. I was a destroyer, destroying myself with booze and love. I was a wrecking ball. Eric Bachmann, accompanied by that barroom piano, sang: And you laughed and you danced, and it let you feel fine for a while. Hanging out with the kids who you knew soon would fall out of style.

I’ve left two songs out, dear diary. I did it on purpose, because they are the two that hurt the most. They are also the two that heal the most. The kind of songs that make me weep, then tell me to dry my tears. “You Must Build A Fire,” oh, it is one of the saddest songs. It begins with only two guitars (a finger-picked lead and that god damn lap steel again), and Eric’s voice is so plaintive, sounds like it’s about to crack, and he sings: Oh, gracious love, you were so kind to me. You only broke my heart, let my arms and legs stay strong. So I could swim upon the open sea, searching for another love. Floating along aimlessly. I haven’t told you about Carmine, yet. Carmine was a musician who looked like a magician from an old-time carnival. The year before, he’d ruined me in a worse way than any other lover ever had. (As a friend put it, he was one of the ones who fucked me up so bad I was pretty much ruined for anyone else.) He ruined me, but I let him back into my life. That summer, we got together. It was supposed to be closure, but of course it just opened everything up again. He said: “I want to be with you. I want to try again.” I said: “Okay, yes, let’s start over. I want to be with you.” He said: “Only if you break things off with all your other lovers. I want to be your only.” The nerve, giving me an ultimatum like that when he was even more of a notorious libertine than I was. And the song sang: I had someone, a love I thought was true. But sometimes you just get tired, and you must try not to die. And give your love, though no one may receive. You must build a giant fire, for the whole wide world to see. It sounded like that whole heartbroken, hot summer. Oh, where are you, love?

The title track, “Dignity and Shame,” is a piano ballad that told me: To be sure, there ain’t no cure. There could be no one to save you. It is the track I return to over and over, more than any other track on the album. Though my life has calmed down a lot in the decade since that summer, sometimes – that feeling comes, you’ve been here once before. That wicked feeling you don’t want to feel no more. And then, Eric Bachmann (get out my head, god damn it!) sings: You’re not the same as the day that you came. You can choose dignity, or shame.

I choose dignity. I carry my broken heart like a torch in the night. Little keeper of light, burning deep, burning bright in the dark.

[originally appeared in Witchsong in October 2015]

#jessie lynn mcmains #my writing #music #memoir #crooked fingers #dignity and shame #2015 #2005 #love #lovers #heartbreak #panic attacks #drugs #alcohol #lyrics #this is still one of my favorite pieces of music writing i've ever written #and since witchsong has gone dark i thought i'd share it here

15 notes · View notes

arazialotis · 7 years ago

Text

Austin Nights - Part 8

Pairing: Single!Jensen × Reader

Word Count: Around 3500

Summary: The reader lives in Austin and unknowingly runs into Jensen at a bonfire and sparks fly. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Warnings: Implied Smut, Fluff

Obviously I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time.

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

@misguidedconqueress, thank you so much for your help on this one! You are extremely helpful and hopefully some day your tips will actually sink into my brain. And not just with the technical stuff too, but encouraging me as well.

—–

You woke up the next morning with Jensen’s arms wrapped tight around you. You nuzzled in closer, stirring him awake. He squeezed you tighter.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.” He mumbled still sleepy.

“Mmmm.” You hummed into his chest.

“How you feeling today?” He asked you with a hint of concern.

You sighed. “Better.... You?”

“A little sore.” He rolled his shoulders out softly chuckling. “Been awhile since I roughed it.”

“And I thought you were a real life cowboy…” You smirked.

“Nah, I’m not that cool.” Jensen waved off. “You ready to get back to civilization?”

You buried your head back into his chest and shook your head no.

“Come on babe,” He coaxed and rubbed your back. “From personal encounters, I know nothing can stand in your way.”

“I’ve been thinking…” You ventured, but stopped - unsure of how to continue.

“Yeah?” He inquired.

“I think I want to open my own nonprofit.” You confided.

His eyes brightened up. “That sounds awesome.”

You smiled from his excitement and continued to explain your idea. “I want to start something for teenage girls and women, those who weren't able to finished high school for whatever reason. I want to give them a place where they could work on getting their GED and be connected to resources. Also, we would have like a cafe where they could work to get some income and a barista’s certificate. If they have the barista’s certificate, there would be a better chance they could become employed at Starbucks because Starbucks has a pretty great college scholarship program.” You rambled as you looked through your journal, trying to piece together the details.

Jensen lowered the journal away from your face. “You continue to amaze me, Y/N. I want to be a part of this. Will you let me?” He asked; given your past stubbornness.

You nodded. “But I’m going to have to do a lot of paperwork before we can actually physically begin planning. I think I’ll be able to get one of my old professors on board to help me out. Like signing off on grant proposals.”

“How about we take the first step and get you back home?” Jensen suggested.

You sighed again. “Fine…. Angie’s going to be so mad at me.”

“I’m sure she will understand. I think she was just worried.” Jensen reassured.

Jensen helped you pack up, rolling up the tent, and securing things down in the truck bed. You did your best to destroy the evidence of the fire pit assuming it was probably against the park rules. Your truck easily got back on the trail. The rental however was another story. The car’s front tire had partially sunken into a soft patch of mud. You tried to hide your giggles as you watched Jensen unsuccessful try to reverse it out. You ran over, pushing the hood of the car, squealing with laughter as mud splattered all over you.

Jensen cut the engine and assessed the situation. “I’m just going to call a tow.” “No, no. We got this.” You argued determined.

“There’s no way we got this. But you are completely adorable covered in mud.” He teased as he pulled out his phone.

“Shut up.” You lightheartedly ordered back. “Just hold on one second.” You ran to your truck grabbing the carpeted mats that sat on the floor. You did your best to jam it under the front tire. “Okay, get back in and reverse.” You directed, getting back into position to push the car.

“I’ll push.” He waved you off.

“Those muscles aren’t just for show?” You quipped.

He chuckled and jokingly snapped his teeth at you. “Get in there.”

You listened and pushed the reverse pedal to the floor. With Jensen’s effort and the traction gained from the mats, the tire made it’s way out of the mud and you maneuvered it back to the dirt road.

“And that’s how it's done.” You boasted as Jensen threw the mud ridden mats into the truck bed.

“You were right.” Jay admitted, completely splattered with mud as well.

“If you haven’t learned that I’m always right by now, I’m not sure what to do with you.” You teased.

“Get me back to your place and I might have a few ideas of what you could do with me.” He smiled before planting a kiss on your lips.

On the road home, you bit your lip with anticipation, rushing as fast as you could.You went to the bathroom and ran the water for Jensen so he could get cleaned up from the mud already dry on both of your skin. He followed you in, shutting the door behind, the heat and tension still thick between you. The sweat and his shirt clinging to his body highlighted the definition of his muscles. The steam from the water began to fog up the mirror as your heart pounded in your chest.

Jensen’s lips found yours again as his hands pushed your shirt up. He trailed kisses down the side of your neck, pausing only briefly to lift your shirt off over your head. You moaned with need, greedily undoing his belt and throwing it aside. Jay pulled off his shirt in one swift motion. You went to unsnap your bra but found it already unclasped.

“How did you..?” You asked - completely unaware of when he had undone it.

“Shhh.” He whispered in your ear before using one finger to guide the bra the rest of the way off, his eyes widening at the sight of you.

Your body filled with goosebumps from the sensation. He popped open the button of your jeans. You pressed your body against his, taking his face with both hands and deeply kissing him, finishing by gently biting his lower lip. He responded by nibbling your neck and hoisting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He walked to the shower.

“What are you doing? Jensen!” You gleefully giggled as he opened the shower curtain. “Stop!” You squeaked, the order carrying no seriousness. He brought you into the shower both of your jeans becoming instantly soaked…

An hour and a half later you were laying together in damp sheets. Jensen was twirling a strand of your wet hair in his fingers.

“You know I have to leave soon, right?” He murmured. You nodded your head. “I’m pretty sure work’s not going to be too thrilled about these.” He looked down at his chest.

You traced your finger over a few marks you mistakenly left behind. “What? Dean Winchester has never had a hickey?” You doubted.

Jay snickered. “I guess it’s about time.”

Your smile turned to a frown. “You lied.”

“About what?” He asked.

“It hasn’t gotten easier. You leaving…” You explained.

“I know.” He agreed. “Just give it time… and no spontaneous camping adventures, promise?”

“I won’t, at least not without telling you first.” You smirked.

“I’ll be back in three weeks to close on the house anyways and spend whatever time I have with you then.” Jay ensured.

He packed up pretty quickly, already booked for the next flight out. Although you were heartbroken he was leaving so soon, you couldn’t ask him to stay. You had already cost him time from his busy schedule and weren’t willing to delay him further. You distracted yourself from you thoughts by scurrying together an apology for Angie. You scoured the whole apartment, top to bottom, making it immaculate. You baked cupcakes and put together a spa package with a certificate for a free pedicure. You anxiously awaited for her to return home.

You jolted up from the couch when her keys hit the lock. She opened arms full with a grocery bag. You immediately took it from her.

“Angie, I am so sorry.” You sincerely apologized. “I made you cupcakes and,” You set the bag on the counter so you could hand her the spa package. “And got you this, willing to be a plus two if you need one.” Angie threw the package down on the couch and embraced you. “Don’t you ever do that to me again!”

“I won’t. I promise.” You hugged her back.

---

Three weeks had come and gone. Your ambitious plan had been put on hold while you found two part time jobs to suffice for income. One was at Starbucks so that opening and running a cafe for the business would come more at ease; so you would know what to expect and be able to step in when needed. The other was at BookPeople, which was honestly hard to bring home an actual paycheck, the temptation to spend all of it very high.

The jobs had taken up most of your time - leaving the planning of the nonprofit on hold. However, you had reached out to an old professor to see if they would be willing to use their title to sign off on the paperwork. Having a master’s level on the project might give it the extra appeal a grant committee would be looking for.

You were finishing up your shift at Starbucks when Jensen texted you an address to meet him at. You made some extra drinks for the two of you before heading out. It was a ways outside the city. The streets became lined with houses that you could never imagine being able to afford. Your truck made you look like a desperate landscaping operation seeking out business in an area way out of your league. You followed Jensen’s directions through a private drive to a place that you would describe more as a compound than an actual house.

You parked the truck and texted Jensen. ‘I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.’

Your phone buzzed back. ‘Stop being a dork and get in here.’

You smiled to yourself knowing he was just as big of a dork as you. You cautiously walked up to the door, coffees in hand, and rang the doorbell.

Jensen opened the door with a huge grin. “Delivery for Mr. Ackles.” You greeted him. He responded by kissing you on the lips and drawing you into the house. “You still gotta tip, you know.” You giggled.

“So, what do you think?” He waved his arm, you follow it gazing around the openness of the first floor.

“It’s bigger on the inside.” You teased in a transatlantic accent. “So, is it’s officially yours?”

“It’s officially mine.” He answered jingling the keys. He handed you a spare key. “And yours, if you want it.”

Even though you expected something like this, you still blushed and hesitantly took the key. “I’ll have to see when my lease is up.” Jensen rolled his eyes, hoping you would have been more willing to take up his offer. “I’ll still come check up on it, if you need someone to while you are out.”

“I should have asked Angie, she would have broken the lease and moved both your asses in.” Jensen teased.

“She still might if she ever sees the place.” You agreed.

“Well, let me give you a tour.” Jensen started.

You walked around with him trying not to gawk too much. It was already fully furnished but Jensen said if you wanted to do anything different with the place, feel free. He ended the tour in an entertaining area in the basement.

“Four hours later…” You joked.

“It was like only three.” Jensen played back. “You’ve been so quiet, what are you thinking?”

“Honestly… it's a bit much.” You admitted.

Jensen chuckled opened a sliding door to the backyard. “Seriously, you're the only person I know who would say that.”

You followed him outside to an area set up for entertaining. It came complete with an outdoor kitchen, fireplace, walkway to a sunbathing area overlooking Lake Travis. “But I think I could get used to it.” You accepted unashamed.

He walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around you, taking in the view as well.

----

Four more months had passed and you still had not moved in. The lease had ended but you and Angie had decided to go on a month-to-month schedule. It’s not that you didn’t want to move in, it’s just that Jensen had not made any other indications of where he saw the relationship headed. You were honestly terrified of making a huge commitment and then things ending badly. Skype dates were becoming short and infrequent. Both of you were swimming in work. On top of both of your jobs, you were buried deep in research. Researching available grants, researching available locations for the nonprofit, researching research to prove why your proposal would be beneficial to the community and effective for clients.

“If I hear the word research one more time, I’m going to start pulling hair out.” You complained to Jay over Skype.

“You need a break. Why don’t you come up to Vancouver for the week?” He suggested.

“Ah, that sounds wonderful, but tickets…” You attempted to dismiss the idea.

“Have already been booked.” Jay interrupted smiling from ear to ear.

“What? Jensen?” You asked embarrassed.

“Check your email.” He instructed.

You opened a new tab to find electronic tickets in your mailbox. “What about work?” You groaned.

“They’re part-time jobs, Y/N.” Jay argued back. “If you can’t get off, you might as well quit.”

“Okay.” You gave in, easily persuaded.

“Really?” Jensen bounced. “You’ll come?”

“Yes, I’ll come.” You assured.

“Yes!” He gloated in victory. “So this is what it feels like to win something?”

“Don’t get used to it.” You teased.

“Ah, I haven’t seen you in so long. I’m so excited.” He could hardly contain his smile.

“Me too. Love you Jay.” You ended.

“See you in a few days, Y/N. Love you too.” He said before ending the call.

Thankfully you were able to find coworkers to cover your shifts last minute before you made your way north again. It had only been about five months since your last visit to Vancouver but it felt much longer. Jensen, of course, had made all the arrangements such as transportation. It was the same driver as last time but this time you didn't make a fuss, growing more familiar with the lifestyle.

Although Jensen had meant for it to be a relaxing getaway, you had used it more as an escape from work to focus on the nonprofit. You had found an available grant which had an application deadline in two weeks. So for a majority of the week you had locked yourself away in his apartment, avoiding visiting the set and nights out, to focus solely on preparing the grant proposal.

Jay came home early one night, finding you in sweats and one of his t-shirts with a messy bun and reading glasses - as your eyes had tired from staring at a computer screen for too long.

“Save your work.” Jensen warned.

“Just a few more minutes…” You said, your attention not really leaving the document.

“Save it. Save it.” He pestered and put his hand on the laptop. “5… 4… 3…”

“Okay, okay. It’s saved.”

“2, 1.” He finished before closing the laptop. You took off your glasses and rubbed your eyes. “This was supposed to be a break for you.”

“It is… from piles of coffee orders…” You explained.

“Well, we are going out tonight and I’m not taking no for an answer.” Jay said more as a suggestion than a demand.

“In that case, let me get ready. Unless you were planning to go to McDonald’s.”

“Actually, I was. But it’s very different up here. Black tie, not optional.” Jensen joked in a serious tone.

“Good thing I brought along my Louis Vuitton ballgown.” You played back.

Jensen followed you into the bedroom as you went through the closet trying to decide on something.

He looked through your luggage and held up a bright red, short, and revealing nightgown. “This would work.” He suggested.

“Oh my god, that’s lingerie.” You laughed, grabbing it from him.

“I know. I think you’d look very nice in it.” He smiled. You rolled your eyes putting it back in the suitcase. He walked over to another closet and pulled out a hanger covered with a dry cleaning parchment. “How about this?”

You gave him a curious look as he handed you the hanger. You undid the covering, revealing a knee length, tea styled, creme dress with navy lace embroidering and cap sleeves.

“Jensen?” You asked, shocked.

“Angie helped me pick it out.” He admitted.

“It’s beautiful.” You marveled.

“Well, go put it on.” He instructed.

When you were finally finished getting ready, you gave him a little twirl. “What do you think?”

“Absolutely stunning…. The dress isn’t bad either.” He responded, causing you to blush.

Jensen was dressed in nice jeans and a gray blazer. He drove, wanting a more intimate evening with you. He drove you into the Gastown district to the Bauhaus Restaurant.

“This is pretty fancy.” You commented as he pulled out the chair for you.

“Don’t.” He instructed but was too late as you had started looking over the menu.

You raised your eyebrows at the prices. “So… I’ll have the water… maybe sell my kidney for a slice of lemon…”

“Stop it.” He pleaded. “It’s really not that expensive. Just for tonight, don’t worry about it.”

You closed your menu. “Okay.” Jensen eyed you suspiciously. The waiter came around to take your orders. “I’ll just do an a la carte salad and water, thank you.”

“No.” Jensen interjected. “We’ll both do the tasting menu with wine pairings. Please.” Jensen paused for the waiter to leave. “You didn’t really think you were going to get away with that?”

“It was worth a shot.” You smirked at him.

But you were glad Jensen had ordered. It was a completely unique experience for you. Each dish was so properly balanced, each element playing off of each other, each bite tasting just a bit different but working together with such cohesion.

“I gotta be honest, I had a hard time not instagramming each plate.” You confessed as you walked down the street to the car.

“Well, I did, so no shame.” He joked.

“No, you didn’t.” You nudged him in the side. “Thank you, Jensen.” “The night’s not over yet. Still up for one more thing?” He asked fidgeting with his hands.

“Sure.” You agreed.

He drove, headed north on the highway, handing you a blindfold as the light of the day started to fade away. “Put this on.” He instructed. You looked at him anxiously. “It’s a surprise.”

You hesitantly put on the blindfold, still chatting the rest of the way. Every now and then, you would try to listening to clues of your whereabouts but came up lost. It had to be more of an hour of driving until you finally felt the car slow down to a stop. You heard Jensen open his door and come around to your side. You laughed as he guided you out. Your feet felt gravel and then cool short grass.

“You ready?” He asked.

“For what?” You playfully pleaded.

“I’m not telling.” He waited for you.

“...Okay, fine, I’m ready.” You agreed.

He reached around to undo the blindfold and you became filled with awe as the sky danced in glowing waves of iridescent green and purple.

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed quickly glancing at Jensen before focusing back on the sky. “The northern lights?!” He gave you a moment to get lost in the view.

“I wanted to do this now… when you were looking up at the night sky.” Jensen began.

As you turned around the color from your face left and your heart stopped seeing Jensen trembling as he went down on one knee.

“You told me once that when you are looking up at the night sky, you are looking into the expanses of the universe. That all your problems seem to fade away. That you feel at peace because what you are looking at is so serene.” He paused catching his shaking breath as tears started forming in your eyes. “Y/N, that is how I feel when I look at you. None of my problems, frustrations, or the weight of the world matters when I am with you. It all fades away, because you are looking back at me. And I…” He felt around his jacket and reached for an inside pocket, pulling out a ring. “I never want to lose that feeling. So… Y/N, will you marry me?”

You couldn’t tell if you were on earth or floating in space. Your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest. Tears slid down your cheeks as they did his. You tried to find your voice. “Is this really happening?” You squeaked.

He laughed. “Yes, this is really happening.”

“Oh my god.” You gasped as he got up and slid the ring over your finger.

“Is that a yes?” He asked.

“Yes.” You nodded confirmation.

He lifted you in an embrace unable to contain his joy. He twirled you throughout the field surrounded by the dancing night sky.

------

Epilogue

Tags:

Forever Tags: @nanie5 @sea040561 @crushing83 @mogaruke @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @ginamsmith @jotink78 @dancingalone21 @fallen-castiel @sup3r-pott3r-lock3d

JensenxReader: @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish @jensen-gal @be-amaziing @mizzzpink @akshi8278 @beatlesobsessionlove @tiffanycaruso @mywillfulwinchester

Austin Nights: @smoothdogsgirl @iamnotsaneatall @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @jodibullock1 @deansgirl215 @atc74 @psychidella @pretty-fortune @dean-winchesters-baby @mskitty416 @cdg174 @spnfangirl1965 @ashleydivine @winchesterprincessbride @arbitranox @vaisabu @redeyedvixen @bradygabrielle-blog @procratsinator @mariahoedt @gallifreyansass @enthusiasmisdepressing @keelzy2 @doesmynamegohere @fanfreak07 @the-doctors-fallen-angel @carribear31

#jensen ackles #jensen x reader #supernatural #spn #spn fandom #spn fanfic #jensen x you #jensen x y/n

168 notes · View notes